As I sit down at my computer, I am struck by the eerie presence of someone behind me. Leaving behind the blinking cursor, I realize that the cast of my latest novel, The Path of the Fallen, are standing behind me. E’Malkai, sullen and burdened by the weight of the pilgrimage he has undertaken, stands behind the immovable figure of his Umordoc guardian, Elcites. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze unsettles me despite how much time I have spent in his company whilst writing The Path of the Fallen. Arile, proud hunter of the north, leans against his spear and inspects the wall with a carefree look upon his face. Fe’rein, shrouded in the darkness that complements him so well, seethes with a dark mix of irritation and confidence.
E’Malkai: I heard that you wanted to speak to us.
Me: (clearing my throat) In a manner of speaking, yes.
Fe’rein: (glowering) What do you want? We have business left unfinished.
Me: I am releasing The Path of the Fallen, after nearly a decade hiatus, and wanted to let potential readers know a little more about it. Instead of giving them a dry summary or an adjective-laden exposition, I thought getting to know the characters might be a fun exercise.
Arile: (not making eye contact and looking away with a bored look on his face) What precisely would these potential readers want to know about us? We are an open book (snickers).
Me: Let’s start with something simple: Describe yourself to the readers.
Fe’rein: Darkness. Death. There is little else to know.
E’Malkai: (shifting uncomfortably behind his guardian) I do not know what to say about myself. I thought I knew what I supposed to do with my life, but there was always something missing. When I learned about the history of the Fallen and the journey my father began, I realized that I had to find out more, learn about where I came from.
Elcites: (grunting) I am no more than what is expected of me. I guard E’Malkai. That is all that matters.
Arile: I am the last of my people. We once could hear all the voices of the earth. The world has been broken. I can no longer hear what I once could. My people have been scattered into the winds, but I can still hear their distant voices. They speak of a new age, and of a final war.
Me: That all sounds quite dire. You make it seem like there is only darkness and sadness. Are there no happy moments in your life, memories that give you pause and hope when you consider them?
Elcites: The day I was given my charge, when I first met young E’Malkai, was the greatest and saddest day of my life.
E’Malkai: (looking up at the stoic look on his guardian’s face) I recall playing with my uncle once upon a time. (Pausing) The world changed, and so too did those memories. I cannot seem to look back upon the strained moments of my life and see happiness.
(Fe’rein scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He clearly is not going to answer the question.)
Arile: Each day is full of happiness and sadness, joy and terror. I find grace and importance in the simplest of tasks. This day is a gift. We must not look upon it with sorrow.
(I start to speak, but Fe’rein interrupts me, his power crawling over his skin like a swarm of frightening insects.)
Fe’rein: What makes this story any different than any of the other drivel available?
Me: That is a bit strong, isn’t it? I would like to think that my writing offers a fresh perspective on the fantasy and science fiction genre. I always try and include elements of ethics and philosophical assumptions in my novels, and this one is no different. I love to explore the elements of good and evil, as well as the murky gray area that is exposed when decisions and choices and are no longer easy. I think it captures the essence of the monomyth, or the hero’s journey, as well as being a rousing adventure tale that a reader of any age can enjoy.
E’Malkai: How is it doing so far?
Me: It is a bit early in the game to really say much about it. I released it almost a decade ago and it was well received, but it was in desperate need of a strong editing session. Now, I feel like it accurately reflects my growth as a writer and that it has a strong chance of being pretty successful, perhaps my most successful work yet. Let’s put the focus back on you: What do you want from life?
E’Malkai: I want to set things right…
(Fe’rein stands suddenly. Elcites turns, interceding between the Dark Creator and the youth. Arile moves soundlessly behind the mion.)
Fe’rein: There is nothing to set right. I did what was necessary. They took Summer away from me. They had to pay.
Me: (standing) It seems as though I have struck a nerve. Let’s try something a bit easier, shall we? What’s the most important thing in your life? What do you value most?
Arile: (lowering his weapon) The search for truth, questioning my place in this world. Complacency weakens the mind. I value knowledge, intelligence, and logic.
Fe’rein: (sitting once more with a huff) Solitude. The power to do what I must to keep what I have claimed. Once, I valued family and love, but those times have passed.
Elcites: My charge, my mission.
E’Malkai: My family, the people who depend on and believe in me, even if that faith is misplaced.
Me: Speaking of family, did you turn out the way you expected? The way your parents predicted?
(Elcites maintains his ambivalent stare and Arile inspects something deeper in the darkness of the room.)
Fe’rein: I did not know my mother and father well. I have memories of them, brief glimpses of who they were, moments in time frozen and exaggerated. I used to wonder how they would judge me, but that doesn’t matter to me any longer. I turned out the way I did because of the choices I made. My father could not have known what would fall into my path. His plan for me is irrelevant.
E’Malkai: (looking at his uncle, Fe’rein, with sorrow) I did not know my father, but as I traveled north I learned much about the man he was and who he wanted me to be. My mother was secretive of my past, but I do not blame her. I realize now that she did not want me to die as my father had.
Me: That is quite sad. The path of the fallen began when Seth, your father, was cast from the Fallen and then ends when you return. Were you afraid of traveling north by yourself, E’Malkai? What is your greatest fear?
E’Malkai: Not being able to do what is necessary. Turnabout is fair play: At what point in your life did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
Me: A meaningful question indeed. I think I always knew I wanted to be a writer. When I was about six, I designed an entire play for my cousin’s birthday: sets, script, and little figures on Popsicle sticks. As the years went by, I found that the notion of storytelling was very attractive. This pursuit led me to writing my first novel in high school, a space opera that I published in 2002. Since then I have published ten novels and plan on telling stories until someone spreads my ashes over the sea. (Turning to Fe’rein) Fe’rein, what is your greatest regret?
Fe’rein: Beyond being summoned to this ridiculous farce, I would imagine the content of my life was the result of walking down a path to darkness. It was not sudden or abrasive, but instead incremental and engrossing. My greatest regret is taking my brother’s life. It was too late for me by then. I could only see darkness, despair.
Elcites: (clearing his throat) What was your intent with writing The Path of the Fallen? Why did you set us down this path?
Me: I wanted to tell a very particular story: one in which the line between good and evil become blurred and the consequences of a hero’s actions mean much more than defeating the bad guy. I liked the notion of a family saga wrapped up in an epic science fiction/fantasy novel. The hero’s cycle makes for a powerful story and often answers fundamental questions about the human condition. Hopefully, my book is successful to that end. (Taking a step forward and gesturing to Arile) Arile, how do you decide if you can trust someone? Do you test the person somehow? Or are you just generally disposed to trust or not to trust?
Arile: Trust, like respect, is earned. When I first met E’Malkai, it was his naivety and simple manner that let me know that I could trust him. Generally, the test of whether or not a person is trustworthy is created by the environment, selected for by pressures that challenge a person. The idea of being predisposed to trust, or not to trust, is born of not trusting oneself. Have you written many more stories? Are we to carry on, storyteller?
Me: As the book closes, the story does not end. The path has ended, at least metaphorically, but the journey is far from over. Book of Seth returns to the beginning, giving us a glimpse of the life of Seth Armen, as well as Ryan Armen before he was corrupted. The sequel, which takes place after The Path of the Fallen, is called Breath of the Creator and weighs in on what comes next. There are several other novels with transient beings not of your dimension: a supernatural detective solving murders in San Francisco; a young man who discovers what it takes to be responsible as the world falls apart; a love story set in an epic fantasy world. (Spreading my hands wide, acknowledging all of them) This question is for all of you, what is one strong memory that has stuck with you from childhood? Why is it so powerful and lasting?
Arile: I will never forget when I returned home from a hunt and found my village decimated, wiped from this earth by Umordoc. I took the long walk into the tundra, to die, but found peace and a new home. The winds have been my companion ever since.
Fe’rein: Your question is foolish, storyteller. My childhood was a lifetime ago. I am no longer that frail boy who walked beside his brother on the tundra.
Elcites: I do not recall my childhood. I was born on Terra and raised in Culouth. My youth was devoted to learning everything I could about human beings and their ways so that I might one day protect E’Malkai.
E’Malkai: Once I had fond memories, but now they all seem like lies meant to obscure my path. Storyteller, do you read other stories? Are you reading anything right now, or have you read anything recently that is worth mentioning?
Me: I have been reading A Dance of Dragons by George R. R. Martin. I have become very invested in that world, though I will admit that the pace of the narrative has slowed dramatically. I find myself undulating between being surprised and intrigued by the story and then suddenly being quite bored.
Elcites: How did we come into being?
Me: I am assuming you are asking me about my writing process. For The Path of the Fallen I wrote it for four months straight, including Book of Seth. Generally, I like to create a living outline that evolves as the characters come to life and begin to guide the narrative. It is dependent on the world I am invested in at any given time.
E’Malkai: Are our names meaningful?
Me: They are not derived from other lore, if that is what you meant. E’Malkai was named as homage to the naming scheme of the tundra people. It really depends on what I am writing. For instance, The Journey has names that are quite significant in terms of their meaning. Otherwise, I like to invent names for a particular world.
Arile: How do you define success as a writer? Have you been successful?
Me: Success is elusive once you define it. It becomes something that you aspire for regardless of the process and the craft. I would like to think that success is writing stories that people in enjoy and connect with, even if it is negatively. I think I have been successful in a very limited way: people have read my books and enjoyed them.
E’Malkai: Do you have words of wisdom about writing that you want to pass on to novelists and writers out there who are starting out?
Me: Write what you love and learn from criticism. The publishing world has changed. I have been writing for nearly a decade and I find that every year there seems to be a new opinion on which way the wind is blowing for fiction. Stay the course and do what you love. If writing novels and telling stories is what you want to do, then do that.
Fe’rein: I have noticed that you ask this ridiculous question of other storytellers: What is your End of the World Playlist? Why do you ask this question?
Me: I like hearing what people think about the notion of an end-of-the-world scenario. Also, I have a zombie novella of the same name and I like having the vibes out there for it. Do you guys have anything specific that you want to say to the readers?
Arile: E’Malkai of the South will do what he must to set the world right. His story will be passed on for generations.
Elcites: The path of the fallen is filled with both adventure and sadness. Follow E’Malkai and be transformed.
Fe’rein: I will have my day, in this life or the next. I am not evil, nor is E’Malkai good. We are merely opposite perspectives. You decide who visited more harm upon the world.
E’Malkai: I would like to think that I have done the right thing, taken the right path. The storyteller will not give away his secrets, but he might give you a glimpse. The greater question is: Do you have anything specific that you want to say to your readers, storyteller?
Me: I am honored for anyone to read my novel. I hope that it will foster and appreciation of reading and the arts that is slowly disappearing among children and adults alike. I love to hear back from readers, so if you would like to get in touch with me, please be sure to check out my links below.
Here be an excerpt for your enjoyment:
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 wisps 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.
Bio: A psychologist, author, editor, philosopher, martial artist, and skeptic, he has published several novels and currently has many in print, including: T
he End of the World Playlist,
Bitten,
The Journey,
The Ocean and the Hourglass,
The Path of the Fallen,
The Portent, and
Cerulean Dreams. Follow him on Twitter (@AuthorDanOBrien) or visit his blog
http://thedanobrienproject.blogspot.com. He recently started a consultation business. You can find more information about it here:
http://www.amalgamconsulting.com/.
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