When the twins reached their sixth year, and, more importantly the level of mental maturity that Igallik deemed fit, they were told the complete truth of their special heritage. The Throne’s Eye had never guarded Odin and Galian from the realities of Animus Letum – their heritage had come up many times in the Damns – but at age six, the twins were lessoned extensively. The lessons were taken in stride. Galian and Odin had always been told that they were Lyrans, but at age six they were told exactly what that meant. They also learned who Forneus was. Igallik explained the nature of the Dark Pool and then told the twins that Forneus had killed their parents and taken the throne. Additionally, he explained what the Forge was, and that because the twins were Lyrans, they were destined to return to the afterlife. At their age – or any age – this type of news could be daunting. Imagine knowing that you were the heir to the throne of heaven, or that an army of soldiers had promised to die with you to reclaim your birthright. Fear or resignation could easily follow. I am proud to report that Galian and Odin were neither afraid nor resigned. In fact, the sons of Animus Letum were bettered by the truth of their destiny – Galian especially. The Lyran legacy became his pride and direction. He became inspired by the Forge and also the blood within him. Serich, Jerub, and Perian became more than ancestors – they became beacons that called him to greatness. In honour of Perian, Galian would learn war-craft. For Jerub, the quiet monk sought to understand peace. And for Serich, his father, Galian would seek inwardly to discover the power of his soul. The moment his destiny was disclosed to him, Galian knew that he could attain it. He knew he could become worthy of the Lyran name. Somehow, just like a bird knows to fly south in the winter, Galian knew that he could lead the Forge and take back the throne.
Odin was also inspired by his Lyran destiny – but not to the extent of his brother. The adventurer saw promise in his blood. When Igallik regaled him with the tales of his ancestors’ triumphs, Odin was thrilled to think that his Lyran name ensured him some great challenge or journey. But with regard to the idols of his birth story, Odin was disconnected. To Odin, Forneus was in some intangible realm. He could not imagine his serpent foe, and this failing forced a disconnection between Odin and his destiny. Furthermore, the Lyran kings seemed unreal. His father was more myth than man, and the further Odin looked back into his lineage, the more the fable grew. In fact, the only Lyran that Odin truly cared about was Galian. It was that simple. Children – as Odin still was – often see more clearly than adults. They tend to see people as they truly are. And although he felt far from his ancestors, it was when Odin looked at his brother that he could not deny that they were descended from kings. Galian’s power and promise were undeniable. To Odin, Galian was a king. And so it became that when Galian found his purpose with the Forge and Lyran legacy, Odin found his purpose in Galian. Somehow, even in his young heart, Odin knew what his role was in the Forge: Galian was the king, and Odin was his protector.
Within the monastery, the training of the Throne’s Eye youth was consistent throughout early development. However, at age twelve, each monk was assigned to a speciality. There existed two: Torch and Sight.
Torch monks were the designated soldiers of the Throne’s Eye. To be designated a Torch meant that aside from an amplified study of combat, the young monks’ routines would remain the same. They would continue to brawl and bleed in the Damns.
The far less frequent designation of Sight, however, drastically changed a monk’s routine. Sight monks were the spiritual sages of the Throne’s Eye, and their training grounds were within themselves. They were relieved of the rigours of the Damns and were set on an entirely different course. Sight monks became trained in meditation, spiritual rite, and most especially as Deathriders. With these abilities, the Sights became the strategists of the Throne’s Eye army. Using the channels between earth and Animus Letum, Sights would access knowledge of both realms. They would learn of great deeds, but also of great injustices. Some were so great that intervention was necessary, and thus, the great battle skills of the Throne’s Eye Torches were put into play. Based on the information of the Deathriders, units of Torches, accompanied by one or two Sights, would travel when and where they were needed. The commanders of these convoys were given the title Aeris. Aeris monks were the few and fierce gods of the Damns. They were champions of both physical combat and battle strategy, and they were the generals of the Throne’s Eye soldiers. Each Torch trained with the ambition of becoming an Aeris – a goal most would not achieve.
Sight monks trained to become a Seraph. The title Seraph was awarded in even greater scarcity than that of Aeris. In fact, in the nearly two millennia history of the Throne’s Eye, only twelve Sights had proven worthy of the Seraph title. A Seraph was defined more as a state of mind than as a rank. It was an achieved enlightenment. Seraphs were masters of the soul. They epitomized the harmony of mind, body, and spirit, and were wise in the affairs of both peace and war. Incredibly, each came to inherit his own specialized power. Some could read minds, others could heal mental and physical ailments, and one could even slow down time. The Seraphs were the rare glimpses of earth-born deity. However, the title and supernatural abilities of the Seraph were not achieved by will. Instead, they were earned by an excruciating trial called Descent. The aim of Descent is to split the bond between a Sight’s body and soul, and then challenge the monk to reunite his halves. The great danger of this trial is that the body and soul are split over earth and Animus Letum – the body remains on earth, and the soul resides in the afterlife. Descent is made possible by a ritual whereby the Sight consciously separates his own body and soul, and then links his soul to a person experiencing death, essentially hitching a ride to the afterlife. Once they are separated, the body and soul incur great stress and pain – one can barely live without the other. In the throes of this suffering, the Sight must employ the extremity of his spiritual strength. Descent is a test of all that the Throne’s Eye teaches, but the greatest test is of the monk’s will. Because the consciousness of the Sight is bound to the soul – it is in Animus Letum – the struggle to reunite body and soul is a battle waged against the curtain of death. The Sight must pass backwards through death to reunite body and soul. To accomplish this feat necessitates near-godly willpower – it is the greatest spiritual challenge in existence. As such, success brings great prize. Each monk who successfully passes backwards through death emerges with the title and specialized powers of Seraph. However, the separation of Descent is torturous, and most often deadly. Only twelve Sights have ever been able to reconcile their body and soul through Descent. One hundred and nine Sights have tried – such is the price of chasing godhood.
On their twelfth birthday, Odin was designated Torch, and Galian was designated Sight. Haren, Raine, and Usis were not surprised. The boys’ strengths had made the designations a foregone conclusion. However, despite the divergence in their paths, the truth remained that Odin and Galian would be greatest together. The bond that united them was an invincible force steady in one certainty: to hurt one was to incur the wrath of the other. The brothers had suffered at the hand of a ruthless villain. Their childhoods were stolen, and their parents were slain. But against that great misfortune, they had been given each other. Each lived and would die to spare the other pain. To test their bond was to crack diamonds with your fist.
When Haren agreed to live at the Throne’s Eye, Igallik chose to spare her the Damns and designated her a Sight. As a result, there were times when her position as a Sight and Raine’s post as an Aeris called them both away from the monastery. During their absences, it was Usis who was charged with the care of the sons of Animus Letum. The responsibility would prove to fall on able shoulders. Usis, still a teen, was young enough to be their friend, but experienced enough to be their mentor. Odin took full advantage of Usis’s instruction in the discipline of combat, while Galian began to study the eastern arts in which Usis was well practised.
As the three became like brothers, the shared trauma of o
rphanhood forged an even deeper kinship. In very much the same way as Odin and Galian, Usis’s childhood had been stolen. Usis was told that the Metus Sane – a cult pledging allegiance to Malum Ludus – had committed the murders of his parents. Ludus was a phantom of the afterlife, and his penchant for torture had made him one of Animus Letum’s most notorious villains. In service to Ludus, the Metus Sane had intended to kill Usis, and by using his blood, resurrect their fallen master. Their attempt had come dangerously close, but fortunately the Throne’s Eye had managed to thwart them before completion. Even though Raine and the Order monk Raeman had arrived in time to save him, Usis could never fully accept his fate. He could not accept that his parents were killed because of him. While never mentioned in the presence of the elder monks, he knew that his purpose was vengeance. By his hand, he swore, Malum Ludus would die. In his care of the sons of Animus Letum, Usis nurtured a similar purpose in the young twins.
“We must honour our parents,” he would preach over and over again to them. “By us the flames of evil will come to doubt their burn.”
The three grew up with this vision – individually and as brothers. In fact, their bond grew so strong that when the monks mentioned the sons of Animus Letum, they always included a third.
In his long-vision, Igallik saw the trio as a perfect unit. With the right guidance he knew that they could be the trident at the forefront of the Forge. The three, with an army behind them, could end Forneus’s reign. However, if they were successful in reclaiming the afterlife, one very important question followed their triumph: who would take the throne? A crown cannot rest on three heads – or even two.
This truth gnawed at the thoughts of the High Order – especially because of Usis’s strength. The Order monks were in agreement that the sons of Animus Letum were the rightful heirs – the Forge had been assembled upon that truth. After a series of hearings, a few totems on the Order began to wonder if it was blood that made the most worthy king. Galian and Odin had their strengths, but so too did Usis and an assortment of other monks. Suddenly, the Order was divided. Was blood more important than vigour? Was the throne an heirloom, or a seat for the most worthy? They were questions that required answers.
After days of debate, the Order decided to nominate an heir.
And so, for the throne, a test became necessary.
For Animus Letum, there would be a fight.
9
Igallik’s motive to test the boys was clear – but only to him and the Order. The head monk had kept his intention very secret, and only spoke of his plan within the High Temple. The Order was in complete agreement that an heir needed to be elected; however, they disagreed on who the heir should be. Ten debates passed with no semblance of solidarity. The Order had scrutinized the merits of the sons of Animus Letum, Usis, and even other monks within the monastery. They had measured mind against muscle, will against wisdom, and still were no closer to a decision.
After the totems of the Order had employed their logic, mercy, justice, and instinct, they had found that there were essentially four candidates: Odin, Galian, Usis, and a sixteen year old Torch monk named Tyrik. Tyrik was a hulking, ginger-haired boy who had been recruited from a village, not far from the Throne’s Eye. Although Tyrik had much to learn about leadership, his brute strength had made him one of the Damns’ strongest warriors. It was true that Tyrik did not have the intellect of the three others, but his sheer physical strength was undeniable – it was his inherent asset.
After ten debates, the Order had voted as such: Igallik and Palis had chosen Galian, Nile had voted for Usis, Raeman had chosen Tyrik, and Bysin had selected Odin.
Although Galian had received two votes, the three remaining Order members had consistently used their votes to stave off a majority.
With no promise of breaking the deadlock, the Order chose to invite three more voices to the debate: Raine, Haren, and the herbalist Wylak.
It was evening when Haren and Raine were called to the High Temple. In the twelve years that she had been at the Throne’s Eye, Haren had matured into a striking young woman. The violet eyes, dark hair, and bronzed skin that had made her a pretty girl, now made her a beautiful woman. However, her greatest beauty was still actualized by her mind. She had become a surgeon, and even a stylist to the monks of the Throne’s Eye, but to her greatest credit she had become a sister. Many monks sought her wisdom when their own failed, and with great care Haren gave what she could. Although Haren was still hurt by losing Morello, she had come to terms with the opportunity that his death provided – it had given her a home.
As Haren and Raine ascended to the top of the grand staircase, the sun was bowing after another day, leaving a red glow in the horizon. The cherry blossoms in front of the High Temple rustled above them, some falling and floating down, gleaming with a red that had absorbed the crimson sun.
“I’m telling you,” Raine said as he bumped Haren with his shoulder. “This is it. They’re kicking you out.”
Haren shook her head. “Do humour me, Raine. What have I done now?”
“Aw hell, birdy,” the old warrior said. “You didn’t hear? Turns out you’re useless.”
“Anything else?”
“There’s loads more,” Raine said with a smile. “On top of being useless, you were voted least attractive woman in the monastery.”
“Raine, I’m the only woman in the monastery.”
“Your name did come up a lot.”
Haren exhaled deeply. “Just open the door.”
With a small bow, the old warrior turned and opened the Temple’s massive bronze door.
“After you.”
Haren offered a sarcastic curtsy, and one after the other, the two entered to meet with the High Order.
As the setting sun pushed through the western window, the Temple’s red and gold palette was even more vivacious. The claret rug and drapery and the golden pews seemed to glow, and as Haren’s red robe and Raine’s golden armour melded into the colour scheme, the two walked down the Temple’s aisle in a picture of pageantry. As they neared the Order thrones, each bowed to the crown of Animus Letum that was set on top of the Temple’s altar.
Wylak, the blonde herbalist, had already arrived, and as his hand brushed through his natty beard, his cool blue eyes were set intently on Haren and Raine.
“I like your entrance,” he said. “Entrancing.”
Haren smiled as she stood next to him. “I must ask, Wylak, would you be so entranced if you were not using your herbs?”
“All herbalists must know their plants,” Wylak replied with a wry grin.
Raine lightly jabbed Wylak’s shoulder. “Just try and stay with us, medicine man.”
“Fear not, warrior,” Wylak said. “I’ve got herbs for that.”
From above them, the head monk forced a cough. “Are we quite done?”
Haren, Raine, and Wylak quickly chose silence.
“Very well,” the head monk said from the center of the five totem thrones. After looking to the totems on his left and right, Igallik took a puff from his tobacco hookah, exhaled, and addressed the monks before him.
“Let me begin by informing you that this will not be a typical hearing of the Order,” he said. “For this hearing, and only this hearing, we are opening a debate beyond our own minds – beyond the five of us. We have asked you here for your thoughts, your voice, and especially your honesty.”
Igallik looked sternly onto the three. “Can we expect your cooperation?”
After an affirming nod from each, Igallik continued.
“Allow me then to explain our dilemma. As a collective, we have begun to wonder about who is the rightful heir to Animus Letum. We have debated many candidates with no answer. In fact, this has become a very difficult quandary.”
Haren’s head tilted back, her brow creasing as she replayed Igallik’s words in her mind. “I was not aware that there was a quandary,” she said, her tone sounding almost defensive.
“Nor were any of us,”
Igallik replied, “that is, until we opened discussion.”
Haren couldn’t believe there had been debate. “I think the choice is fairly obvious,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Let me challenge that,” Igallik said. He then looked on all three guests. “When I raise my hand, please speak the name of who you believe should be heir.”
The three nodded, and as the head monk raised his hand, they each spoke.
The result was a mishmash of three different names: Haren said Galian, Raine said Odin, and Wylak said Usis.
As Haren looked almost contemptuously upon Raine and Wylak, Igallik took another puff from his hookah.
“Do you see, Haren?” he said. “It is not so clear-cut. In fact, our debate has centered upon four monks.”
“I see,” Haren admitted, “but I do not understand. First of all, Galian has consistently proven to be much wiser than Odin. And second of all, Usis and whoever else is in the debate are not even Lyrans. May I remind you that the Forge was assembled to see that the Lyran took back the throne – no other bloodline was even considered.”
Nile pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Allow me to explain our thinking,” he said, “at least with regard to Usis and Tyrik. We are choosing to look beyond bloodline, because blood, simply put, is a weak way to measure a man. Instead of blood determining the heir, we intend to elect the heir with wisdom.”
“That does not change anything,” Haren said. “Galian is still the right choice.”
“And if the afterlife goes to war?” Raeman asked, his skeptical eyes piercing onto Haren from behind his long hooked nose.
Raine nodded reluctantly, trying not to antagonize Haren, but also knowing that the Justice totem was right.
“He could not lead an army,” the old warrior said, “at least not as well as the other three candidates.”
The Sons of Animus Letum Page 10