The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  T’elen looked down the empty hall that led to the incline to the first level with a haunting gaze. “Something is happening up there,” she muttered as she drew her clear blade and held it out in front of her.

  Xi’iom drew his sidearm. Elcites did so as well, his svelte spear in the other hand. The furrowed brow of the giant often spoke much more than his words. “What is it?”

  She shook her head as she passed beneath the arch and craned her neck up into the darkness. “I have this feeling, it is so strange. I can feel it crawling on my skin, whispering to me.” She paused again and stared into the darkness. “Xi’iom, get me a squadron here immediately. I am going up. You’re coming with me, guardian. I think it is time to get out of this hole.”

  Xi’iom hesitated: the decision was too fast.

  “Field Marshal, if you are wrong and we rush up there…”

  She spun on him, cutting him off angrily. “You have your orders, commander. I am not wrong about this.”

  He nodded slowly, his disagreement spread across his features as he turned. Glancing back at the guardian, he disappeared into the darkness.

  Elcites watched him go.

  “He could be right.”

  “And each moment we hesitate, overthinking this gut feeling, the less likely we are to ever leave this place,” she snapped.

  Her authority was supposed to go unquestioned, yet both commanders seemed quick to judge. The guardian turned back to her and nodded, following her up into the darkness of the first level, and what they both hoped would be salvation.

  ⱷ

  Leane

  Illigard was a stone graveyard. The winds had died away and the snow fell in clear sheets, blanketing the undisturbed ground. The company that T’elen had taken out into the swamps weeks ago was the last to even tread, much less march, over the grounds of the outpost. The eighty thousand soldiers who resided within the walls were restless, growing more so with each day.

  The task of watching over them had been turned over to Leane. She had assigned patrols to walk the perimeter inside and out; tower guards were assigned rotating shifts to keep as many of the soldiers as sharp as possible. Lieutenant Fairhair had been a saving grace. Despite his sometimes less-than-subtle advances, he was an adept officer and knew how to delegate command in such a way that keep things going, not giving the men time to react to their inactivity.

  As the weeks had gone by, the lieutenant had grown bolder. He had asked her into his bed several times, and each time she rejected him as cordially as she could. In the eighteen years since Seth’s death, she had not touched another man. She could not deny the attraction she had to the youthful lieutenant.

  He did not care for their age difference and if anything, it had fueled his resolve; her walls had begun to crumble. From the moment the man walked into Illigard, he had pursued the devout woman of the Fallen, a widow who still held a candle for a man who had been taken quicker from her life than he had actually been in it.

  The cold of the winter had begun to weigh heavy on her, as well as the thought that her son would never return to her. She had not witnessed E’Malkai’s flight across the heavens. There were none within Illigard who had. It had passed nearly a hundred miles from them, and only the cerise vapor trails had raised any suspicion.

  They were quickly dismissed.

  This night had been colder than the others.

  The stone window was covered in a black tarp. Leane had wrapped herself in layers of heavy clothes and robes as she stood next to the window looking out upon the quiet outpost.

  She found herself longing to be touched.

  It was a feeling that she had not felt in some time.

  The men of Culouth had disgusted her; every one of them part of the machine against which she battled. But on that night, she wished desperately that Fairhair would ask her again. The memories of the past had become difficult. Watching E’Malkai journey into the north seemed like walking him to his death; she feared secretly that she would never see him again.

  The room that she had taken for herself was a small one. A four-post bed sat at the center of the room, light purple sheets hanging from the top. She liked to remain hidden in darkness. That was where she found her memories most clearly, in the shadows of the past. The rest of the space was barren save the dark oak door against the wall adjacent to the entrance. Inside was an equally empty closet littered only with the necessities.

  A draft blew through the window, brushing back her hair.

  As she pulled away, she saw something that she could not believe. A shimmering image of a man approached her. At first she thought it was Seth and almost ran to it, but as it walked toward her, she saw it to be E’Malkai.

  She pulled away her hands and the incredulous look on her face was soon joined by tears. “E’Malkai,” she whispered as she reached a shaky hand out to the image of her son.

  He shrugged, his right hand reaching up and scratching the back of his head nervously. “Hey, mom.”

  She smiled.

  The tears coursed down her cheek and onto her chin, which she wiped away with a swipe of her hand. She approached the image to embrace him, but he moved away and shook his hands. “Can’t do that. You would fall right through me and we can’t be having that now, can we?” he chided, smiling down at his mother warmly.

  She could not take her eyes away from the visage of her son. Her thoughts raced to the things she wished to say, but could not. “Where are you?”

  The image shifted.

  His body rippled as if it were pixilated.

  The youth’s face darkened slightly; sorrow was created in his features. “I am far away in a place that I hope you never see. I am well, as well as can be given the circumstances.”

  The wind howled again and scattered E’Malkai’s image. He did not react to the cold around him, another sign that he was not truly there; the thought panged Leane. The pain that it brought to her was profound, so great in fact, that she began to weep.

  Tears flowed freely despite her desire to stay strong. “They said there was fire in the sky, but we could not see it clearly. Was that you flying across the heavens?”

  The smile returned and the youth knelt down in front of his mother; she had begun to collapse on herself in emotion. “It was. The temple in the north, the one that the Fallen called the Temple of the Ancients, was something else altogether; a fascinating place that was much like Culouth.”

  She reached out to touch his face, her hand passing through his features. Her hand trembled as she withdrew it, her glassy eyes wide as she did so. “Are you coming home?”

  E’Malkai turned and looked back.

  Something stirred in the other world.

  Leane could not have known.

  She looked toward the open window.

  “I don’t have much time here,” he replied, his head turned, words mumbled.

  Her eyes pleaded.

  For him to come and then be taken again so quickly was cruel. She had to find a way to keep him with her in Illigard. “You can’t go. I need you, E’Malkai, my son,” she cried as she wiped at her tears with a shaking hand. She tried to reach for him, but her hands found only air. The anguish of not being able to hold him grew in her like a foghorn on the ocean. Great, wailing tones echoed in her shaken voice.

  E’Malkai turned back to his mother, though it was obvious that something was distracting him. “I am sorry, mom. I have to go soon.”

  She moaned, her hands falling to her knees as she lowered her head. E’Malkai had begun to fade as he spoke. Upon hearing his mother’s sorrow, he turned and looked at her. “I will return soon, I hope. There is still much I need to do, so many things I need to set right.”

  Her words were defeated. “There is so much that I want to know, so much that I need to know. This war…”

  “The Final War will come to an end, mother. That I can promise. The answers to the questions I seek are in a place called the Grove at the very center of Dok’Turmel.”

/>   Leane looked up quickly. “Dok’Turmel? Is that where you have gone, into the underworld? What could you possibly hope to gain in that place?” she cried, her sorrow replaced with a sudden anger that flushed her face.

  “Everything that I read pointed toward the Shaman, to journeying into Dok’Turmel to retrieve the power of the Original Creator. The Intelligence will end this world, as it has ended so many others, unless I am able to retrieve what is in the Grove. Without that power, the Final War will be lost,” replied E’Malkai.

  Leane was not convinced.

  “Dok’Turmel is a dark place, especially for the living. The scrolls of the Fallen spoke of it often, as did my father and only in a state of reverence or fear of what would become of them were they to journey there.”

  E’Malkai shook his head, his cold eyes haunting. “I do not have the luxury of hindsight, mother,” he responded with equal iciness in his voice.

  “Why do you not have more time? Why must this be cut short as everything else has?”

  E’Malkai’s faced dipped in sorrow. “The window for me to speak to you is a one-time ordeal granted by an After-person, one who has been gracious enough to humor me. This has limitations. I could confer with only one person, and even then for only a short time before the connection was severed,” he called across the cold air. His eyes no longer saw her. He merely stared out straight ahead, trying his best to appear to see her.

  “What will happen once the connection is severed?” Her use of the word felt like death on her lips: severed. It was as if she had condemned her only son with a simple phrase.

  He shrugged.

  “There are places that I must go. Time moves differently here. It will take me some time to find what is necessary, but to you it will feel as if very little time has passed,” he replied. The hard set of his eyes momentarily betrayed the youth that framed his face. “A generation has passed here and yet physically I remain as young as when I left. My mortal frame is still rooted in Terra, but my mind has felt the passing of years, the slow methodical grind of time that wears on my thoughts.”

  She cried again. The thought of her son in pain hurt her as if it were her own. “What will happen to you if you fail, if you cannot retrieve this power that has been promised?”

  E’Malkai hesitated, his image once more shaking. “Then I will remain here for all eternity, trapped within Dok’Turmel as its prisoner. This was not meant to be easy.”

  She heard murmuring then, an abrasive, hoarse voice from behind her son. It whispered in a language that she could not understand. The concern returned to her eyes, for she knew what was meant by the tone even though she did not understand the language.

  He was going to be taken from her once more.

  “What is it, E’Malkai?”

  He nodded solemnly to the whispering voice and turned back to Leane. The sadness in his eyes broke her heart all over again. “I must go now. The guide no longer has the strength to keep the connection. I wish you many graces, mother, and I hope to see you again soon.”

  She wailed.

  Her scream was like a child entering the world.

  It echoed in the dark chambers as E’Malkai shuddered and then disappeared. She fell forward, her chest heaving as she wept. Her breath came out in ragged, stuttered breaths as her sobs overwhelmed her. “My son,” she called out uselessly as she beat her hands against the cold stone.

  The door to the chamber burst open suddenly, torchlight flickering over the shadowed corners of the room. It cast a glare over the kneeling, weeping figure of Leane. Fairhair was immediately at her side.

  “My Lady Leane, I heard you scream. Is everything alright?”

  Leane shook her head, not looking up.

  “I am alright.”

  Fairhair pulled her chin up with his free hand, looking into her eyes. “There is no need for pretense, my lady. You cried out for a reason and I have no intention of leaving here until I am certain that you are safe.”

  She looked at him for a moment, holding his gaze, watching the flicker of torchlight in his eyes. “Give me a moment. I am old and weary.”

  He linked his arm underneath the crook of her arm and helped her to her feet. She brushed her hair away from her face. Sniffling, she wiped at her tears with her other hand. He looked at her again, the longing in his eyes made her uncomfortable.

  “You do not look old at all to my eyes, my lady.”

  The soothing tones of his voice made her blush. She turned away quickly. Smoothing out her dress, she ran her hands through her hair to fight away the shaking of her hands. “I will not suffer any of that tonight, Lieutenant Fairhair.” She made sure to place emphasis on his title as opposed to his name, taking away the personal aspect of his visit to her chambers.

  He visibly stiffened and pulled the torch away a little to hide the mix of embarrassment and disappointment on his face. “What is it that happened to you here, Lady Leane?” he queried, stung by her words.

  She sighed as she sat on her bed, pushing away the clear sheets that hung from it, parting them like the wind around her. Light from the moon slipped through the cloud cover. Though it was only a sliver, it cast a glow over her face.

  “I was visited by someone.”

  Fairhair voice grew insistent upon hearing of someone in her chambers. He clambered forward, his embarrassment forgotten. “Did someone attack you?”

  His eyes bulged as he spoke, but Leane ignored his quick flight to anger. “I saw my son. He came to me in spirit. It was rather distressing,” she admitted awkwardly.

  Fairhair leaned back on the bed, next to her, and looked toward the cold open window. His eyes were wide in wonderment. “How could that be? Your son is thousands of miles from here in the north.”

  Leane closed her eyes, placing her hands on her lap.

  She hesitated before she uttered the word for the underworld. It invoked fear in those who knew of its existence. “He is in Dok’Turmel.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes opened wide at the utterance of Dok’Turmel. His mouth opened slightly like a door that could no longer close properly. “Why in the name of the Believer would he travel to the underworld?”

  She sighed.

  Leane, the warrior, knew that it must be done in order to end the tyranny of the Intelligence and Fe’rein. The mother in her could not truly understand why he would so hastily risk his life. E’Malkai had always been at odds. Once his tsang emerged, he threatened the powers-that-be of Culouth.

  There could be no peace in his life.

  “The power of the Original Creator lies within that ocean of death. Only that power can end the Final War,” she returned, and then turned to face him. “We will not win this war without him.”

  He was dumbstruck by her words and pushed himself from the bed toward the cold chill of the open stone window. “To journey to such a place is a death sentence. My family was from the south, they worshipped the Ai’mun’hereun. In the scrolls of my people, the Vi’oire, there were prophecies of the coming of the Believer, of your son.” His voice was chilled, though more from the subject matter than the grip of the winter around them.

  Leane watched him with suspicion in her eyes.

  “What prophecies?”

  He did not turn, but instead stared at the pale sliver of a moon.

  “My people live beyond the deserts of the south, at the cusp of the continent. They were a superstitious people, as are many of the old cultures that did not accept Culouth,” he continued, though he did not answer her question. “They spoke of the Final War often, and the coming of a child of the north who would bear the power of the Original Creator. I never truly understood. I had always thought them fools for such talk.”

  Leane stood, moving toward him.

  “What does this have to do with Dok’Turmel?” she asked.

  He sighed, turning back to her.

  His eyes were glassy.

  “Fe’rein slaughtered my people. The Intelligence had deemed them blasphemous. I serve
d at the Stone Tower; Field General Lassen had not yet taken post there. There was instead a Field Colonel who did not last long. He was a compassionate man by the name of Edward.” He looked to the cold grounds of Illigard, his eyes deeply pained. “He said that the Light had a plan for us all; what had been done was for a reason beyond my understanding. I was young and spiteful, and harbored anger toward my people for shunning me when I joined the Culouth army. Years passed before I realized what I had lost. They were killed for their prophecies. The Intelligence, as well as Fe’rein, feared what would happen if they were true.”

  Leane placed her gentle hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder; her head cocked and eyes soft as she watched him. He did not move from her touch, but instead sighed as he continued.

  “It was written that when the Original Creator came the Sea of Torments would birth an empire that would sweep across the land and become more powerful than those assembled for the Final War. They had said the youth who transcended the underworld would begin a cycle of pain in his name that would stain Terra in its blood for all times. Until this day, I would not have thought such a thing possible.” He lowered his head as he finished, his chest heaving as he held back sadness.

  Leane was torn by his words, as well as the faith in her son.

  “E’Malkai would never bring pain to the innocent. He does what he must to end the pain of this world, and bring the Final War to an end. You must have faith in that, Fairhair.”

  The cold blew through the chambers, tossing Leane’s hair all around and forcing her into Fairhair’s embrace. She pulled away at first, surprised by his touch, but then fell against his chest.

  Fairhair looked down at the top of her head as he circled his arms around her. “I am sorry for the words that I have spoken to you on this night, Leane. Prophecies are not always true. Some come to pass and others are complete folly. I wish to believe as you do.”

  She sniffled and pulled back away from his chest, away from the warmth of his embrace. “I do not wish to speak of it anymore.”

  He began to unlock his arms from around her, but she stopped him gently. “Lady Leane,” he spoke in quiet surprise.