The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  “I must protest, Leane,” interjected Dean.

  She silenced him with a wave of her hand. “It is already set in motion. The word of his death has spread throughout Culouth. Fe’rein does not believe. A search has already begun. T’elen and I both agree that he is no longer safe here. Duirin will be searched eventually, and burned if he is found.” The words struck home, and Dean bowed, accepting them.

  “I will accompany him.” Elcites’ statement was final.

  Leane turned away from E’Malkai and stared at Elcites. “You cannot enter the Fallen or any of the brethren tribes. Even though Umordoc are not completely uncommon in the north, one traveling with a human will be.” Elcites moved to protest, but the simplest shake of Leane’s head discouraged him. “You can accompany him as far as the northernmost marker. Just west of Linar, that is all.”

  “That is at the very edge of the tundra. The Fallen is still hundreds upon hundreds of miles north of there,” spoke Dean in a hurried tone.

  Leane let her head fall, but did not turn to look at Dean. “Elcites, you must teach him as much as you can before you reach the marker, for you will be a real danger to him past there. If a tribe wished to help him, they would not approach because of your presence with him. They would think him a demi.” The reasoning was sound and she continued, turning back to E’Malkai. “There is much preparation left. Your father’s things are still here.”

  *

  E’Malkai was saddened to see T’elen leave, but the outpost in Illigard required her attention if they were to be of any benefit to the Resistance. There was something refreshing about her presence to him. He had slept the entire night, a sound, dreamless sleep that had left him feeling empty the next morning. The cold gray skies above harbored the sun, held it in stasis, and only a pale glow of light illuminated the day.

  There was a cramped sense to the home that he had lived in as an infant, before he had been taken to Culouth. Darkness haunted him from the corners. Shadows danced in his eyes. His mother carried out a stack of white fabrics several inches thick and placed them on a table before him.

  She looked at them and not her son. “Your father wore his for so long that they would be of no help to you. They had become worn and useless from his time spent here and in the Citadel to the east,” she spoke, her voice thick with emotion.

  E’Malkai picked up the fabrics and felt them. Pulling them free from the folded pile, he dropped them on the floor. Leane moved forward. Picking up the loose ends, she placed them on the table. Grabbing him by the shoulders, her much smaller frame was evident as they stood there alone.

  “There are many dangers in the north, E’Malkai. Your family name is one that is both respected and feared. The line of Armen is believed to have been severed long before your birth.”

  He hesitated, swallowing hard before he could meet his mother’s eyes again. “I am going to die, aren’t I?”

  She let go of his shoulders and turned. Wrapping her arms around herself, she hugged herself tightly. “Many men have in that place, many good men.”

  E’Malkai lowered his head, the weight of his mission heavy on his shoulders. “What difference can this possibly make? I cannot change the world with knowledge of my father.”

  She turned, tears streaming down her face. Her eyes were glassed over. There was anger where there had been sadness before. “You are an Armen. There is much that you can do, much that you will do. The power of the Believer bends for you. Seth believed it, and Ryan is living proof of that.”

  E’Malkai’s mouth twisted at the sound of his wayward uncle’s name. He held back his contempt for the man. “I just hope that I am as strong as my father was.”

  “You will leave here a child, a mere boy, and when you return you will be a man. One who can and will shape this world for the Light as your father would have done.” She held his face in her hands, and he smiled at her. Through her tears she found the strength to smile back, not one of happiness, but hope.

  *

  It took several hours before the wraps had been applied correctly. They were wound around his body until he had begun to sweat beneath them. Giving the thumbs-up sign to his mother standing across the room, he smiled. Standing with Dean, Elcites applied the fabrics, layer after painstaking layer until it was complete. He had received his armor of the north. Elcites stepped back, admiring his work. Pulling at some of the edges, he evened the lines of the wraps, making him look like a walking mummy.

  “Seamless.”

  The growl of his voice made the word itself garbled.

  “Feels strange,” spoke E’Malkai as he pulled at the ends and smoothed them against his body. The more wraps placed on him, the more their colors changed, beginning with white and fading into a dark gray. From a distance it was speckled, giving him the appearance of dirty snow. “It is really tight.”

  “Has to be, otherwise drafts would find their way in. You’d begin to freeze to death or lose an appendage.” There was wisdom in Dean’s words. He had traveled on the tundra, not as long as Seth, but far longer than any other in the room.

  E’Malkai grimaced. “Can’t have that.”

  Elcites produced another tight-fitting coat and pair of leggings and pushed them toward E’Malkai. “Pull them on as well.”

  These made it appear as if he wore actual clothes, not the endless stream of wraps that were beneath. Looking down, E’Malkai craned his neck to see the clothes. When he looked back up, his mother had disappeared.

  She reemerged from deeper within the house seconds later.

  In her hands she held a sheath, a hilt stuck out from it. Walking toward E’Malkai, she extended the sheathed blade to him. “This was your father’s planedge. This is the sole family possession that was passed from his father, Evan. Now it is yours as it was once his.”

  E’Malkai stumbled for the right words.

  “He wanted you to have this. He left it the day…” Her words were caught in her throat and she whimpered. He stepped forward to comfort her, but she flashed him a stern glance. “The day that he and Ryan set out to find the Shaman, he left it here so that someday it would be yours.”

  E’Malkai looked out the window of the common room of the house and saw that winter had truly set in. The ground was white with fresh snow, a steady blanket still falling. He was thankful for that instead of the heat. To have had to journey hundreds of miles in the heat with wraps on would have been another inconvenience.

  “I have never used a blade.”

  Leane placed the sheathed weapon in his hand and held her hand over his, holding the weapon there. “You will have to soon. The tundra will make it so.”

  E’Malkai looked down at the weapon. The sheath was corded in drawn, hardy fabric. He tied it underneath his outer coat, pulling it tight against his body, hiding it out of view as he thought his father would have done. Looking back up at her mother, she had one hand on her face, the other covered her mouth.

  Elcites had stood aside for the majority of the exchange, except the parts during which his hand was necessary. He stepped forward again and spoke. “Your face must be covered in wraps as well and then your hood must be drawn. Your eyes must be covered.”

  E’Malkai met his mother’s eyes as Elcites stepped in and began wrapping his face until only his blue eyes stared out. The giant placed a pair of reinforced goggles in E’Malkai’s hand and stepped away. Looking down at the eye piece, the youth grimaced. He knew that he was no longer visible, that his identity had been erased beneath his garments.

  He placed the goggles over his head, felt the pressure on his skull, and then snapped them over his eyes. Looking out through the clear panes of his armor, he grimaced inwardly. There were thin slits over his mouth and nose, enough room only to breathe. Any remnants of his humanity were sealed away, his body vaguely humanoid.

  His father’s pack was against the wall, Leane and Dean having restocked it. He leaned down, grasping the two straps and pulling them taut against his frame. The long pack dist
ributed the weight evenly and without strain. He found that he could not tell how much weight was truly in there.

  “You look…” she began.

  “As so many north men who have braved the tundra did,” finished Dean. His expression was that of surprise.

  E’Malkai looked unmistakably like a member of the Fallen. “I feel alone,” he whispered. He wished very much to slump his shoulders, but the pack kept him upright.

  Leane moved forward, her arms spread, and hugged her son. She held him for some time and sobbed into his shoulder. Pulling herself away, she turned her back to him. Dean stepped forward, extending his hand. E’Malkai accepted it, squeezing it hard and then releasing it.

  “We must be on our way, my sien. The weather is with us for the moment,” called Elcites, breaking the tense moment. E’Malkai did not understand, but nodded. He looked to see if his mother would turn again, but she did not. Together, he and his guardian exited the building and forged out into the cold. Their destination was many days ahead of them, and the warmth of the house was soon forgotten.

  ⱷ

  T’elen

  Kyien sat alone in his office. He laced his fingers together as he often did and propped his feet up on his desk. A sneer was carved across his mouth, and his cold eyes held a twinkle; a man with a plot possessed such features.

  The cruel officer most assuredly had such an agenda. Hard eyes watched his craven aide scamper across the brilliant marble floors of his office and stand before his desk. The aide bowed his head, eyes darting from side to side.

  “High Marshal Kyien, your requested guest has arrived,” spoke the small man. Fear pooled in his voice. The High Marshal waited before he answered the worm of a man, letting the man’s fear percolate.

  “Send her in,” he snarled, not even bothering to look as the man scurried away. T’elen sifted through the darkness. Her mouth formed a scowl, and her crystal eyes watched him like a hawk. “T’elen, it has been some time since we have talked in person, man to man.”

  “What do you want?” she returned.

  All mirth and respect was stolen from her voice.

  “It appears we are past the pleasantries,” he mused, enjoying their shared hatred of one another.

  “There were never any such terms between us, Kyien. You are a murderer, and I am a warrior. We could not have more distance between us,” she snapped, her cold eyes unwavering.

  “Harsh words from an even harsher woman,” he replied, not bothering to move from his comfortable position. “When is the last time you let a man perform his duties?”

  “You are a pig, Kyien. This was a mistake.” She spun and stopped. Lowering her center of gravity, she felt something else in the room. “What is this, Kyien? What have you done?”

  He swung his legs off the desk and was on his feet––his fists planted firmly into the table. “I am sick of you all, both you and Fe’rein. You walk around as if there were nothing that you fear, that you are unstoppable, when it is I who have the power.”

  She saw the eyes emerge from the wall of shadow.

  One pair at first and then several more until she counted eight separate pairs, she knew what they were. Her hand immediately went to the hilt of her gargantuan sword, which she drew with a practiced ease. The blade was thinner and more tapered than the sheath made it appear.

  The Umordoc warriors stepped out from the darkness.

  They each rivaled Elcites in sheer size, though only grunts emanated from their lips. No weapons were wielded. They had neither the ceremonial pikes of lore or energy weapons. Kyien meant for them to punish her, beat her into a sticky paste.

  “You will live to regret this, Kyien.” Her words were cut off as the grunt of the first Umordoc echoed in her ears. She fell back, purposefully.

  Placing her front foot behind, she slashed out horizontally. A ripping sound accompanied the slash, and a strangled cry erupted as something spilled to the ground.

  T’elen dashed forward. A flicker of light emerged at her side as she drew three thin blades with her free hand and threw them in dead aim at the cackling figure of Kyien.

  “Rotten…”

  The words were lost as one of the Umordoc jumped into the way. The three blades lodged themselves deep into the arm of the warrior, who in turn bellowed in rage, breaking the table in one angered slam of its fist.

  She smiled in satisfaction as she spun, dodging just below the wild swing of an Umordoc and lifted her blade vertically. Feeling the flesh slide beneath her blade, she twisted and ran it parallel. The second fell to the ground writhing in pain, and she hesitated.

  Seeing the light of the exit, she darted, vaulting the two bodies in her way. She dashed through the open door. Knocking aside the frightened Jilen, she spun him in a whirl that caused him to fall to the floor.

  Kyien was on his feet, the flush on his cheeks seemed to rise past his head. He jumped over his desk and dashed toward the entrance, pointing at the empty hallway where T’elen had just been and roared, “Get her.”

  T’elen ran through the Deliberations building at full speed. The blur of those passing by made them appear indiscernible from one to another. Their faces blended into one as she rounded the far end of the third floor and ducked beneath the metallic brace that bridged the floor space to the balcony. She did not bother to turn and look back. T’elen knew they were at her heels. Ragged, primal breathing echoed behind her diluted by the startled screams that rang through the hallways.

  She was on the balcony now.

  Her legs churned beneath her, and she bounded onto the railing. Without stopping, she launched herself off the balcony ledge into the free space between the Deliberations building and the adjacent one. Her legs writhed below her as she flew through the air.

  She desperately reached for something, anything on which to grab. Her hand caught the lip of the far balcony, the second floor of the other building. Looking down, she saw civilians pointing at her from below. On the balcony above, the frustrated faces of the Umordoc warriors stared after her.

  Another wall of glass was between her and freedom.

  T’elen was already on her feet and in motion again. Her shoulder collided with the glass of the wall. She felt the sudden rush of air and weight on her chest as she exploded into the free air of the city.

  She tumbled for a moment.

  Then as she faced the ground, she plunged her blade into the side of the building. A grinding shriek emanated from the walls as it jerked her to a stop, the steel taking hold. PTVs flew erratically around her. Transports slammed into one another as she hung dangling from her own weapon some three hundred feet above the darkness of the ground below.

  She ground her teeth as she struggled to pull her blade free. As she did so, her body fell again. This time she fell onto the roof of a transport a foot below her. She rolled, grasping the side bars as the vehicle moved to right itself. After the craft steadied, T’elen leapt off and disappeared into the streets.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  Elcites’ words echoed in E’Malkai’s mind as he trekked along in the snow, realizing what his guardian had meant. With Fe’rein searching for him, the snow provided much-needed cover as they traveled north.

  The winter storm had not passed.

  It seemed to be following the youth and his guardian.

  The farther north they pressed, the more he felt comfortable in the wraps. The tight embrace of the fabrics provided warmth he had not known.

  They made camp two days north of Duirin in a cavern along a rocky hillside. Jagged hills looked more like stone mountains. He had never truly seen a mountain up close, so his opinion was slightly askew.

  Elcites had pounded on the walls of the cave until some of the rubble had fallen loose and half-covered the entrance. They sat around the fire for some time without speaking.

  The guardian had secured them dinner with a fabricated sling; it was a small mammal of a sort. The body was plump, and the meat was whiter than E’Malkai was us
ed to, but nonetheless it cooked over the fire. A shaft was driven through its center, and despite the youth’s misgivings, the scent of the cooking meal was strangely pleasant.

  “We will smoke the remaining meat and store it in your pack. It will be necessary once you reach the edges of the tundra where game becomes less plentiful.” Those were the first words spoken. E’Malkai nodded, not yet completely adjusted to the task charged to him. “Let me see your pack,” he ordered.

  E’Malkai lifted it over to his guardian, and the giant began to dig through it. He pulled free a dark canister of steel with a hose on the top. The flexible material that ran from the top of the canister to the tip of the nozzle was blackened.

  “This will be important on the tundra. In the Fallen, they never go out alone. Well very few, only the ones who know the land better than they know themselves. Otherwise, one carries a pack that has a thermal generator, while the other stores animal fat.”

  E’Malkai made a disgusted face, but Elcites was incapable of mirth now. “That fat is their salvation. The gales on the tundra are horrendous and make creating a shelter a far more difficult task. The fats were melted along the edges in order to secure the shelter from the winds. You have been provided with a much smaller version of both; however, they will be equally effective since the ones you carry were created in Culouth. The ones that the Fallen carry are made with limited resources.”

  “How large is the tundra?” queried E’Malkai.

  “It’s at least a couple thousand square miles. That is only what is charted in the Culouth databases. There are places so cold to the north that the equipment we have cannot penetrate even from space, as if there was something being guarded there. It is fair to say that you could easily lose your way and wander in circles or walk for hundreds of miles in one direction without finding another living soul.” All E’Malkai could do was stare at his guardian and swallow hard. “There is reason to be prepared and to trust your judgment. Flights of fancy and foolish pursuits have been the undoing of many a man in that place.”