“And thirdly and most importantly,” Raine said, “stay together. Do we understand the rules?”
Galian decided to answer for both him and Odin.
“We understand,” he signed.
As Odin continued his tantrum, Galian tapped the old warrior’s wrist.
“Don’t worry,” Galian signed. “I will calm him.”
“Good to hear,” Raine said as he projected his voice towards Odin. “I’m glad one of you can man up.”
Odin cursed again, but Raine had already moved on. After tightening the strap on his helmet, the old warrior turned back to Haren who was waiting at the High Temple doors.
“It could be a long one,” Raine forewarned. “Keep ’em safe, birdy.”
“I will,” Haren promised. “Godspeed, brother.”
With a bow, Raine exited the Temple, and after he had left, Haren closed and locked the doors behind him. As she always did, Haren patted the giant bronze doors for luck, and after waiting to ensure that no one was seeking re-entry, she turned from the door and walked towards the center of the Temple.
“Buck up,” she said to Odin. “It’s not all bad. There happens to be a direct benefit to hiding in this Temple.”
Calmly, Haren pulled a blue sheet of paper from under her robe.
“And that benefit,” she said as she held up the sheet, “is privacy.”
After seeing the paper, Galian hurried to Haren’s side.
“The Book of the Eterna?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed,” Haren answered. “Given the circumstances, I believe that some of Igallik’s rules can be conceded to our gain.”
Galian eyed Haren suspiciously. “Did you steal it?” he signed.
“I borrowed,” Haren replied.
Galian thought for a moment.
“This can’t be like Scour,” he warned. “Death followed Scour.”
“It won’t,” Haren promised. “In fact, this time we will prevent many deaths.”
Galian was still eying the violet-eyed Haren. Something was off.
“What have you planned?” he signed.
“Something very powerful,” she said.
With a wink, she tilted the blue page so that Galian could read the incantation.
Galian’s eyes immediately lit up.
After Haren smiled back, she looked over to Odin, who had moved to a Temple window.
“You might as well join us,” she said. “It will be worse if you can see the fight.”
“I’m fine” Odin replied as he scanned the distance for Forneus’s Scale. “I’m not a reader anyway.”
Haren smiled, remembering what Raine had said to her years ago. “But you are a writer,” she said. “You do intend to leave your mark on this realm.”
Odin pointed to the courtyard. “Unless what you have gets me out there, I’m not interested.”
“What I offer is a power that would never again demote you to being a witness of battle. What I offer you is a weapon – for this realm and the next.”
Odin turned only faintly from the window, but Haren knew that she had stoked his interest.
“With what I can teach you,” she said, “I promise that you will find your place on the frontlines of every future battle. Trust me this once,” she solicited, “and reap the benefits for the rest of your life.”
Odin looked back to Galian. Odin’s greatest investment of trust had always been awarded to the quiet monk. And as Galian motioned for him to join, Odin was compelled to oblige.
“What is the power?” Odin asked as he approached the altar.
Haren presented the page.
“The power,” she said, “is Vinculum Imletalis."
Outside of the High Temple, the threat of attack was imminent. Torch scouts had located a large caravan of vehicles and troops advancing on the Throne’s Eye gates. With the caravan growing closer, the monks quickly armed themselves with spears, swords, and bows, and as they waited for the clash, Igallik took the reins of the moment. Unaware of Haren’s trespass, the head monk stood at the base of the High Temple staircase, beating his chest as he yelled over the Throne’s Eye monks.
“Brothers!” he bellowed out, “the moments defining our stand are not held in ambition or hope or prayer. Our victory is a decision we make now!”
The monks sounded their agreement in a communal war cry.
“Understand, my brothers!” Igallik cried. “An allegiance to Forneus is a death wish! Those belonging to his creed – those who seek his favour – do not fear their end! These foul souls will neither value our lives nor hesitate in our destruction! The Scale will go to any lengths to destroy us! But if it is death they seek,” the head monk bawled, “we shall be gracious hosts!”
Again, the monks thundered their war cry throughout the monastery.
“For us!” Igallik screamed. “For Symin!” he roared. “And for the true house of Animus Letum!”
At that very moment, the two monks who were perched above the monastery gate yelled back into the courtyard.
“They’re here! Prepare for attack!”
The monks immediately rushed to their battle positions. They would not be idle long.
With a loud hiss, two flaming flares pelted into the lookout monks, and as the two monks fell in a ball of flames, the crashing sound of hooves smashed against the Throne’s Eye gate. With the monks holding back their arrows, the crashing amplified like massive metal drums, beating like thunder until the gate splintered and split. With a loud crack, the gate’s hinges snapped, and three horse-drawn carriages blasted into the courtyard. The three carriages were more like large wooden platforms, and as they skidded into the center of the monastery, dozens of Scale flooded off the trailers. The militia’s faces were painted with serpent-like black and green streaks, and over their bodies they wore soaked black robes.
Immediately, the archer monks released their arrows into the Scale, but strangely, the arrow assault only barely deterred the Scale’s first wave. Many Scale fell, but many others, with wooden barbs sticking out of their flesh, sprinted wildly at the nearest monks and leapt onto them. The Throne’s Eye archers immediately held their arrows and allowed the sword and spear wielding monks to rush in for a rescue. Even with the added manpower, the Scale militia was wrestling fiercely: they were spitting foam from their mouths as they clawed and ripped at the monks’ flesh.
As Raine latched onto one of Forneus’s Scale and began to rip him off, a strange smell coursed through his nostrils. Raine recognized the scent, but as he grappled with the Scale, he was confused about its significance. The pungent aroma was the exact stench of a flammable tar he had used in his childhood. As Raine’s eyes instinctively checked back to the Throne’s Eye gates, his eyes grew wide with panic. He suddenly understood the Scale’s battle strategy. Standing at the gate there were thirty Scale archers, each armed with flaming arrows.
“Brothers!” Raine cried. “Their clothes! It’s tar! They’re going to light ’emselves up!”
Almost instantly, the Scale released their flaming arrows into their tar-soaked brethren. As the arrows all connected with great accuracy, the tar-doused Scale members exploded in flames. Even as the flames consumed the Scale and burned through their robes and skin, they refused to release their grip. In screaming pairings, the Scale and Throne’s Eye monks were being burned to death. With screeches and shrills, the burning monks cried for help, but with more and more of Forneus’s militia storming through the gates, none could be offered.
Instead, the Throne’s Eye monastery delved even further into war.
Inside the High Temple, sheltered from the carnage outside, Haren had begun the preparations for Vinculum Imletalis.
“Galian knows this rite as well as I do,” she said while placing candles around the altar. “But for your sake, Odin, I will explain. Essentially, Vinculum Imletalis can allow for the spiritual bond of two of the same blood.”
After eyeing the candles curiously, Odin turned to Haren.
“What
kind of bond?” he asked.
“If engaged properly,” Haren said as she touched a match to a line of unlit wicks, “you and your brother’s state of individual bodies would cease to exist. You would become a soul with one consciousness. You’d become one entity, a state of being we recognize simply as Daios.”
“For how long?” Odin asked with some apprehension.
Without looking up, Haren made a few strange paces around the Temple.
“Not long,” she reassured. “The power of two souls, even to the greatest degree, could only hold Daios for a short period of time. Ambitiously,” Haren wagered, “I would think you and Galian could hold Daios for twenty minutes.”
There was haste in Haren’s voice – a rushing, almost panicked tinge in her instruction. As Haren arranged the ritual, Odin could sense it. The stress did not sit well. In fact, Haren’s frenetic energy had begun to brew a ball of nerves in his gut.
“I’m not sure about this,” he said finally. “I would rather wait.”
Haren would not yield.
“Think, Odin,” she campaigned, “you would have all of your own strength, but also all of Galian’s as well. The two of you combined would be an awesome force. You would be like a god. Like your father.”
Odin scratched the back of his head, still uncomfortable with the ritual.
“I still think I will wait until after the battle,” he said.
Haren brought her hand to her forehead and let out a desperate exhalation. She was searching for an angle.
“Think of it this way,” she said finally. “If we do this, Galian would inherit your strengths as well. He would feel what it is to run. He would be able to do all the things that birth robbed him of.”
As Haren watched Odin’s head rise up, she knew that she had hit the nerve that she had intended. Throughout the twins’ lives, Odin had been excruciatingly aware of Galian’s limitations. Odin was awed by Galian’s power, but he was almost resentful of his weakness. Galian had never run. He had never even walked without pain. As was his character, Galian had never complained. He hid his grimaces and feigned comfort. It was in fact only Odin who knew the skill of his acting.
As Odin looked to his brother, he tried to maintain a neutral expression.
“You’re sure about this?” he asked.
Galian smiled meekly. “I read about this rite when I won a day in the Ichor,” he said. “I’ve waited for this chance ever since.”
Odin shook his head. He had been beat. Knowing his brother as completely as he did, Odin knew he couldn’t deny him.
“If you’re sure,” he decided. “I will do it.”
“I’m sure,” Galian signed.
After receiving both brothers’ consent, Haren made a satisfied clap.
“If we are moving ahead,” she said, “then we must be fast.”
She rushed Odin and Galian to the positions that they would need to invoke Vinculum Imletalis, and then made a quick double-check of the ritual’s layout. After affirming the precision of the arrangement, Haren’s pace slowed and she turned to Galian.
“You remember how to focus the power?” she asked.
Galian touched his hand to his eyes.
“Eyes to soul,” he signed.
“Very good,” Haren said. “The majority of weight will fall on you,” she warned. “You will be greatly drained afterwards, but remember that the further you can hold on now, the better you will stand after.”
Galian nodded.
Haren made a minor correction to Odin’s position and then gave the brothers their final counsel.
“Odin,” she said, “although your brother is not practised in this art, he is well-read in similar rites. I am confident that he can instigate and hold the ritual. What I need you to do is maintain eye contact and allow yourself to feel. If you can do this, you will soon be aware of your brother’s spiritual activity, and you too will be able to involve yourself.”
Odin was confused. “How?”
“You’ll know when it happens,” Haren replied.
“Oh, thanks,” Odin said sarcastically. “That was helpful.”
Haren waved off his tone. “Trust me,” she said. “And trust Galian.”
After pulling out the blue Vinculum Imletalis page, Haren took a deep breath and stepped back from the twins.
“Alright, boys,” she said. “Let’s give it our best.”
To begin, Galian accepted Odin’s hand in his palm and then looked directly into Odin’s eyes. It was a strange gaze – as if Galian were looking past him. As Galian seemed to settle in, Odin knew no other option but to hold the stare. With the boys in position, Haren began to recite from the incantation.
The words were strange, throaty sounds that Odin had never heard. The more the ritual progressed, the more skeptical he became. However, as he held Galian’s stare, the quiet monk was clearly confident. There was a spark in Galian’s eye that was telling him to be patient.
As Haren continued to read and Galian’s eyes burned into him, Odin shuddered, keeling just a bit as he felt a strange sensation growing in his stomach. The feeling was bizarre – like something foreign moving inside him. As he jostled to recapture his composure, his back became rigid with the sudden realization that a breeze had manifested itself between him and Galian. The wind seemed to blow in surges, rippling the twins’ clothes slowly, as if they were underwater. The experience was strange for Odin, but it was also exciting. As he held fast in the eerie unison, Haren continued to recite from the page, raising her voice and lowering it in direct time with the surging wind. As a bead of sweat rolled down his brow, Odin suddenly realized that the air was becoming incredibly hot, humid, and thick, and as Haren continued to chant, the rhythm of the incantation began to overwhelm him. A strange daze fell over his mind, and as he rocked slightly, a sudden snap of blue energy cracked from between him and Galian. The sight and sound felt good to Odin. Very good. The moment was dreamlike. Within seconds Odin felt another snap of energy, this one refusing to dissipate, humming and buzzing between him and his brother in the form of a bolt of lightning. The bolt, distinctly blue, began to grow thicker, and as it cracked and spat, the room began to pulse with light. The pulse was bright, and somehow, as the light rose and fell, the windows, golden pews, and even the Order thrones became cased in ice. As the ritual progressed, the Temple’s sound, along with all of its warmth, became expelled from the room. Contrary to the sudden change in temperature, Odin felt extremely warm. His senses began to feel amazing. He felt more powerful than he had ever felt. More amazingly, somehow he could feel Galian in his mind. He could feel Galian guiding him, and it was exhilarating.
In the silence, the blue energy growing between Odin and Galian had begun to take on a form.
As Haren compelled all of herself into the last line of the incantation, the energy between Odin and Galian began to take on a human shape – a single spiritual force. As Haren eyed the blue form, she began to see the features of both twins emerging from within the energy.
Vinculum Imletalis was taking effect – Daios was emerging.
Aware of the great trespass she had committed by allowing the boys to initiate Vinculum Imletalis, Haren watched the boys with no regret. This, she had decided, was necessary.
As Vinculum Imletalis began to bloom, Odin became even more amazed. His sight was somehow not coming from his body. His vision and all other senses had become rooted in the blue energy between him and Galian. Odin was thrilled. Haren had said he and Galian would be a god. Haren was right. Odin felt beyond human. It was divinity. It was Daios. However, with Odin’s sense of sight still rooted in the blue energy, he watched panic suddenly overtake Haren’s face. Haren’s arms flailed wildly, and she seemed to be shouting orders. Odin flexed his senses, but as he tried to read Haren, he began to feel incredibly sick. The feeling was vile, and somehow Odin could feel panic in his brother.
Then, as if Galian had sent the words into Odin’s mind, one desperate phrase drowned Odin’s consciousness:
“Brace yourself!”
As Odin tried to focus on Galian, the blue entity between them amplified into a blinding white flash, and with a sudden blast, the power between the twins erupted. The frozen pews and windows blew apart into shards of ice, and as the Temple’s walls and roof rocked against the quake of the white surge, Odin, Galian, and Haren were blasted backwards into unconsciousness. Odin and Galian smashed into the side walls of the High Temple, and Haren was thrown into the Temple’s bronze doors.
Vinculum Imletalis had failed.
Outside of the Temple, attempting to hold his own in the motions of war, Igallik’s eyes and ears were hastily called to the blast originating from the High Temple. He immediately understood what had happened.
“No, Haren!” he cried.
In desperation, the head monk fought off each attacker in his way and rapidly cut a path backwards to the High Temple. As he ascended the Temple’s staircase, Haren had begun to regain consciousness. The violet-eyed Deathrider fought to make herself alert, and then quickly set herself in motion.
First, she dragged Odin’s and Galian’s comatose bodies into hiding.
“Forgive me, brothers,” she prayed.
Then, after affirming the degree of camouflage she had provided for the sons of Animus Letum, she advanced on Serich’s crown. Her determined steps were interrupted with the fierce pounding of Igallik’s fists on the Temple’s bronze doors.
“Haren!” he screamed. “This was not the plan!”
Haren retrieved Serich’s crown and walked calmly to the bronze doors.
“My brother,” she said, “let us be clear: the plan was always yours. I have put something much greater into motion.”
Igallik’s fists beat against the bronze doors with even more panic.
“My plan was for the best, Haren! I beg you, please don’t do this!”
“When these doors are opened,” Haren said, “you will find me and the crown gone. Do not search for me,” she warned. “You will only waste your time.”
“For heaven’s sake, Haren! You’re risking everything! Please, don’t do this!”
For minutes, Igallik’s fists and pleading calls beat against the door.
The Sons of Animus Letum Page 21