Usis bowed to Palis, and then awaited the judgement of the remaining Order monks. Nile offered only a silent nod of approval. But the Instinct totem, Bysin, seemed apprehensive, his eyes doing everything to avoid Usis’s stare.
“You are apprehensive, Bysin?” Igallik asked.
Bysin nodded. “It is insignificant at this point,” he said. “Three of us have voted: a majority. But let it be shown that it was not by my vote that Usis was awarded our permission.”
Igallik paused for a moment as he examined Bysin. The Instinct totem’s anxiety unsettled the head monk. Regardless, the Order had voted in majority. With a smile, the head monk returned his attention to Usis.
“Your permission is granted,” he ruled. “We pray you truth and victory in your quest.”
With another puff of his hookah, Igallik adjourned the hearing and allowed Usis and the Order monks to return to their quarters.
Bysin lingered in the High Temple until all but he and Igallik were remaining. Once alone, the Instinct totem approached the head monk.
“Dangerous move,” he assessed of the Order’s ruling.
“We are all aware of the implications,” Igallik defended.
“If Usis looks in the wrong place,” Bysin warned, “you know what he will find.”
“Once again, Bysin, we are all aware of the implications. We trust that we raised him well. If he desires the truth, then he deserves the truth.”
“What if the Order is wrong?” Bysin challenged.
Igallik inhaled deeply and then rested his hand on Bysin’s shoulder.
“Let’s pray we’re not.”
After his permission was granted, Usis was quick to collect the food, clothing, and weapons he would need to begin his quest. Only one day had passed before he was ready to set out.
As he, packed with his provisions, approached the Throne’s Eye gate in departure, he was met by Odin, Galian, and Raine.
“I’m sorry, boys,” Usis said to Odin and Galian.
“You still don’t have to go,” Odin reminded.
“Oh no,” Usis said, “I’m going. I’m just sorry that you’ll have to spend more time with Raine.”
As Odin and Galian grinned, Raine threw a playful jab at Usis.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured. “The boys will benefit from a male influence.”
Usis laughed, and then extended his hand to Raine.
“Thank you, brother, for everything.”
Raine took Usis’s hand, and after sliding a sleeve of golden coins into Usis’s palm, he wrapped his arm around Usis’s shoulders.
“It’s been an honour thus far,” he said. “Let’s hope you return in the same spirit.”
Usis smiled to Raine and then turned to Odin and Galian.
“Boys, you listen to Raine. He’ll guide you through the next stage of your training.”
Odin and Galian nodded.
“Always remember,” Usis said, “there exists no storm you can’t handle together. Use each other,” he impelled. “When you lean your strengths against one another you become greater.”
“You forget,” Galian signed, “there are three of us leaning on each other.”
Usis winked and pulled two silver coins from a pouch on his belt
“I’ll never forget,” he smiled.
Odin was shocked. “You joined the Forge?”
“The first chance I got,” Usis replied. He then motioned to the path outside of the gates. “I promise you,” he said, “I’ll be back when you need me.”
After swallowing back some emotion, Usis hugged Galian and Odin, and after thanking Raine again, Usis began his walk out of the Throne’s Eye gates.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he called back. “Take care of them, Raine.”
“I thought princesses were supposed to curtsy before they left,” Raine yelled as Usis departed. Without turning back, Usis raised his arm in a feminine wave.
Raine smiled and then turned to Odin and Galian. “Don’t worry about him,” he said. “He’ll be more than fine.”
After the three had watched Usis disappear from sight, Raine led the twins back to the heart of the monastery.
As they walked, they passed Igallik, who had watched the procession from afar. The head monk’s eyes shifted between the gate and the twins.
The day of the Blood Cael had cut the Forge’s numbers in half, and the trident of Odin, Galian, and Usis had been split.
Fate – the head monk prayed – would replenish the Forge.
Time – he hoped – would align the trident once more.
15
By their father’s will, Galian and Odin had escaped from the afterlife.
I did not have the same fate.
Instead, I stood shackled in the wasteland that had become Animus Letum. Forneus had taken Serich’s throne and Soul Cauldron, and like a disease, his malice had brought us an age of Hell. He had not only diseased the land, but he had infected the people. We had become shades of our former selves – purposefully broken from our hope. When the Lyrans had reigned, nature had prospered. There were cherry blossoms, sage, and bergamot. But under Forneus’s rule, Animus Letum was in a bloom of decay. Our rivers had dried and our golden streets had charred to black. Nature had perished, and even our skies had darkened, blocking us from the stars and sun. Hell, we had learned, had a face.
I am not one to cast doubt upon Serich’s sacrifice, but in the throes of Forneus’s reign, one could sometimes wish that Serich had walked a different path. I must often remind myself that sacrifices, like the merits of one’s life, are usually measured in hindsight. We were fated to endure the limbo existing between the great sacrifice’s dusk and dawn. However, I do not speak for all left in the land of Animus Letum. I will not judge whom I am about to introduce – God knows not all souls have the courage to bleed as martyrs – but let it be understood that many in Serich’s court found reason to abandon the true house of Animus Letum and serve the Serpent Messiah. To Forneus they became servants and officers, and to us they became traitors. To us, our former brothers and sisters became the enemy. If any mention was made of these traitors, it was in the past tense. They were dead to us. They became referred to as the Scale, and nothing more.
The great torture of Forneus’s Hell was dealt onto our minds. With his every act he struck hard into our hope. If a person dare attack a Scale or Vayne, their families were killed. If one person even breathed the name Serich, one hundred people were killed in front of them. The Serpent made opposition to his throne too horrific to consider. Through fear, Forneus had destroyed the will of his enemies – the afterlife had become their prison. However, there were shadows in his land where heretics thought and spoke without censor. The shadows were few, but behind their dark sheath was a faction loyal to the Lyran House. The faction, in fear of undesired attention, did not even allow themselves a title. They chose to work as rogues, acting when necessary and meeting when imperative. Their actions and meetings were centered on one theme – the protection of information. There was in fact one crucial piece of information that they warred to protect: the faction knew that Odin and Galian were alive. The great value of this information was that Forneus did not have it. At least, not yet. The faction had been playing a shadow game with the king, but in the dark the Serpent saw clearer. On numerous occasions, the faction had scattered from a meeting only moments before the Scale and Vayne arrived. After regrouping, the faction often realized that they had left clues and evidence of Odin and Galian’s existence. They were clues and evidence that a cunning mind could fit together. However, the Serpent was arrogant. Even though the sons had survived, the king believed that he had killed both of them. He knew – and could feel in his memories – how deeply he had cut Rhea’s throat. The truth was that when Forneus hunted the faction, he was hunting for something other than the sons. The Serpent was searching for the crown of Animus Letum. When Serich sent Rhea to the first realm, he had sent the crown along with her. The crown held all powers
of the Lyran Kings, and because the powers could be inherited from king to king, there was nothing Forneus desired more.
The crown had crossed realms with Rhea, and with the greatest measure of safeguard, it was stored in the High Temple of the Throne’s Eye monastery. If any attempt were to be made to acquire the crown, the thieves would have to overcome the warrior army of Throne’s Eye monks. Both the faction and the Throne’s Eye – by oath to the name of Serich – vowed to suffer death if it meant separating Forneus from the crown’s power.
On extremely rare occasion, the faction and Throne’s Eye held audience with each other. Their discussions were always about protecting the secrets of Rhea and her sons’ survival – any lesser cause was not worth the risk. Forneus had promised destruction on the souls found guilty of speaking with the first realm, and against that threat, the faction had to bow. The king was a lurking hunter that none had outmatched. Wisely, the faction lay low. After too many close calls, they placed a moratorium on speaking of the crown or Serich’s heirs, resolving that only the gravest catastrophe could break their silence. The murders, massacres, and genocides of Forneus’s kingdom passed before the faction’s tearing eyes. Their burden was acknowledging that they could not help. Unless the crown or the sons were in jeopardy, the faction could not risk gaining attention.
Regrettably, I must report that jeopardy arose. In one instance, although it would lead to their end, the faction was left no choice but to send a message to the Throne’s Eye. Eiydia, a woman in the faction, was the martyr of that message.
In your earth realm, Eiydia was a Deathrider. She possessed the unique talent of conversing with the souls that had passed into Animus Letum. With no guidance, her gift became a burden. As she matured, her ability became stronger, but when she spoke of Animus Letum, she was shunned. Her family believed that some form of madness had claimed her, and not knowing what else to do, they forced her into an insane asylum. As medication began to drown her gifts, one voice stayed afloat. The voice said its name was Serich, and through it all – through all of her suffering and isolation – he was there. Serich was the one voice who told her the truth – it was not madness that had claimed her, it was greatness. Eiydia did not learn who Serich was until after her death. Even worse, she never had a chance to thank him. When Eiydia crossed into Animus Letum, her guardian and voice of hope had just been murdered by the traitor Forneus. The faction soon found Eiydia, and when they explained who Serich was and what had happened to him, Eiydia was broken. Her greatest friend, the person who had loved her so dearly, was gone. As the pain settled, one thing was clear in Eiydia’s mind – she would fight for him, just as he had fought for her. And so Eiydia took arms in the rebel faction.
Eiydia moved quickly up their ranks. She helped organize reconnaissance missions, and soon she was a scout herself. Her first assignment was to track a specific Scale member. Such assignments were rare and typically fruitless. However, this particular Scale had been observed making an abnormally high number of visits to Forneus’s Throne Room. The faction knew that in Forneus’s methodical reign, oddities were never coincidence. And so Eiydia became the Scale’s shadow.
On the second night of Eiydia’s vigil, her assignment proved pivotal.
As burning embers swirled through the streets of Animus Letum, blowing through the desolate corridors of Forneus’s kingdom, the Scale descended from the Serpent’s Throne Room. The roadways had been drowned in darkness, and as gloom painted over the golden streets, Eiydia’s black hood joined her with the shadows. Moving like smoke over water, Eiydia crept through the blackness, following the oblivious Scale as he approached a broken down chapel on the bank of a depleted river. As the ignorant Scale disappeared behind the chapel’s doors, Eiydia crept into the darkness, vanishing from the approaching Vayne and settling down at a poorly boarded window that overlooked the chapel’s main room. As she crouched, Eiydia retrieved the pen and pad she carried at her waist and began to watch and jot down what she was seeing.
With torchlight colouring the inside of the chapel, the Scale sat down in the center pew. The chapel’s altar and walls were charred from fire, and as the Scale sat, his green clothes seemed to glow brighter under the orange flames. After whispering to himself, the Scale pulled a red coin from a pouch, and with a snap of his fingers, he spun the coin on the top of the pew. As the coin whirled, it began to hum and drone much louder than it should have. The hum grew incredibly loud, and there was a sudden flash of red. In the very next instant, a massive figure stood ominously behind the blackened altar. As the giant figure nodded to the Scale, its features remained cloaked in the deep shadows of its burgundy cloak.
The monstrous figure began to speak.
“What is the word of your king?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and inhumanly deep.
“He finds your claim interesting,” the Scale replied, his tone sparing of sentiment, “but I’m sure you would understand that a man in his position would desire proof. If an army is to be assembled on earth, your claim must be substantiated.”
The figure remained motionless.
“Now, do not misinterpret the king’s hesitation,” the Scale said. “Our Lord is less than indifferent to the death of any residing in the first realm. However, he does detest the misuse of effort and time. What you have claimed would necessitate large investments of both. So again, the king demands proof. That, my friend, is your bargaining chip.”
The figure, poised and brooding in the shadows, offered his rebuttal.
“My words are true,” he said. “I can give your king the exact location of Serich’s crown. All I ask is that when you claim your prize, you bring back mine.”
Eiydia drew away from the window in fear.
“No,” her mouth pled in whisper. As the massive figure’s head tilted slowly towards the window, Eiydia forced her hands over her mouth.
The Scale, still oblivious to Eiydia, tried again to convince the giant.
“Be that as it may,” he said, noting the figure’s vow of honesty, “relying solely on your word is counterproductive to the terms of this negotiation. You desire our assistance in reclaiming your possession, and we desire tangible proof of your claim. Both of our needs can be met, but, my friend, give me proof. Give me something to bring back to my king.”
Eiydia managed to compose herself, and acknowledging her responsibility, she tucked the piece of paper she had recorded on into a pouch on her belt and began to creep away from the window.
The figure’s haunting voice seemed to follow her.
“If my words are not enough,” he said, “I will give you another’s voice – one you can bring to your king. My lady, if you would be kind enough to join us ...”
With a sound like wind through a cavern, the giant opened his hand to the boarded window. Fear pulsed throughout Eiydia’s body. She knew the figure was referring to her, but somehow as much as she wanted to run, she couldn’t move. By some power in his massive hand, the figure had frozen her strides.
The Scale, at first concerned by the third party, was quick to return to his imperial poise.
“It truly is discourteous to eavesdrop” he said. “In the interest of civility, I believe we are entitled to an introduction.”
The Scale nodded to the figure, inviting his great power. “When you’re ready.”
The figure, still holding Eiydia in his invisible grasp, pulled his outstretched hand back towards his own torso. With a crash, Eiydia blasted through the wall, leaving a trail of stone and blood as she skidded helplessly across the floor. Feeling the figure’s looming presence above her, Eiydia managed to crane her neck up. As her eyes focused onto the figure’s ghastly face, fear struck through her very soul.
“No!” she cried. “It can’t be!”
The Scale rose from his pew and drew his dagger to Eiydia’s back.
“My dear,” he coldly whispered, “let us be clear. Fear rather than doubt is restricting your senses. Take another look. This is a hard face to forget.”<
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The Scale seized the paralyzed Eiydia by the hair on the back of her head and wrenched her neck back, leaving her no choice but to look up at the figure.
The figure’s skin was blood red with glowing orange veins that bulged and pulsed from beneath his skin. Two jagged horns protruded from the figure’s lower jaw, and his nose was badly disfigured. But the figure’s most haunting feature was his eyes or, more precisely, the lack thereof. Two beady, vacant sockets glared out from where his eyes should be.
“Malum Ludus,” Eiydia spat.
“I knew you’d remember the face,” the Scale said as he dropped Eiydia to the ground. The Scale looked pompously back to the figure. “Your reputation goes before you Malum. It seems in your case, the architect precedes his work.”
Malum was silent.
“Well, let us spare no time,” the Scale said. “I will take our intruder to the king. You are sure she can vouch for your claim?”
As Malum continued to hold Eiydia in paralysis, he knelt over her and used his massive hand to lift her chin. With his vacant sockets staring into Eiydia’s soul, Ludus turned the corners of his mouth into a callous grin.
“By her will or yours,” he promised, “she will give you what you need.”
As he watched Eiydia squirm, the Scale smiled, impressed with the measure of fear that Ludus commanded.
With a whistle, the Scale sauntered casually to the entrance of the chapel and summoned a small group of Vayne. As he returned, the Vayne seized Eiydia, and the Scale offered a small bow to the monster.
“You have proven quite useful,” he applauded. “We will send word after the interrogation. Our deal is not dead.”
With a snarl, Malum tossed the helpless Eiydia to the ground and began a slow march to the back of the chapel.
“Malum,” the Scale called out, disrupting the giant figure’s departure. “If you would be so kind, I’m sure our Vayne would appreciate a prisoner with live legs.”
With a quick snapping gesture of his hand, Malum lifted Eiydia’s paralysis.
The Sons of Animus Letum Page 16