The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  E’Malkai felt tears tug at his eyes.

  He forced them back, biting his lip.

  “When can I leave for the Kien’jedai? I wish to end this.”

  Malkai stood and paced back toward the shelves, brushing his hands over the jackets of the dusty books. “Have you already forgotten the riddle of your guide?”

  E’Malkai shifted in his seat, resting his chin on his balled fist. “My guide is Arivene. She gave her life so that I may enter this place, and I had hoped it earned her place among the remembered and not the forgotten,” he replied.

  Pushing away from the table, he stalked toward the closed door, placing his hands on its smooth construction. He pulled back instinctively, stepping away from it as it opened. Allowing the first red glow of the horizon to creep through, the angelic figure of Arivene stepped across the threshold. A flowing white dress clung to her frame. Her hair was dark black and a white streak parted on either side. Her green eyes were haunting. A gray glow arched around them as she turned her eyes to E’Malkai.

  “Lord E’Malkai,” she called to him peacefully.

  The youth’s breath was caught in his throat as he looked at Arivene. Her features glowed, and for a moment he could not shake the notion that he had never seen such a beautiful vision.

  He found that he was staring and shook his head.

  “Arivene,” he stammered, looking away.

  The cut of her dress revealed the swell of her breasts and taut line of her stomach. He blushed and wondered how he could still look upon a woman after having survived the Dead Sands and be so bashful. He had transcended time and space, aged beyond the mortal coil, and yet he was still such a child. He brushed away the stray hairs that had fallen into his eyes and cleared his throat, trying to hide the embarrassment that he felt. “I was never able to thank you for what you and your brother did for me. It was noble of you both.”

  She curtsied and then walked forward, placing her hands on the shoulders of Darien. There was something about her eyes that had not been there before. There was a distance, a strange indifference. “We were happy to give our lives for the Ai’mun’hereun. Have you found Dok’Turmel as you had thought?”

  E’Malkai pushed open the door.

  He could smell pine and cedar. The song of nature whispered to him in the crimson and orange radiance of the distance. The night still gripped the sky, but a gray bulbous fog hung just above where the jagged line of the mountains of the Kien’jedai began.

  He did not turn as he spoke. “I did not realize what struggles were taking place beyond my own. This place has taken something from me, hollowed a place in my being.”

  The youth walked farther out into the night air. Running his hands through the slight wind that blew across his body, he raked his fingers into the top of his long dark hair. E’Malkai could feel the call of the Kien’jedai; whispering voices reached out for him. He closed his eyes as he lifted his hands to the warm winds.

  The embrace was familiar.

  He reached out with the Sight, searching through the barrier of life and time that had been erected before him like bridges not meant to be crossed. E’Malkai felt the three of them emerge from Darien’s home and lowered his hand. He was unable to feel what was beyond him in the mists that had lowered over the Kien’jedai.

  “I feel nothing in this place, why?” he called over his shoulder.

  A hand gripped his arm, squeezing it with reassurance. It was Arivene’s soft touch; he had felt it once before and relished it. There had been a quiet intimacy between them, and now it could never be.

  “You are not yet a Creator. This place is foreign to you. Your tsang does not yet understand what it feels,” spoke Arivene, her voice like a song.

  Malkai and Darien walked around beside him and admired the splendor of the jagged peaks wrapped in the cold mists. Both had been warriors of a forgotten age, and both had been deceived.

  “How far is the Grove from the Outer Circle?” queried E’Malkai as Arivene took her hand from his arm and stood beside him, joining the others in admiration of the sweeping peaks.

  Darien sighed as he turned back to the youth, his hands hooked in the dark leather belt he wore around his waist. “The Outer Circle is the only place untouched by the stagnation of time. Once you leave this place and walk into the windy passes of the Kien’jedai, then once more will your mind age beyond your control. It will feel like centuries. There are many paths to be taken. Some will take longer than others,” he spoke, looking to Arivene.

  E’Malkai looked to Arivene as well.

  Her shimmering dress glowed in the darkness.

  “That is why I have a guide: to make sure I do not take the wrong path?”

  Malkai folded his arms over his chest. Though Darien was older than his great-grandfather by thousands of years, it was he, the Blade Lord of the Walled City, who seemed younger.

  “She is a guide. That is a truth. But you must make the choices. You will see things within the Kien’jedai. Some that will make you choose some paths over another. She can only tell you the dangers of the path you choose.”

  E’Malkai hardened his gaze at the two warriors.

  “There are dangers in Kien’jedai?” he uttered.

  Darien nodded, reaching out with his large hand to grip the youth’s shoulder. “There are always dangers, child. Even those with the grandest intentions sometimes make choices that adversely affect others. Simply to love can be the greatest danger of all. Your father realized this. A brother’s love was his death sentence.”

  E’Malkai’s gaze steeled at the mention of his father’s death.

  Arivene looked to the distant peaks as the winds howled, blowing across them like the breath of a grand beast. “It is time, honored elders. The Kien’jedai calls for the vessel of the Ai’mun’hereun. The Grove senses him,” she spoke quietly, though her voice echoed like lingering thunder.

  E’Malkai watched their reactions closely.

  They seemed to give away nothing at the suddenness to which he was called to the ancient mountains; that was not truly his worry. He could not comprehend how a girl of the Fallen, one who had been mortal a short time ago on Terra, had become a guide to such a place. Arivene started to walk forward, her dress whisking in the winds.

  The youth turned to Darien and Malkai.

  The sky crackled as lightning ripped across it.

  Thunder echoed in the canyons beyond.

  The storm rose from the mountains like a wave from the sea, its gray, bruised head was like a serpent ready to strike. The wind blew over them like a hurricane, their robes and clothing trailing back behind them.

  Darien nodded as Arivene walked against the winds as if they did not affect her in the slightest. “There are no preparations for the Kien’jedai. Do not forget what I have told you of intent. That will be your ward against the madness that has claimed all other Creators before you.”

  E’Malkai watched as the gray mists darkened and black thunderheads consumed the gentle, majestic peaks he had witnessed. “What about a weapon? You said there was a being at the entrance to the Grove. If there is battle, won’t I need more than my father’s blade?” he called over the rising winds.

  Malkai shook his head, his silver hair twisting on his back as he did. “You are the weapon. Trust in Arivene’s words, for she is meant to guide you. Do not be ruled by emotion, it is not the Armen way,” he called, his face suddenly seeming older than it had inside Darien’s home.

  E’Malkai nodded.

  There were many more questions that he wished to ask. If he were to spend the rest of his life in the Outer Circle, they would still not be answered. He craned his neck back toward the slowly disappearing Arivene and turned despite the overwhelming fear that gripped him. He lowered his head and journeyed into the ancient peaks of the Kien’jedai.

  ⱷ

  Illigard

  The walls of Illigard wore the scars of winter. The stone that protected the outer wall had been gouged by the winds. Blow
ing snow caked its outer layers and then froze, crushing it until it began to chip away like the sands of time.

  T’elen remembered leaving the outpost.

  It had been weeks before, yet it seemed ages ago.

  War dulled the edges of memory, blurring the when into the what-happened of the battles that had robbed the soldiers of their time. They had not encountered the Culouth forces they had anticipated, instead finding only the empty snow fields where they had been camped.

  No grave had been dug for the High Marshal. T’elen would not have wished one; yet it seemed a dark end to the man’s life to know that even his own men despised him enough to allow him to rot in the ice and snow.

  The tundra people had not spoken since departing from the Eddies. They remained camped far away from the soldiers of Illigard. The Field Marshal approached Arile on several occasions. He brushed her off, saying it was a tribal matter; it did not involve those of the south.

  She had chosen to walk out ahead of her own men, only the lonely figures of Elcites and Xi’iom followed closely behind. The arch beneath the stone walls of Illigard opened as they approached.

  A snow drift at the entrance had been erected in case of invasion. Heads peaked along the lip of the wall. Pale faces and dark hair watched the mute procession of soldiers from the field into the solemn and quiet outpost. Thousands of the red-striped soldiers marched, followed closely by the tundra people. They were a stark contrast with animal skins adorning their bodies.

  Intense gazes fell on uncertain eyes.

  The mighty doors of Illigard swung closed with a labored groan as it fought against the winter. The Lower Plane was still very much a primitive place; castles were built with stone and mortar. This was by design. The Intelligence had forbidden the construction of any cities of steel, or machines that were capable of fueling an insurrection against their rule.

  This left only the glass city in the skies.

  T’elen slung the pack from her back. It sunk into the snow-covered grounds as soldiers watched her without response. Leane approached, her uniform beneath very similar to T’elen’s wardrobe; though she had a tan-colored cloak wrapped around her shoulders. A rifle was strung along her back, her dark hair pulled back into a braid. Fairhair was not less than five steps behind her. His characteristic smile was present, as well was his twinkle for the Reverent Mother.

  “Field Marshal T’elen, we had assumed the worst,” spoke Leane as she strode forward to T’elen, reaching her arm out in greeting. T’elen accepted and they gripped forearms as warriors often did.

  The smile that came to the Field Marshal’s lips was a mirthless one. “We encountered an army of over one hundred thousand strong, and what you see is all that remains of us. Though not one of them stands who walked into battle against us,” she replied, gesturing back over the ranks of the soldiers. “There is something else that we must speak of,” whispered T’elen, but her surprise was lost as Arile pushed past the others.

  Higald was at his side, as well as the brazen figure of S’rean.

  “Leane,” echoed Higald in native Fallen.

  Leane’s eyes widened as she looked to T’elen, who only nodded. Moving toward the Fallen chieftain, she embraced him warmly. She pulled away as she spoke. “Lord Higald.”

  Higald smiled, his lips parted in a true smile. “It has been some time, Healer Leane,” he began. It had been custom to refer to a person by their place among their tribe. Leane had been a healer like her father. “We were sorry to hear of the passing of Seth. He was a great man.”

  Leane looked at the chieftain with glazed eyes; she had barely spoken his name in almost two decades. No one in Culouth knew of him, except for Ryan and Fredrick. Neither came around often to speak and when they did, it was not to remember Seth Armen.

  “I appreciate your sorrow, Lord Higald. You must pardon my brashness, but I do understand why you are here.”

  She looked to Arile and S’rean, immediately noticing that S’rean was Utiakth. T’elen watched the exchange, as did all those who could not understand the language, with interest. She wished to see if she could understand through their body language and facial expressions. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and placed her weight on her left leg. The Field Marshal glanced over the crowd, noticing Fredrick’s craven figure under the cover of shadows near the far building. The soldiers had already begun to file away, not wishing to stand around with the warmth of the tavern and the barracks ahead of them.

  When Higald began to speak again, T’elen watched as the commons emptied. She felt the tug of Elcites as he urged her away to give the tundra people their privacy. She allowed herself to be led away, though not before casting another dark glance over at the huddling Fredrick.

  Higald motioned to the white hunter and the Utiakth chieftain. “How very rude of me, Healer Leane. The white hunter is Arile, the last of the Re’klu’hereun, and the other is S’rean, chieftain of the Utiakth.”

  Leane bowed to them each, lowering her gaze as she did so to show her trust. “I am honored by your presence, Lord S’rean of the Utiakth, and by you as well, Huntsman Arile of the Re’klu’hereun.”

  S’rean bowed, averting his eyes as Leane had done. He then whispered to Arile. The white hunter cleared his throat as he spoke in Fallen. “Lord S’rean does not speak Fallen, but he is honored to be in the presence of the mother of the Ai’mun’hereun. He wishes all the graces of the old ones upon you for bearing such a child. We were honored to be called to war by your son. He will grow to be a great man.”

  Leane’s eyes brightened at the mention of her son. “You have seen my son? He is well?” she urged, her eyes hopeful.

  Arile nodded. “I found him in the north near the Hall of Spines where the Utiakth make their home. I was his guide to the Fallen. He is a powerful and wise warrior.”

  Higald gripped the hilt of his broadsword as he spoke. “When he first came to us, I could not believe that he was the son of Seth Armen. He proved his power in both the rite of combat and when Umordoc descended down upon us.”

  “He told you to come to the south?”

  S’rean watched intently as Arile translated back and forth. “Lord S’rean thinks that after the people have found shelter, a gathering of warriors should be called. Then the Reverent Mother’s questions can be answered.”

  Leane looked abashed by the white hunter’s words.

  She was frantic with news of her son and had not thought of the tundra people who so desperately needed shelter. “Of course, that is a most wise suggestion. Please forgive my persistence. I was worried about my son. I was selfish to think only of myself.”

  Arile translated to S’rean and the old man smiled. “Lord S’rean thanks you for your compassion and says that there is no need for apologies. Your son has saved their people. Your concern is most understandable.”

  Leane nodded in acknowledgement and gestured with her hands for them to follow her. As she walked with them deeper into the compound, they found a place for them to rest from their journey south.

  *

  Night had fallen.

  Torches were lit by the time adequate domiciles had been sorted out for the soldiers as well as the tundra people. The war room in the east branch of the compound was full to the brim with officers of rank, as well as the two chieftains and the white hunter of the north. The cold winds outside howled and beat against the walls as T’elen raised a hand for silence.

  T’elen laced her hands behind her back as she began. “We have returned from the Eddies to the east where we have taken the life of High Marshal Kyien.” The hush was replaced by whispers and silent cheers. The Field Marshal’s dark glare silenced them once again. “This war is far from over. Kyien was their leader, but not their only one. Another tyrant will replace him soon enough and will begin a march upon Illigard.”

  The pall was broken as several men jumped at a rat scurrying along the floor beside them. The scratching claws drew panicked screams, and then childish laughter, a
s they realized their foolishness.

  “More than half of your brothers and sisters lay dead in the snow. We have perhaps ninety thousand left within Illigard, even with the addition of the tundra tribesman.”

  Arile looked up from beside Leane and the two chieftains at the head of the assemblage. S’rean whispered to him and the white hunter nodded.

  Leane smiled at their exchange.

  T’elen ignored them and continued. “The Stone Tower is the focal point of Culouth’s invasion of the Lower Plane. Though the outpost to the east could not hold many more than we have here, they are still more than triple our numbers suffering in tents just outside of the Stone Tower.”

  A dark-skinned lieutenant from the third table cast a worried glance at T’elen, his voice rising in her silence. “What is it that you are suggesting, Field Marshal? Surely you don’t believe that we can march on the Stone Tower?”

  T’elen smiled. “That is exactly what I intend to do. We have to bring this fight to Culouth. We cannot continue to wait around. The trenches have served their purpose. We have hurt them, but the fact remains that they continue to outnumber us,” she replied, glancing from soldier to soldier.

  Xi’iom sat at the tables alongside Elcites and Leane.

  He scowled, his usually impassive face showing frustration. His voice echoed that sentiment. “We cannot survive an all-out assault on the Stone Tower. Even if we left today, we would still be a week’s journey from reaching them. There is no way to forecast what may happen between now and then.”

  Murmurs passed over the crowd.

  Xi’iom’s opinion was shared by many of the officers.

  T’elen could not help but glower at him for undermining her.

  “What would you have us do, commander?” she queried.