by Dan O'Brien
The hunter nodded, a shrug accompanying it.
“Where is the Fallen?” He had already forgotten the hunter’s words. The awe of the plains was enough to wipe his mind clear for the moment.
“Somewhere here,” Arile added noncommittally.
E’Malkai woke from his astonishment and eyed the white hunter. “Then it is as you spoke. I must find our way now.”
He nodded again.
“How am I to do that?” challenged E’Malkai, exasperated.
“You are the Ai’mun’hereun, not I.”
E’Malkai shook his head and stalked out ahead.
“Do not call me that, Arile.”
The youth only got a short distance before he realized that every direction looked the same, except what lay behind them: the mountain. He spun and saw that Arile remained as he had been before, standing and waiting.
“We need to camp alongside the Maiden, so we do not get lost,” he called. Turning back to the flustered figure of E’Malkai, he added. “It is this way, my Ai’mun’hereun.” There was a smile on the hunter’s face as the youth rushed to join him.
ⱷ
The Barren Maiden
The scout from the yotikai watched the two humans. He was crouched low against the hillside. The white patches in his black coat provided him with enough camouflage to avoid detection. However, after what the humans had endured in the canyon, the warrior thought it prudent to assume they were not looking around for someone watching them.
He grunted as he watched them skirt the mountainside. Even the Utiakth feared the Barren Maiden, knowing that she could swallow them in her maze of ice.
He rose from his bent pose and leapt from his spot to another and then another, until he glided along the hill on the north side of the pass. He crouched again as he moved behind them. Lowering himself, he thrust his head out farther, squinting his eyes to make out what he saw.
The first was known among the Umordoc. The White One, as he was called by the High Warrior, was a great huntsman and tracker, for a human.
The spear the scout carried bore seven skulls, seven human lives that he had taken from the tundra tribes. This marked a place of honor among the tundra Umordoc. He shook the spear at his side to hear the bones clatter, a reassurance of his strength.
He had explicit instructions: to watch and not engage. The warrior spirit within him yearned to feel the dead weight of the humans. He wished to end their insignificant lives, but he was on a reconnaissance mission, not one of slaughter, which he felt was a gross injustice.
He was sent because the Gagnion’Fe’rein descended from the skies and spoke in tones of fire of what would come. He brought with him the prophecy of old, something that Umordoc of the yotikai feared above all else––the Ai’mun’hereun, the devil of their beliefs.
Allowing his mind to wander, he silently cursed himself in the guttural tones of his people. He returned to his watch. The wolves and the hybear had intrigued the Umordoc hunter as well; never had he seen them so volatile.
He had only seen seventy winters, meaning he was not yet a Dark Warrior, the adult caste of the yotikai. He had observed enough as they moved underneath an overhang of the cliffs that lined the sides of the plains and began to unpack supplies. The Umordoc warrior sat back and closed his eyes, his legs crossed beneath him as he rested. The time when their enemy would be revealed was almost at hand.
ⱷ
Fe’rein
Fe’rein’s domicile was a rectangular building on the north side of Culouth. It was far from the humdrum of the Houses of the Greater Commerce, a great distance from the bickering councilmen whose incessant chatter only further perpetuated his strained headache. The Intelligence had summoned him several times since he had returned from the tundra.
His mind reeled from the psychic connection that he shared with them. The amount of pain that they could inflict on him from a distance vexed him. His back was pressed against an uncomfortable mattress. The wooden frame was cast against a far wall, and only the mattress lay on the floor.
Fe’rein cradled his hands behind his head.
His eyes stared through the ceiling. Ghosts haunted him with each step, with each thought of a past he wished to forget. Images of things that he longed to be rid of walked free.
An image of Seth materialized.
Shimmering pockets of light formed him, glowing in a gloomy iridescence. Fe’rein seemed unaffected by his presence and merely propped himself onto his elbows and watched the image of his brother come forward. He thought he should cry, but he could not. The shell of Fe’rein hid the glimmer of light that had been Ryan Armen.
“Was it worth it?”
This was the same question that he always came to Fe’rein with. “I serve the hand of darkness, shadow brother. What do you believe?”
The ghost possessed no mirth, no conception of argument. It had only questions and answers, for it was nothing more than a corporeal concoction of Fe’rein’s mind.
“You will fail. Evil cannot long stand in the presence of light.”
“This foolishness again, why return to ask only the same things?”
“You are Ryan Armen, not the Gagnion’Fe’rein.”
Fe’rein pushed himself off his elbows and to his feet.
His strength for deliberation was not what it had once been. “I am both, and neither. The true Gagnion’Fe’rein is a creation of religion, of the mind. I am the embodiment of that belief.”
“The Ai’mun’hereun is your death. He will destroy you.”
“I have heard this song and dance many times before.”
“Terra calls him, calls my son to his destiny.”
The rage grew in Fe’rein. “Your words are nothing new, shadow brother. He should fear me.”
“Your power is borrowed. His shall be eternal, complete.”
His words burst.
Anger seeped through him.
“You cannot choose for me, shadow brother. You kept me from this power for too long. Now that I have it, you try to take it from me. It is I who is powerful now, not you.”
“Power is in how you wield it. Not who wields it, Ryan.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Fe’rein shook as he spoke.
His anger manifested itself, the rage boiling to the surface. His grasp of the shadow energy exploded from within as it fought angrily to be released in its most terrible completion.
“You cannot hide behind Fe’rein forever.”
“This is not a guise, this is my truth. It is you who hides now, shadow brother. Behind the veil of death where you can no longer affect the living,” replied Fe’rein as he drove his fist into the wall of his flat. The metal gave way, creaking as it struggled to maintain its shape beneath his blow.
“If that is what you must tell yourself to carry on, so be it. The time is upon you. The Final War lies at your feet, and it will not wait for you as I once did.”
Fe’rein roared.
Energy spread horrifically over his features as he grasped a vase on the only table of his room. Launching it into the far wall, it smashed into a thousand pieces. His chest heaved as he growled beneath his breath. His anger coursed through his body along with the shadow energy.
The visage of Seth wavered and diminished.
The air of the room grew cold and thin.
Shadows infected every corner, every crevice, and the glowering gaze of Fe’rein subsided. His energy receded as he pulled back on the psychic reins.
That would not last long.
Through the darkness another image came. This one was an emotional one, a form that drew such sorrow from Fe’rein that he collapsed to his knees.
The image of Summer was as it had been before her death, though now she wore a flowing white dress. The Fabric of Eternity was what the Fallen had called it, the dress that women wore in visions and dreams of the truest of warriors.
She reached down, her flowing hair as white as her dress.
Her elegant hand
s were as nimble and gentle as they had once been. He could almost feel her caress his cheek and closed his eyes to envision it more deeply. The warmth of her embrace, the coolness of her skin, it all came back to him.
She drew him back with her voice.
“My darling Ryan, you are so troubled.”
This visage was new.
The horrors of Fe’rein’s past had begun to leak from his memory like a poorly maintained faucet. He remained on his knees. A look of agony gripped his features.
Swallowing hard, the words he wished to say did not come to him as they should. Her name was all that he could muster with his hoarse voice, choked with a forgotten emotion.
“I can see you as you were.”
Cruel scars that lined his face would never truly heal.
He could never go home.
She seemed to sense his hurt and touched the scars, running her transparent fingers over them. “Seth did this when you took the power. Was the price worth the glory?”
Fe’rein’s eyes were glassy now for the first time in almost two decades. He stood, fighting the emotion with each movement of his muscles.
“I will not fight this battle without you. I cannot.”
Her visage glittered as if in annoyance.
“You do not have a choice.”
“I chose to take the power I have, I choose to keep it. I have all the choice in the world because of this power, my power.” He struggled to imbue his words with the venom he felt, but he could not. Summer held a tender place for even this monster of a man.
“You know that the Ai’mun’hereun will destroy you. You do not have the power of the Gagnion’Fe’rein. Such a power does not exist in this place that the Intelligence has created.”
“The Intelligence did not create this place, only perverted it.”
“You have been deceived along with all of the others. This place was created by perception. The Intelligence’s grip can be severed but its madness will resonate, for they are not of this world.”
Fe’rein looked at her strangely.
None of the other spirits had this much foresight or even the level of information that this image of Summer had. She might not be a figment of his imagination like so many others.
“I am no image, you called upon me. Your desperation called the one you loved the most. This form is what it took. This happens as the child calls the father.”
“The Fallen,” whispered Fe’rein as he looked away for a moment and then back at her. “He wishes to find his way into the Fallen. All the ancient scrolls and texts will spell out the location of the Desert of the Forgotten and that damnable Shaman.”
“Your words are truth, though you should rejoice. When he finds the Ti’ere’yuernen you can give back your power. Your curse will be lifted. We can be together again.”
He sliced his hand through the air, a twinkle of thought restored to his eyes. “If he reaches the Shaman, then he shall undue what I am. My soul is tainted by the evil waters in which I have swum.”
The visage shivered.
“That is one choice that is solely yours. If you choose to fight the Ai’mun’hereun, then you will be consumed in fire. But yield and you shall be set free. The mercy of the Ai’mun’hereun is born of family, one of which we are all a part.”
“Enough.”
His threat was empty.
He held no power over his only love, and the image knew that.
“I will ask one more time, Ryan Armen. For the love that we once shared and that I still harbor, will you not yield to the Ai’mun’hereun for the greater good?”
Fe’rein stared, the words caught in his throat.
The image shimmered once, twice, and then dissipated into a thousand particles and then a thousand more. He sat back on his mattress, his head in his hands, and allowed the darkness to overtake his torn and useless essence.
ⱷ
Illigard
A rust-colored transport passed through the arches of Illigard. Stone walls cracked beneath the pressure of the cold. Snow had already begun to find a home along the rim of the outpost’s walls. Worn trails had been woven through the courtyard of Illigard. Elcites could have easily moved through the mightiest snow bank, but instead he walked the trails that had already been cleared.
The transport crawled to a stop and then descended. Dropping the half a foot or so that it was suspended off the ground, it submerged itself in a layer of snow. The sudden jut of the ramp bursting from the atmospheric hatch was like thunder without the lightning.
T’elen walked down the ramp, her white veil whisked back behind her like an incessant fog. Elcites stood at attention, his black coat covered in a thick leather breastplate and twin steel armguards.
It was armor from a forgotten era.
His spear was strapped across his back as was customary for those who still walked the swamps and plains of U’Mor. No skulls hung from it, for that was the symbol of the yotikai and the great hunters of his home world. He thought it disrespectful to adorn his blade with skulls.
“Field Marshal T’elen, do you return with good news?” called the guardian over the winds of the frozen swampland.
She did not respond right away. Instead, she pushed through the throng of soldiers and others before her. The stripe of their garb contrasted sharply with the white and gray beneath their feet. Elcites fell in step with the Field Marshal and after a short walk, she turned to him. “There is much to talk about. Have the field commanders assemble in the west building immediately.”
Elcites nodded, though the width of his eyes betrayed his usual cool demeanor. He peeled away from the fleeting image of T’elen to move about his task.
It was almost an hour before the Field Marshal stood before the assembled commanders and lieutenants of Illigard and the remaining members of the Resistance. Dean and Leane stood off to the side, their casual clothes traded in for soldiery tunics and armor.
The room resembled the keep in the Stone Tower that Lassen and the commanding circle occupied, except that this room had several tables. Along the wall was a raised ridge upon which T’elen stood. Elcites loomed behind her as well as any others who would play a role in the coming war. The tables ran perpendicular to T’elen, and each chair contained a man or woman who commanded a legion within Illigard.
T’elen lifted her arms into the air, the tip of her blade swinging as she did so. The grumbles and murmurs of those assembled subsided, their eyes focusing on her.
Pupils dilated.
Lips pursed in waiting.
“Comrades of Illigard, I bring startling news from the Stone Tower. Our once brethren have begun to assemble for war, one that will divide our lives in two and separate the union we have known.”
She paused before she continued.
“General Lassen seems unable to decide where his loyalties stand. He could not give me an answer whether or not a bond could be formed between our two great outposts. The order has already been handed down that I am a traitor.”
One of the men stood up in the crowd. He was a lieutenant who Lassen had appointed before he was given dominion over the Stone Tower. A burly man, he was much like Lassen, and his name could move a mountain: Domaen. “They would bring war across the swamps? Surely, General Lassen does not believe that a full regiment could survive such an attack?”
T’elen deflected the comment.
She knew Lassen was no fool.
“Lassen will wait for the assembled armies of Kyien before any such attack, making them close to a million men strong. Can you imagine what will come after that? The swamps can bury only so many men before they become a road for those behind them.”
It was not a secret that Kyien employed some of the most vicious tactics imaginable. He would do whatever it took, even at the expense of an army, to carry out an objective. Elcites stepped out from behind the Field Marshal.
“The swamp will protect us for only so long.”
T’elen looked at him strangely. He had merely rep
eated what she had said, but with less emphasis. His guttural tone became more and more primitive now that he no longer interacted with E’Malkai.
“Guardian Elcites speaks the truth. With each day that passes, the war grows and the numbers that stand against us increase. The time has come for us to take matters into our hands.” She paced as she spoke. “There are border scouts, ones who camp just at the edge of the swamp. They are maybe a few thousand strong, probably less. They search for weakness in our position. If we strike them now, we can inflict damage before this war even begins.”
Words passed between commanders, exchanging shaded looks and making alliances. Another of the commanders stood up. His tan skin and almond eyes were something uncommon within the walls of Illigard. His entire garrison had come from the same southeastern tribe. Commander Xi’iom was a man known for his stealth.
“I agree that there is little we can do in terms of an all-out war outside of Illigard. Within these walls, we are well-protected. The cliffs make a sneak attack physically impossible. Culouth has only transport vehicles that we can easily protect against.”
T’elen nodded.
He was headed in the right direction.
Xi’iom continued, turning to the others in the room. “If we pick them apart before winter has a firm hold on the land, then we will have broken a piece of them, the part that would underestimate us and charge headlong, needlessly taking lives. The boundary scout camps that the Field Marshal has spoken of are more than a week’s journey through the swamp in this weather.”
The murmurs came again.
There were always murmurs when something was decided.
“Indeed, the scouts are our first priority. We cannot forget that Kyien will soon march onto the Lower Plane. Without the aid of the Stone Tower, we run a terrible risk of a long and protracted war that may cost every life within the walls of Illigard.”
The most important question came at last. It circulated the outpost for a fortnight and was at the very heart of what would keep the soldiers of Illigard pushing forward.