by Dan O'Brien
The Polypheme crossed its arms over his face as he backed away from the onslaught of E’Malkai. The white energy infected him completely, his fists extensions of that power. He struck the face of the Polypheme, breaking apart the faceguard that covered his face.
Red material fell about the being as each blow tore away another layer. A thick black beard emerged from beneath it, as well a trim scar that ran across his face from one end of his jaw to the other. E’Malkai was at eye level with the being, his figure far above the ground as he attacked with as much speed and ferocity as a hundred warriors.
E’Malkai struck the Polypheme across the face once more, dislodging the faceguard completely, and then dropped low. His feet touched the ground for a moment before he rocketed up suddenly.
The web of E’Malkai’s energy flooded over the Polypheme as he spun in the air, head over feet. E’Malkai clipped the being across his jaw, sending him back against the far side of the blackened ring. His massive body rebounded off the invisible barrier before he fell forward.
His mighty chest heaved as he watched the youth.
“Impressive,” he called through teeth stained with blood.
He pushed himself from the ground with the one of his claws and used the other to balance himself as he prepared to face the youth. The youth seemed unfazed by their exchange. By all accounts, the guardian of the Grove had not landed a single blow since E’Malkai’s transformation.
The youth picked at his fingernails mindlessly. “I grow tired of this. I wish to pass into the Grove. That is my purpose for coming here. You only delay the inevitable.”
The Polypheme cracked his neck, the sound rivaling that of the thunder that echoed around them. The rain drove against his frame, washing away the blood that beaded from his face.
“I am eternal, son of Armen. I have told you before that the only way into the Grove is through me, beyond this blackened ring,” he answered and darted forward. He swung his mighty fist with a speed that would have been unnatural had he not been fighting a being that was beyond boundaries such as speed and strength. The fist made contact with nothingness, though it was true to its original mark.
E’Malkai had dematerialized from where he had been and shimmered back into real space behind the Polypheme. Lacing his hands together, he drove his doubled-up fist against the giant’s back, driving him into the wet earth below. The Grove’s guardian made a labored sound as he collided with the earth. He tried to roll over, but it proved too late as E’Malkai streaked past. Lifting the Polypheme by one of his massive feet, E’Malkai shot upward. There were boundaries on all four sides, but there was not one above. They climbed high into the troubled skies, watching as the bloated clouds echoed with thunder and lightning.
E’Malkai’s face was unscathed, untouched by the rain.
The Polypheme’s features were slick with moisture.
Blood trailed down his face and made the long journey from the skies to the earth. “Tell me how to enter the Grove. I do not wish to hurt you more,” the youth called over the winds, his voice rising above all else.
Polypheme craned his neck to see the youth and despite the pain and agony of their warring, he managed a strong smile. “This is a trial by combat, son of Armen. There is only one way to find victory. I wish that there were another way, but the rules are set in stone. Beating me to get answers is the not truth of this experience. I can tell you nothing more than I already have.”
E’Malkai looked away in annoyance. “Stone can be broken.”
He wheeled, diving back toward the earth, the Polypheme trailing behind him. As they neared the ground, he spun. Bringing the full force of the giant around beside him, E’Malkai drove him into the earth. The impact with which he hit the ground opened a crevice several feet deep.
E’Malkai circled back and landed just on the edge of it, crouching as he peered down. “Seems like you had a bit of a fall there, friend.”
The youth could barely make out the Polypheme through the darkness. The mammoth figure leapt out from the hole. His outline billowed with soil and grass that had had been around him as he crashed through. His fists flashed out, crackling against E’Malkai’s energy, and then as if by magic, it crushed through the barrier.
Striking the Creator across the chest, he tore away the tunic beneath. E’Malkai watched as the piece of fabric floated in the wind and then flattened against the slick ground. His white eyes turned to the heaving Polypheme.
The giant bellowed as he rushed forward again.
E’Malkai had time to bring his hands up in front of his body to shield him from the impact. He flew back against the invisible wall of the ring, bouncing off and then resituating himself before he landed face first into the soil.
The Grove’s protector was already on the move again as he brought his fists out to his side as he prepared to crush the youth. E’Malkai’s eyes went wide as he shot up, above the attack, and looked down at the Polypheme.
The Polypheme’s words echoed in his mind: through me is the only way. He wove around, the trail of his power visible in the darkened skies, and dove at the Polypheme, catching him across the chest with his palms. He lifted the man up against the invisible wall and held him there, suspended from the ground.
“You keep saying that the way is through you,” spoke E’Malkai, though he did not really expect a response. The Polypheme lashed out with his arm, but E’Malkai caught it and threw it aside with enough force to make the much larger being wince. He gritted his teeth as the youth continued to wrench on the arm, listening as it crackled and popped beneath the strength of the Creator. “I said that stone could be broken.”
“The way is by defeating me,” he sputtered.
E’Malkai pulled his hand free and wagged a finger at him. “That is not what you said. You said through you. If you are eternal, then there is no way that I could ever extinguish your life. Being that I cannot strip your power here in the Grove as I would in the real world, then your words have a more literal meaning. As in passing through you, physically passing through your form and into the Grove itself,” reasoned the youth as he cocked his head to the side at the tight-lipped response of the Polypheme.
E’Malkai lifted the man’s chin.
“Yes, you are more perceptive than the others.”
He allowed the Polypheme to fall back to the earth, kneeling as he did so from the beating he had taken. E’Malkai lowered with him, touching his feet upon the ground as he looked up at the worn face of his opponent.
“I told you that there was another way.”
The Polypheme coughed and covered his mouth as he wiped away the blood. “Indeed, son of Armen, indeed.” He pushed himself back to his feet with his other hand and they stood watching each other, the wind driving them one way and then the other. The rain pelted against them with a vengeance, smoothing back the youth’s hair.
“Will it hurt?” he spoke finally.
The Polypheme shrugged.
“It might. You are the first to have done it,” he replied with a smile. “I knew that there was much more to you than many believed. I am proud to have fought you.”
E’Malkai smiled and looked down at his hand, concentrating as the energy began to pool at his fingertips, swirling and colliding into a mass of energy that seemed to have a life its own. He turned his hand, palm facing toward the Polypheme, and the energy leapt out and grabbed the giant.
Vibrating, it shimmered like water that was searing its way through his body. The youth looked at the man’s face and saw that it was calm. Winds blew from the vortex forming at his waist, but he did not seem to be in pain. The portal reached out, replicating itself, growing in both power and intensity.
E’Malkai reached out, his hand passing through the Polypheme.
“I hope that we meet again.”
He breathed in as he entered, the viscous nature of the portal filling his lungs. As he breathed out, his eyes opened again. He was somewhere else altogether.
The room was
much like the rocky caverns of the Kien’jedai; though only for a moment as it opened into another larger chamber. At the center was a fountain that spat waves of silvery liquid into the air above. It shone brilliantly, as if there was a light source somewhere in the room.
He stalked closer, the silver liquid shined brighter as he approached. Looking down at his hands, he realized that he was the source of the radiance. The fountain was carved of a smooth white marble; pearl lettering surrounded it.
There was no sound.
There was only the fountain and the stone.
The youth reached out and touched the edge of the fountain. He smiled. The texture was like silk or velvet––so comfortable, so inviting.
As he pulled his hand away, the fountain erupted.
Silver liquid formed into a shape as a being rose from within it. It appeared humanoid as it stepped from the liquid of the fountain. Silver from head to toe, it possessed no color except the liquid of its birth.
It possessed no gender.
It simply was.
“You have passed through the guardian.”
E’Malkai let go of the power of the Creator, stepping out from it as if it were a shell in which he was encased. His dark black mane fell below his shoulders. He brushed away the strands that fell across his face.
“I am E’Malkai, son of Seth Armen.”
The creature passed a hand in front of it.
“We know who you are.”
“We?” queried E’Malkai. The hold on his power was not so far away that he could not call it forth at will. The creature saw his apprehension and the lighter pockets of its face that were eyes blinked and narrowed.
“We mean you no harm,” it repeated.
E’Malkai looked around, unclenching his fists as he did so.
“You know who I am. What is it that you are called?”
“We are the Grove.”
The youth could not hide his amusement.
“You are the Grove?”
The creature tilted its head.
“Yes, we are the Grove. Is that hard to understand?”
E’Malkai crossed his arms over his chest and paced around the side of the fountain. “You could say that. The Grove is a place where the power of the Original Creator is bound. A place where those of the Light, of the Kien’jedai, find peace.”
The creature did not waver. “We are very much that. We are connected to one another just as everything in nature is linked.”
E’Malkai paused as the liquid formed into the face of Arivene. He reached out to touch it, but pulled his hand back and glowered at the creature. “What is the point of all this? I have come for the power of the Original Creator. I need to right what you have allowed to transpire.”
The exterior of the creature rippled at the youth’s words. “We did not allow anything. We cannot affect the living; we can only take hold once they are remanded to the afterlife. What became of the one called Ryan Armen was because of the darkness in his own heart, not because we allowed him to take it.”
“Why are you here?”
The creature moved forward, the motion of its body was powerful, like water moving through a stream. “You can be granted one thing, given one peace before your eternal charge. That is the way of the Original Creator. All that you have known will turn to ash and blood. The path is dark and deep, and all those who you have loved will fall into darkness once you ascend.”
E’Malkai paced around the other side of the fountain. He did not like what the being had said. The youth knew there would be a cost; he had come too far to demand anything. “Anything at all: a memory, a place, a person? Whatever I wish?”
The creature nodded, the lidless eyes peering at him.
E’Malkai looked up at the creature, closing the distance quickly. The pain and anger of memories ignited the power at the core of his being. “That day: I wish to see the day when the power was taken by Ryan Armen and my father was murdered.”
Green veins of energy crawled over his skin.
The creature nodded.
“As you wish, you shall see the day as it happened and when you have seen enough, you will be mortal no more. You will be imbued with the power of the Original Creator,” responded the quicksilver creature with a polite nod. It moved toward the center of the fountain, turning and extending its hand to the youth. “Be warned, once you awaken from that moment the fountain will be no more. You will be committed to the power that is given.”
E’Malkai reached out.
He was pulled deeper into the fountain, the silvery waters flowing over his head and body. He breathed out, the cold air of the caverns going with it. As he breathed in once more, he felt the velvety liquid course down his throat. He gasped, but felt the pressure on his back, a welcome hand urging him forward. The liquid covered his sight and he saw only the quicksilver that was all about him.
*
The cavern of the Shaman looked as it ever did.
E’Malkai recognized the rocky enclosure, the spheres of light and color that adorned the ceiling and walls. He dragged his hand along the walls absently, his fingers passing right through the stone. Stopping, he stared at his fingers, staring through them rather. Turning to his side, the quicksilver creature stood there alongside him.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“This is what you asked. This is that day,” it replied, gesturing with its hand to the pedestal at the center of the room. A glowing orb much like the others sat transfixed upon it. The colors from within shone out like revolving beacons of iridescent light. The creature walked toward it, placing its long, slender fingers over top; not touching, for if he did, they would pass through as E’Malkai’s hands had done. “This is the power of the Creator. Not the true power, but the one guarded by the Ti’ere’yuernen.”
The youth approached it slowly, bridging the distance.
As he neared it, he heard voices.
It was not the creature, but others.
That was when E’Malkai, son of Seth Armen, saw his father and the being called Fe’rein when he was only Ryan Armen. Seth wore torn wraps, though they were not as faded as E’Malkai would have thought. At his side there was no blade, no weapon of any kind. His light brown hair was at his shoulders and he wore a light beard, his body drawn thin from near starvation. After seeing the tundra and the Fallen, E’Malkai could understand that condition. Ryan was shaggy as well, though the sallow pockets of his sleep-deprived eyes showed something else. There was violence in those hateful eyes, and an agenda not wholly his own.
The Shaman stalked out ahead of them, his flowing robes very much as E’Malkai remembered them. The being called Ti’ere’yuernen stopped and stared out ahead, and E’Malkai would have sworn that the Shaman looked straight at him and winked.
He gestured back to the two brothers.
His voice was precise and prophetic, much as he was when the son of Armen had last been there. “Brothers of Armen, this orb is the mantle of the Creator, of a power that can be used to structure and mold Terra,” he began.
The dark, round beads at his wrist clacked against one another.
Seth stood still and watched the Shaman carefully, his arms folded over his chest. “A simple orb is the power of this land?” queried E’Malkai’s father with an arched eyebrow, obviously unimpressed by the presence of the lights and colors.
The Shaman grinned.
“You are very perceptive, Seth Armen, son of Evan. There is much more to the power of Creator than this simple orb, but it is the beginning. This sphere is your guide to the power. When a servant of the Light touches it, he is granted the power of life. He is shown a path, one that he or she can use to shape the destiny of the world they inhabit.”
Ryan looked hungrily at the orb, the lights reflecting in his eyes. “What if a warrior of the darkness were to hold it?” he queried, his eyes glued upon the shimmering sphere.
The Shaman followed his gaze. Using a cloth from beside him, he threw it over top. Rya
n’s feral gaze stuttered and then focused instead upon the Shaman. “If the intent is for violence, for hatred, then the power of the Creator will be wielded to that end. The true essence of the energy will be sealed away in a place inaccessible by mortal means. The influence of the shadow can taint the wielder of the power of the Creator. And to that end, the bearer would never understand the true extent of his power until his master is destroyed. This being would forever be at the whim of his insecurities. When he feared, his power would wane. When he was frightened, his tenuous grasp on the power would fade, making him question whether he ever had the power at all.”
Seth uncrossed his arms and ran a hand through his hair. “Which one of us is to wield this power?” he asked after a time. His cold blue eyes were fixed deeper into the distance, almost exactly where E’Malkai stood next to the quicksilver creature.
The youth turned to the creature, the sadness in his eyes evident. “Is what the Shaman said true? That the power can be released if the hold of its master is severed?” he queried, unable to take his eyes from the visage of his father.
The creature nodded. “He will not regain his humanity. Instead, he will be a more powerful incarnation of the darkness,” he answered and then pointed back to the Shaman and the brothers. “There is more, you must listen.”
The Shaman sighed. “Only one of you has the power to wield the energy of the Creator. It is in the blood of you both, but only one can use the power as it was intended.”
Ryan surged forward, his hands clenched at his side in waiting. Seth remained impassive as the Shaman paced away from them, his dark hair glistening beneath the colors of the room.
“Seth Armen, son of Evan Armen, Master Huntsman of the tribe of the Fallen, it is you who must bear the burden of the Creator. You will bear a child who will be the end or the beginning of us all.”
Ryan’s face contorted.
He looked at his brother and the Shaman with distaste.
They were both his enemies now.