The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  A soldier stood beside him.

  His shoulder length hair was pressed back from his face by blood and sweat. The hollow sockets of his eyes were hazy. Dean knew the man––Allen something.

  Dean turned to the soldier, but not before a volley of fire flashed across his vision. Screams echoed as bodies were charred beyond recognition.

  “Get out of here,” yelled Dean as he struck the top of the weapon and the bluish streams turned to orange. “Take some of the others and meet up with Field Commander Elcites to the south.”

  The young soldier looked at him strangely and nodded as Dean took another step toward the enemy and opened fire. Strangled bursts of his assault rifle began to turn from blue to red––a sign that the power core was dissipating.

  The young soldier looked back once more and watched as Field Lieutenant Dean, praetor of the people of Duirin and granduncle of the Ai’mun’hereun, charged with his saber into the mist of war. Turning back, the young soldier merged into the fleeing ranks of Illigard.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  E’Malkai tugged at the straps of the chair. Mete, Arivene, and Tresnre were situated similarly, though the councilman had chosen to occupy a seat at the farthest corner of the room. Not a word had been spoken to him since the engines had commenced. The screen was flooded in a detailed map. Some regions were shaded darker than others. Dark lines wove through the land mass like veins through a jungle.

  E’Malkai pointed to the white blinking beacon.

  “That is us in the Galaxy VII,” he called as he touched the white speck. He touched the panel and the imaged changed. “This is a thermal geological readout. Basically shows us where there are temperature spikes as well as the gradient of the landmass.”

  He clicked on the screen again and it condensed around Illigard. Moving east toward the Stone Tower and then around the bend along the Sea of Torments, it settled on a place that was rarely traveled except by some of the southern villages.

  Mostly it was a wide open space of nothingness, a cold desert of sorts. There were areas of light and one solitary patch of a darkly shaded area in the center of the gray. “This here is our proverbial hot spot. We are sitting in the middle of a global winter and amidst all that there is one place that is putting off temperatures that are far above normal. The texts spoke of a fire in the dead of winter, carved in man’s image. I don’t know about the three of you, but that looks like someone’s face. This here is our desert. It is said that when the pilgrim enters the fire, the Shaman will show him the way.”

  “How can we be certain that the Desert of the Forgotten is there?” asked Arivene.

  “The Desert of the Forgotten is what is referred to as transient. It is usually within a certain vicinity of where it has been before, but not the exact same place twice. We are looking for a desert, and there is no place on this planet that is warmer than that stretch of land right there. Its position is shielded from those who would find it by happenstance. It would not appear from above, or by the human eye. If it were not for the sensors in this ship, we would be unable to see it,” replied E’Malkai as he craned his neck.

  “What of the ancient texts in the libraries of the Fallen?”

  “They spoke of it once being far to the south, beyond the borders of man. This is almost as far south as we can go unless we crossed the Sea of Torments. The histories there predate even the Fallen,” returned E’Malkai as he moved his fingers over the control board.

  “Could the darkness not find this place if it is only heat in the midst of so much cold?” pressed Arivene, her face tense as the engine rattled and groaned.

  E’Malkai shook his head.

  “If another were to approach the desert, it would simply dissipate into the winds. It is there now only because I search for it, and will only be there as long as I search.”

  Tresnre’s face tightened, but he said nothing.

  “Computer engage primary thrusters,” echoed E’Malkai as he tested the straps once more. He knew what was coming. The interior of the control room shuddered as the engine core energized and a flash of energy flowed over the vessel.

  *

  Outside the Temple had unearthed itself, rising from the frozen surface of the tundra; the ice around it shattered and split––cracks and veins stretching out away from it.

  Pale walls sluiced with warmed ice that now flowed like a river from its sides. The heat from its departure turned the ice to a lake of steaming water that would freeze once more.

  The vessel took shape as it wrestled with the earth; the tail end wrapped around the fire of its thrusters, scorching the ground as it rose. Its length was more than ten times what was visible from the surface, a sheer monstrosity as its shadow formed over top the crystallizing pool beneath it.

  A tidal wave rose with it. Stirring from the depths of the crash site, it flowed over the Maiden, burying everything in another layer of ice, one that would last another lifetime. Had the Fallen not abandoned their home, they would have been buried for an eternity. As the ship reached hundreds of feet into the air, the control pod jettisoned and streaked off into the distance. And with a mournful groan, what was left of the Temple of the Ancients settled back into the swollen tundra.

  *

  E’Malkai smiled broadly as he felt the pull of gravity as the pod hovered in the air above the earth below. He craned his neck back to see the faces of the others and was met only with pale, ashen complexions.

  “Computer, proceed to the programmed coordinates.”

  The sound of the computer processing was drowned out as the pod lunged forward. The pull of gravity pushed them back against their seats. E’Malkai’s eyes were pooled and tears streamed back. “Was that great or what?” he roared as he chuckled, wiping tears from his cheeks.

  “Fantastic,” whispered Mete, undoing the straps of the chair. He fell forward on his knees gasping for air, the queasy look on his face a testament to his discomfort.

  “Computer, restore outside imagery.”

  The screen dissolved into a picture of the world below, an unrelenting image of snow and rocks. “Magnificent,” marveled Arivene as she laid a hand on her brother’s shoulder.

  Moving past him, she stood next to E’Malkai.

  E’Malkai looked back at her glowing features and smiled.

  “Magnificent indeed.”

  Mete rose from his crouch and wiped at his mouth sheepishly before moving to the other side of the youth. “Sorry about that, not really much for flying.”

  E’Malkai laughed, as did Arivene.

  They were now situated just north of Duirin. Devastation carved the landscape. Scorched buildings and scarred earth showed the price it paid for not aligning with Culouth. Arivene whimpered and fell against his shoulder.

  E’Malkai patted her head in silence.

  The city no longer looked as it had before.

  Walls had crumbled and there were only dark marks where there had once been homes. Anger boiled in the pit of his stomach, but E’Malkai fought it away.

  There was nothing that he could do for them now.

  They passed over the snowy plains and soon the battlefield came into view. Gray-garbed bodies were strewn all over the badlands before Illigard. Arivene gasped at the sight, much of it was stained brown: dried blood.

  “Is that the Final War?” she breathed out slowly.

  Tresnre had approached the screen in silence. He stood a distance back, surveying the damage. His voice was gravelly at best. “The end of days.”

  E’Malkai nodded grimly. Truer words could not have been spoken. “This war they fight is because of the misuse of power, of one man’s greed. This is why I must find the Shaman and end this death. This useless battle has already cost far too many lives.”

  “And more violence will end it?” challenged Tresnre.

  His nasal voice was an irritation.

  “I will take my uncle and the Intelligence from this world. That is the extent to which I will use my po
wer,” returned E’Malkai with equal nastiness. “Fe’rein will not be beaten by words. There is no good left to appeal to. All he knows now is pain and death. Those are his weapons. He will try and blind me with that power, and to combat it I must not allow him to play the game by his rules. I must make it my own.”

  “Why would they do this?” whispered Arivene as she reached out toward the screen. Static crackled as she touched it. Her eyes pooled, lips restrained as if she were fighting tears.

  E’Malkai watched her with sadness. “Those with power desire more. Those without freedom fight for it. They meet somewhere in war. The balance of the universe requires things to have a reciprocal representation of itself, one cannot define something without its opposite. Hence without war as a measure, people would not understand freedom and peace.”

  She turned back to him. “I have known peace before this day. I had not imagined the cost and breadth of war, of violence, in the hands of those who seek it.”

  E’Malkai nodded.

  He felt strongly about those below; their war was his war. He felt distant from them now, removed as if he were no longer a person at all, but instead an invisible entity without a place. The vessel cruised forward over the battlefield, the lines of snow and despair soon beyond their vision. Only a dubious landscape cascaded beneath them. The rocky shore soon gave way to the torrents of the Sea of Torments.

  Calm, sandy dunes carved a perfect circle in the storm. There was such serenity to its placement there, so innocent and simple. E’Malkai moved his hands over the controls, pushing Arivene gently away from where he needed to go.

  “We need to find a place to set down,” spoke E’Malkai as he activated a panel and the screen changed from the panoramic view to the geological impression mapping that had been used earlier. His eyes watched the pixels and then pointed at the lighter shade just alongside the southern edge of the circle.

  The thrusters turned as the pod slowed to land. The rush of the winds battled the pull of gravity, creating a shaky descent. A whine rose from all around them, a high-pitched screech that cut through them like a banshee’s scream.

  Arivene looked to E’Malkai, the fear in her eyes clear. “What is happening?” she cried out as she grabbed onto the back of his chair, the pod shaking and tilting slightly.

  E’Malkai, who was still strapped into his seat, remained unfazed when the occupants of the control room were suddenly thrown about. He grimaced, his facial features drawn tight. “There is something locking up the controls.”

  The screen had begun to take on a crimson glow.

  Filled with words and phrases that were incomprehensible to the members of the Fallen, the youth understood too well what it was saying: impact imminent, danger. The suddenness of the drop jarred their senses. The pod dove into an uncontrollable spin. The screen began to flash now. Dark black lines surrounded the bulbous red phrases, seeming to scream without sound.

  “Hold tight.”

  The force of the free fall hit them as if they had struck a stone wall. There was a momentary pause in motion, their balance restored for the slightest of seconds, and then the spiraling sensation began once more. As the pod struck the ground below, they felt the impact in every bone, every cell of their body.

  The control room flooded with darkness.

  It became a dank infestation that sputtered with flashes of lights trying to spring to life anew. The strange images on the viewscreen ran with viscous liquid, the information unable to manifest itself.

  E’Malkai coughed against the rising cloud of smoke and debris. He opened his eyes, taking in the dire scene. The dark straps of the chair held him in place as he hung upside down. He felt along the side of his face: a gash caused by the treacherous landing.

  It was not meant for flight after all, thought the youth.

  “E’Malkai….”

  The youth turned at the sound of her voice and unlatched the straps. He had not prepared himself for the collision with the ground below him. Groaning as he connected with the metal floor, E’Malkai rolled onto his back. The coppery taste of blood flowed freely in his mouth. He rolled onto all fours and crawled toward where he had heard her voice.

  “Arivene.”

  “E’Malkai, you’re alive,” she called back. Her voice sounded healthy, almost jubilant considering their situation. His voice sounded as if it had been dragged over gravel and then boiled.

  He moved toward her voice.

  The room, though not large, seemed far larger with the shadow and smoke. As the youth neared her, he saw her clearly. Dirt marred her face. Her hair was disheveled. She cradled a head in her hands. Blood flowed from his mouth; some even crept from his eyes.

  Tresnre was fading.

  Arivene looked to E’Malkai.

  “Can’t you do something?” she pleaded.

  E’Malkai looked at his own hands, the abrasions deep shades of red. Blood from his face was smeared over his palms. “I….” He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he could not find the words.

  He was no savior.

  Her lip quivered as she looked at him, her glassy eyes pleading. “You are the Ai’mun’hereun. There must be something that you can do. You are a Creator,” she urged.

  There was bitterness in her voice.

  The youth shook his head.

  “I am not what you believe I am.”

  Tresnre’s eyes were wide open, a glazed, listless glean to them. His mouth parted slightly as his eyes shifted to E’Malkai. His words were dried and useless. “You––can be no more than what you are.”

  The words echoed.

  Footfalls answered the voice as the heavy plodding neared them. Mete’s face appeared through the mist. He knelt without words and placed a hand on his sister’s shoulder, looking down at Tresnre. “He was a traitor, but still one of the Fallen. I wish his death to be swift, for that is how I would wish mine to be as well,” he spoke.

  Tresnre swallowed hard.

  His neck bulged and his head dipped.

  His eyes grew wide as he prepared to speak again. Groaning sounds leaked through his lips as if he did not have the moisture to use his tongue and speak. “I wronged––your father. I wronged Seth––Armen.”

  E’Malkai nodded, his eyes closing as he did so.

  He did not have the strength for anger.

  Tresnre gulped again.

  “I am glad––to have––met the…”Arivene propped his head up for him, her dark eyes dried. He closed his eyes as he struggled for breath, and then as he opened them again the veins in his neck bulged. A thick, vein protruded from his forehead and the red lines coursed through his eyes. “…the son.”

  His words escaped from his mouth like a gas. He slumped against Arivene’s hands, his body limp. His head fell aside. Tears streamed from his eyes as they stared out into nothingness.

  Death had found Tresnre of the Fallen.

  Arivene held her lips tight as she laid his head down softly. The tears in her eyes shimmered as if they were raindrops waiting to burst. She touched his face with her hand and closed his eyes. “Another son of the Fallen, whether or not he was exiled, has died for the sake of the Believer. This is the wake of those who would suffer the pilgrimage.”

  Mete looked at her. “That is no way to speak, sister.”

  Arivene stood quickly.

  “If he cannot have faith in himself, then why should we?”

  Mete dusted his hands against his leggings. Despite the crash, he did not look as if he had suffered at all. “You saw what he can do, what he has done. There has never been another so bathed in the power of the Light. His faith will come in time.”

  “We have to find a way out,” mumbled E’Malkai as he pushed himself up from a crouch, rubbing his hands against one another. “This place is going to be uninhabitable very soon.”

  Arivene looked at the body.

  “What about him? We can’t leave him here to rot.”

  E’Malkai had started to move forward, but stopped and
cocked his head to the side. Only a sliver of his face was revealed to her. “Bring him, Mete. We will bury him properly outside before we enter the Shaman’s temple.”

  Mete nodded and reached down, picking up the frail body of the once Warlock of the Fallen with ease. The pod rocked again and Arivene fell forward. E’Malkai reached out and caught her, drawing her into his embrace. His eyes watched the ship cautiously, but as he turned to meet her gaze he reddened and allowed her free.

  Rubbing his temples, he closed his eyes.

  Voices had sprung up in his mind, thousands of them: screaming, writhing, and calling out. Some were voices from the past, others he had never heard before, but they all knew his name and pleaded for him to hear them.

  “My Ai’mun’hereun,” whispered Mete as the youth fell forward.

  Arivene moved toward E’Malkai, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” she asked.

  The volume of the voices was now deafening, but he heard her. Her small voice broke past the others and his eyes snapped open. The pupils of his eyes were glassy. His vision was hazy and he turned slowly.

  He stammered, unable to speak the words.

  The concern on her face grew as she moved in closer.

  Her words were hushed.

  “What is the matter, what do you see?”

  He shook his head. The voices were still present, but dulled. “I heard voices, thousands, millions. I can’t tell how many. They are screaming to be heard.”

  Mete’s face darkened. “The voices of Dok’Turmel.”

  E’Malkai looked up.

  The dark red circles around his eyes were wet with tears.

  “Dok’Turmel: where the dead walk.”

  Arivene nodded and squeezed her hand tightly on his shoulder. “It is because we are close to the Shaman. The voices seek out the vessel of the Ai’mun’hereun, desperately seeking, wanting, to be heard.”

  A whine echoed through the pod as it shook violently.