Book of Seth: Exiled: A Fallen Chronicles Book Read online

  I looked out ahead of us and saw only limitless tundra. The entrance to our village was a secret that the Umordoc had not yet cracked. The mouth of the cave was hidden beneath a massive snowdrift that resembled all of the other mounds along the tundra. Its exact location was given only to select members of the Fallen. The wind was not nearly as cold on the plains. Exposure would still destroy your skin cells and disfigure you for life, something that was common among the chiefs and elders of the Fallen.

  A thin, long scar traced along the swirling drifts, an almost unnoticeable crack in the reflective ice: this was the entrance to the weaving caverns of the Fallen. I stopped amidst the flaring winds and drew my sword. The blood of the hybrid beast still coated the blade. I slammed it into the ground, the point penetrating the invisible fault. A panel slid away, the snow atop it falling inward into the darkness.

  Shadows led deep into the earth.

  I sheathed my sword, my eyes falling back upon the sullen party that trudged along without sound. Their eyes were sunken into their skulls and their bodies were pushed by the relentless winds. They crowded around me as they made their way down into the shadows. Ryan and Summer were the last to bow their heads from the gales and disappear into the darkness below. I took one last look at the faded tundra and the unchanging skies above me––and then swirled my wraps around me. Making my way into the darkness, I sealed the entrance from the dim light of the world.

  THE STAIRS WERE CRUDE and they spiraled unevenly down into the dark for what seemed like an eternity. There was a hazy light that permeated the air. I pulled down my mask and breathed in deeply. There was a film all along the winding tunnels, moisture that sluiced down the walls like water. It was tinged a faded blue, which served as the light that guided the troop through the confusing pathways to our village.

  The pack upon my back had grown heavy during our trek. The equipment banged against my lower back and I could feel the warmth of my tired muscles.

  The caves were much different than the tundra above. There were crawling things and warmth. The bitter winds of the tundra were not present here, only the isolated warmth of the village. I could see the shadows of my brother and the others ahead of me; the path had grown considerably since they had entered.

  I could feel the viscous blood drip from my blade.

  I coughed violently. Placing my bandaged hand over my face, I pressed the other hand against the wall to steady myself. The smell had been unexpected. I sensed my brother before I saw his shadow; feeling the gentle squeeze on my shoulder, I looked up at Ryan. His face was not nearly as innocent in the depths of the earth. The glassy look in his eyes showed a concern I knew he felt. “Are you alright?” he whispered. The acoustics of the chambers could cause serious cave-ins and rock slides if caution was not taken.

  It was nice to see that logic had prevailed.

  “I’m fine. The blood of those creatures is wretched. Be thankful none of it soaked into your clothing. It is consuming to say the least.” I tried to sound jovial, but the stench curbed my humor and made my voice raspy and cracked. My throat was parched from the winds.

  “That cough sounds terrible. You should have the healer take a look. You wouldn’t want to catch something this time of year.”

  “I might just do that. Take Summer to the chief. He will want to speak with her. Be aware, my brother. Your logics are a tool far more useful than any flight of raw emotion. Remember our father’s teachings…”

  “Never speak of father again. I have read his journals. He spoke of finding passion in life; without our passion, we would never be whole. He spoke of mother with love and reverence and told me to always cherish the sanctity of family and love.” His voice had reverted and become accusatory and belligerent, seething with angst and aggression. It was a true sign of his inexperienced youth.

  “Be that as it may, little brother, you will adhere to the laws of the Fallen. You will bring her before the chief and the council of Elders. Is that understood?” My patience had run much thinner than I would have liked. Between the bruised ribs and the appearance of the mystery woman, it would be safe to say that I was tired.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. Ryan turned and stalked away. The partial shadow of Summer hid around the corner:

  Was she afraid of the brotherly spat––or perhaps listening?

  I was too prone to mistrust: it was the way of the Fallen: survival through caution.

  His fading footsteps were rushed and then joined by the petite, hurried feet of Summer.

  I shook my head and pushed forward, the pain at my side far more intense in the caverns than it had been on the open tundra. I staggered, favoring my right leg. As I saw the lights of my village, I paused again. Artificial glow-pods served as energy sources deep within the core of the earth. The two-meter wide mouth of the chamber opened into an enormous antechamber that looked like a dome. Its ceiling was carved like a half of a sphere; adobe-like homes were littered all about the dark interior. Not one home stood alone. Instead, they were connected to one another in an endless pattern that repeated itself until it came full circle. The council stood in judgment in a swollen building at its center––just in front of an exit that snaked farther toward the surface.

  I limped forward.

  The notion of home swelled in my chest and the frozen feel of the outer world melted away.

  There were very few people wandering around. Most were holed up in their personal chambers or in the communal centers where we built the necessities of our daily life. My father had told me that, in theory, we possessed neither the personnel nor the resources to properly conduct everything that needed to be done; yet, through discipline, we had found a way.

  The infirmary was the closest structure to the entrance, the pale lettering across the mouth of the building spelling out its function. I pushed the fabric draped across the entrance aside and stepped inside. The dusty floor was covered by an ornate weave, the ends frilled like rugs of ages past. There were chiseled benches placed along the walls of the room. The counter on the far side was covered with dark, faded parchment that had the symbols of our people written across it.

  I moved forward, my usual stealthy approach hampered by the nagging pain in my side and leg. The curtains moved from behind the counter and a woman appeared. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. The dark irises of her eyes seemed to mirror the shock of shadow that flowed down her back and shoulders.

  “Praise be to the Believer.” She bowed as she said it, maintaining eye contact.

  I nodded as well, returning the bow. “Praise be to the Believer.”

  “Can I help you, Master Huntsman?”

  Her name had escaped me for the moment, as many names did when I returned home.

  She was younger than me and had run the infirmary after the disappearance of her parents.

  That seemed like such a long time ago; she had been a little girl then.

  I remembered how she stood alone, waiting for them to return; not crying or carrying on like some, but instead stoic and patient.

  “Leane,” I spoke slowly. The name came back to me, but I still hesitated.

  The endless nights on the tundra had muddled my memory.

  “What can I get you, Seth?” She seemed to have caught my hesitation.

  “I seem to have injured myself on the mountain,” I replied as I lifted the wraps along my right side and exposed the bruised flesh where the hybrid had slammed one of its disfigured claws.

  She moved out from around the counter and knelt before me.

  When my father was alive I had daydreamed about her, about us together. Responsibility had taken the place of lust; and here I was now, bruised and battered in her care.

  “It looks bad, Seth. You should be more careful. You’re needed here.” Her words were soft and urgent; yet, the volume of her voice remained just above a whisper. It was the custom of our people to speak in slow, silent tones.

  “I know, but it was necessary. The hybrids would have eradicate
d the entire group if I had not intervened.”

  “Hybrids….” She drew back, her voice abandoning the whisper.

  “They were bolder than any wolf in these parts and enormous––a size that would have to be synthesized. Leane, please do not speak of the wolves. The people worry too easily and panic is the last thing we need.”

  She nodded and then grasped the ends of my wrap and pulled it over my face, exposing my upper torso. I flinched instinctively, expecting the cruel wintry gales of the tundra. The warmth of the village replaced my fear, and the gentle touch of Leane set those fears to rest.

  “People have begun speaking strange things. There is talk of outlanders to the east, far beyond the boundaries of the arctic pass.”

  Since the fall of man, very little of the globe had been searched. Communication had been abandoned and what remained formed underground networks of cities that weathered the harsh cycles of winter. Some of my father’s generation had pushed to the east only to be consumed by an arctic pass that seemed to separate us from another world. The choppy shores of a sea of ice closed off our travel routes far to the north. Hundreds of men and women from the search party drowned. Those who escaped talked little of what they saw and warned to never attempt such a journey again.

  “Have there been actual sightings? Or is the idle talk of fools?”

  Frederick had formed a small, but tight, circle of followers who believed that there were other humans out there who had not been forced underground. They believed there were hidden cities. It was blasphemy to speak of such things in the council chambers; yet, they braved heresy each meeting to instill doubt and fear in the community.

  “Not all of them were heretics. An argument ensued and it was quickly spread that these beings were demi. Although, we cannot confirm that, of course.” She wrapped the clear white bandages around my chest several times and then touched the spot gingerly, testing the level of sensitivity.

  “That will help, Leane. Thank you. The pain was bearable until I hit the tunnels and then the unexpected warmth brought on something much deeper.”

  I smiled as best I could.

  She had a way about her that made you want to be in good spirits. Loss was a common thing among the Fallen. Fathers and sons disappeared much quicker than the drifts of ice and snow, but we still held strong to our convictions––forever reaching for something better.

  “Not so fast, Master Huntsman.” Whenever she sought to put me in my place, she was sure to use my title––making sure I remembered that everyone had a place here. “I saw your limp. It also requires some attention.”

  My pants came off much quicker than my torso wrap.

  I could feel a blush rising to my cheeks––the foolish embarrassment of youth returning. Clearing my throat, I shifted self-consciously. Her dexterous fingers massaged the bruised knee, sending goose-bumps up my leg and increasing the already steady flush to my face. She began wrapping the white bandages once again after applying a sweet-smelling ointment to the bruise.

  Standing up, I knew the task was complete. I stretched my knee, flexing it and grimacing slightly. “Seems that it hurt much worse than I was putting on. I must thank you again, Leane. You are far too kind.” I could feel the flush recede.

  Her dark eyes seemed to penetrate the façade of stoicism and control that I carried with me.

  “Seth, is something the matter?” she queried.

  I pulled the wraps back around me despite the warmth of the air. The stuffy, worn pieces of protection carried a certain confidence on which I had come to rely.

  “There are many things, Leane. But there is always a problem when you are on the edge of survival like we are. Let us wait and see what comes of the equipment we retrieved. Perhaps answers will begin to present themselves.”

  I turned away from her before the power of her eyes drove me to speak more.

  Exiting through the dark fabric covering the entrance, I made my way through the village.

  My path was far more distorted than I had thought.