The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  Fe’rein frowned.

  His once clean-shaven head had begun to grow brown hair again. His jaw wore a thin beard. The pockets beneath his eyes spelled out the sleepless nights. “You should know better than that.”

  M’iordi nodded and extended his hand forward.

  He placed the message on the wooden table between them.

  “Kyien has sent word.”

  Fe’rein reached forward and grasped the letter in his hand. Leaning back against the wall with a sigh, he tore it open and scanned it quickly. He looked back to M’iordi.

  “When did you receive this?”

  M’iordi looked confused.

  “Minutes ago,” he replied.

  Fe’rein threw the letter on the table.

  “This letter is dated from several days ago.”

  “The courier just arrived. He could have come from a great distance.”

  Fe’rein paced forward, his gait slow and pronounced.

  “Did he tell you anything?”

  M’iordi nodded.

  “I imagine he told me precisely what the letter said.”

  Fe’rein stopped close to the window and turned, placing an arm against the frame, leaning as he spoke. “What did he tell you?”

  The council member cleared his throat, widening his stance. “He said that High Marshal Kyien had taken the trenches and was pursuing what remained of the Illigard army into a section of caverns south of here. He also said that T’elen might be with them, though they could not be certain of that.”

  Fe’rein nodded. “Anything else?”

  “Kyien was personally leading troops into the caverns to find and kill T’elen and her officers.”

  “Kyien is a very single-minded warrior. He said that he will bring back her head,” replied Fe’rein with a discernible sense of dissatisfaction.

  “Is that not what you wanted, my mion?”

  Fe’rein moved away from the window as another wave crashed against the cliff and echoed like the dull roar of a beast. “Kyien is a fool, and a rather expensive one at that. He will attack as if T’elen is there, whether or not the woman is present.”

  “Is that not the wisest thing given her skill in the field?”

  Fe’rein shook his head disapprovingly. “Don’t be a fool, M’iordi. He will crash in there headlong, without any real semblance of judgment, sacrificing legions of Culouth soldiers.”

  M’iordi did not follow him.

  “It is all for the glory of Culouth, is it not?”

  “He has his own agenda. I have seen into his heart and he will knife you just as quick as the day is long. He will die. Perhaps not today or tomorrow, but his idiotic convictions will be his undoing.”

  M’iordi was frustrated by Fe’rein’s words; even more so, they panged him for he believed. “Why do you say such things? Kyien is a madman at times, but you speak as if you wish T’elen to take his head.”

  Fe’rein sat back down upon his single cot.

  The springs whined; it was no longer the supple and comfortable resting place that it had once been. “I tell you this because when Kyien dies, Culouth will look to you for leadership. You will be their new tyrant. You must be ready. The time will soon be upon you.”

  A part of him did not want the responsibility of military leadership. He was a politician and wanted only control over things from a distance.

  Fe’rein lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His thin face watched the smooth stone with apparent interest. “I do not care that the power scares you or that you do not wish for it. Do not come to this keep again unless it is to say that the siege has been a success, or with news of Kyien’s death.”

  M’iordi nodded numbly and reached for the iron ring of the door; even through his padded gloves he felt the cold. He looked to Fe’rein and saw that the mion wore only warrior’s clothes: a tunic and pants.

  Only a thin sheet covered the bed.

  As he pulled the door closed behind him, he realized that perhaps Fe’rein and Culouth were no longer on the same game board. To think that a hero of a people had lost his faith seemed far direr than the cold that threatened their every step.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  E’Malkai sat cross-legged at the center of a long stretch of white sand. The night overhead was lightless as it had been since the youth had entered. In Dok’Turmel, time had changed. He retained the outward youth of a young man, but his mind had aged, matured far beyond what he appeared to be. The cycle of dreams had stopped, though only two plagued him and played for…

  Years, he reminded himself.

  He had moved beyond them, for they were merely a…

  “Test.”

  E’Malkai leapt up from his seated position.

  His bare chest beaded with sweat.

  “It is a test. That was what you were going to say, was it not?”

  E’Malkai shook his head and then rubbed his eyes. An apparition walked toward him. The shimmering colors of its translucent body shook as it moved. Shards of individual prisms reflected colors in ways that were impossible; refractions that were a mockery of known physics assaulted his eyes.

  “I…”

  “You are E’Malkai, son of Seth, vessel of the Ai’mun’hereun.”

  The apparition spoke gently as it neared the youth. E’Malkai could see that though it was translucent from a distance, it did indeed possess features. The face was old in human years and wore a warm smile. Light gray hair was combed back from his forehead. He wore spectacles that had thin frames.

  “What are you?” queried E’Malkai.

  His features were clear to the youth, though he wore only a long shimmering cloak that matched the lack of pigment in his face. There was truly no color to the apparition.

  “That is a rather rude way to look at it, is it not?” Though the features appeared human, his lips did not move as the words were spoken.

  E’Malkai felt the urge to apologize, though he did not know what for. “I am sorry, I guess. I did not mean to be rude.”

  He sat down and faced the youth. “I am an After-Person. I no longer exist on your plane. Here, I am a wanderer much like you.”

  E’Malkai could not help but stare as he sat down once more.

  He draped his hands over his knees. “An After-Person?”

  A laugh emanated from the form and it shook as the sound was created. “The three stages of being: the Before-Person, the Person, and the After-Person; just as there is the Before-Time, Time, and the After-Time.”

  E’Malkai looked at the figure strangely.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “You are a Person. You do not belong here; you belong to Time. You are a stranger in Dok’Turmel, and as such you will be noticed. Did you think that you would walk among the underworld without being detected?”

  The initial wave of awe had washed away.

  Disbelief and distrust replaced it. “Do you mean me harm?”

  “Do you fear me?”

  E’Malkai smiled.

  “The question is: Are you an enemy that fears what I have come for?”

  The figure shimmered. A laugh came once again, the prisms of his translucent form sparkled greater than before. “Well spoken. You are correct in assuming that there are things here that would hunt you for what you are, and for what you have come to claim. The battle that you have chosen is an eternal one. It cannot be won or lost, but instead postponed for a time. I am not an enemy, though I was once an enemy of the Light.”

  Fear prickled E’Malkai’s senses. “What do you mean?”

  “I was once a Creator, a man called Darien. I did not know at the time that it was the side of evil that I had chosen. The essence of the Creator searches out power, especially that of the Original Creator, which is unique above all others. There could be a thousand Creators, but there can only ever be one Original Creator. That is the way it has always been, for there is no other way.”

  “Why did you abuse your power?”

>   “There was a woman, a wicked woman called Hi’theren. Her beauty and grace hid the dark recesses of her heart. I was blind to them for she was my wife, my queen. I was the king of a great land long since forgotten. She told me that a shadow would consume our kingdom, though I see now that my kingdom was but a brief moment in the scheme of the universe. But, at that time, it was all I knew. I undertook the trials necessary to enter an ancient place that would grant me the powers of Time, though it is called something different in each place. I was deceived. My wife had made a pact with the darkness, an oath of blood.”

  E’Malkai furrowed his brow.

  He did not understand.

  “The Creator is a mindless force in many ways. It commands a wealth of power and strength, yet sometimes it lacks direction, a place for it to focus its energies. My wife pointed me at other realms, at other kingdoms, until I had destroyed everything. Be warned, son of Seth: if you allow the darkness to control you, the power will rot you from the inside. The bearer of your controls, the person or entity to whom you lend your focus, will control you as if you were nothing more than a puppet.”

  “I thought you said the power of the Original Creator is different? That it cannot be corrupted like a Creator?” queried E’Malkai.

  “It is true that the power of the Original Creator cannot be guided to the same degree as a Creator, but your intent when you receive the power is what changes you. If you seek revenge, retribution, then the darkness will have you before you can know anything else. Bathe in the Light and you will be free of external control. Then, and only then, will you be able to decide what you do with that power.”

  “How will I know? I do not mean harm. I do not wish to be a god, only to help those who have placed belief in me.”

  “If those words are true, then you have nothing to fear.”

  E’Malkai scowled.

  The nerve-shattering howl of a beast ripped through the air. E’Malkai stood quickly and saw the blood-red eyes that he had seen before. He looked to the apparition, who sat calmly and watched the son of Seth.

  “What is that thing? It has been tracking me since I entered this dimension,” he spoke as the shadow stalked forward on its haunches. The dark shoulders were like that of a jungle cat.

  “That is a shadow panther, a creature of Dok’Turmel that is both a guardian and an assassin. It depends on your intention. You are a mortal, so you are the most susceptible to it. Your scent confuses what it is created to do.”

  The panther stalked closer.

  The body was sleek, only the dark red of its eyes were apparent.

  Its teeth were shadowed daggers.

  “Will it kill me?”

  “It depends upon your intention.”

  E’Malkai backed away slowly as the shadow panther stalked forward. Stepping past the image of Darien, it was only a few feet from E’Malkai. Its low breathing was laced with snarls and growls as it bridged the distance.

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  He got his answer as the shadow panther reached out with its claws. The speed of the animal was phenomenal. E’Malkai arched back and brought his legs up, kicking the beast along its underbelly; though not before the dark claws slashed out and caught him across his bare chest. The scratch lines reddened and then oozed with blood, foaming at the edges where the claws had caught him.

  He looked at the creature in amazement as it slunk back a distance and paced parallel to E’Malkai. It roared once more as the youth turned, darting out into the desert toward the closest dune. The shadow panther gave frenzied pursuit as the night loomed above them.

  ⱷ

  T’elen

  The caverns southwest of the Stone Tower were called the Eddies by the local tribes. Tiny tributaries of water created pools in the lowest recesses of the caves. There was growth as a result, and fresh air from crevices that led deep into the cliff side and then eventually out into the Sea of Torments.

  The deepest of the caves, although ventilated to a point, still smelled of sweat. This was due, for the most part, to the twenty thousand soldiers who had crammed themselves into the caves. The Culouth soldiers had followed them only as deep as the second layer before Illigard forces heard the bustle up top and came running. The result was a massacre as Culouth ran into several lines of prepared archers.

  Hours had passed since the last exchange.

  T’elen stood alongside Elcites and Xi’iom on the second floor of the caverns. Together, they watched small shadows of Culouth soldiers plot behind the wall their fallen comrades had created. Xi’iom and Elcites were known for their characteristic silence, just as T’elen was known for her vocal tenacity at times.

  This was one of those times.

  She paced back and forth, her weapon in her right hand when she stood still. A Culouth soldier had climbed to the top of the pile of bodies. He watched the three officers as they stood amidst the lines of archers and infantry who had decided to serve as the first wave of yet another battle.

  “Son of a….” she murmured as she pulled a throwing axe from the guardian’s armor. Stepping forward, she slung the hefty blade across the gap and hit the Culouth soldier square in the face. As he fell back, light from the other side of the cavern cast an almost comical shadow of the axe imbedded into the man’s head.

  The Umordoc’s frown deepened as he watched the man slip behind enemy lines again. T’elen smiled at her handiwork and looked up at the sour look on the guardian’s face. “Don’t worry, I’ll pull it out of his skull when we get over there,” she responded.

  Xi’iom shook his head, a small smile crossing his lips.

  “If we ever get over there, don’t you mean?”

  T’elen took to pacing again.

  Her intermittent sighs were part frustration and part anger.

  They were backed into a corner.

  “I can’t take this waiting.”

  Xi’iom shrugged.

  “I did not think we would have to defend ourselves here.”

  T’elen stopped and glowered at the commander. “This was your idea, wasn’t it? What were you thinking? It shouldn’t have mattered whether or not I was coming. Did you really think that Kyien would not find his way here?”

  Xi’iom visibly stiffened at her words.

  T’elen moved even closer.

  “Have you nothing to say?”

  “Nothing that I would wish you to hear. I panicked in bringing us here. I have no excuses, nor will I offer one,” he responded dryly.

  A shot rang out, a bloated plasma rifle discharge that scorched the rock just over top of them. T’elen looked at the shot like a wild woman and reached down. Grasping the bow of one of the archers and notching an arrow, she let it fly. The metallic head slammed into the wall of bodies.

  She muttered angrily under her breath.

  “Field Marshal,” mumbled the archer as he held out his hand for the bow to be returned.

  She did so, albeit forcefully, and turned to the two officers. “Enough of this. We are going to take back a little of what we lost.”

  Elcites frowned as Xi’iom spoke. “What do you plan on doing? We have a wall of bodies ahead of us that will serve as a defense for them, not us,” he reasoned with more angst than he would have liked.

  T’elen looked to the wall once more.

  “How many ventilation suits do we have?”

  *

  An hour later thirty-four Illigard soldiers assembled on the far side of the cavern. The three commanders and eleven of the soldiers carried chrome weapons that were attached to an additional tank on their backs. Each had donned gray ventilation suits. Bulbous masks covered their faces and leaked back into the spherical tank they wore on their backs which resembled a dark black bubble.

  T’elen walked out in front, five flamethrower-wielding soldiers to one side and six more on the other. As she drew her sword from her sheath, she pointed forward and the soldiers ignited their weapons.

  Columns of flames ripped across the cavern
and attached to the wall of bodies. The flames burnt the bodies at first; soon, they began to melt and smolder as the flame soldiers pushed forward.

  The cries of Culouth soldiers were drowned out by the crackle of the stacked bodies as they fell away. It opened a gap in the wall long enough for the Field Marshal to dart through. Her blade sang through the air, dicing the fleeing Culouth soldiers as the stench of their brethren burning assaulted their senses. Bluish waves of fire opened all around the Field Marshal. Her blade found its mark as Elcites and Xi’iom breached the opening. The second level of the caverns was retaken in less than an hour. Dead bodies were stacked once more as a wall: a reminder of what waited for those who carried the yellow stripe.

  T’elen reached out and tore the guardian’s throwing axe from its skull depository. She handed it to Elcites as he walked beside her. “Told you I would get back your axe,” she chided despite the stench all around them.

  Xi’iom made a disgusted face and covered his mouth with his hand. “This is unsanitary, Field Marshal. We have to do something about this,” he echoed as he pulled his hand away.

  “Take the rest of the men back down a level where the stench isn’t so bad,” she ordered. She approached the open mouth of the entrance to the next level as soldiers maneuvered around her, carrying bodies and continuing to stack them like bricks.

  Xi’iom nodded as he ran back toward the end of the second cavern, his hand still over his mouth. Elcites watched the Field Marshal carefully as she ran her hands over the rocky walls, her fingers feeling the crevices of the stone. “Is something the matter, T’elen?” he queried, speaking for the first time since they had reentered the caverns.

  She shook her head. “I have never fought a war that felt so much like one long battle, each win is a loss and each loss an eventual gain. These caverns are a death trap, but I hold on to hope like a thin thread. Kyien will march thousands more for each man we kill. We cannot match that kind of attrition.”