Book of Seth: The North: A Fallen Chronicles Book

  Book of Seth: The North

  Dan O’Brien

  © 2015 Dan O’Brien

  “The bloodline of Armen was considered to be the most noble, rivaling even the high chiefs. A son or daughter of the Armen line would never be so presumptuous as to assume the wishes of the Believer. Their place was to hunt and to guide, forever braving the unknown arctic gales in search of better times.”

  -Musings of the Shaman

  The winter had been harsher than many of us could remember. Some claimed it was due to the Umordoc presence. The more logical of us knew that when we scarred the skies, we also shifted the course of our weather for the worst. The mountains were treacherous in the driest of summers; and in winter, they were deadly and steep.

  I trudged along.

  The weight of my pack dug into the tanned small of my back.

  There was a bruised, erratic scar situated there that was a constant reminder of the beasts that had taken our world. They branded us like cattle when they captured us, filling endless ditches with our bodies. Our people called these camps yotikai: the languishing death in the old tongue.

  My brother walked beside me.

  His once-boyish features had been chiseled and drawn sallow from periodic starvation. He would look out across the jagged hills and say that he could see the plains of our ancestors. The cascading buildings and flaring lights of their monuments that had once covered the land gleamed in his mind. He romanticized our dour trek from time to time and I found solace in it.

  Some among us were angered by his words.

  They dare not speak, for he was my brother and I was their leader.

  “Seth,” he whispered.

  His voice was still full of youthful vigor and hope, something that seemed impossible to squander no matter the perils we faced. His sandy brown hair had grown long, the splits ends falling around his shoulders in feathery bursts.

  His equally brown eyes were glazed and distant.

  “What is it, Ryan?” I called, trying to smile back at him.

  I always tried to show hope around my brother.

  Dreams were something that very few of our people held dear.

  Those who dreamt of a better world needed to be watched over, for they would become the champions of our people. He was slightly taller than me, though it was unnoticeable as he hunched from the weight of the pack strapped to his back.

  “Remember when father would tell us of the old world…the grand features that defined the land and the majestic cities that sprawled from horizon to horizon?”

  “I do indeed. He enjoyed the old tales and he told them with as much vigor and passion as anyone. More so than the people of that time, I imagine. They probably didn’t realize how wonderful their lives were.”

  The cold winds of the mountain pass slammed into us.

  Trenches of snow and mud seemed insurmountable. Their subtle ridges extended far into the pale clouds above us.

  “I wish father was here now. I miss him, Seth.” Ryan turned and smiled at me. Tears welled in his eyes and the weak line of his smile was far more exuberant than any of the others in the party.

  I could feel the cold in my bones. The game of the land had long since cowered and hid far from the reaches of man or Umordoc. Herds of animals were marked only by sparse tracks in the endless white hills. “I miss him as well. If it were not for him, then we would not be here now.” I turned my back to Ryan and stood in front of the others, covering my eyes with my bandaged hands. They were truly a sad lot––all faded white wraps and hunched bodies dragging their miserable lives across the cold without any real hope. “Let us stop here for now. Gather what timber remains and scout in groups of two. Do not stray far.”

  Our group had set out from the far north several months ago.

  There had been twenty-five in the beginning. Now, there stood only nine. Most had been consumed by the miserable storms that ravaged the lands and the oppressive cold that gripped your very soul. However, the majority were taken in a single moment. A scouting team of Umordoc had flown over the area and picked up our thermal signatures. They landed away from our progression and ambushed us along a densely wooded area. Their blood-red eyes emerged from the shadowed trees and ravaged our ranks. Seven of us fell immediately, and then three more the next night.

  Their punishing pikes poisoned our flesh.

  We used a transport portal to take us as far south as the twin peaks of a forgotten mountain range, though we called it the Dark Home. We held out there for several nights before succumbing to fear. The adjoining portal was almost eight thousand feet up the side of the mountain and deep within its center. The warmth there was sufficient to camp for extended periods of time.

  The remnants of humanity had banded together upon the tundra, our numbers slowly rising again.

  Never again would we see the foolish numbers that had consumed the world before its breaking.

  We had set out to carry equipment south to our base just west of one of the many lost cities that had long since faded into myth. With so many causalities, it seemed a lost cause. The remaining members of the group were already carrying several packs in order to leave nothing behind. If there were another attack, we would have to begin leaving supplies behind––something we could not do.

  “Ryan, we need to build the campsite. Night is coming and the cold will be even more deadly by then.”

  My brother nodded and opened the pack, a brown canvas falling upon the white earth. He undid the rusted bronze clasp. He drew a thin twin-sided pike––the handle wooden and splintered––and ambled over to me. I slammed an identical tool against the side of the mountain, close to its base. I did not strike hard enough to cause an avalanche, but enough to dislodge some of the larger rocks.

  Together, we pushed and prodded at the fallen boulders until they created a makeshift wall against the outcropping just south of our position.

  I handed the other end of the thick burlap tarp to my brother. We placed it over the front and top of the rock enclosure.

  “That should do,” replied Ryan as he stepped back from his work and eyed it with the optimistic eyes of youth.

  “Ah, but it needs one more thing. We need to fasten the tarp down with something,” I added with mock admonishment.

  Ryan was still learning the skills necessary to lead the group.

  I knew that my time was growing short.

  I was considered old among my tribe. Very few people lived long periods of time––their health failing due to severe conditions or malnutrition.

  I handed the parcel of fat to Ryan and he grimaced. The viscous nature of the fat and the startlingly strong smell seemed to send him into a laughing fit. “This stuff smells terrible, Seth. I know it is necessary, but ugh.” He made a disgusted face and pinched his nose at the smell. The winds had picked up again and bits of snow had fallen with the gales. The crystalline precipitation faded into the flowing brown hair that cascaded over my brother’s face.

  Family was something of which there was very little.

  Most children never knew their parents. Those who did had to suffer the horrific deaths and sometimes strangled responsibilities that came with being the only member of the family. Our father had been the chief resource scout. He went far into the wilderness to find deserted bases and battle Umordoc, if necessary. Our family was greatly respected by the other members of the tribe. When our father died, his responsibilities were passed down to his oldest child, be it man or woman. I was the next in line to accept the charge, the mantle of Master Huntsman. My brother was so very small then, not yet a man. I did not have a wife or a mate to take care of my brother,
so the responsibility of my brother’s safety fell to me.

  “The smell is tolerable considering the alternative,” I called over the rising winds.

  My bandaged hands ached beneath the frigid touch of the winds, but I dare not show my frailty. The entire group depended on my strength to continue.

  “I suppose freezing to death here would be intolerable,” conceded my brother. He had the same sharp angular features that our mother had.

  Ryan was born just mere moons before her death. The image of her beauty was not something that consumed him as it did me.

  I remembered fragments of her, her laughter and her reprimands when I shirked my responsibilities. She constantly reminded me of the need to complete my tasks because only through unity could our people have a future.

  I climbed atop the rocky outcropping and turned back toward my brother, shouting into the wind. “Hand me the parcel and be careful about it. We have very little left.”

  The canvas sack landed beside me and I waved my hands at my brother in recognition. I reached my hand into the pack and produced a handful of the fat and smeared it along the edge of the tarp. I made sure to lather a thick strip so it would adhere to the rock. Reaching for the nozzle of my flame generator, I flipped the loose toggle switch, igniting the core with a hiss. I cradled the nozzle in both hands and depressed the trigger. A bead of flame emanated from the tip; it swayed in the swirling winds. I heated the thick line and worked my way across the roof until the blackened strip could be seen clearly all along the tarp.

  “Are you done yet?” called my brother over the winds, his gloved hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.

  My head went up at the sound of his voice and I moved to the edge of the rock outcropping, I leapt down beside him. The steel core of the generator slapped against my back as I landed. “All done. Have the others returned?”

  Ryan pointed at the approaching shadows.

  I nodded, knowing that the other members of the group were returning with supplies, hopefully.

  Their figures emerged through the sheet of the storm and in their arms were bundles of twigs and branches.

  “Seth,” called Frederick.

  He was the first to reach me and his arms were spilling over with thin branches and odd-shaped stumps from the surrounding area. His face was grizzled with a dark beard that reached to his chest. Greenish-gray eyes had a haunted look about them. Gaunt features were characteristic of the traveling vagabonds who we sometimes encountered. He had been found huddled in a corner, his left arm torn from his shoulder. He would later speak of devil dogs led by the Umordoc that rode on lightning and glowed deep purple in the night. We had heard the same stories from prisoners of death camps.

  “Praise be to the Believer,” I spoke. It was the typical greeting. It paid homage to the being that was believed to watch over the tundra. “What is it, Frederick?”

  His eyes were more vacant than usual.

  “I saw it again,” he replied, ignoring my greeting.

  “You saw what?” I knew what he was going to say: he saw the devil hounds again. This had become a common refrain ever since escaping the Umordoc squad to the north. My brother stood stoically at my side. His grin was replaced by a grim determination that he used when trying to mirror me.

  “The dogs of hell. I heard them howling in the night, their graven, hoarse snarls in the mist. They are close. I can feel it in my bones.” His eyes seemed ready to pop from their sockets at any second. He dropped the sticks on the ground, splintering the brittle pieces into a disorderly pile at his feet.

  “Could it have been wolves? I have seen several in the distance at night. They seemed unconcerned by our presence here,” offered Ryan.

  “Might be,” I replied. I looked at Frederick. “How sure are you that these are hell hounds? Did you actually see one?”

  “No, I did not. I just have a feeling is all,” replied the man.

  “Do not slump your shoulders, Frederick. It is not that I don’t believe you. I have heard the wolves at night and it might be that you are just hearing those. But in light of your coming to me, I will stand guard tonight. Just in case something does come around.”

  My brother looked at me.

  He knew that I rarely took advice from the easily startled Frederick. It was true. Normally, I would not have; yet, I also had a feeling that something stalked us.

  “I will join you, brother. Two are much better than one if something were to attack us in the night.”

  I knew better than to argue with my brother. He had become very headstrong over the past couple of months.

  “As you wish, little brother.”

  I flashed a grin at his proud figure. He thrust his chest out and flexed his muscles, trying to look the part of a warrior. The same blood that flowed through my veins flowed through his. Our line was one that had battled Umordoc and lived to tell horrific tales.

  Frederick bowed slightly and then retrieved the branches at his feet before shuffling to where the others were piling the wood. His was the last to join the pile. I looked farther up the mountain and saw the darkness creep down with the rising wind. The darkness mocked my musings and consumed the light.

  I AWOKE SUDDENLY from my drifting nightmares. My back was to my brother and my face was shrouded in several layers of animal furs. The species and breed were extinct, but their warm furs still provided a reprieve from the chilling winds. My eyes had never closed. It was my mind that had shut itself away from the frigid wastelands.

  I saw what had awoken me. Farther up the mountain trail were two distinct shadows. Their approach was hidden by the white wall of snow and miserable winds, but their creeping was evident nonetheless. The slightest movement would make the two shadows aware that they had been spotted and would drive them to fight or flight.

  I nudged my brother beneath the grand wrappings of the furs, making sure not to ripple the layers atop us. I could feel him stir, his head rising from sleep and then recognition that he had been sleeping.

  “I fell asleep, didn’t I?” he queried much louder than I would have liked.

  “Ryan, be quiet. Don’t move at all until I tell you to. Understood?”

  My voice switched over to the commanding tone my father had taught me to use when the cooperation was needed at the expense of emotion. My hand was on the handle of my sidearm. The usually cool barrel of my weapon was warm beneath the layers that surrounded my brother and me. The slit of the tarp was almost non-existent, but I could see the crossing patterns of the two stalking shadows more clearly now. Their scent was upon the gales, a foolish maneuver for any animal.

  The realization startled me.

  A wolf would never carelessly allow its scent to be noticed.

  This was not a natural animal––a hybrid perhaps.

  “Ryan, are the others asleep?”

  I could feel my brother turning to view the remaining members of the group. Their wrapped bodies clung to one another for warmth inside the dismal rock shelter. Counting to himself, he made sure that they were all accounted for. “Yes, they are all here,” he whispered back.

  I nodded my head and gripped the handle of my modified sidearm. “On the count of three, I want you to fall with me to our left.”

  I could feel his nod.

  Looking back outside, I saw that the two shadows were splitting from one another.

  “One.”

  The figures were visible now. Grizzled muzzles and soulless black eyes stared into the night. Their black fur was like that of their masters, the Umordoc. The tips of their fangs dug into the pink layers of their gums and drew blood. Their forked green tongues flicked out and collected the blood in rapid slashes, as if they enjoyed the taste.

  “Two.”

  Their ridged feet rose horrifically from the ground. The claws made the exact same marks I had seen before. They had been following us for days, sloppily. Without knowledge of what the tracks were, they had gone undetected.

  “Three.”


  We rolled to the left in unison.

  I threw the folds of the wrappings off me in haste, knowing that the beasts would be upon our camp in moments. My brother was up at my side seconds after he impacted with the ground. He had his sidearm in his hand, the safety already released and one in the chamber. I looked at him in the darkness of our sanctuary, pointing my sidearm outside. The silver barrel twinkled in the reflection of the crystalline mounds of snow.

  “What is it, Seth?” whispered Ryan.

  His face remained shrouded in the shadows. The tint of his hazel eyes looked out upon the darkness, not knowing about the shadows that hunted us.

  I knew he was ready to fight.

  The passion of battle drove us both.

  “Two beasts just outside the encampment. Not wolves, some sort of hybrid. Not at all shy it seems…or cautious.”

  I took off the thick overcoat so that the blade across my back was exposed. The black sheath was invisible in the shadow.

  Ryan nodded and did the same. Twin ironwood sticks were slung across his back. The scripted cylinders were also drenched in shadow.

  I raised my hand and motioned for him to follow.

  The hounds had already disappeared from view as I pushed away the flap of the tarp. The blowing winds assaulted my sight and the sliver of skin that emerged from beneath the facemask I wore to protect me from the cold. My eyes searched the limited visibility and the tracks of the hounds seemed to disperse around our encampment.

  I turned and looked up the side of the rocky mountainside. The jagged slicks of rocks and inverted shadows showed no sign of the beasts. The tracks were long and deep, spaced far apart. The stride of the creatures was enormous. The wind had increased and the blinding gales made it so I couldn’t stare out for more than a few seconds at a time.

  “I don’t see them,” called Ryan over the wind, his voice echoing against the canyon.

  The shadows stirred.

  The soulless eyes of the beasts were a vivid red, signaling their position in the unrelenting gales of snow. Snow-streaked fur emerged from the wall of snow just behind my brother. The fangs glistened with saliva and gristle of past meals. Awkward claws dug deep into the snow-packed ground and cracked beneath their weight.