The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

  “My crown!” his serpent voice growled.

  The king was overcome with power lust and his evil mind delved even further into madness. But in the throes of his yearning, Eiydia could feel him relinquish some of his control over her.

  In the vision, Igallik was still studying her. She remembered it was now that something got the head monk’s attention. With Forneus’s interests consumed by the crown, Eiydia began to scream at Igallik.

  “Please,” she shrieked, “Igallik! See it! Forneus is here!” As Eiydia cried for attention, she alerted Forneus, who quickly drew back into control. He instantly strengthened his grip, deepening Eiydia’s torture tenfold.

  “There is no help for you here,” he promised. “He cannot hear you… no one can.”

  As Forneus’s whispered voice seeped into her mind, Eiydia was powerless against the burden of his words. But in the memory, Igallik was suddenly taken with concern. He shouted a muffled order to his left, and then, just as Eiydia remembered but never understood, he turned his attention to the newest faction member.

  “Eiydia, my dear, your worth will never prove greater than now. My child, I am so sorry ...”

  With a quick wave of his hand, Igallik ended the vision.

  Shylam and the other faction members were startled by the abrupt end to the conversation. They turned their attention to the equally confused Eiydia, but she too was at a loss for words.

  The angry and lingering Forneus was not.

  “Look at your friends,” he hissed. “Appreciate their vitality, appreciate their presence, for neither you nor they will ever hold such company again.”

  Eiydia shed tears as she looked upon Shylam and the other faction members for the last time, and then in a violent snap, Eiydia’s memory ended and she was back in the Throne Room. Forneus released his grip from Eiydia’s head and back, and then slammed her against the marble base of his Throne Room. As the king stood over her, Eiydia battled against her incredible pain and managed to crawl to her knees. As her balance wavered, she screamed wildly at the Serpent Messiah.

  “God damn you!” she cried. “This world will never bow to you! Hear me now, Serpent! Your rivers will run dry!”

  Forneus knelt in front of the hysteric Eiydia and offered her a grim truth.

  “That which grows on despair,” he whispered, “will never run dry.”

  With a wild grin, Forneus stood, and as his eyes closed, he used his will to summon a great power. By command, the Soul Cauldron began to burn with greater heat. Its glow grew brighter until it painted the sky with a devilish amber. As the entire sky began to blush with the Cauldron’s wicked orange, the skeleton figures in the Cauldron began to swirl with feverish anticipation. Forneus began to shake, and a deep and growling thunder started to sound from the Cauldron. Just before it seemed that the Cauldron would burst, Forneus’s eyes exploded open and two waves of orange fire broke loose from the Cauldron. The flaming waves barreled outwards from the Cauldron like giant snakes, and then careened back, driving at Eiydia from her sides. As the streams of fire crashed simultaneously into Eiydia, a shockwave of flame and ember flew throughout the Throne Room. The streams of fire quickly merged into one, and as Eiydia screamed, the flames began to burn her so intensely that the layers of her skin bubbled and blistered. Amid the sound of Eiydia’s shrieks and screams, the skeletons circled in wait, desperate to scavenge anything that was left. The snarling king would appease them. Forneus crossed his outstretched hands, and in an instant, the skeletons gorged upon Eiydia’s frame. As Eiydia remained on her knees, the Cauldron’s skeletons began to sear through her soul with hellfire. Her body burned orange, and as a white smoke emitted from her remaining pores, she screamed and convulsed under the weight of her terrible torture. The torment continued until the king again cast his powerful hands out to the skies. As the fire exploded out from Eiydia’s skin, her body was ripped in half and the skeletons and flames retreated back to the Soul Cauldron.

  Eiydia had been destroyed. She had ceased to exist.

  As the Cauldron’s glow died down, the satisfied Forneus took back to his throne. His gaze set out over his kingdom, hunting in the distance for the rebel faction.

  As he reclined pompously in his throne, the king summoned the Scale who had brought Eiydia into the Throne Room.

  “Assemble a unit of my Vayne,” he ordered. “We have a faction to dismantle.”

  “And what of Ludus?” the Scale asked. “His end of the deal has been held.”

  “Ludus will remain blind,” Forneus ruled. “Rivals I can allow – gods I cannot.”

  17

  In the time of your earth realm that corresponded with Eiydia’s demise, the sons of Animus Letum had reached their seventeenth year – they, and the Forge, were only eight years away from their predetermined death. At seventeen, both Odin’s and Galian’s powers had grown in great measure. Usis had still not returned from his quest for answers, but in his absence, Raine had helped build Odin into the indisputable champion of the Damns. Galian had also excelled in his vocation. With a strict discipline in the studies of Throne’s Eye doctrine and practice, Galian was emerging with a power appropriate to his bloodline. In any realm, any parlour of the soul, Galian held a governance of sheer might. He was a giant among men.

  The monks of the Throne’s Eye knew that they were raising greatness. One could not dispute this fact. Each and every move the sons of Animus Letum made reflected the divinity in their veins. Their greatness was inarguable, and as a result, the Forge had grown stronger in numbers. After witnessing the twins’ potential, most monks truly believed that Odin and Galian could defeat Forneus, and as such, the majority of eligible monks volunteered to be in their suicide army. However, even as the monastery acknowledged the staggering promise of Serich’s kin, their great gesture was to treat Odin and Galian with no favour. Instead of applause and awe, the monks offered neutrality. Indeed, it was a gift. Within the walls of the Throne’s Eye, Odin and Galian were normal – they could be normal. It was not easy to be the seeds of legend, nor was it easy to know where their paths were headed, but with the other monks’ care and camaraderie, Odin and Galian at least felt like they had a home. While nearly all the monks treated Odin and Galian as equals, Haren could not. Haren respected the ways of the Throne’s Eye, but she saw one distinct flaw in their methods: they adhered to the old and tried. Although she knew that there was purpose in the Throne’s Eye’s traditions, Haren also knew that the monastery had no precedent for raising Lyrans. The twins were exceptional entities within the Throne’s Eye. Accordingly, Haren wanted them to be treated exceptionally. She refused to regard Galian’s and Odin’s talents as ordinary, and instead, her mind continuously sought the next step of the twins’ development.

  As morning peaked on the day of Eiydia’s demise, Haren set her steps towards the High Temple to discuss that very subject. The ambitious Deathrider, believing that she had critical information, had made an emergency appeal to the Throne’s Eye’s High Order. Although Haren had had many disappointing hearings, this one, she believed, would be different.

  The morning had carried a deep cold through the Throne’s Eye monastery, and as Haren ascended the giant staircase that led to the High Temple, her breaths were calm, collected bursts of vapour. The Temple’s bronze doors were unmanned as Haren reached the summit, and after looking skywards and tapping the bronze for luck, Haren passed through the twin doors.

  All members of the Order were present as Haren approached, and after she had nodded to them, she moved quietly to the front of the Temple, bowed to the crown of Animus Letum that rested on the Temple altar, and then knelt at the foremost pew.

  As was his ritual, Igallik puffed from a tobacco hookah, and as he exhaled, he commenced the hearing.

  “Haren,” he began, “you are not estranged from our customs, nor are you unfamiliar with this Order’s practice. You have put forth an appeal. And you will speak. But understand that the respect we have shown you through our audience will
be reciprocated in your respect of this Order’s decision.” Igallik paused a moment, allowing his words to resound their warning. “If you can agree to this,” Igallik said, “the floor is yours.”

  Haren cleared her throat and stood up from the pew.

  “My brothers, my elders, I am here with an ambition. Granted, measured against this Order, I am barely gifted in the meditative arts. But brothers, I beg you, recognize the potency of my heart. I am here to ask for your help. With due respect to this Order, I ask you for it now.”

  “What is your request?” Igallik asked.

  Haren took in a deep breath.

  “My request is that you educate Galian and Odin with The Book of the Eterna.”

  The elder monks surrounding Igallik immediately sounded their protest. The Book of the Eterna was the highest level text in the practice of the Throne’s Eye monastery. It was as much a mirror of eternal life as it was a practice in the spiritual arts, and above all it was forbidden to any monk who was not part of the Order.

  “The answer is simply no,” Palis ruled.

  The Order was quick to echo Palis’s verdict.

  “The notion is foolish,” Nile agreed. “They are far too young.”

  Bysin and Raeman also disagreed, and after they signalled a no, the verdict had become a unanimous denial.

  As Haren’s head sunk, the head monk look sternly at her.

  “You and I are both aware that this is not a request of whim,” he said. “My sister, you have been allowed the privilege of our audience, use it wisely.”

  Haren could see she had tested Igallik’s patience. After a anxious swallow, Haren came clean.

  “I have received word from Animus Letum,” she said.

  The Order monks, Igallik in particular, were now paying close attention.

  “What word?” Raeman asked.

  “The location of Serich’s crown, albeit not willingly, is believed to have been relayed to Forneus.”

  Igallik was silent amid the alarm that overtook his brothers. The Order monks continued to chatter in their anxiety, until Igallik hushed their panic. After they had quieted, Igallik turned to Haren with fear in his eyes.

  “And what of the sons?” he asked. “Has their location been compromised?”

  “At this time, it appears that Odin and Galian are safe,” Haren said. “Forneus still believes that he has killed them.”

  A wave of small relief soothed the Order back into their stately reserve.

  “This is manageable news” Igallik calculated. “In the defence of what we protect, we have lost a battle not a war.”

  The other Order monks nodded their agreement.

  “Were you informed of the circumstances of this breach?” Igallik asked.

  Haren nodded. “A priest – a woman named Eiydia – was captured amid a reconnaissance scout.”

  Igallik mouthed the name Eiydia. He seemed to remember the name.

  “Apparently,” Haren said, “she had learned of a prospective barter between Forneus’s court and a second party for knowledge of the crown’s location. She was able to warn the faction, allowing them to warn us, but she was taken to Forneus’s court. It is believed the Serpent King interrogated her himself.”

  Igallik exhaled a deep and mournful sigh.

  “Indeed, she was,” he confirmed. “Eiydia is lost. But surely found is the gravity of our dilemma. Forneus is now certainly aware of our protection of the crown. This is a threat we must now fully consider.”

  As the Order again voiced their agreement, Igallik turned back to the violet-eyed Haren.

  “I now see the mechanics of your logic,” he said. “You believe that Forneus’s discovery justifies your request.”

  Haren nodded.

  “It is no secret that the twins are powerful,” she said. “What is unknown is their potential. Igallik, I have watched over them since birth. Believe me when I say they are the greatest weapon we possess. With Forneus’s knowledge of the crown’s location, it is only a matter of time until he marches his faithful to our gates. The Scale of our realm will come.” Haren left a long pause to allow the threat of attack to sink in. “With your permission to use the book,” she campaigned, “Galian and Odin could be the weapon that would render our monastery unconquerable. I wish for you to teach them a power held specifically for their bloodline.”

  “You are delegating which powers to teach?” Igallik asked with some alarm.

  Haren looked upon the Order monks with bold honesty. “Brothers, allow me to be candid. There is, in fact, one particular power that I want Odin and Galian to learn. I want them to be instructed in Vinculum Imletalis.”

  Without deliberation, Igallik made a quick and direct verdict.

  “The answer is no.”

  “Will you not even consider?” Haren asked.

  “No, I will not,” Igallik ruled.

  “If they could hone this power,” Haren persisted, “they would be a great instrument of defence in any war we are to face.”

  Igallik could not believe he was listening to such a foolish request.

  “They would die if they tried!” he finally yelled. “The bond of Vinculum Imletalis is barely conceivable for Aeris and Seraph.”

  As Igallik took his annoyed eyes off Haren, he looked to the other Order monks.

  “In civility, I will open this issue to your vote. Such is the purpose of this Order. All in favour?”

  None of the monks raised their hands. Before Igallik make the final ruling, Raeman voiced another concern.

  “If I may ask, Haren,” he said. “How exactly were you able to receive word from Animus Letum? None of us – even Bysin – were aware of any attempted communication.”

  Haren’s posture became rigid. As the Order eyed her, the accusation became heavy, flushing her face with red.

  Under the weight of the Order’s stares, she finally threw up her hands.

  “I Scoured,” she said, her eyes already pleading for mercy. “But before you seek punishment,” she begged, “please look at the result. It was necessary.”

  Raeman shrugged. “I am doubting that this was your first offence.”

  Haren could offer no argument. As she turned pleadingly to Igallik, the head monk returned a troubled stare. Although Haren’s Scour had proved timely, the head monk also knew that Raeman would seek punishment.

  On cue, the Justice totem raised his voice above the Order.

  “I move that Haren is served five reeds,” he announced. “Five is a light sentence for what I suspect to be multiple trespasses.”

  Palis immediately protested. “I move that she is served none,” he argued. “Although Haren has faltered with our rules, she has done us a great service. There is a much larger picture here, brothers. May I remind you that Forneus now knows that we have the crown?”

  Although Igallik was still irritated with the form of Haren’s request, he agreed with the Mercy totem.

  “I do not condone Haren’s actions,” he said. “But I also cannot condone five reeds. I believe that we can find another punishment.”

  With the Order standing at two-to-one, focus turned to Nile and Bysin.

  Nile was first to speak.

  “I see both sides of this coin,” he said, “and both have their merits. Haren’s actions have likely saved lives. But at the same time, we have built our rules with purpose. Because I cannot rightfully condone or condemn Haren, I am deferring my vote to Bysin’s instinct.”

  Deferral was rare, and after its impact had set in, the entire High Temple looked to Bysin.

  “The decision is yours,” Igallik said.

  “I fear you won’t want it to be,” Bysin replied. “I have sensed – and for a while – that Haren has been straying from our ways. I know no other recourse than to punish her.”

  As Haren looked up at Bysin, her eyes pleading for mercy, the Instinct totem tapped the arm of his living throne.

  “My dear,” he said, “yours is a heart that trusts few. Worse, it seems th
at you have lost trust in us. You are a brilliant woman, Haren. But a night full of stars shines brighter than a night with only one.”

  Haren’s eyes were wet, but unflinching.

  “Five reeds will not build more trust,” she threatened.

  “That is up to you,” Bysin said. “I vote twice for the proposed punishment.”

  In defeat, Haren collapsed to her knees and pushed her fist against the bridge of her nose.

  As Igallik watched her, he was burdened by his duty. Regardless, he took a puff from his hookah.

  “Haren will be served five reeds at this evening’s close,” he ruled. “Today’s verdict stands unless an exceptional force decrees otherwise. Brothers, we are officially adjourned. You may return to your quarters.”

  The totems rose, and as they began their exits, Palis tried to offer Haren some condolence. Bitterly, Haren waved him off, but before she left the Temple, Igallik’s voice called her back.

  Knowing no other option, Haren turned from the door and stormed back to the altar.

  “If you could get the door,” Igallik requested.

  After a flippant wave, Haren obliged, and after shutting the giant bronze doors, she joined Igallik at the front of the Temple.

  “You know I can’t amend the punishment,” he said. “As much as I want to.”

  Haren hated his honesty. “I guess I’ll wait for an exceptional force,” she said dryly.

  “One would be unlikely to arrive,” Igallik replied.

  The words sunk Haren’s posture even more, and as her eyes began to tear, she repeated the very words that she had said seventeen years earlier when Morello was killed.

  “I will not be punished for this.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” Igallik replied, “but you will.”

  Haren cradled her head with both hands. “Am I to be forever the martyr?”

  “Believe me,” the head monk said as he patted her shoulder, “I know that question even better than you.”

  “Please,” Haren shot back, “you couldn’t imagine.”

  With calm eyes, Igallik removed the crown of Animus Letum from the top of the altar and then tapped the golden cloth beneath it.