The Path of the Fallen Page 6

  “He…” began E’Malkai.

  Elcites’ voice caused him to stop. “The man’s words were madness. There is no need to speak of them.”

  Leane fixed him with an even glare. Even though the giant did not shrink beneath her gaze, there was an uneasiness that passed between them. “I will not have my son keep secrets from me, Umordoc,” she replied, venom swimming in her words.

  E’Malkai opened his eyes in shock, as if he had been slapped. The vicious way that Leane addressed Elcites was horrifying. His guardian did not flinch, nor did he show any outward sign of emotion at her callous words.

  “Mom,” he whispered.

  She silenced him with a stony glare.

  “Leane ilsen, I meant no disrespect. I merely wished to shield E’Malkai sien and yourself from speaking any words that would compromise either of you,” returned the giant, looking down at the surprised eyes of E’Malkai.

  Leane held Elcites’ gaze, but did not waver nor apologize. Instead, she moved her attention to E’Malkai. “So what was this madman’s name?”

  E’Malkai was still stung by their exchange, but he continued.

  “He called himself Stephen, son of Gregory.”

  There was a twinkle in her eyes for a moment upon hearing the words. “He speaks in the old way, as they did in the Fallen. They describe their lineage rather than tell you their family name,” mused Leane, sighing as she sat back on a metallic outcropping of the vantage point.

  “He did become somber because he knew people no longer spoke as such,” replied E’Malkai.

  “What did he say?” pressured Leane, ignoring the concerned look upon the Umordoc warrior’s face. “Fear not, these words will not travel beyond the three of us; that I can assure you.”

  Elcites nodded as E’Malkai looked from him to his mother before speaking. “He spoke of Fe’rein and the power of the Believer. He said that our mion was a corrupted form of the essence of a Creator. He went on and on about how the agenda of both the Intelligence and Culouth is one of genocide.”

  “He was a Resistance member. He must be to speak of Fe’rein like that, unless one wishes an excruciating death by his hands,” replied Leane, bowing her head.

  “Why would he say such things? Fredrick spoke the same words as well. What is it that I am not aware of, mother? What is being hidden from me?” E’Malkai was not prone to flights of distrust, especially when it concerned his mother. Yet he felt betrayed, as if something important was not being revealed to him.

  “Many things in this world are not what they seem; many things remain hidden in order to protect what exists. If certain truths were brought to light, then there would be utter chaos. There would be violence that has not been seen since the Umordoc wars,” answered Leane, looking at Elcites as she used the name of his kind.

  “Like my father.”

  “He is among those truths that would surely cause more harm than good. I miss him at times and resent Ryan, Fe’rein, for what he has become,” conceded Leane.

  “Is it true then that he took the power from my father?” urged E’Malkai this time, moving as close to Leane as he could, making sure he had her attention.

  Leane did not answer right away.

  She remained in thought, wanting to carefully choose her words so that she would not bring about more pain than was necessary. “That is not known. Some choose to believe that what you ask is truth, while others believe otherwise.”

  “My father.” E’Malkai looked down.

  His eyes were reduced to slivers. He held his hand out, his palm facing upwards. The air around him began to darken, a small shadow in the presence of light. Energy swirled around his hand like a miniature vortex; emerald and blinding white energies flowed into one another like a galaxy in the palm of his hand. He gritted his teeth, the muscles of his cheeks flexing. His eyes glazed over to white as the energy crawled up his arm like ground electricity.

  Release me.

  The energy spoke to him. The words resonated in his mind, as if it were a great vacuum in which entities roamed free.

  “No.”

  E’Malkai gritted his teeth, much to the dismay of both Elcites and Leane. Frightened and enthralled, both of their eyes watched as the energy crept over the youth. His white eyes were stained with veins of green, jutting stems of power that crawled across his skin.

  I will restore what must be.

  The voice was strong.

  It took every ounce of power that E’Malkai could muster to silence the voice. Even after he pushed it as far from his thoughts as he could, the resonating laugh remained. The echo of the voice threatened him from within.

  E’Malkai fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face. The energy receded as quickly as it had come. Elcites held his arm, but the youth shook him off. He rubbed his eyes and then his temples furiously, trying to free himself from the voice that haunted him.

  “His tsang is powerful,” spoke Leane in wonderment to the concerned Umordoc guardian who was kneeling beside his charge. He watched with his obsidian eyes as the youth stood slowly, his legs still wobbly.

  “The voice,” he whispered. E’Malkai’s voice was raspy, as if he had not drunk water in sometime. His vision was hazy as he closed his eyes once more, trying to shield out the voice within.

  “What voice?” Leane’s voice was filled concern.

  “It is the power of the tsang. It speaks to the most powerful as if it were a separate entity. That is what is written in the trials of Tal’marath. But for him to have them so soon is beyond comprehension,” replied Elcites, rising with E’Malkai––his hand outstretched just in case the youth fell back again. “He is far more powerful than anyone could have ever imagined.”

  “Indeed he is,” answered Leane, looking at Elcites. “I trust that this stays between us. No one else can know what is happening to E’Malkai.”

  The giant nodded. “But there is nothing the matter, Leane ilsen. All of this is part of becoming a ward to the mion, even as accelerated as it is.”

  Leane’s eyes darkened, a shadow falling across them.

  “No, Elcites.” She struggled to use his name, for her hatred of the Umordoc ran deep. “What is happening here is not written in the scrolls of Culouth. A power grips E’Malkai, but it is not from the trials of Tal’marath. This is something that transcends this place.”

  “I do not understand.”

  E’Malkai was the one to speak, even though his voice faltered as he did. “The words are from within; they are not mine. They are from the one called Ti’ere’yuernen in the old tongue, the Shaman by those of the tundra. All of those names are for the protector of the power of Terra, for the power of the Believer.”

  The three exchanged glances.

  They knew that this information above all else was something that needed to be held in the strictest confidence, for uttering it would cause the world around them to unravel.

  ⱷ

  Stephen, Son of Gregory

  The room was plunged into darkness. This was the same darkness that had fallen across the dome as day shifted to night. The underground corridor was damp and as dank as a subterranean level could be at this altitude. A light hung from the center of the room over an old wooden table, the lines of its construction splintered and worn from use.

  Papers were scattered across it.

  Jagged, crimson lines were superimposed by green circles and black dots. A man sat on the shadowed side of the table, his face hidden. Only his gloved hands were visible beneath the pale yellow glow of the artificial light.

  He cleared his throat but said nothing.

  The man opposite him was Stephen, who now appeared to have a steely resolve. “I contacted him as you had wished. He was curious, but hesitant. But I believe that my words shook his foundation a bit, though his guardian was quick to have him leave. It was as if he already knew.”

  “That is a possibility,” whispered the man from the shadows.

  “Are the words that you spoke to
me the truth?” queried Stephen, placing his clenched fists on the table and leaning forward.

  The man sighed. “There is more truth in those words than I could ever begin to explain to you, Stephen. What that man, this mockery that calls himself Fe’rein, did to us is unimaginable. We had hope and it was diminished as quickly as it was realized.”

  “What can be accomplished by placing the seed of doubt into the mind of this young one? Surely there is nothing a boy can do against the might of a Creator. They are called Dream Enders in the old texts for good reason. Their power is incredible, insurmountable.”

  “I cannot dispute that; however, there is one who could match a Creator, a mion, for power. He is the one who harnesses Terra, the true carrier of the energies of the Believer.”

  “Isn’t that the very essence of a Creator?”

  Stephen’s voice mirrored his confusion.

  “The true source of a Believer resides within the energies of Terra. The power that is drawn from every part of this planet must be done so without personal gain, selfless in the ultimate sense. This mion nonsense that the Commerce and the Intelligence have created is nothing more than a gross perversion of what is pure. The Shaman waits for the coming of the next one, of the final one.”

  Stephen turned as the outer door opened with a defiant hiss. Footfalls approached the inner door that led into the room within which they conferred. The shadowed figure remained motionless as Stephen drew his weapon. The door slid open, and a similarly dressed man entered. His trench was the same dusty color as Stephen’s. He was much younger, his wide brown eyes like that of a doe. The man’s face was a tourniquet of emotion. His mouth twisted and his eyes were glassy, pooling with tears. He faced the man beneath the shadow, his lip trembling.

  “General Marion is dead, sir.” His words were shaky.

  “And the station? Harbinger?” questioned Stephen, returning his sidearm to his holster. The urgency in his voice drew the attention of the messenger.

  “Obliterated. Reduced to space dust, sir.”

  “By the Believer,” whispered Stephen, not realizing that he had uttered the ancient blessing of the tundra.

  “Everyone is dead, even the children,” replied the youth with disgust. His lips drew into a grimace as he continued. “There is talk on the streets that the mion…” He received a stale look from Stephen and then swallowed hard, realizing that the reverent use of Fe’rein’s title was a slap in the face to the Resistance. “That Fe’rein is going to personally hunt down each member of the Resistance hiding in Culouth.”

  Stephen pounded his clenched fist against the table. He stared across at the seated, shadowed figure. “This is madness. We must depart from here. We are running for our lives in their maze. Better to make them come to us than be hunted in their realm.” The young messenger shifted uncomfortably. His boots clicked on the metallic floor and Stephen flashed an annoyed glance at him. “You are dismissed, soldier.”

  “There is more.” He gulped as he said the words. Stephen returned his attention to the young soldier, taking him in with an angry glance. “He––Fe’rein is coming here. He killed several members along the Avenue during the night. One of the men told him of this place,” stuttered the shaken soldier.

  “Never. The Intelligence must have extracted it from his memory,” denied Stephen vehemently, shaking his head to accent his denial.

  “He has been sighted no more than a few blocks away. I believe there is a possibility that he is already here.”

  The last word resonated as the lights flickered and then exploded in a shower of sparks. Stephen moved around the table, putting himself between the door and their leader.

  “Sir, he is here,” spoke Stephen as calmly as he could muster. From above the silence was broken by strangled screams approaching like a horrendous siren. “Go now. We will hold him off until you get some distance.”

  The reply was the hollow echo of the escape hatch and then footfalls as they receded into the darkness. The youth looked at Stephen with a startled, horrified expression on his face. He swallowed hard, nodding his head.

  His hand trembled as he drew his sidearm.

  Stephen looked back.

  Hesitating for a moment before he charged forward, Stephen grasped the handle of the door and flung it open. He looked out with a quick jerk; only the darkness stared back at him. He waved at the youth to move through. He did so with a scared nod, his lithe figure disappearing through the doorframe.

  Stephen lowered his head, ducking as he moved through after the soldier. He found himself in the adjoining corridor, leading them parallel to the room within which madness and pain walked. Looking over at the younger man, Stephen saw his brow sweating. The younger soldier gripped the weapon with so much force that Stephen was afraid to speak as it might cause him to set it off in a panic.

  Stephen opened the door with a resonating creak that woke the youthful soldier from his fear. The younger man dashed through without as much as a go-ahead from Stephen. Disappearing into the darkness of the narrow walls, he was met with yet another long corridor that led to an opening on the surface.

  He could hear his heart thudding in his chest. The breath in his lungs stung as his legs pushed him forward, running through the darkness with reckless abandon. As they neared the surface, Stephen turned. He looked back over his shoulder. The corridor was in flames. He touched the wall, recoiling as it burnt his hand.

  As he moved out of the corridor, he lowered himself and stopped. The younger soldier was standing there––rigid, unmoving. The synthetic dome showed wrinkles of crimson and pale yellow in the distance, the simulation of dawn upon them.

  “What are you doing?” he roared.

  But as he looked around, he saw why. They were perched below the eastern vantage point. The point just above them allowed a view of the impending sunrise. Below them was only darkness. The exhaust port of Culouth was an expansive, haunting pit of darkness.

  A warm, stale air resonated from it.

  “We’re dead,” the youth whispered.

  His lips were pale, blood draining from his face in fear. Stephen moved to console him, but stopped as he felt the heat from the corridor. Crimson and darkness melted into one as Fe’rein breached the corridor, incinerating everything as he arrived. Stephen stepped beside the youth. Backing himself into the wall, his sidearm fell from his hand.

  “I would have wished for a better death than this,” Stephen spoke, not even looking at the other soldier. The words were lost on him as the younger soldier drew his other sidearm, one in each hand now. Determination was evident in the hard line of his jaw. The glassiness of his eyes was no longer fear, but instead hatred.

  “I know that something better will come.” Those were the words the young warrior spoke as he walked into the corridor. Soon, the sounds of his weapon followed. Then his high-pitched screams filled the world as his life was taken.

  Stephen rose shakily.

  Reaching down, he drew a small sidearm from a holster at his calf. He took it into his hand and moved toward the edge of the exhaust port, looking over into the darkness. The corridor melted completely away as Fe’rein appeared. His body was consumed in swirling colors of blood and death. He looked at Stephen with the eyes of the damned.

  “This is the end.”

  Stephen backed away, the heat from Fe’rein forcing him to shield his eyes. The weapon fell from his hands and onto the ground, melting near Fe’rein’s feet. He peered over the edge once more as Fe’rein raised his hand. The vortex that formed at his fingertips was frightening, a burning, cindering mass that threatened to consume him in agony.

  “We all meet an end. You will soon,” mustered Stephen with a gasp as the heat consumed his oxygen, strangling him. Smoke tendrils erupted around Fe’rein and extended far out of view, filling Stephen’s vision completely.

  The energy that leapt from Fe’rein’s hands would have consumed Stephen, if the man had not already jumped into the abyss below. Curls and wis
ps of flame pulled back from Fe’rein as he peered over the edge as Stephen had before. He heard nothing except the echo of the man falling. The mion shrugged. The man had met his end in one form or another.

  It mattered not to Fe’rein.

  *

  Stephen stifled a cry of pain.

  He held on to the ridge of the exhaust pit. The worn steel ledge was minuscule compared to the girth of the abyss. He could feel his singed flesh and grimaced. His face and body were hidden in the shadow.

  He knew he had to get to the son of Armen.

  Reaching up, he grabbed the edge and lifted his body up with a grunt. Finding a place for his feet, he looked up into the darkness. Somewhere up there was an exit, no matter how far he would have to climb.

  ⱷ

  E’Malkai

  E’Malkai visited the same balcony each time he felt the need to be alone. The dawn had come and it would soon be midday, but to E’Malkai the lights made no difference. He was awake most nights and slept very little, usually when the artificial lights of Culouth shone their brightest. Leane and Elcites had pressured him to speak about what had happened on the Avenue, but he refused.

  Culouth was both silent and a cornucopia of noise all at once. This characteristic was determined by whether or not a person chose to focus on the sounds of the city or to drown them out in thought.

  The silence was quickly broken as Fe’rein descended from the skies. His trail grew faint and then receded before E’Malkai turned to look upon his uncle. Despite his typical, angst-ridden attitude, Fe’rein cracked a smile and opened his arms for his nephew to embrace him.

  E’Malkai did so without hesitation.

  All of the words that had been spoken about his uncle dissolved as soon as he saw him. The scarred features could not displace the love that E’Malkai felt when he saw Fe’rein’s face. Voices tugged at his being, telling him otherwise. As they pushed apart, Fe’rein’s smile faded back to his trademark stoicism.