The Path of the Fallen

by Dan O'Brien

  Voices swam in his mind. Even the youth could hear them, dark whispering voices that committed him to a fate that was not one of his own choosing. They chose his enemies, spelled out the fate of those who would stand his path.

  The voice was the Intelligence.

  “I see it is always Seth. He has always been the stronger one. It only makes sense that he as well would inherit the power of creation and life,” mocked Ryan, desperately trying to hide his hatred.

  Seth looked crestfallen.

  Once again, the weight of responsibility was his. In all his years he had never possessed freedom, a reprieve from being looked to as a leader. “This is no contest, brother. I have won no more from being granted this power than you have from not receiving it. This power is a curse, not a gift. It is the only way to restore things to their natural order,” spoke Seth.

  The Shaman smiled.

  “That is why you must be granted this power, Seth Armen. You will wield the power only because you must and do only what is needed. Your brother has felt the darkness. He would inadvertently bring about death and despair.”

  Ryan lunged forward, a fist clenched in rage.

  “You lie,” he hissed.

  Seth held an arm against his brother. Ryan pushed it away with a forceful shove, glaring defiantly at his brother. He glowered and then spun, disappearing back into back caverns Mete and Arivene had occupied when E’Malkai had journeyed into the Desert of the Forgotten. Seth turned to follow his brother, but felt the gentle, yet restraining, hand of the Shaman on his shoulder.

  “You must be careful of your brother, Seth, son of Evan. He has felt the darkness. It speaks to him now, makes demands of him. He means to take your power,” warned the Shaman, his smooth features ruffled into a frown.

  Seth hunched forward, sighing as he did so.

  “Is he so lost?” spoke Seth.

  “What does your heart say?”

  Seth scoffed and shook his head.

  “Yes, I have known it for some time. He has changed. He yearns for violence,” admitted Seth as he paced toward the wall where the gateway to Dok’Turmel rested. He ran his hands over the stone without knowing the purpose it served.

  The Shaman nodded.

  “You have seen horrors, felt pain, yet you still see with a mind that is untainted. Right and wrong have meaning to you. That is your gift and your curse. Your own heart will be your undoing.” Seth looked to the Shaman and then looked away, kicking uselessly at the ground. “Will you accept the mantle of the Creator?”

  Seth moved back toward the pedestal at the center of the room, pulling aside the brown fabric that covered it. He watched the orb. Vibrant colors ran together like strange shades of blood.

  “You spoke of my son.”

  “E’Malkai.”

  The youth looked up and approached the Shaman. He stood right next to his father; shoulder to shoulder, though Seth could not feel his son. “You said that he would bring about the end and the beginning. What exactly did you mean by that?”

  The Shaman looked past Seth to the empty space where E’Malkai stood. “Yes, your son will be more powerful than any being born on Terra. He, much like you, will be faced with a terrible choice, one that will shape the lives of us all.”

  Seth pulled the fabric back over the orb.

  “I will have an answer for you by morning.”

  The Shaman nodded, allowing the tundra huntsman passage into the chambers beyond as E’Malkai turned back to the creature. “My coming was foretold?” asked the youth.

  The creature nodded, its simple nature was frustrating to E’Malkai. “There is much that is written that does not come to pass, as well as much that has. You can do no more than what you are able; just as you can be only who you are.”

  E’Malkai shook his head, his brow furrowed at the response.

  “I wish to see more.”

  E’Malkai turned and the room had changed.

  The pedestal was still at the center of the room.

  The orb was uncovered.

  Ryan stood before it, running his hands over top of it. Whispers escaped his lips as he stared off blankly into the distance. He turned sharply as Seth entered from the far side of the room.

  “What are you doing, Ryan?”

  Ryan grasped the orb in one hand, pulling it from the pedestal. His free hand rested on the hilt of his own planedge. He leered at his brother. “Whatever I wish, brother. They have spoken to me. They told me what I must do to take the power.”

  Seth saw his brother’s hand tighten on his weapon and he raised his hands in peace. He saw the madness in the eyes of his own kin. “Who told you, brother?”

  Ryan’s face opened into a smile.

  “The voices. The darkness.”

  Seth took a step forward and Ryan pulled the blade free of its sheath. “Not one more step, Seth. I know what I must do. The power will be mine. I have to make them all pay for Summer’s death, for the way I am. The voices have told me how,” he preached. His voice was no longer his own. The deep red bags of his eyes made him seem more maniacal than ever before.

  Seth moved forward again, holding out his hand.

  “Brother, do not do this.”

  Ryan kicked at the pedestal. Knocking it against the far wall, it shattered into pieces of marble and stone. “There is no escaping them, brother. They see all, hear all. They know how I feel. They can understand my pain, the regret that plagues me.” Ryan reached out with his clenched fist as his mouth twisted in anger.

  Seth circled around his brother, watching him with equal intensity. “You have come all this way to be taken by darkness, brother? You must fight these voices that would claim you.”

  Ryan’s eyes pooled with tears. Rage claimed him. “They are my way now, brother. They are the way of this realm’s future,” he insisted as he circled close to his brother.

  He crouched low and slashed out.

  Seth pulled away from the blade at the last second. The cloth of his tunic was opened wide from the point of the planedge. Seth ran the torn fabric between his fingers. “You are walking a thin line, Ryan. I have no weapon. Do you wish to kill me in cold blood?” called Seth, looking behind him as he searched for a weapon.

  Ryan slashed out again, catching his brother along his forearm. He received a kick in the stomach, knocking the younger sibling back. Ryan looked up, his hateful gaze mixed with an equally diabolical smile. “It is your blood upon this orb that will grant me my power.”

  Seth stood up straighter at his brother’s words. “It cannot be.”

  Ryan twisted the blade back against his wrist, his dark eyes fixed upon Seth. “The time has come. This is where we end our bond as brothers.”

  Ryan placed the orb aside and leapt out toward his brother, slashing horizontally. Seth grasped Ryan’s arm and used the other to strike him across the chest with the hard edge of his palm. Ryan reeled back, though his blade was still held in his hand. The younger brother reached out, driving his closed fist against the back of Seth’s skull. Seth let out a startled cry as he rolled aside, his balance thrown off. As suddenly as he hit the ground, Ryan was on top of him.

  “Goodbye, Seth,” he croaked as he raised the blade high into the air and then drove it deep into the chest of his brother. Seth cried out, the scream trapped in his throat as he struggled to breathe.

  E’Malkai ran to where Ryan stood, swinging his fists, but they passed through his uncle’s head. The youth fell to his knees beside his father as he sobbed. When his head lifted again, he saw Ryan reach out and rub his hand along his brother’s chest.

  He smeared his bloodstained hands over the orb. As he held his hands over each side and looked up, his eyes closed. Shadow fire crept from the orb, shattering its glassy exterior. Blood and shadow, crimson and darkness, consumed Ryan Armen: he became in that moment the being called Fe’rein.

  E’Malkai pushed his body up from the ground.

  The image of that day passed away and the cavern returned.
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  The fountain was no more.

  The quicksilver creature had gone.

  He stood alone in the empty chamber, tears tracing down his face. An echo filled the space, a distant rumbling that seemed far away. Light shot through him like a blade in his back. He reached out, his arms flung above his head. The spiral of light passed through him and out the other side. His mouth opened to scream, but light cascaded from it, billowing off his lips. Silver script crawled over his body, roving words and letters of a language long since forgotten.

  The light diminished as quickly as it had come.

  Silver lettering covered his entire body.

  It spoke of prophecies.

  It spoke of the histories of a people long forgotten.

  The code of the Creators was etched into his skin. He pulled a white cloak from thin air over his shoulders. His legs were adorned with bleached white trousers. The symbols as well marred his face.

  E’Malkai opened his eyes and stared forward.

  White spheres of influence were traced with the emerald of his power, as well as the red taint in honor of the Polypheme. The room arched, bending at his will. He extended his arm out from his body; the ethereal glow that enveloped him extended with it. Touching the air, he solidified it with a touch of his finger and stepped through. The fabric of time and space materialized around him.

  ⱷ

  Illigard

  Fe’rein laughed as the arrows sizzled at the edges of his shadow fire. The wail of M’iordi drew his attention. The foolish councilman had insisted that he stay at Fe’rein’s side no matter what, but at the moment he was rethinking that particular philosophy. Fe’rein rested down atop the walls, his energy scorching the stone as he stepped upon it. His head was shaved clean again. It shone as the snow glowed all around him in crimson, the blood of those who stood in his path.

  With each sweep of his hand, a wave of his power flowed over them and toppled them over the sides of the walls. His power was not as potent as it had once been. Instead, he was a bully on a playground; a child burning ants with a magnifying glass.

  He had nearly wiped away the eastern wall when T’elen and the others stalked toward him from deeper in the common area, their weapons drawn. Arile let loose two arrows before the mion turned.

  Fe’rein batted them away as if they were flies and jumped down. The snow and ground beneath him melted away as if it had never been there in the first place. M’iordi was dragged with him for he was entombed in the power that surrounded Fe’rein.

  “The heroes of Illigard, how quaint,” he called.

  Arile wasted no movement as he loosed several more arrows before laying his bow aside and drawing his spear from around his back. Fe’rein turned and extended his hand. The shadow energy leapt out and grabbed Arile, wrapping its tendrils around the white hunter, and then flung him aside with a hungry grin.

  Leane brought her rifle from around her back and into her hands. She did not get a chance to shoot as Fairhair shoved her aside and squeezed off a burst of his plasma rifle.

  She glowered at him as she pushed herself to her feet.

  The others ran forward: T’elen, her weapon drawn; Elcites charged, his teeth barred and his spear gripped tightly in his hands as he swung it. The serrated edges gleamed with blood and ice. He arched it overhead and swung it down as strongly as he could muster. As it came down on Fe’rein’s forearm, it shattered into thousands of pieces.

  T’elen swung along the torso of the mion and it too shattered as if it were frozen glass. His hand lashed out and slammed into the chest of Elcites. Lifting the much larger Umordoc off of the ground and across the common grounds into one of the makeshift walls, the structure crumbled beneath Elcites’ weight.

  “I had forgotten how much I enjoyed this,” he howled as he lifted T’elen into the air and squeezed his hand against her throat. “Nothing snide to say now, do you?”

  He cackled as he threw her aside, her lithe figure bouncing off of the ground as she skidded to a stop. A shadow leapt up from behind him, a thick blade held tightly in the hands of Xi’iom as he drove the point down as powerfully as he could. The blade, as the others had, snapped as if it had struck solid metal. The commander ricocheted from Fe’rein back against a wooden door.

  The mion turned toward the wooden supports.

  Opening his hand as the ripple of his shadow fire stuttered, it leapt from Fe’rein’s fingers, singeing the wood to ash. The thunder of the troops echoed as the gateway into Illigard creaked and groaned against the pressure of too many men. Fe’rein turned back, a feral smile spread across his lips as the door gave way, splintering at its edges.

  The reaching arms of Culouth soldiers began to seep through. Hordes of Illigard soldiers abandoned posts and ran toward the slowly disintegrating door. They used the blunt part of their rifles to strike out at exposed hands and faces that found their way through the gaping holes of the entrance.

  Elcites had pushed himself free of the rubble and carried T’elen in one arm. Arile pulled Xi’iom away from the marauding horde that was finding its way in. Fe’rein turned back just as Fairhair urged Leane to follow the others as they fell back to a higher point.

  The mion pointed his finger, fire leaping from it across the courtyard and striking the fleeing figure of Fairhair in the back. A scream echoed from his lips as he fell forward, knees striking the earth first.

  Leane turned at the sound of him falling.

  The steps that led up the incline of Illigard were no more than a few feet away. She reached him as he fell to his side, blood draining from his midsection where the shadow fire had carved a hole.

  “Leane,” he gurgled, blood spiting from his mouth as he spoke.

  She looked at him, smoothing back his golden hair, blood pooling at her feet as he held him on an incline. “Don’t, there isn’t time,” she croaked.

  She felt emotion for a man that she did not love.

  He had shown her comfort when she needed it.

  “You––save yourself,” he struggled to speak.

  The entrance was breached.

  The host of Culouth soldiers stormed through; what remained of Illigard charged from behind where Leane sat with Fairhair. Fe’rein, who stood at the center of it all, did not lift a hand against the normal infantry. Instead, he walked through, brushing off the occasional blow that came close to him.

  Fairhair tried to speak once more before his eyes rolled back and Leane laid him aside. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she ran her hand over the top of his face, closing his eyes forever. As she stood, wiping away the tears from her eyes, she saw Fe’rein. The tendrils of his shadow energy seeped out through the clashing of weapons and men. The stairway was slick as she turned quickly and bounded up after Elcites and Arile.

  The mion reached the base of the stairs, M’iordi only steps behind him. His wide eyes looked this way and the other as he watched the carnage around him. Men burst from the insides, their blood sizzling against the energy, and the meek councilman did his best to keep from falling sick right there in the streets of Illigard.

  The building that resided at the apex of the stone stairs was much like everything else within the outpost: antediluvian and dated. The swell of the soldiers continued around him as Fe’rein ascended the steps one at a time, not bounding or leaping as the remnants of the Illigard officers had done. Each step bore the mark of war, the sacrifice of blood for honor.

  Leane was the last through the door of the hill building.

  The scared soldiers on either side of the door watched her in wide-eyed apprehension. T’elen sat across the room; her feet sprawled out in front of her and her head tilted on a bundle of clothes. Xi’iom had regained consciousness, but had not moved. The whites of his eyes were intent upon the roof of the eroding building.

  The soldiers looked back to her and she realized the shift in command. With T’elen down, it was understood that she would lead them. She spotted the pile of wooden pallets standing along the other wall tha
t had been used to move freight around. She moved toward them, her voice immediately taking on the tone of a commander. “Get those pallets and stack them in front of the door, bar the windows,” she shouted as she heaved one up against her body and prepared to walk it across the hall.

  Elcites lifted it from her grasp and finished the distance.

  She ran across the room, her icy boots making a squishing noise, and fell down beside T’elen. She pushed the hair back from the Field Marshal’s face. “T’elen,” Leane murmured as she stroked the woman’s face.

  She looked across to the vacant stare on Xi’iom’s face, and then to the concerned look spread across Arile’s features. Dirt and blood had pasted a mask across his nose and cheek. His mouth was closed, but a dark line traced it evenly. He was crouched and as she knelt, he pushed himself to his feet. The broken end of his spear was still held tightly in his hands. “It appears that this day cannot be won,” he spoke with a deflated sigh.

  T’elen stirred.

  Her eyes fluttered, but did not open.

  Leane grabbed her hand tightly, squeezing it with all the might she had, and smiled. “Fe’rein has indeed made things more difficult, but we are not yet lost as long as we have our lives.”

  Thunder echoed against the door.

  The wooden pallets splintered and burst aside despite Elcites and the other soldiers’ resolve to stack them. The Umordoc commander shielded his eyes as the shards of the wood were flung out over the entire building.

  Leane looked up from T’elen’s side and saw the glow of the energy that she knew all too well: Fe’rein. The chaos of the war outside filtered in through the door.

  The guardian was quick to recover.

  He produced another blade from his side, ducking and swinging it along the midsection of the mion. Fe’rein glowered down at the strike, not even bothering to touch the blade.

  He simply stared at it.

  The blade glowed red hot in the Umordoc’s hand and Elcites threw it aside with a hiss as it sizzled through the wood of the floor. Fe’rein looked at Elcites, his right arm stretched out in front of him and his fist clenched tightly. A snarl curled his lips. His form dematerialized, trails of where it had been floating on the wind.