The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

  “You see,” he said, “this is why Galian is not fit to be heir. He cannot make that jump – ever.”

  Haren rolled her eyes. “Really, Raeman? Must a king have jumping ability?”

  “A king must have physical ability,” Raeman replied. As if there could be no further argument, the Justice totem looked frankly to the rest of the Order. “Do any of you disagree?”

  “I understand your point,” Nile said. “I don’t know if I agree with it.”

  As Palis began to weigh in, Igallik hushed him and pointed back to the Damns.

  “It is possible,” he said, “that physical ability has a formidable cousin.”

  On the Mount, Galian was still standing between Usis and Odin, but instead of climbing forward, his eyes were closed and his arms were outstretched towards the golden flag above him. With a few small ripples, Galian’s power brought the previously limp flag to life, and as Galian’s hands continued to draw it in, the flag began to flap loudly. As the flag flew and stretched open, Galian wrenched his hands back, and with a loud snap, the flag broke from the pole and sailed delicately into his hand.

  The quiet monk inspected his prize for a moment. As Galian began to raise his hand in victory, his legs convulsed with an odd jig, and he dropped like a stone.

  “Quicksand,” Wylak said with a laugh. “Sooner or later, it wins.”

  With each racer down, Igallik took a few steps towards the edge of the Perch, and after brushing his hand through his beard, his head tilted with a satisfied nod. Each monk on the Perch had witnessed what he had.

  After weighing his thoughts once more, Igallik turned to the Order with certitude in his eyes.

  “With regards to the heir,” he said. “I believe we have reached a consensus.”

  11

  After Galian had claimed the flag and each racer had fallen to Quicksand, Wylak sauntered slowly through them, administering the first of two tonics that would counteract their sedation.

  The first tonic was designed to wake the monks’ bodies, and the second tonic was designed to wake their minds. The second tonic had to be ingested at least ten minutes after the first, and in between the two stages, the monks were in a much more primal state. They were in charge of their actions, but were far less inhibited.

  After the first tonic was given, the monks awoke in nearly the same order that they had fallen, and like a line of sheep, they were herded into the library to await stage two.

  Tyrik was fourth last to arrive, and soon after, Usis and Odin followed.

  As Tyrik watched Usis’s and Odin’s entrance, seeing that neither of them had the flag relieved him, and with a satisfied grunt, he cocked his head back and offered an arrogant smile.

  “Usis and the mighty Odin,” he laughed. “Empty handed.”

  Usis offered a confident smile. “Better than empty-headed,” he replied.

  “Didn’t matter much, did it?” Tyrik growled. “You didn’t beat me out there. No one did.”

  On cue, Galian bobbed into the library, his right hand holding the golden flag.

  Odin immediately raised a victorious fist. “Someone did,” he beamed.

  As Galian stood next to Odin, and a few of the racers applauded him, the quiet monk bent into a bow.

  “The gimp?” Tyrik scoffed. With a sarcastic smile, Tyrik joined in the applause. “The Lyran mishap,” he mocked. “I suppose you were due for something.”

  With no hesitation, Odin swung a hard kick into the back of Tyrik’s legs, and the hulk collapsed to the floor.

  “Speaking of due,” Usis jested.

  As Tyrik’s only three friends, Cole, Lizin, and Jasil, assembled behind him, the hulk rose furiously to his feet and began to rush at Odin.

  Usis was quick to intervene. The exact moment he read Tyrik’s intent, Usis’s tall and slender frame sliced in front of Odin, and with an impossibly quick stab, Usis struck his hand into Tyrik’s throat and dug his fingers around Tyrik’s windpipe.

  As Usis met Tyrik’s stare, he tightened his grip and leaked the rage out of Tyrik’s eyes. With a fit of desperate coughs and gasps, the hulk fell to his knees, but even with Tyrik at his feet, Usis did not relent. With Tyrik’s face flushing with red and panic, Usis controlled his prey, staring into him with eyes like Death. Usis seemed to grow stronger upon Tyrik’s fear. However, as Usis’s grip persisted, a large and heavy hand fell onto his shoulder.

  “He’s had enough,” Raine said firmly.

  After Usis’s eyes shot a final dagger into Tyrik, Usis spat at the floor and relinquished his grip.

  As Tyrik clenched his throat and strained for air, Haren, who had arrived with Raine, knelt down to examine the hulk’s neck. With a push, Tyrik refused her help, and stumbled back to his feet. The return of air, brought the return of anger, and like a boulder gathering speed, Tyrik turned on Usis. With one step, Raine moved his massive frame between them. Raine was the only monk in the monastery that Tyrik had to look up at.

  “Figures,” Tyrik spat. “You protect your sheep, don’t you, Raine?”

  Raine took a slow step forward, closing the distance to less than a foot.

  “And are you the wolf?” he asked. His tone was too deep, too strong. No one, not even the raving mad, would have dared a next move.

  As Tyrik slunk away, the library was silent. The quiet seemed to amplify Tyrik’s embarrassment. With no place to hide, the hulk paced loudly back and forth, looking to spot another monk’s weakness. He settled on Galian.

  “Well done,” he laughed, with another mocking clap. “The flag and the Ichor is yours! Giving you power is like giving Haren a try in the Damns!”

  Haren’s violet eyes zeroed in on Tyrik. Targeting Galian had become like targeting Morello. “And giving you another second,” she seared, “is like giving shit to an outhouse. Do you know why there was a race today?” she asked. “We wanted to see who had the strongest will among you. You lost. Badly. Pathetically. The gimp, as you so eloquently branded him, embarrassed you beyond reason. So take a walk,” Haren said. “While you’re gone, the Lyran mishap will claim his prize.”

  Amid the stares of every monk present, Tyrik’s eyes burned onto Haren.

  “You poke the wrong fire,” he said angrily. “I promise you, it burns if you get too close.”

  Like a rolling thunder, Raine’s voice became low once more. “You’ve got three seconds, Tyrik. Take your walk.”

  The hulk waved Raine off and narrowed his gaze on Haren.

  “Sooner or later,” he promised, “Raine won’t be close.”

  Raine’s head tilted slowly to the left. Any monk who had witnessed Raine’s ferocious battle skills knew that the head tilt always preceded the fury. Tyrik knew it as much as anyone.

  After glancing back to the old warrior and seeing the tilt, Tyrik backed off like a threatened dog. Without another word, the hulk and his three friends barged out of the library.

  As the four stormed out, Wylak was entering with a handful of vials.

  “You can’t go, boys,” the herbalist said as he held up the vials. “I’ve got one last tonic.”

  With a growl, Tyrik bowled through the door and jolted the herbalist into the door frame. The jolt was enough to make Wylak juggle the tonics, and as he balanced awkwardly against the door, Cole, Lizin, and Jasil barged passed him. After Wylak managed to reclaim the vials, he turned urgently back to Haren.

  “Why are they leaving?” he asked. “I need to give them the second vial.”

  “I don’t think they’re coming back,” Haren said frankly. “Do they need it right away?”

  “Well, no,” the herbalist said. “Actually, they don’t need it at all. It just speeds up what the body does on its own. It’ll take about a day for nature to sort them out.”

  “Then don’t worry about them,” Haren said. “They’re nature’s problem.”

  Wylak looked back out the door, his foot tapping out a frantic beat as he considered his options.

  “As you wish,” he said fi
nally. He then held up second part of his tonic. “Racers, line up.”

  After Wylak had administered the second tonic, Haren and Galian chose to collect their winnings. As the library emptied, Haren and Galian retreated into the Ichor and set their eyes upon The Book of the Eterna. Just before they delved into the book, Haren explained to Galian why there had been a race. Her thinking was that if Galian knew he was the heir, he would use the time he had with The Book of the Eterna in a much more purposeful way.

  She was right. Being the heir seemed to fuel Galian with a combination of excitement and responsibility. It seemed to bolster his desire to become a worthy Lyran.

  Without break, the two soaked in the book’s knowledge for twelve hours. They read about rituals and incantations that could hail the afterlife, and even a ritual where the souls of two people could be merged. The two were immersed, but even with their focus, twelve hours was not enough time to fully appreciate the book’s power. One day had given them only a glimpse.

  As the midnight hour fell over the monastery, Haren and Galian made their way out of the Ichor. After a day with The Book of the Eterna, the two walked slowly, drunk on the knowledge and potential that the human soul could achieve. The weight was heavy, but precious. It was as if they carried one thousand diamonds.

  Against all rules, one of them also carried something else.

  Haren had recorded an incantation from the book. The incantation was called Scour, and it could be used to find any person in the afterlife. If Haren’s trespass were discovered, she would receive five reeds to the back. A small price, she thought. A small price if she could find Morello…

  With a crescent moon peeking out from behind the clouds, Galian and Haren crossed through the courtyard to their quarters. As they walked, Haren offered Galian counsel. Although she would gladly accept the punishment for her crime, she couldn’t allow Galian to bear any backlash.

  “If they ask you, don’t lie,” she said to the quiet monk. “I took it. I will pay the price.”

  As Galian bobbed along, he replied with his sign language. “If they ask, I will lie,” he said. “It is not even a debate. I can’t imagine losing my brother. If I were you, I would do anything to get him back.”

  Haren smiled. “Let’s hope we never walk that road.” she said. “Besides–”

  Haren cut herself off as Galian made his sign for silence.

  Haren also knew the look in Galian’s eye. Something was wrong. As a sense of panic grabbed Haren, Galian positioned himself in front of her, and he scoured the shadows for a predator.

  In seconds, he found him – flanked by his only three friends.

  “I warned you,” Tyrik said from the shadow. “I told you not to poke the fire.”

  There was a wildness in Tyrik’s voice – a primal, threatening tone that made his intentions very clear.

  As Haren gripped Galian’s shoulder, Tyrik and his friends emerged into the moonlight.

  Galian stood fast.

  “Back down,” he signed. “There is no fight here.”

  “Back down?” Tyrik laughed. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because of this,” Galian replied. The quiet monk closed his eyes, and as a tremor shook the courtyard floor, he used his power to shake loose one of the floor stones and suspend it in the air in front of Tyrik.

  Tyrik offered an arrogant smile. “Take your best shot, gimp.”

  Galian obliged. With a swing of his hand, Galian hurled the red stone forward. As the stone cut through the air, it missed Tyrik by a great margin and sailed over his head towards the barracks of the Throne’s Eye monks.

  “Tough break,” Tyrik grinned. “My turn,”

  With hatred in his eyes, the hulk dropped his lead shoulder and charged his prey. As Tyrik rumbled forward, he hit Galian first, and as the hulk’s massive shoulder cracked into Galian’s head, the quiet monk was tossed headlong across the stone, spiralling over the earth like a bird hit with an arrow.

  After Galian had crashed in a heap, Tyrik looked Haren over.

  “I told you Raine wouldn’t always be close,” he whispered.

  As Haren tried to scream, Tyrik swung his massive palm against her temple and knocked her helplessly upon the courtyard stone.

  The crash was there… He had heard it. As the sound resonated in his mind, Odin woke. The young Lyran’s training engaged, and as his senses became alert, he surveyed his dark room. There was no sign of change. Still, he knew he had heard the crash. Furtively, Odin crept his way to the window. As his body leaned through the open window and he looked down, he could see pieces of cracked stone scattered beneath him. He knew that the red stone was from the courtyard. With studious eyes, Odin examined the sprawl of debris, and after calculating the point of impact, he followed a rough trajectory line back into the courtyard.

  As Odin’s eyes pierced through the dark, suddenly panic overtook his senses. Galian was in a heap, and Tyrik and his friends were lying overtop Haren.

  Time stopped.

  Fury took its place.

  “Grab her legs,” Tyrik ordered as Haren fought from the ground. “Hold her down.”

  As Tyrik’s friends mauled her, Haren delivered fists and kicks in retaliation, but it was no use. Cole, Lizin, and Jasil quickly subdued her, and after they had captured her arms and legs, Tyrik grabbed Haren’s burgundy robe and ripped it in half at the seam.

  “Now who has the strongest will?” he seethed.

  With a snarling smile, Tyrik made sure to catch Haren’s eye, but to his surprise Haren’s eyes were focused to his left – at the incoming knee. With a loud crack, Odin barrelled a flying knee at Tyrik’s jaw, and as the hulk collapsed, Odin pounced on him, striking his neck as fast and as hard as he could. Tyrik was unconscious before he realized who was hitting him. As Odin sprang back to his feet, Tyrik’s three friends converged on him, trying to use their numbers as the advantage. Like a net, they swarmed at him, but as they approached, Odin leapt forward and swung a ferocious kick at their jaws, hoping to connect with all three. The kick only smacked into Jasil and Lizin, leaving Cole standing and in a far better battle position than Odin. Before Odin could ready himself for the next attack, his ears were already ringing, buzzing from the impact of Cole’s fist. With a stagger, Odin tried to return fire, but Cole, like all Throne’s Eye monks, was expertly trained in combat. After a few evasive weaves, Cole threw a combination of jabs at Odin, striking hard into the Lyran’s ribcage. The onslaught was enough that Odin abandoned striking and put up his arms to guard his head and torso. As Odin bundled, Jasil and Lizin re-entered the fight. The two came at Odin from his sides, and with their superior strength, they ripped and wrestled Odin’s arms into submission. Desperately, Odin threw a series of kicks at Cole, but in moments, the fight tilted completely out of his control. With both of his arms locked in submission, Odin hung helplessly, his body snapping back and forth from the barrage of Cole’s elbows and knees. As Odin began to falter, Cole wound back his arm, cocking his fist for the final blow. As he shifted his weight into the haymaker, suddenly a slab of red stone crashed against Cole’s back. Cole staggered forward from the impact, cancelling his attack and saving Odin from the final shot. With a furious huff, Cole regained his balance and as he spun on a heel, he saw Galian upright and levitating three more of the floor stones.

  “Make them count,” Cole snarled.

  With a wave of his hand, Galian launched the three slabs. The first two connected hard with Jasil and Lizin, exploding against their heads and freeing Odin from their grip. With a diving roll, Cole had evaded the third stone, and as he sprang back out of his tumble, he stood only a foot in front of Galian. Frantically, Galian cast out his hands and tried to raise another floor stone, but before he could shake one loose, Cole swung his hand into Galian’s neck. The quiet monk toppled over, and with another furious huff, Cole grabbed a fragment of the red stone and began to pummel Galian against the ground. As the sound of brick hitting flesh filled his ears, Odin fought back to his f
eet. His balance was off: he was teetering from the damage of Cole’s attacks. However, as he staggered, blinking and grimacing through the fog that had overcome his senses, suddenly, the silhouette of Cole burned through his stupor. Galian was in trouble; Odin’s best friend was being mauled. Like fire to oil, Odin erupted. With a surge, Odin’s heart willed him past his wounds, stoking his body with the blaze of a brother’s love. As rage coursed through him, Odin launched himself at his foe’s back, blasting his knee into Cole with spine-cracking force. The impact was immense. Like a cloth doll, Cole crumpled, expelling airy yelps as he writhed like a broken insect. Mercilessly, Odin leapt on top of him, bashing him like a hammer to a nail. Cole went limp, but the onslaught didn’t stop. Odin was consumed. Amid Haren’s screams for help, Odin continued. Amid hundreds of candles and monks flooding the courtyard, Odin wouldn’t cease. Finally, with Cole’s face bashed and bloody, Raine’s massive hands latched onto Odin and ripped him off of his prey. As Raine restrained him, Odin spat foam from the corners of his mouth, staring wildly at the hundred monks that filled the courtyard.

  Igallik was one of them.

  As the head monk surveyed the madness, he was quiet, analyzing the pieces of the puzzle and doing his best to make them fit: Odin was irate, Haren was naked, Galian was bloody, Tyrik and Cole were unconscious, and Lizin and Jasil were sprawled on the stone holding their heads.

  As voices, theories, and accusations filled the courtyard, Haren stood up awkwardly, contorting her naked body and trying to cover up. She backed out of the inner circle, and as she tried vainly to slink away, an Order monk, Palis, made a quiet and stealthy retrieval of Haren’s ripped robe and draped it over her shoulders. With a shudder, Haren accepted the robe, but as Palis tried to tend to her, she pushed through him and walked quickly to the beaten and bloodied Galian.

  Finally, with monks’ fingers pointing blame in all directions, the head monk took rein of the bedlam.

  “Silence!” he ordered.

  With a hush, the courtyard obeyed.

  The head monk turned first to Haren, who was holding Galian tightly against her shoulder.