by Dan O'Brien
“What was that all about?” T’elen quizzed.
Arile turned back to her. “He wishes to know how a woman so beautiful became a leader of her people. This is unheard of among the Fallen and the Utiakth.”
T’elen pressed her lips together and forced her fists to her hips. “I lead because I can,” she replied, irritated by the Fallen chieftain’s assumption.
Arile spoke to Higald and the chieftain seemed horrified by the white hunter’s words. He bowed several times to T’elen, slamming his closed fist against his chest, just above his heart.
Arile turned to the Field Marshal again as Higald mumbled more words. “He meant no disrespect in his words, only that he was awed by your power and beauty. Also, the Believer spoke highly of you.”
T’elen looked at the tundra warrior skeptically.
“The Believer?”
“E’Malkai,” answered Arile with a simple nod.
Higald leaned over to the White One, and then pointed toward the cliff and to T’elen once more. “He wants to know why you pushed the man off the cliff. Was he a great warrior who had committed terrible crimes?”
“He was a leader of the Culouth Commerce Army, the ones who wish to destroy Leane, the Reverent Mother, and her son. We are charged with their protection. He was a monster.”
His defiant last words haunted her.
Elcites approached with S’rean and Xi’iom in tow.
They regarded T’elen in silence.
“What is the damage?”
Elcites nodded to Xi’iom. The tan-faced soldier stepped forward, his hands laced behind his back. “Dead to the last man. We lost close to a thousand, buttressed by less than a hundred tundra warriors.”
S’rean shouldered next to Arile and they began to speak.
Higald joined.
Their furrowed brows and exaggerated motions with their hands spoke volumes of their rage. Arile turned back as they continued to speak, glowering at them to keep them from continuing. “They want blood. They want the blood of those who have taken our brethren.”
T’elen could understand their pain. She wanted every member of the Council’s head on a pike to display outside Illigard. However, they were far from prepared to march upon the Stone Tower. “I want retribution as well, but we must regroup and return to Illigard. That is my concern now.”
Arile shook off the words of the others and shushed them despite their much greater influence within their own tribes. Here, the white hunter had seized charge of the conversation. “How long will it take for us to reach this place?”
T’elen looked to Xi’iom and Elcites.
It was the guardian who spoke this time. “A week. It could take longer if the rest of Kyien’s men are at the base of the cliffs, or already on their way up,” he answered with a shrug.
Arile nodded and then relayed the message.
Higald grunted and S’rean spoke several whispered words before the white hunter turned again. “They say that they can wait that long for blood, but not much longer. The Ai’mun’hereun has decreed that we will play a part in this prophesized war and so we shall, whether or not it is at your side.”
Elcites shuffled his feet and crossed his arms over his chest, drawing the attention of the tundra people. They were unaccustomed to the possibility of an even-tempered Umordoc, much less one who fought alongside men.
Their hands immediately went to their weapons as he moved.
Higald stared at the guardian and spoke in the Umordoc’s direction. The tone was accusatory, a verbal attack. Arile started to speak, but the Umordoc commander silenced him with a wave of his hand and barked back in their native tongue.
Xi’iom and T’elen watched the exchange as Elcites continued to speak, unfurling his arms and pointing into the distance and pounding his chest hard enough to draw a loud thump.
“What are they saying?” queried T’elen, grasping the white hunter’s shoulder as the conversation died down.
Stares were exchanged.
Arile nodded, swallowing hard before he spoke. “The chieftains of the Fallen and Utiakth had asked why you allowed a beast to fight alongside you. The beast responded that he was no more a creature of the dark than they were bastards of the north; that he was Elcites, guardian to E’Malkai. They do not believe him,” he explained as the tense situation grew.
Higald reached to the massive broadsword at his side, S’rean to his curved sickle. T’elen stared at the white hunter incredulously and then spun him around to face her.
“Tell them this is madness. He was guardian to E’Malkai when he was a child and is as well a soldier, a commander,” she shouted, the urgency of her words driven more by panic than anger.
Arile barked the words, stepping between the smoldering, but calm, Elcites and twitchy figures of the tundra chieftains. The grip on their weapons made their knuckles white from strain. Higald was the first to put away his weapon, pushing the steel that he had revealed back into it sheath.
S’rean acknowledged the white hunter’s words and nodded to Elcites, who remained impassive as the Utiakth chief hooked the sickle into the loop along his back. Both of the chieftains turned and bowed once more to T’elen and then marched back off toward the rest of the tundra people.
They watched Elcites as they departed.
T’elen shook her head. Her nerves were still wracked from the battle. “I did not realize the tundra people still harbored such ill will toward the Umordoc,” she spoke.
Arile nodded slowly. “I would have thought the Reverent Mother would have explained to you the hatred that we have of the Umordoc in the north.” He turned to Elcites and bowed. “It is an honor to meet you, Elcites. E’Malkai spoke of you when I traveled with him to the Fallen. He says that you are a great warrior and friend to him.”
Elcites nodded sadly in return.
“Then he made it to the Fallen.”
Arile gestured toward the assembled tundra people. “That is why we have come. E’Malkai of the South explained your plight to us. He told us to seek out his guardian and the warrior T’elen. He said they would help us to find our place in the Final War,” he answered with another small, albeit curt, nod.
T’elen’s neck and back hurt from the fighting. A headache had settled as she stood amidst the forceful winds that coursed across the entrance to the Eddies. She rolled her neck and then stalked out ahead of the collected warriors. “We must be going. We need to reach Illigard before Culouth gets word of Kyien’s death and then send more soldiers from the Stone Tower.”
Arile seemed surprised.
“They have many more men than what they had here?”
T’elen stifled a laugh. “There is much more to come before we see an end to this conflict.”
Xi’iom was unreadable, as he often was. His demeanor never changed, even with the invasive cold all around them and the overwhelming odds that surged before them. “What if we are ambushed on the way back?”
T’elen motioned to Arile.
“We have the experts here now, Xi’iom. We will take it as it comes. I just want to return to Illigard before we’re spread any thinner than we already are.”
T’elen wrapped her arms around herself as she looked into the featureless skies––and the blinding white wall of snow that threatened to overtake them––and shuddered. Her eyes closed as she thought of the future, one when the winter would come to an end and E’Malkai would bring peace to Terra once more.
ⱷ
E’Malkai
E’Malkai had not slept for some time. The hearth had died down long ago, yet there was a lingering heat that warmed the youth as he rested on his back and crossed his arms behind his head. He had dreamt of kingdoms and stone castles, and a dark-haired woman who ruled from an ivory throne. His blue eyes sparkled as he recalled her beauty. The day had not yet dawned; though he could not be certain how close this place was to the rhythms of Terra.
“I see that you are awake,” called Darien.
E’Malkai spun back onto his
stomach and looked across the narrow confines of the former Creator’s home. The broad-backed man pushed open the door, a burlap sack held in his left hand as the bulk of it was strung over his shoulder with ease. It could have weighed a hundred pounds, but in the grip of the warrior it seemed like a feather.
“Is it morning?” E’Malkai called as he pushed away the blanket that covered him and stood, stretching his arms above his head. Darien placed the sack down the table, the weight of it rattling the cups that had remained from the night before. E’Malkai approached the table, yawning as he watched the contents spill out: loaves of bread and vegetables he did not recognize.
“Mornings are an oddity here. They come and go, though not with the setting of the sun and then the rising of the next day. It is instead a sign of the cities to the east. There are many worlds within this dimension: the Dead Sands of Light and Dark; the Outer Circle; the cliffs of Kien’jedai; and what is called the Covenant of the Dark. That place is forbidden for those who walk among the Outer Circle. Those who walk within Dok’Turmel are sometimes called forth to atone within the Covenant of the Dark.”
E’Malkai watched as the warrior king pulled bread apart and spread thick layers of whitish butter across it. Darien offered him part of it. The youth’s mind immediately went to the words from the night before about eating at the gathering. He shook his head. “There are people on the cliffs of Kien’jedai? I thought that was where I was to travel to find the Grove.”
Darien took a hearty bite from the bread as he placed the other pieces of vegetables and fruit among the shelves and bowls littered about the home. “The cliffs of Kien’jedai are where those who served the Light walk. The Covenant of the Dark is where those who walk in darkness hide. Most wander Dok’Turmel for the entirety of their lives, only to cross into one place or another as the energies of the Creators see fit,” answered Darien.
He sighed and sat down into one of the flat-backed wooden chairs and sipped water. E’Malkai sat as well. His mind did not feel as wrought as it had before. It was open and alert, his headache gone.
“You speak of Creators in a far stranger manner than I have ever known someone to. The first time I had ever heard of it was when my uncle, the once called Fe’rein by the darkness, had been referred to as a Creator. It would be many more years until I knew what it meant to be a Creator. The scrolls of the Fallen spoke of the existence of the energy of the Original Creator.”
Darien nodded, listening.
“But you speak of the Creators as if it were something different altogether. I’m afraid I just don’t understand this,” E’Malkai continued, looking away from the warrior-king.
Darien sipped from his cup, the liquor of the night before replaced with water. He stared out the single window of the home. “There was a war, an ancient war that was not given a name. It was by all rights the First War, the one that mattered the most; it decided what would walk upon the lands of the Light. There was darkness for a time and though not everything that walks in the shadow is a beast or a devil, it was for a time very much a realm of evil creatures in the darkness. This darkness spread across the cosmos, infecting every corner, for dawn had not yet come. It had not yet been experienced. In that time there were Creators, beings of immeasurable power who wielded the energies of life and creation as a child would a toy in the mud. These Creators belonged to the Covenant of the Dark.”
E’Malkai gasped. “Like the Covenant of the Dark here?”
Darien nodded.
“Yes, one and the same, but do not interrupt.” E’Malkai looked down sheepishly and reddened as the man continued. “The Creators of the shadow wished for nothing more than to thrive in that darkness, for that was all they had ever known. They created a name for the darkness, for the living shadow. They called this being born of darkness and shadow the Gagnion’Fe’rein. What they did not know was that it grew in power exponentially, eventually taking control of the Covenant of the Dark and ruling over all.”
Darien sipped water, clearing his throat as he began again. “It was inevitable that the Light would come and the Covenant of the Dark would flee to the farthest corners of existence in order to escape the Light. The Gagnion’Fe’rein did not fear the power of the Creator of the Light and stayed, keeping those that he could control with him as the others fled into the darkest reaches of the known universe. The First Creator proved too strong. Her very breath shredded the world as if it was only fog on the seas, but the living embodiment of darkness could not be stopped so easily. The battle needed to be fought among those who were able to fight, not the sentient beings who balanced life itself. The Gagnion’Fe’rein understood this. The darkness, knowing the vile intelligence of the creature, wished to have it banished; the struggle for control between the Light and the Darkness was an ever-present one that could never be extinguished. The Covenant had created their living embodiment so perfectly that neither the Light nor the darkness could affect its will. It was beyond the Light, for it was bound to Creation as no Creator before it had been. The Light knew that without restraint, or a way for the Gagnion’Fe’rein to be challenged, that mortals could not come to pass; they were too frail and would fall beneath the creature’s power. Thus, the First Creator relinquished her power to the living embodiment of the Light as the darkness had done with the creation of the Gagnion’Fe’rein. The Ai’mun’hereun was born to human form and their struggle began. Renamed throughout the ages, but the war never changed.”
E’Malkai stared on in wonderment.
In all the texts that he had been able to acquire, none had been as comprehensive as the story Darien had conveyed so simply. “That is quite a tale, Darien. What of a Creator? How is it that they are given power if they are not the Ai’mun’hereun or the Gagnion’Fe’rein?”
The door to Darien’s home opened with a loud creak and a man walked in. His silver gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Dark black streaks ran from his temple down his shoulder-length hair. He wore a simple robe. The dark brown earth tone was marred in crimson splotches. His equally gray eyes flashed over Darien and then to E’Malkai. A tight grin exposed his flawless teeth. “Creators are pawns, child. And we of the Outer Circle know that well, for we were pawns in that game before our death,” spoke the man in a calm, strong tone.
E’Malkai turned and looked at the regal-looking man who had entered. Darien put his cup back down and gestured to the gentleman. “E’Malkai, this is your great-grandfather, Malkai Armen. The warrior for whom you were named,” spoke Darien.
E’Malkai looked at the man and gawked. The resemblance was uncanny. They shared a strong jaw and an angular cut to their features. “It is good to meet you,” stammered E’Malkai.
Malkai took a seat next to Darien. Nodding to each other as the great-grandfather sat down, he crossed his hands over one another on the table. “You have grown into quite a man. I have watched you for some time,” he spoke, his voice like velvet. “The journey you have undertaken is a great one. The Grove is not a task to be undertaken lightly. There are some who would have died long before even reaching the Outer Circle as you have.”
Darien cleared his throat, drawing their attention away from each other. “There are matters that need be attended to, Malkai. The elders have been called and we are to attend. They will make the decision as to who will lead the young Armen into the Kien’jedai.”
Malkai Armen raised a hand for silence. “The elders have already chosen his guide. It was decided long before you even walked through the gateway to Dok’Turmel, E’Malkai.”
Darien remained silent, impassive as Malkai spoke.
E’Malkai’s face brightened. “That is why you have come, great-grandfather. You have been chosen to guide me through the Kien’jedai, and into the Grove where my destiny resides,” spoke the youth hopefully.
Malkai chuckled, his laugh throaty. “No, child. I am not a guide of that place, nor is Darien. We are defenders of the Outer Circle.”
“Defenders?” queried E’Malkai wi
th a lopsided grin.
Darien nodded.
“Malkai is correct. This world is not unlike yours. Our enemies have not changed. The struggle is now eternal. The guides are those who are still sprits. They cannot affect the living. The one who takes you into the Kien’jedai is someone you already know.”
E’Malkai looked from Darien to Malkai, trying to figure out what they had in store for him. He was not so foolish as to think that everything was not a test, a series of controlled inquisitions and scenarios meant to find out whether he was capable of what was necessary.
He placed a questioning finger on his chin as he regarded each of them with a careful eye. “You would send someone with me who I would trust despite my surroundings. You brought my great-grandfather here as another way to make the passage that much more comfortable.”
Darien looked to the youth’s great-grandfather with a mirthful grin. “There are a lot of dead people, E’Malkai. I would be rather surprised if you were able to guess her identity so simply.”
E’Malkai watched them carefully. He had heard the pronoun, but did not believe that they would have slipped up so easily. They met his glance, looking back at him over indifferent, unflinching gazes.
There was caring there as well.
“She?”
Malkai smiled as E’Malkai thought his father would have. “You are wise beyond your years. I know that your father would have been proud to see the man you have become. Do not doubt yourself. You must trust the feelings and intuition that has been granted to you if you wish to become a Creator.”
E’Malkai’s face saddened at the mention of his father. “Is my father here?” he queried, his eyes lowered.
Darien reached across the table and squeezed E’Malkai’s hand. “Your father was a great man. He was believed to have been given what you now search for, but those with greatest hearts often find them broken the easiest. What happened to your father cannot be forgiven.”
“Where is my father?” he pressed.
Darien pulled a long, slender pipe from his shirt pocket. Lighting it in one smooth motion, he puffed at the stem as he blew out billows of dark smoke. “He is among those in the Kien’jedai. He could not fight here in the Outer Circle; he was never granted the power of the Creator. He is well and I have seen him on occasion.”