The entire Throne’s Eye population winced in wait.
As their fates fell in the form of flaming arrows, suddenly the bronze doors of the High Temple exploded open. Bearing his scar from the failed attempt at Vinculum Imletalis, Galian erupted out of the Temple in a furious limp. As the flaming barbs flew in for the strike, Galian bowed his head and then launched his arms out against the oncoming arrows. Immediately, a howling wind burst from Galian’s frame, and as the quiet monk stormed forward, the hundreds of arrows froze in mid-air. The monks of the Throne’s Eye looked skywards, dumbfounded, as the flaming arrows floated only ten feet above them. In even greater display, Galian reached his right hand high into the air, and as the wind screamed around the monastery, he drove his palm into the stone beneath him and used his power to launch the flaming arrows violently back to their senders.
In an instant, the battle had been won.
The Scale that were not dead were badly wounded.
Igallik and the other monks looked back to the young Galian in silence. They, like the militia, had never seen such power displayed in the first realm.
The astounded hush ensued until Igallik managed to grab the reins.
“Brothers,” he called out. “You know what to do.”
Raine understood, and he quickly ordered his brothers to destroy the surviving Scale and then deliver all wounded monks to the Throne’s Eye infirmary.
“And Raine,” Igallik said as the old warrior began his descent of the stairs, “leave one alive.”
Raine nodded and then followed his brothers down into the courtyard.
With clasped hands, Igallik approached Galian, but as he reached him and placed his hand on Galian’s shoulder, he immediately withdrew.
“Galian,” he winced. “You’re burning hot.”
Galian nodded and signed the hand gesture for water. As Igallik rushed into the High Temple, Galian walked slowly to his brother, wrapped his hands in the excess fabric of his brown robe, and lifted Odin to his feet.
Odin met Galian’s eyes with relief. “I thought you were dead,” he confessed.
“Probably should be,” Galian said. “I owe you an apology.”
“Apology?” Odin repeated. “You saved us.”
Even with Odin’s forgiveness, there was an element of Galian’s soul that would carry guilt for the rest of his life. He knew exactly why Odin agreed to attempt Vinculum Imletalis.
“It was selfish of me to involve you,” Galian said. “It was beyond us ... beyond me.”
With heavy eyes, Galian traced his hand over the scar that Vinculum Imletalis had left on Odin’s left cheek.
“We’re lucky to be alive,” he said.
Odin could see that the toll of Galian’s shame was heavy.
“My scar will look great in a couple of days,” he said with a smile. “Yours, however, is going to look like hell.”
Galian smiled. “It’s okay. I was getting tired of being the good-looking one.”
Odin turned his ear to his brother. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that. Could you speak up?”
As Galian threw a jesting jab at his brother, Odin deflected it and then motioned to the courtyard.
“You left it a little late,” he said of Galian’s feat.
“Oh?” Galian said. “Would you have preferred not at all?”
Before Odin could reply, Igallik returned with a glass of water and handed it to Galian.
“You will come with me,” he said to Galian. “We have something very important to discuss. And Odin, find Raine and assist him. I need to speak with Galian alone.”
The absence of levity in Igallik’s voice conveyed the absence of choice in Odin’s and Galian’s next moves.
“Now, boys,” Igallik ordered.
As Galian followed Igallik back into the High Temple, he shot a wry smile back at his brother.
“It’s busy being great,” he signed. “Someday I’ll tell you about it.”
Odin grinned. “I’ll be too busy to listen.”
22
Just as Igallik had instructed, the monks in the courtyard left only one member of the Scale alive. Odin accompanied Raine and two more Torches as they dragged the wounded and wildly thrashing Scale to his prison cell.
As Raine and Odin stood back, the two Torches threw the prisoner into lockup. Madly, the Scale screamed in protest, tossing his arms as he thrust himself repeatedly against the steel bars.
As the Scale bucked and smashed, Odin watched him with interest.
“Why would Igallik want him alive?” he asked Raine.
“Of that, I’m not sure,” Raine answered. “But Igallik tends to be about four or five steps ahead of us bruisers.”
Odin nodded with a smile. But as he turned back to the cell, the Scale leapt close to the steel, wrapping his fingers around the bars as he scolded Odin with a stare.
“Something you like, boy?” he spat.
Odin looked right back, mocking the Scale with feigned fear.
“Oh, you’re brave,” the Scale laughed. “Too brave to be left alive.”
Odin shrugged. “Are you almost done?” he asked.
“No, but you are,” the Scale shot back. “You know,” he boasted, “the snake is a cunning creature. It can slither through walls and borders thought to be impenetrable. The Throne’s Eye is such a wall,” he seethed. “You have a traitor in your ranks, boy, and his grip is strong.”
Raine rolled his eyes and approached the prison cell.
“There is a serpent here,” he said as he stopped in front of the cell. “But I’m not concerned about his grip.”
“And why’s that?” the prisoner sneered.
With a quick strike, Raine hammered the butt end of his sword into the Scale’s fingers.
“His fingers are broken,” the old warrior smiled.
After squealing and bounding wildly around the cell, the Scale spat at Raine and began to leap into the steel bars.
“You too, will fall!” he screamed. “Each one of you!”
“More than likely,” Raine agreed. “But not by your hand.”
With a firm grip, Raine put his hand on Odin’s shoulder.
“Time to leave,” he said. “We’ll save this one for Igallik.”
As Raine and Odin emerged back into the courtyard, they were immediately met by Igallik and Galian.
Igallik quickly called Raine aside, and as the two walked out of earshot, Odin leaned into his brother.
“What did Igallik say?” he asked.
“Something good,” Galian signed. “He’s asked me to attempt the Descent trial.”
Odin was startled, his posture becoming rigid with alarm.
Descent was the most daunting task in existence. It was the ritual that turned Sight into Seraph. To accept the Descent trial was to accept hell. And because it involved the excruciating split of body and soul, it had always terrified Odin. The torture of Descent was most often deadly – a fact that Odin could never dismiss.
“You’re not ready,” Odin argued. “You need to wait.”
“Igallik believes this is my chance,” Galian replied. “With all the confusion here today, he believes my soul can enter and leave the afterlife without detection.”
“That’s why he left one prisoner alive,” Odin realized.
“Yes,” Galian said. “He’s my ride for Descent.”
Odin shook his head, trying his best to keep composed. Ever since Galian had become a Sight. Odin had been afraid of this moment.
“I don’t want you to do it,” he said. “You’re not ready.”
Galian’s posture sank. Of anyone, he thought Odin would be the most supportive.
“Odin,” he assured, “I can do this.”
“I’ve always believed you could,” Odin said. “But this is sudden. Too sudden. Twelve monks have been successful. Twelve out of hundreds. The rest died.”
Galian knew the statistics. He also knew himself better than anyone.
“Lucky thirteen,” he
predicted with a smile.
Galian’s confidence angered Odin. Descent was a hellish trial, and the quiet monk seemed to be laughing it off.
“I have protected you our entire lives,” Odin said sternly. “And I always will. But right now I have to protect you from this decision. You can’t do this, Galian. You’re going to get yourself killed. Please, you need to listen to me.”
Galian beat his hand against his heart. “I listen to myself,” he said angrily. “And I am strong enough.”
Odin tried to grab Galian’s shoulders, but Galian shrugged away.
“Don’t do this,” Odin begged. “You’re not ready. For me, please, don’t do this.”
“You don’t get it,” Galian signed. “It’s not your choice. It’s mine. I am doing it. We are supposed to die in eight years, Odin. I am doing this for our future – to seize more power for us.”
Odin tilted his head back, eying his brother skeptically.
“For us?” he repeated. “Or for you?”
“I thought you’d be proud,” Galian said, “not afraid and small.”
“Small?” Odin repeated. “I’m looking out for you. Your ego almost killed us in the Temple. Your arrogance almost cost us our lives. You were elected as the heir, Galian. Does that mean nothing to you? You’re not allowed to gamble with your life. Just wait until you’re stronger. Please.”
“What do you know about strength?” Galian shot back. “You are a body. Nothing more.”
Odin was hurt. He made a few frantic nods, flexing his neck as he tried to swallow back the emotion closing his throat.
“Good luck with Descent,” he forced out. “It’d be a shame if your ego cost you your life.”
Galian’s words had cut both brothers, but as the quiet monk tried to apologize, Odin dismissed him and stormed angrily back to his quarters.
As Odin sped off, Igallik and Raine broke from their discussion and returned to Galian’s side.
“Raine has agreed to hold his part,” Igallik said.
As Galian signed his thanks to Raine, Igallik put his hand on Galian’s shoulder.
“I will only ask you this once more,” the head monk said. “Are you sure you want to do this? This will be the first Descent without a Lyran on the throne. This will bring many more complications.”
Galian’s eyes fleeted back to Odin. He wished Odin would see that there was a bigger picture than the two of them. There was more than Odin’s feelings in the balance – there was an entire world.
“I will attempt,” Galian said.
“Alright,” Igallik agreed. “We will proceed with Descent in one hour.”
As Igallik turned towards the High Temple to prepare for the ritual, Raine’s eyes shifted between the twins.
“Is your brother alright?” he asked.
“He’s being childish,” Galian said.
Raine shrugged. “Childish is thinking about only yourself,” he said. “I overheard him. He’s worried about you.”
“There’s a bigger picture than me,” Galian replied.
“Not to him,” Raine said.
Galian shook his head. “That’s his problem. I’m wrestling with bigger ones.”
After one hour had passed, Igallik, Raine, Galian, and the sole remaining Scale moved into the High Temple. The Temple was still in disarray from Odin and Galian’s failed attempt at Vinculum Imletalis. The pews and windows were broken to pieces, and their fragments littered the entirety of the floor. The only items in the Temple that had been untouched by the blast were the totem thrones and the Temple altar.
With contemplative strides, Igallik stepped around the broken pews and busted glass, arranging candles as he finalized the ritual’s layout.
Although Raine had silenced the Scale with a cloth and rope, the Scale refused to accept his fate. He tried to wrestle himself away from the old warrior, bucking and kicking against his captor. As the Scale thrashed desperately for freedom, Raine began to reprimand his efforts with breath-robbing shots to the abdomen.
In the aftermath of his feat in the courtyard and at the dawn of Descent, Galian was calm. Although his mind was dwelling on his brother, his heart was committed to becoming the thirteenth Seraph in the Throne’s Eye history. Galian’s motive was honest. This enormous undertaking was as much for the monastery as it was for him. Seraphs were the masters of soul, and by their power, the world and all in the Seraph’s favour gained great reward. Each Seraph who had returned from the afterlife had emerged with a fantastic power. Some returned with the ability to heal ailments, and one was even able to slow time. The twelve Seraphs were the proof that gods could walk among men. The promise of the undertaking excited Galian. He only wished that Odin felt the same way.
Soon, as a crisp air breezed through the open Temple windows, Igallik declared that the moment had arrived.
“You will sit here,” he said to Galian.
With a suspicious eye, Igallik leaned over the quiet monk.
“If I were to hazard a guess,” he said, “I would think that Haren has given you instruction in this art?”
An ashamed Galian nodded his head.
“Unburden your heart,” Igallik said. “The fault was not yours.”
Galian managed a small bow of thanks.
“Now if you will,” Igallik said, “please take your seat. We will begin in a moment.”
The quiet monk obliged, and as he took his seat, Igallik turned and invited Raine to play his role in the ritual. Raine had only been a part of one previous Descent ritual, but as he gripped his massive hands around the prisoner’s ankles, he remembered clearly what his responsibilities were. With a powerful heave, Raine dragged the panicked and thrashing prisoner to the Temple altar, strapped him to the table, and prepared to deal him into death.
As Raine bound the Scale, the candles that Igallik had prepared drowned the table with a deep orange glow. It was a strange radiance – a surreal aura that made the ritual seem haunting and grim.
After binding the Scale completely, Raine nodded to Igallik, who then turned to Galian.
“If not now,” Igallik said, “then never.”
Galian understood. “It is now,” he signed.
To begin, the quiet monk concentrated all of his will into meditation. Spiritually, he allowed himself to loosen all stressors, and with deliberate breaths, he quickly arrived in the relaxed state of mind that was necessary for Descent. Igallik acknowledged Galian’s progress, and then, inviting the next step of the ritual, he handed a double-pronged dagger to Raine. The width between each blade of the stiletto disclosed the dagger’s exact purpose. They were separated enough so that in one stab, the two ends would pierce both lungs of its victim. Raine raised the dagger over the pleading eyes of the Scale, and as he suspended the dagger, Igallik began to recite slowly from The Book of the Eterna. As Igallik spoke the ancient words of Descent into the Temple air, the candles began to burn with greater intensity. Their flames began to elongate, stretching even longer than the candles. As the flames flickered, there was a strange stillness to the room. It was a dense feeling, like moving underwater. As the heaviness drowned the Temple, the candlewicks began to sizzle, echoing somehow, like fire falling down a well. Soon, the candles began to burn a translucent blue, but strangely, instead of heat, the candles were producing a distinct cold. As the chill filled the Temple, the flames began to pulse in a slow rhythm, becoming brighter and brighter, until, in the blue afterglow, Igallik reached a critical point of the ritual. After commanding authority into the ritual’s final words, he called on Raine to complete his stage of the sacred art. Raine assented, and with the indifference of duty, he plunged the dagger into the prisoner’s chest, piercing the Scale’s lungs in one stab. As blood leaked from the Scale’s chest, he let out a muffled scream – one that deflated quickly, fading in exact time with his punctured lungs. Small moments – seconds that were still heavy and thick – passed with only the faint gasping of the prisoner breaking the silence. As the cloth muzzled over the Sc
ale’s mouth started to be stained red with the blood surging from his air passage, it was clear that death was close. As expected, the prisoner took his last gasp, and as his airy breath whispered into the air, an orange mist began to seep slowly from the puncture holes in his chest. After seeing the mist, Galian rose slowly to his feet and approached. The mist bled into the Temple air like dust in a faint wind. And as the orange mist swirled and twisted, Galian reached out his hands and cupped the orange matter with one smooth arc. After collecting the mist, Galian drew his hands to his eyes. The head monk nodded to affirm Galian’s method and form, and after receiving the head monk’s confirmation, Galian slowly pressed the orange mist into his own eyes. This was the stage of Descent that allowed Galian’s soul to bond with the prisoner’s soul.
The moment the orange mist completely penetrated Galian’s eyes, the prisoner went limp in death. Galian’s body did the same. As Galian toppled, Raine lunged and managed to catch the quiet monk before he crashed to the floor. With Galian hung in Raine’s arms, suddenly every candle in the Temple extinguished. However, the Temple was not without a light source. Galian’s and the prisoner’s bodies both pulsed with light – glowing as if the raging orange flames were swelling from beneath their skin. The glow slowly died, and as Raine continued to brace Galian, Igallik leaned in and examined Galian’s eyes.
“Galian,” he shouted as he studied the quiet monk.
There was no answer.
“He’s gone,” Igallik confirmed. “There is not much else we can do. A battle of wills has begun.”
“Where should he lie?” Raine asked.
“His quarters should be suitable,” Igallik replied.
Raine nodded, and after lifting Galian over his shoulder, he and Igallik walked calmly out of the High Temple.
23
Raine carried the comatose Galian into his room, and he was caught by surprise as Odin’s silhouette, cast from the lone candle in Galian’s room, appeared against the wall.
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