After a deep and intense breath, the queen’s jaw gritted completely shut. As her eyes steeled with intent and each muscle from her neck to her thighs flexed and beaded with sweat, Rhea wailed and forced out a final push.
The second child was born.
The second, however, did not share the first’s healthy form. As feared, the queen’s injuries had affected the child. His body mass was greatly reduced, and his bones were frail and slightly deformed. Haren kept her gaze down and away from the queen; she could not bear Rhea learning that she had a deformed child because of the look on her own face. As Haren kept her eyes down and surveyed the child, she was unsure if the boy would survive.
Igallik could read Haren’s fear.
As the head monk looked regretfully over the drained and destroyed queen, he feared burdening her last moments with the knowledge of her son’s condition. Sensing the queen’s end, Igallik made a decision on instinct, and then offered each of the children to his dying mother. The queen held her boys for her first and last time. As Igallik had feared, Rhea became aware of the second boy’s condition. Her reaction confounded him. She nestled the small child against her cheek, and as a smiling tear fell from her eye, she kissed the child’s forehead. The queen smiled on her boys, and she seemed at peace. There was tranquility in her eyes. As Rhea savoured the moment, suddenly, her body broke into a sudden fit of seizure. Igallik quickly lifted each child out of Rhea’s arms and gave them back to Haren. As the head monk then looked back to the queen, her eyes seemed to invite his unspoken responsibility. The head monk understood. He placed his hand over Rhea’s forehead and began to recite a Throne’s Eye prayer. Upon hearing the incantation, the queen closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. While the queen held her breath, the air in the infirmary seemed light, and with each passing second it seemed as if the candles in the room were burning more brightly. Then, as Rhea exhaled, the candles extinguished, and Rhea’s body began to slowly transform from flesh to a thick white smoke. For a moment the smoke held to Rhea’s silhouette, but soon, almost like a spreading puddle, the smoke dispersed and streamed slowly across the infirmary floor. The smoked disappeared in seconds, and at the exact moment it vanished, the candles in the infirmary flared back into flames. The candlelight emphatically stressed that the queen was gone; the only traces of her left were swaddled in Haren’s arms.
For the queen, it was the end. The laws that governed Animus Letum could not allow her to cross again into the afterlife; a soul cannot journey twice past death. Rhea had perished on earth and would be survived only by her two sons.
As Igallik’s balance wavered, forcing him unwillingly onto a stool in the infirmary, he eyed the royal heirs and then the young woman who was holding them.
Wylak opened his herb chest and seemed intent on attending to the head monk, but Igallik waved off his efforts.
After a long moment, Igallik gave the herbalist a task. “Assemble the High Order,” he said. “We will meet in the High Temple in one hour.”
He then looked to Haren, and although he didn’t share what he was thinking, his eyebrow rose with a contemplative arc.
“Everything has changed,” he whispered to himself. “We may have to follow suit.”
4
The High Order of the Throne’s Eye brotherhood was the monastery’s elected government. The Order was responsible for all major decisions within the monastery, and through a collective vote, they determined and orchestrated the best interests of the monastery. This included whom they allowed to live within in their walls.
With three new arrivals, the Order needed to deliberate.
The Order was comprised of five monks. The five were known as totems and each represented a specific school of judgement. Raeman, a tall, pale, and slender man who possessed the uncanny likeness of a vulture, represented Justice. Palis, an Indian man half Raeman’s size, represented Mercy. Nile, an Asian man adorned with glasses, was the youngest monk ever elected to the Order, and he represented Logic. And Bysin, a superstitious, ginger-haired man, who insisted on the aid of Wylak’s mind-altering herbs, represented Instinct. The Order was completed by Igallik, who served as the group’s chancellor, multi-talented totem, and tie-breaker if the four other members found themselves in a deadlock.
Using their individual judgement, each totem of the Order decided upon a verdict, and then collectively they decided upon a ruling. For each Order ruling, the five totems were relied on to explore the depths of their speciality and offer a vote based on their efforts. No totem was more important than the other, and likewise, no individual verdict was weighed with greater value. Ultimately, the Order had built its method such that there was little chance of bias or mistake. The monks had used their insight and foresight to develop a system where they could judge and scrutinize any scenario – even the unlikely. These considerations included scenarios where a totem could defer his vote to another’s speciality or even a circumstance where an exceptional force became a higher authority than the Order. The latter statute was called Providence, and it occurred very rarely. Essentially, when Providence was enacted, the Order conceded its ruling to an exceptional force. The will of a Lyran King, for example, was exceptional. If Providence were recognized, the Order forfeited all votes and the exceptional force became the decider.
All assemblies of the High Order were held in the monastery’s High Temple. The Temple was located at the summit of the monastery’s grand staircase, two hundred feet above the monks’ central court and living areas.
The Temple resembled your earth realm’s mosques, and was built with golden stone. Two dark marble statues of Serich posed ominously at the staircase’s final step, and behind the royal effigies there were two lines of cherry blossom trees that led to the Temple’s massive bronze door. A portion of the Temple’s roof had a retractable glass ceiling to allow for the monastery’s occasional smoke rituals, and there were exactly five crystal windows on the Temple’s wall, each grafted with the blue L crest of the Lyran House.
With the afternoon sun beaming brightly off the Temple, the High Order began its ascent of the grand staircase. Haren was in tow.
As the Order monks and their guest approached the Temple’s bronze door, they were ushered through by Raine. Raine was the Throne’s Eye’s strongest warrior, and he served as the honour guard each time the Order assembled. Raine was a massive black man with an English accent. With hands like bricks and shoulders as wide as the Temple door, he was a picture of strength. Like all of the monastery’s soldiers, he wore red and gold armour instead of robes. And although his physical brawn was intimidating, most in the Throne’s Eye thought of him as a gentle giant. Raine liked to wisecrack – typically with a foul mouth – but his warm disposition was so immediate that he could enter a room with twenty strangers and leave with twenty friends. He was the prototypical older brother, greatly strong and greatly loyal. However, that is not how his enemies knew him. In battle, Raine was fearsome. The Greeks of your realm would have lauded him, for when he was armed with his sword, Raine became a war god, surging with the ichor of Aries.
As the Order passed by the great warrior, Haren paused, struck by the shocking size of the Temple’s guard.
Raine dropped his head. “It’s noticeable, isn’t it?”
“Your size?” Haren stammered.
“I’ve got a grievance with the Maker,” Raine said with his heavy accent. “The bastard gave me the body and brains of a shithouse. Wanted to be a dancer, you know. Instead, he gave me a talent for getting bashed in the face.”
As the warrior’s eyes put her at ease, Haren smiled and played along. “You could always dance while you get bashed in the face.”
“That’s not half bad,” Raine said. “Hell, I’d swing twice as hard if the prick in front of me was dancing. Thanks, birdy. My face is indebted.”
Haren curtsied, but before she could say another word, Igallik’s voice called back to her from inside the Temple.
“Raine wastes enough of his own
time, Haren. We try not to let him waste ours.”
Haren smiled; his name was Raine. However, as she looked to Igallik inviting her into the Temple’s interior, the smile slowly faded. The Order monks, and in fact the entire situation, seemed far too imposing. Like the tunnel that had burrowed into the treeline, the Temple doors seemed to signal that there was no going back.
Raine knew all too well what Haren was feeling. “The Order’s like a grain sickle,” he said. “It’s pretty scary until you see how it works.”
As Haren’s uncertain eyes looked up at him, Raine winked.
“You’re home, love. Choose strength.”
It was far too soon for Haren to believe that she had found a home. But as she stood at the precipice of her next chapter, she could not escape the coincidence of the giant warrior’s name. As a symbol, rain had always been her guide. Rain had always been at the start of something good. Haren had known for a long time that she was worth more than the life she had lived. And although she hadn’t been the breaker of her broken faith, it was still her task to rebuild. She just needed a chance. As she eyed the Raine that fell on her in that moment, she thought she could hear the patter of something good.
“I’m Haren,” she said to Raine with an extended hand.
The warrior received Haren’s hand and laughed. “Dear God, the bird’s a bird!”
Haren smiled. “Better a bird than a storm’s piss.”
“Listen hear, birdy –”
“Raine,” the head monk interrupted. “We’re ready for her now.”
Raine rolled his eyes such that only Haren could see, and made a formal gesture for her to enter the Temple.
Haren’s apprehension subsided. After another curtsy to the warrior, she walked through the Temple door.
Once Haren had passed him, Raine closed the door behind her and continued to stand guard outside the Temple.
The inside of the High Temple was wreathed with royal class. As Haren walked down the center aisle of golden pews and claret rug, the hue of her burgundy gown matched the colour scheme so closely that she seemed to become a moving piece of the decoration. The glass roof and five windows of the Temple allowed a substantial volume of light to enter, and when lit by the sun, the room’s gold and burgundy palette appeared so vividly that it seemed like the Temple should serve as a celestial lighthouse, a room tasked to hail the heavens, because if contact were ever made between them, their grandeurs would not be unequal.
At the back of the Temple there was a giant altar surrounded by a library of leather-bound books. Igallik had placed the golden crown of Animus Letum on top of the altar, and just in front of it there were five thrones situated in a semi-circle. Each throne belonged to a specific Order member, and upon that ownership, each throne was specifically designed.
Raeman, who represented Justice, sat at the far left in an imposing and gothic throne built out of steel, the strongest metal forged by man. Palis, the Mercy totem, sat at the far right, and his black and round-edged throne was built from lava rock, a material that had become strong and unmalleable even after suffering the heat of hell. Nile’s Logic throne was on the inner right, and its simple design was built from the same glass that he wore in front of his eyes. The throne was transparent, and, like Nile’s glasses, its lens was used to see more clearly. Bysin, who represented Instinct, was on the inner left and he possessed the only living throne. His chair was carved into the trunk of an Adansonia tree that required water and still yielded leaves. The roots of Bysin’s throne spread beneath the Temple floor, and the spirit of the tree, like the totem that sat upon it, possessed an instinctual awareness of the present and ensuing future. Igallik’s versatile throne was centered within the four totems. It was made of oak, and each of its four legs sunk one foot into a pool of water, a substance that adapts specifically to the conditions of the environment. Additionally, there was a tobacco hookah built into the right arm of the head monk’s oak throne.
As Haren approached the Order, Igallik drew from his hookah. After a gentle nod to the Order’s guest, the head monk spoke and exhaled his smoke in the same breath.
“Let it be understood, the verdict for this hearing will be final unless an exceptional force decrees otherwise.” His voice was stern, and within the Temple a faint echo followed his words. “Because the verdict is final, the totems of the Order shall be permitted any length of time to make their verdict. However, if a totem is uncertain about a verdict – even in the least – he will defer his vote to another totem’s speciality.”
Igallik looked to the Order monks on his left and right, and after receiving each of their affirmations of understanding, he took another puff from his hookah. “It is pledged.”
The words hearing and verdict were expected by the Order. But for the girl standing before them, they were surprising, big, and threatening. Haren could not escape the feeling that the Order had put her on trial. A mob had done the same nine days prior, and only a miracle had spared her from its grim sentence.
“I don’t understand,” Haren said with a weak voice and posture. “Am I in trouble?”
“No,” Igallik said reassuringly. “For now, you are simply under discussion. We are very interested in why you are here.”
Haren looked disheartened. “I’m not sure that I know.”
“Quite right,” the head monk smiled. “But even though you have no answer, this doesn’t mean that there is no answer.” Igallik tilted his head, choosing to revise his earlier statement. “I suppose I should have said that we are very interested in what has brought you here.”
“It is not the prettiest of tales,” Haren admitted.
Igallik took another puff from his hookah. “All the same, we are very interested.”
After a deep breath, Haren recounted her last nine days. With heaviness, she remembered Morello; with disdain she described Tholyk; with relief she told of the blue heron; and with awe she detailed the incredible path that had led her to the queen.
Such a story should have rendered any audience speechless, but Igallik was quick with his reply.
“It is a shame that we must be measured by tragedy,” he said sadly. “It seems, though, that you have been measured highly – by more than just our realm.”
As her eyes fell away from the head monk, it was clear that Haren did not know how to respond. It is difficult to accept praise when you believe that it is undeserved. Instead of pride, Haren carried a heft of guilt; it was punishing to think that Morello had to die for her to be measured highly. Haren did not feel as if she had won – by any means. In her mind, she had lost. She had lost her brother, and she knew that his absence, like a hole in her spirit, would damage her for the rest of time.
As Haren’s fidgeting hands and elusive gaze became the conduits of her heavy heart, Palis offered a reprieve.
“My dear, your past was what we required. We thank you for your candor. I estimate that the conditions of your last nine days have warranted you some rest. Find Raine at the door, and he will see to it that you get some food and drink.”
Haren managed to claim some focus. “I am to leave?”
“For now,” the head monk said as he swept a slow hand through his long beard. As he studied Haren, Igallik wondered if he should explain to her that the Order was about to debate whether or not they would offer to adopt her. He chose not to. “We will call you back when you’re needed.”
Haren nodded, trying unsuccessfully to read past Igallik’s stoic eyes.
“As you wish,” she finally consented.
With a curtsy, Haren backed away from the Order and paced back to the Temple door. Raine greeted her, and after Haren disappeared, the Order was left with varying impressions of her.
“I don’t want her here,” Raeman announced firmly. “The rules that have governed us shall always govern us. I cannot support her living within our walls.”
“Our rules were tailored to reflect our world,” Igallik reminded. “As of this moment – with Serich fallen from t
he throne – I contend that our world has vastly changed.”
The head monk looked to the Instinct totem for affirmation.
Bysin nodded grievously. “I sense that our paths have breached completely from what they were.”
Raeman shook his head. “So we are to follow the chaos? Brothers, now is when we must hold to our convictions. We cannot forfeit our ways. They are a weapon, a source of order with which to combat the disorder. We are strong as we are. To alter our makeup would compromise our strength.”
Nile adjusted his glasses, and then pushed them back against the bridge of his nose. “Raeman’s reasoning is strong, but not absolute. And unless Bysin will endorse it, I think our considerations should be relevant to what we know.”
Bysin did not seem intent on endorsement.
“In that case,” Nile said, “What we know is that Haren had a brother. And that she raised him from infancy. We also know that we have been given two infant boys, whose immediate care is of a variety not studied by the Throne’s Eye. I see a set of circumstances that can resolve themselves.”
Palis agreed. “I see a girl who could use us as much as we could use her.”
Igallik turned back to Bysin. “How do you measure her as a Deathrider?”
“I felt her soul the moment she walked through our gates,” Bysin replied. “And let me tell you that it was no coincidence that Serich chose her to find the queen.” The Instinct totem looked down the row enthusiastically. “She is gifted, brothers. I believe it is right to adopt her. May I remind you that Serich sent us the very same message that he sent to her. He said…”
“Gentleman,” Raeman interrupted, “the message was coincidence. I would not endorse a strict interpretation.”
“Would you care to repeat the message?” Igallik challenged.
Raeman scowled and reluctantly agreed. “Serich said, ‘Follow the heron.’”
The Sons of Animus Letum Page 6