by Dan O'Brien
Xi’iom cleared his throat, waiting for the sea of murmurs to subside. “We are caught in a tight place. I won’t argue that with you, Field Marshal. Illigard is a well-constructed fortress. She has weathered many would-be invasions and she still stands. I think we should remain within Illigard and let them come to us.”
The Field Marshal sighed. The decision to march was not only hers; to order, to dictate, would make her no better than Kyien. “Commander Xi’iom has a valid point, though I disagree that we can survive an invasion of several hundred thousand soldiers from Culouth,” she spoke with a frustrated sigh. “If this is what we plan to do, then we need to begin fortifications of what we are to defend. That means wall guards are reinstituted as of now, as well as archers assigned to the towers.”
Xi’iom stood, as did those around him who were loyal to his battalion; he nodded to the Field Marshal before filing away. Conversations were struck as T’elen moved away from the raised platform and down to the table where Elcites, Leane, and the others sat in silence.
It did not take a healer to see that T’elen was beyond tired. Her bloodshot eyes took in the concerned glances. A thin smile crossed her face. Leane reached out and grabbed the Field Marshal’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “That was a difficult decision, T’elen,” she spoke with a reassuring tone.
T’elen nodded absently and leaned back as she watched more officers depart. They whispered about what was to come. “I’m afraid it is one that I do not agree with. I do not wish to be the tyrant that Kyien was, or that Fe’rein is, but we are trapped if we remain here. At least on the swamps we have room to operate, a margin for error perhaps. Here, we do not.”
Arile whispered to S’rean, who smiled broadly and nodded back to the white hunter, speaking rapidly in Utiakth. “He believes that you are wise to want to fight in the open. To hide behind walls is to be trapped. Walls cannot stop the fire of the Gagnion’Fe’rein.”
T’elen raised an eyebrow. “Your leader is wise, Arile, but we will do the best we can. Defend this outpost to the last man and woman,” she replied with a heavy sigh.
Arile smiled. “Do not worry about that, Lady T’elen. We will fight until the last breath of our body has been taken from us.”
Leane sat quietly beside Elcites. The Fallen chieftain leaned over to her, speaking in their native tongue with a low voice. “Does your leader not believe that the Ai’mun’hereun will come to save us?”
T’elen noticed the wary eye of the chieftain. The Field Marshal waited until the man finished. Turning to Leane, she held her hands out as if indicating that a translation was not only necessary, but expected.
“He wants to know why you don’t believe E’Malkai will come.”
T’elen smiled despite her weariness. “I believe that he will come, but as Elcites told me upon the Eddies: it is whether or not he will return in time.”
Elcites shifted beside Leane and looked around at the other tundra people. He knew that they did not trust him fully, but could do nothing to convince them. The mention of his name brought scowls of disbelief.
Higald nodded as Leane explained T’elen’s words. “T’elen believes that he will return to us, but does not want to depend solely on him because he might return too late to help us.”
“Will we be allowed to fight alongside the warriors of this stone monument?” replied Higald.
Leane turned to T’elen. “He wants to know if the tundra people will be allowed to fight alongside the soldiers of Illigard.”
T’elen nodded. “It would be an honor.”
“She would consider it an honor,” translated Leane.
The look on Higald’s face revealed that the Fallen chieftain understood. T’elen pushed herself up from the table. “I think I am going to retire for the night,” she began and then looking to Elcites and Fairhair, “I think we should leave Leane with the tundra people. They have much to discuss.”
Elcites nodded solemnly, for he knew that Leane was worried about E’Malkai. Also, he was happy to leave behind the tension-filled stares flashed his way.
Fairhair looked to Leane apprehensively. It was as if he was mentally weighing whether or not he wished to sit and pine any longer for a woman who he might well never have.
Leane smiled. “Thank you, T’elen. Sleep well.”
T’elen reciprocated the tired smile. “If I sleep at all.” She turned to Higald and the two Utiakth. “Good night, gentleman. Thank you again for your assistance in the Eddies, as well as for your continued aid in our plight.” Fairhair stood, but hesitated, necessitating that Elcites grasp him by his arm and pull him away.
Higald smiled as they sat in silence.
“T’elen is a brave warrior,” spoke the Fallen chieftain.
“She fights for freedom from the Intelligence, from the hold of Culouth,” replied Leane, nodding. She yearned to hear about her son, yet she did not want to pressure the beleaguered tundra warriors.
S’rean spoke to Arile in Utiakth.
The white hunter nodded with the chieftain as he spoke. “Lord S’rean wants you to know that your son was a strong warrior and had no fear when he came to the Utiakth people. Though, he did eat much at the banquet in his honor, much more than he thought a skinny child could.”
Leane smiled, fighting back tears.
“Why has my son gone to Dok’Turmel?”
Arile spoke the words and the chieftain made a horrified face.
It was Higald who answered the question. “You remember Builder Mihen, do you not? There were many books in his library that spoke of that place. If Mihen had survived the journey, he would be able to tell you more. All I know is that your son believed that he must go there, and that he could only do so by finding the Shaman. We tried to dissuade him, but he would not listen. Instead he sent us south to join you here in your fight against the one called Fe’rein, the creature that stole the essence of Ryan Armen.”
“E’Malkai said that Fe’rein had stolen Ryan’s essence?”
Higald shook his head. “No, he had said that Ryan Armen now called himself Fe’rein. Your son did not know of the Gagnion’Fe’rein; that his uncle had named himself after a warrior of the Covenant of the Dark.”
“Lord S’rean did not know that your son would journey into the underworld. He is distressed to hear that E’Malkai would have entered such a place of darkness,” spoke Arile. S’rean reached across the table and grabbed Leane’s hand and held it tenderly, giving her a look of regret. “He as well wants to extend his apologies for any distress that the journey of the Ai’mun’hereun has caused you.”
Leane held her hand to her chest and smiled despite the welling of tears that had begun in her glassy eyes. “Tell him that he has my thanks for welcoming my son among the people of the Utiakth and giving him shelter when he needed it, as well as granting him an able guide to aid him in his journey to the Fallen.”
Arile smiled for he understood the compliment and turned to S’rean, who eagerly waited for the translation. He smiled broadly and bowed in respect.
The Fallen chieftain’s pale face gave way to sadness at the memory of his people as he spoke again. “I have done much to harm the line of Armen. I cast Seth and Ryan from the shelter of their people, and you as well. Now your child is the Believer, the champion the Fallen have wished for.”
“Our people, Lord Higald.”
Higald smiled sadly. “I thank you for your understanding, but I do not wish for forgiveness. I should not receive it. I have done a disservice to those who matter most. Your son entered the Temple of the Ancients in search of more answers. That was the last time I saw him. I fear that he may have died where his grandfather had died.”
It was Leane’s turn to smile.
She could put his fears at ease.
“E’Malkai has reached Dok’Turmel and is as safe as one can be trapped in the underworld. But you did well to guide him, Lord Higald, as did you, Huntsman Arile, Lord S’rean.”
“The Final War will cons
ume us all and the Ai’mun’hereun, your son, told us the tundra people have a role. He said that if we remained in the north that death would descend upon us on swift wings. We believed his words and fled. Umordoc pursued us and would have slaughtered us in our homes had we not left when he had instructed. We are in his debt.” S’rean seemed pleased at Arile’s interpretation of his words.
“What can you tell me of the underworld?”
Leane’s question was to all of them.
S’rean exchanged a troubled look with Arile, and then Higald.
Arile spoke first. “The underworld, Dok’Turmel, is a place of darkness; one where only those of the dead may walk. We, the living, are not meant to walk among the dead, nor the dead among the living.”
Higald nodded. “There is more to Dok’Turmel than many know. Darkness, as well as the Light, has a place. Your son may have found his way into such a place, but there is no way to exit the underworld. Once it is sealed, the original exit must be found.”
Leane looked at the chieftain strangely.
“Why is that a problem?”
“Only the sacrifice of blood, blood of family, can open a gateway into Dok’Turmel. Once within, there is no exit except the tear that was made eons ago. Much of what we know about the underworld is cryptic and drawn from the accounts of madmen who had put pen to paper,” replied Arile.
Leane sat back in her chair. She felt the stir of the cold wind as well as the fear that her son could not escape Dok’Turmel; a place he had willingly entered in order to bring about peace. “Then he could be trapped there for all eternity.”
Silence crept over them; mournful glances exchanged.
Leane waited some time for an answer, but was met only with blank stares. The absence of words served as an affirmation of what she feared.
Her son would not return to her.
She would never see him again.
Leane watched the others long into the night. Their faces betrayed their own fear. Leane leaned back and listened to the howl of the wind––the call of the winter storm––and waited, for that was all she could do.
ⱷ
Fe’rein
Fe’rein stared out at the clouds that hung just above the Sea of Torments, watching the dark waves crash against one another. They droned against the jagged cliff sides; thunderous beats of a symphony that rang without a misstep.
He already knew that Kyien was dead. The mion knew this long before the two fools, M’iordi and Pierce, came bounding up the stairs outside the keep. He could hear them whispering as they pulled open the iron ring of the door.
The wind slammed against the ingress, splintering wood as it collided with the stone walls. Fe’rein tilted his head as he watched M’iordi enter, his vibrant purple robes splashing against the doorframe. When he spoke, it always sounded as if he rehearsed the speech ahead of time.
“My mion,” he began, as he always did when addressing Fe’rein. “You said that I was not to return until I brought word of Kyien’s death.”
Fe’rein flicked back his hand. He watched the foam of the waves as they spilled around the lip of the rocky walls below. “I had at that, M’iordi.”
The liaison and the councilman exchanged looks as M’iordi took another step forward, sweeping with his hands. “That is why I have come, my mion. I bring news of the death of High Marshal Kyien.”
Fe’rein nodded to himself and looked down as he turned to the two men, pacing away from the window. His body suit was charcoal black; a bright burst of a yellow sun was emblazoned across his chest. The mion wore a full beard. The light-brown scruff was the same length as the hair that shaded his scalp. “And your ascension as their leader, no doubt?” returned Fe’rein in annoyance.
Pierce watched the two of them nervously.
There was a history between them he did not understand. Words were whispered throughout the ranks of the Culouth army that the mion was powerless, neutered by the Intelligence.
“Lord Fe’rein, I have returned from the Eddies…”
Fe’rein wheeled on Pierce, his dark, hateful gaze fixated on the liaison. “Who is this man that speaks to me as if I had asked anything of him?”
Pierce’s breath caught in his chest.
His eyes were wide and glassy as he stared.
M’iordi interceded between them. “This is Pierce, he served with Kyien. He was there when Kyien was killed at the Eddies. He as well called for their retreat, and he has many things to tell you, my mion.”
Fe’rein scoffed “The fool is dead and T’elen lives. There is little more that I wish to know.”
M’iordi’s face flushed.
He had watched the Creator dwindle in strength until he was no more than an angry, volatile child. M’iordi knew that he was now in charge; Kyien was dead and Fe’rein was without his power. His anger boiled, coursing through his veins as his hands clenched at his sides. “There is no need to speak to me in such a manner, Fe’rein.”
Fe’rein’s facial muscles tightened at the blatant use of his name, the lack of respect and reverence with which M’iordi spoke to him. He inched toward the councilman. “You seem to forget your place, M’iordi. You are nothing more than a talking piece, a pawn in a larger game. I am the hammer that crushes those who would rise up against us,” snarled Fe’rein.
M’iordi’s face flushed as Fe’rein stood against him.
“When was the last time you struck a blow against a foe?”
Fe’rein pulled back, the strength of his glare lessened.
M’iordi felt the power exchange and continued. “When is the last time the Intelligence spoke to you? You are nothing.” M’iordi’s face was red now; the vein that ran through his forehead was thick and angry.
Pierce’s eyes snapped from M’iordi and then to Fe’rein.
The tension between them was almost physical.
M’iordi was taller than Fe’rein, though maybe it was because the mion had shrunken back slightly. With a long crooked finger, M’iordi pointed at Fe’rein.
His eyes were wide and inflamed.
The Creator seemed withdrawn, coiled.
“M’iordi, perhaps you should calm down,” stammered Pierce. His voice was low so as not to crack from the fear that slowly crawled along his spine.
M’iordi ignored the man and continued to loom. “I think that perhaps it is you who needs to be silent. Maybe I will lock you up in this damn keep until I feel good and ready to let you leave,” screamed the councilman, spittle forming at the edge of his lips.
Pierce saw the shift before M’iordi.
It was as if the air in the room had gone from cold to hot. The liaison realized what it was about Fe’rein that had seemed strange. The man had not been backing away as much as he was drawing into himself, pooling his hate within.
The ripple of energy was slight at first.
A shock of electricity leapt off of Fe’rein and struck M’iordi in the shoulder, causing him to jump back with yelp of pain. He glowered at the Creator for a moment before he saw what Pierce had. Crimson and black energy crawled over his body like a wave. Coming from over his back and around his neck, it then spread over his face and from his boots up his torso until they joined together once more.
Fe’rein had been looking down.
As the power consumed him, his eyes became dark black orbs of death staring at the two men. “I had forgotten that rage, M’iordi,” he drawled. Tendrils of his power whipped around him, crushing stone beneath its destructive energy.
M’iordi backed away, the fire in his eyes replaced with fear.
“Fe’rein.”
Fe’rein flashed forward, his figure like sliding winds of colors and energies. “What was that, councilman? What did you call me?” he sneered.
He was inches from the man’s face.
The heat that radiated from his body was like molten lava.
M’iordi’s brow beaded with sweat as the Creator stared at him with his dead eyes. Reaching out with one of his blackened
fingers, he touched M’iordi’s chest. The fabric scorched and burnt away as he rubbed his finger and thumb together. M’iordi tried to speak, but all that came out his mouth was a panicked cry. He swallowed once more, his faced covered in perspiration.
“I’m afraid I cannot hear you. I am too weak, remember?”
M’iordi blinked as fat beads of sweat trickled over his eyelashes.
“My Lord Fe’rein, the words I spoke were in the heat of the moment. Please forgive me, my mion,” he stammered as he felt the heat from the Creator’s hands trace over his chest.
Fe’rein pulled his hand away and reached out toward the wall. Energy exploded from his arm and thickened the air like a viscous liquid. “You were right about my power waning. I am not even half of what I had been when I first received this power. Why do you cower at my feet, M’iordi?”
M’iordi looked to Pierce, whose face had gone pale at the sudden explosion of Fe’rein’s power. “I have come to tell you that we saw something rather strange as we left the Eddies: people covered in animal skins walking with the soldiers of Illigard.”
Fe’rein spun, his arms folded.
His finger tapped his chin as he walked toward Pierce, staring through him with listless eyes. He reached out and stroked the liaison’s check, watching as the man pulled away in discomfort from the touch of the mion.
“You saw warriors in animal skins?”
Pierce swallowed hard and looked away, unable to hold the gaze of the mion; black globes that sent terrifying chills through his body. The damp sweat plastered his robes to his back in cold fear. “They carried weapons and descended from the Eddies. The scouts swear that they were men, not Umordoc.”
Fe’rein laughed.
His dark power erupted around him as he did, spiking from his shoulders and chest in minuscule ridges that reflected the pitch of his laughter.
“They were from the north, tundra people sent by E’Malkai.”
M’iordi turned and moved toward the door as if to leave, but Fe’rein moved in front of him; his body was a startling flash. He tilted his head to the side as he watched the councilman back away.