by Dan O'Brien
He was a wire-thin man, a scarecrow of a being really. His bug eyes and gaunt face made him look like a starving refugee. “What about the Ai’mun’hereun? Is what has been spoken true?”
The murmurs increased, the whispered words redoubled. T’elen moved forward to speak, but Leane opened her mouth. The words carried true before the Field Marshal could utter a word.
“My son, the boy you knew as E’Malkai, has traveled north to the tundra to find the resting place of the true power of Terra.”
T’elen flashed a sordid, angry look at Leane.
Leane bowed.
“The reverent Leane of the House of Di’letirich has spoken the truth. There is a man who travels north. He will find the Shaman and bring great strength to our cause. Though, we cannot be certain when he will come.”
Xi’iom stood once more.
He cleared his throat as he prepared to speak. “Some have come to fight alongside us who believe the Ai’mun’hereun has already been put into play. They believe the Ti’ere’yuernen waits beneath the bounty of the southern deserts whence my people sprung forth. They join us only because they believe that the boy will be our savior and that he can deliver us from the bondage of the Intelligence.”
Another stood before T’elen could reply.
His dark hazel eyes seemed to quiet the others. His accent was thick. He, like many others within Illigard, was born of the southern tribes, near the far western side of the fork around the Sea of Torments.
“My people also herald the coming of the Ai’mun’hereun. Even those who are not soldiers have traveled from the moist jungles of their homes to this frozen place to witness the return of the Believer.”
T’elen was red-faced now.
The meeting was slipping from her grasp. She had not wanted it to become a religious debate, but instead be rooted in the necessity of what must be done in the present time, not what had been foreseen.
“Gentlemen, I understand the concerns of your people. We must see what lies ahead of us, not what was divined from the past. The threat from Kyien’s men and the proximity of the Stone Tower are problems that are very much in the now and need to be dealt with immediately.”
The murmurs began again, words exchanged that could not be uttered out loud. T’elen grew impatient with each passing second, and she showed it as she slammed her fist onto the first table of commanders. Drawing their attention to her, the shock was evident in their eyes.
“Enough of this, we have real issues. The deities of your people will not keep winter from creeping across the land and over the walls of Illigard. Nor will it make Leane’s son return any sooner. With each day the cold grows stronger, and preparations must be made.”
The reality sunk in a little.
The whispers stopped and their attention was drawn completely to the Field Marshal. She hardened her gaze. “I want three companies to move along the north bank of the swamps and begin making fortifications. Three more will go south. I want watchtowers built every half-mile. I want both companies to set up as much tripwire and other traps as we can muster. We don’t know how long it will be before Kyien sends his armies out in full force. Time is very much our enemy.”
With nods exchanged, they started to part. Chairs were pushed away from tables, and the room emptied. T’elen approached Domaen and Xi’iom, moving in their way. “Commander Domaen. Commander Xi’iom. There is more that we need to discuss.”
Each nodded.
They were known for their allegiance to Illigard, as well as having an animosity toward Culouth, a trait that could be put to good use. “You said that it would take about a week to reach the border scouts east of here. Can it be done any faster than that?”
Xi’iom nodded. “We could push through faster, but it may cost men. Any more than fifteen or twenty miles a day in this weather and there could be serious injury.”
T’elen’s gaze darkened.
“I do not wish to sacrifice men. I figured as much. Even by transport it is a difficult trip. I will send teams. One will be led by you, Commander Xi’iom, and the other by Commander Domaen. Your task will be to find the boundary scouts and eliminate them. Try and salvage what you can of their supplies. Gaining an ally is no longer a possibility without Lassen coming wholeheartedly to our cause.”
“Lassen is a cold man, Field Marshal. He may yet see that he is only fodder to Kyien and Culouth,” replied Domaen. His oddly calm nature covered a deeper anger. “His men are loyal to him as yours are to you.”
“Leave immediately, bring whatever you feel necessary.”
T’elen watched the two men leave. Leane moved behind her, her mouth tight. There were words beneath the surface, and T’elen knew well what they were.
She sighed and turned to the Reverent Mother. “I did not mean to cut you off, but religious zeal can turn an honorable man into a fanatic. The conversation had begun to spiral out of my control, and I wished to rein it back in.”
Leane nodded, even though that was by no means the end of it. Dean sauntered past and leaned against the doorframe, looking out at the ground covered in white snow. Blackened trails were created as soldiers moved about. Those in charge shouted orders, and those who were not carried out commands with flawless unity. “Do you think that a few traps and watchtowers are going to make this war any easier?” he queried without turning.
T’elen was burdened by many things––the war, the men and women whose safety rested solely in her hands, as well as a distant voice that whispered to her with every waking moment of E’Malkai. Her patience was no longer thin; it had broken.
“More than the doubts of a praetor will. I did not have you come here to criticize what I do like a politician. I brought you here because you were the leader of the Resistance. You had a connection to Marion. He wished to see an end to this more than you ever could, but not so much as I wish to see Kyien’s head upon a pike of his own making,” she snapped, her eyes hardened spheres of frustration.
Dean wheeled, visibly hurt.
He was a warrior.
In his youth among the Fallen he had been a warrior to some extent, but he had served within the Resistance as a grounding influence, a foundation for the Resistance to act from. He was unaccustomed to the marshals of war.
“I did not mean to question your methods. It just seems that there is little we can do to keep Kyien from coming. Even if the weather breaks, there is no reprieve from the cold. There is no guarantee that he will not send more men, empty all of Culouth.”
“The only guarantee in war is death. The more defenses we have, the lower the possibility that each and every one of us will die. Illigard is a fortress, but we have nowhere to go once they close in. The necessity to fortify the bordering areas is a precautionary measure to make sure that when we no longer have a choice, we have already depleted all of theirs,” countered T’elen, anger fading like a thin mist.
Dean nodded.
Her logic was sound.
He had found her to be a verbal sparring opponent with considerably more rancor than even the most venomous politician with whom he had ever come into contact. “Indeed. I did not know the depth of your plans. Pardon my impertinence.” She nodded amicably enough. He turned back to the outside and the cold, welcome companions.
“I ask that I be allowed to return to Culouth and see if I can rally the Umordoc to our cause. Surely those who are in servitude would wish to see an end to the Intelligence,” growled Elcites, his guttural tones almost unintelligible.
“Denied. Your presence there would do us more harm than good. You could be attacked, killed for being one of us. Those who wish to fight with us will come, or they will die on the battlefield along with the other fools who serve Culouth,” she replied as she crossed her arms over her chest.
“Then I ask to lead a regiment to end the boundary scouts at our borders. No being can hunt as well in the winter as an Umordoc. It is our way,” continued Elcites, determined in his approach.
“That is exactly why I need you her
e, Elcites. Your strength and skills would best be put to use here in Illigard. Your knowledge will be invaluable among those who have never fought on this kind of terrain. You may command a small unit within Illigard charged with the safety of the perimeter walls,” she replied.
Her voice softened, for she meant no malice with her words. He merely wished to help those who he saw as friends. The giant nodded and departed through the door, lowering his head as he ducked beneath. He moved past Dean, who had been lost in the terrain and did not hear the mountain of a creature coming. The praetor allowed himself a startled laugh, and then he too proceeded out the door. The winds that had raged over the past few days whipped his coat around him as he huddled inside it for warmth.
“I would appreciate it if you took more care when speaking of your son,” spoke T’elen without looking at Leane.
“I would as well ask you to take the same care.”
The silence between them lasted for some time, long after the snow stopped and the night overtook the half-light of day. Soldiers began their journey onto the cold-drenched lands that would soon be a war zone, and might yet consume the Lower Plane and perhaps them all.
ⱷ
E’Malkai
Thunder crashed on the Barren Maiden. E’Malkai could not yet place where the lightning flashed or how it remained so cold while such a storm persisted. The snow circled the cold glass of the Maiden. The youth stood while Arile sat. The dwindling embers of the fire flickered with each shift of the wind and snow.
E’Malkai did not move, his eyes searching the distance. “There was something there, Arile. I swear it,” he called over the winds, yelling becoming second nature to him.
The wall that rose behind them was torn and jagged. Footholds were discernible, though the fool who dared to climb them would reach only the icy grip of death. The hunter did not doubt the youth, but he doubted anything would brave the winds and snow to reach them.
“You worry too much, E’Malkai of the South. Something is probably there, but that is the nature of the tundra. Death and despair wait around every corner.”
E’Malkai gazed back at him and lowered his eyes.
“You were lucky to survive. One man can trust to such luck, perhaps,” returned Arile, neither bothering to look at the other.
A sigh was something that E’Malkai was beginning to relish. It was also something he found himself doing frequently to fight the overwhelming frustration with the ways of the north. He felt such contempt for the term and wished only to scream at the man; to make him understand that he was not what they wished him to be.
“I saw a shadow move along the cliffs.”
“Might have been,” replied the white hunter as he toiled with the fire.
E’Malkai slowed his speech to curb his anger. “It stood on two feet. It walked like a man and crossed above as we moved along the wall outside the pass. It isn’t there anymore, but I can’t see anything in this wind.”
Arile threw dark sand from his pocket onto the fire. A thin mist spiraled upward. He rose from his cross-legged position and walked over to E’Malkai, standing at the edge of visibility.
“It is time for you to find our way, E’Malkai of the South. I have prepared the fire with the sand of the ancients.”
E’Malkai looked at the man. “What are you talking about?”
Arile pulled him back toward the fire.
He went willingly enough until he saw the colors that radiated from the fire. No longer was the flame orange and red, but a bright, shimmering blue that glowed as it wove through the tendrils of smoke.
“The sand of the ancients will bring on the trance. You will see the ghosts of your ancestors so that we may find our way to the Fallen.”
E’Malkai was aghast.
The young warrior had never imagined that there would be something like this, but he complied, albeit hesitantly. He mirrored how Arile sat in front of the fire, cross-legged. A hand perched atop each knee, palms facing upward, and his eyes closed.
“When the trance has taken you, you will follow your ancestors. You will find yourself upon the tundra when you awaken. I will find you.” The words were hollow as the smoke filled E’Malkai’s nose and lungs.
He breathed out.
The smoke was sweet, tantalizing to his senses as he allowed his mind to drift. He remembered how Elcites had spoken to him when attempting the homing technique. This was different though, there was cold all around him and nothingness as far as the eye could see.
“Allow your mind to drift––feel the ripples of yesteryear….”
E’Malkai saw Culouth and the House of Di’letirich, the day when Fe’rein and he had fought. He saw the power take him over. It was like another being within him called out to be awakened, to be realized. He saw through the shadow energy of Fe’rein and beheld Ryan Armen, son of Evan. There was the boy who had walked alongside his brother for many years among the Fallen.
The walls of mountains closed around him and he saw their sheer sides. E’Malkai rose from his seated position; his eyes opened, revealing only stark white pupils. He threw back his coat until he walked only with his wraps and his father’s planedge tucked at his side. He walked through the veil of the mist and snow and out onto the Barren Maiden, but saw that it was not night.
He saw Seth Armen walk out ahead.
The visage’s head was bowed into the driving winds, and the youth imitated the motion. His feet were sure beneath him as he pushed forward, walking alongside the spirit guide of his father. Then as suddenly as he was walking, his father turned to him. No longer a separation between them, he did not look like an apparition. His voice drifted, ethereal like a whisper on the winds.
“E’Malkai, son of the Fallen.”
E’Malkai felt the warmth of his tears and wiped at them, looking around suddenly in a panic. The white glaze of his eyes was gone. He had traveled far from the fire. The youth could no longer see it. Instead, he looked at the image of his father. He wore a coat over faded gray wraps. His weapon was tucked like E’Malkai’s. His cool blue eyes looked upon his son.
E’Malkai’s words were strained.
Emotion gripped him. “Father….”
“The time has arrived. Your seventeenth year has come, and the darkest days are upon man. You stand here as I hoped you would never have to.”
“I miss you father,” he called back.
He could not stop the tears.
“I am sorry that I did not get to see you grow into a man. The Fates can be cruel. They took me before I could look upon who you have become with my own eyes and hold you as a father holds a son.”
“Mother misses you. She still mourns you,” he replied, lowering his head, realizing his weakness.
“I once believed that emotion was weakness. I thought that feeling for another clouded judgment. I was wrong. The love that I felt for your mother created the greatest gift of all, you, my son.”
“I do not know if I can be what they want.”
“Sometimes being who you really are is the hardest choice of all. You were born with a great power, and your mother kept you hidden from those who would use you. We did not want you to feel what we had felt, the loss that came with war. But, you are needed. There is a cause greater than any other pain or pleasure in your life.”
“I want to make you proud, father.”
Tears streamed down his face and soaked his wraps as he watched his father. Seth Armen placed a hand on his son’s shoulder reassuringly, though it passed through him.
“You are brave to travel all this way having never known the tundra. Strong to face what you know may consume you. Leane has raised you to become a wonderful man. You carry my blade. I hoped that you would never need to use it as I had.”
E’Malkai’s hand went to the sheath. “They said that if I had it, the tundra people would recognize it and allow me passage into the Fallen. That is why I have come here, to find the entrance to the Fallen.”
“You are standing on it, my so
n. Below your feet are the caverns of the Fallen, and within is the knowledge that you seek. Be aware that what you will come to know will change the roles of those you fight.”
“I do not understand.”
“In time you will have knowledge beyond anything that you could have imagined. You will possess explanations to questions which you had never thought to ask or cared little for the answers to. The Ti’ere’yuernen waits for you.”
“Will they fear me?” he asked in desperation.
He knew that his father would slip away again soon.
“They will always fear the unknown. The Fallen is not as it was. There was a time when they would have harbored ill-placed hatred toward me, but those times have passed. A dead calm has fallen over them now, a complacency that had begun to grow decades ago.”
“Will they remember you? I wish to know more.”
“Mihen and Higald will remember me as I was. They were friends until the very moment before I left. They will help you. Your family name is strong, E’Malkai. They will not forsake the line of Armen, but they will ask for proof. The blade will not be enough. They will wish to see the fire of the Armen, the power that lies dormant in you. You must show them, but control it wisely. Keep a rein on your power until you enter a battle that you cannot win without it.”
“I will remember your words, father. I cannot express what it means to see you.”
“Then make good of the powers that you will be given.”
E’Malkai hesitated. There was one more question, one more thing that he had to know for sure. “Did your brother murder you?”
“My brother ceased to be the man he was the day we left the Fallen. He became dark and cruel. His outlook became clouded and tainted the closer we came to what had survived; what had been created. That fear took a hold of him and consumed him. The guise of the Gagnion’Fe’rein is what killed me, not the brother I had loved.”
“Do you not want vengeance for what he has done?”
“Living has been revenge enough.”
The image of his father faltered and shimmered. E’Malkai moved forward, reaching his hand out. He watched as it passed through his father. The youth felt weightless, as if everything inside had been torn free.