The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

Palis bowed to the young monk.

  “Let my last words to you be these,” he said. “Courage and faith. If you can possess these rare graces, no victory will ever evade you.”

  Palis smiled to Odin for the last time, and then turned to Raine, letting the old warrior know that the time had come.

  “Alright, mate,” Raine said as he drew his sword.

  Igallik glanced quickly at the emptying hourglass. He handed the mighty staff to Palis and then began to search for a particular page in The Book of the Eterna. After he had reached the page, Igallik nodded to the Mercy totem, and the small Order monk dropped to a knee.

  As Palis held the mighty staff and prepared himself for the sacrifice, Igallik began to recite from The Book of the Eterna. The words were very much like the words Haren had recited during Vinculum Imletalis – they were throaty and seemed somehow ancient. As the rite proceeded, Odin was unsure what to expect. With the three senior monks committed to the sacrifice, he imagined that a great amount of energy would encompass the room. He imagined that the sounds and sights would rival Vinculum Imletalis. Strangely though, except for the delivery of Igallik’s words into the night air, there was no perceivable change in the state of Galian’s quarters.

  With a sibilant whisper, Igallik’s versing came to a halt, and the head monk smiled to Palis.

  “Godspeed, brother,” he said.

  Palis nodded to his old friend, and as he took in a deep breath, he hugged his arms around the mighty staff. As Palis’s face winced, complete silence overtook Galian’s room. Odin could hear nothing – not Igallik, not Raine, not even his own breath. It was a haunting quiet. As the Lyran relied on his vision, he watched Palis’s chest relax, and as the Mercy totem let out his breath, it blew out of him like a morning breeze. With no audible sounds, the curtains and candles began to dance against the wind, and with a flare of fire, violet flames sprang from the base of the staff. The fire wrapped around the weapon like a purple snake. Palis bowed his head, and the fire began to spread around his small frame too. With the rope of purple flame burning around the Mercy totem, Igallik caught Raine’s attention and gave the old warrior an affirming nod. Raine nodded back, and with precision, he drew his blade back like a bow and then launched his sword forward, piercing through Palis’s spine with one powerful stab. As Odin watched the eerily quiet rite, he had to block his eyes as the fiery rope flared into a blinding flash. As Odin lowered his sleeve, the fire had extinguished, and there were plumes of spiralling smoke lingering in the exact form of Palis’s silhouette. Igallik approached. He wafted his hand through the clouds, and after a few swings, the smoke spread and dissipated, leaving no trace of Palis nor the staff.

  Sound returned to Galian’s quarters, but in honour of the Mercy totem, Odin, Igallik, and Raine chose to remain in silence.

  Finally, after a long moment, Igallik spoke.

  “It is done.”

  “Is there any way to know if it is working?” Odin asked.

  “Once again, we can only watch the hourglass. It is the sole window into Galian’s condition.”

  Raine shook his head in frustration. “This waiting game is killing me.”

  “I know,” Igallik said, “but it is the only one we can play.”

  Raine turned to Odin, but before he spoke, he saw that Odin was already seated next to his brother, intently surveying the hourglass. The image hurt the old warrior’s heart, but as he began to seat himself, Igallik cancelled Raine’s action with a shake of his head.

  “Leave them be,” the head monk whispered.

  After a final survey of Odin and Galian, Raine nodded and joined Igallik in departure.

  Throughout the night, Odin’s eyes did not break away from the hourglass. The only piece of Odin not present in Galian’s room was the pleading and bleeding prayer he had sent to the fallen kings of the Lyran House. In his desperation, Odin had sought a covenant from any deity he could imagine. He had pledged his soul if it meant his brother would return. However, as night began to bow to morning, nothing had changed: the hourglass and the heart of its closest observer were still fading. In care and curiosity, nearly every monk of the Throne’s Eye deliberately passed by Galian’s room. Their gesture, although small, was to be present if needed. The sentiment was held by all.

  One monk, whose heart was invested more than most, soon arrived in Galian’s quarters. As Usis entered the room and caught Odin’s attention, he was instantly under fire.

  “Where have you been?” Odin demanded.

  “I’ve been busy,” Usis defended himself.

  It was a futile defence.

  Odin’s eyes scolded his old friend. “Galian is dying.” He seared. “I’m terrified. And you were busy?”

  “I’m here now,” Usis said. “Trust me, I came when I could.”

  “For the finale?” Odin cried. “You came too late, Usis. Galian is losing.”

  Usis quickly recognized Odin’s fatigue.

  “You’re weary from watching this hourglass,” he said. “Do not add undue fear to this dilemma.”

  Tears had begun to well in Odin’s eyes. “There is barely a chance,” he wept. “Usis, I’m breaking…”

  Usis’s eyes looked sternly at Odin’s.

  “You know Galian’s heart greater than anyone does,” he reminded. “Do not sully that privilege with fear. This is Galian: he does not lose.”

  “You don’t think I’m holding to that?” Odin replied. “Every piece of my heart believes he can rise. But my eyes and mind are tortured by that hourglass.”

  “There is still time,” Usis said. “Do not give up on your brother. Believe in him.”

  “I can’t endure this,” Odin said weakly. “I can’t watch anymore. I can’t watch my brother die.”

  “You won’t have to,” Usis promised. “Trust me, he will return.”

  Odin dropped his head and wiped the tears from his eyes.

  “I’d be lost without him,” he said. “You know I’d be lost.”

  “We all would,” Usis said. “But we are not going to mourn a death that has not happened. We must be patient now. We must watch and pray.”

  Odin was ashamed of his own weakness. As he looked up through his tears, his body was shaking, trembling with the fear of losing his best friend.

  Even after the two month fray, Usis knew that Odin was not empty. Usis knew that within Odin, there was one last, invincible strand of faith that could never surrender his brother.

  “Odin,” he said sternly, “there are few times in our lives when one choice can define us forever. Now is such a time. Whether your heart beats bravely or with fear – whether you master fate or become a victim to it – is a choice you make in this moment. You choose courage now,” Usis promised, “and you choose courage for eternity. I beg you, announce your heart to this worst of hells. Believe in your brother… believe for both of you.”

  Odin was even more ashamed. It felt more so than ever that he was forsaking Galian. But Usis was right – there was a piece of Odin that would never surrender his brother.

  After a few slow strides, Odin seated himself next to Galian.

  “Till the end,” he said as he looked back to Usis. “I’ll fight till the end.”

  Usis smiled. “Hope suits you much better,” he said.

  With a very composed breath, Usis sat himself on the other side of Galian’s bed.

  “As for you,” he whispered as he patted Galian’s chest, “we all know this realm suits you much better. It’s time to come home.”

  With their hearts hanging in the balance, Usis and Odin became quiet, sitting still as they prayed for a resurrection.

  However, time was a callous villain. Like blood dripping from a fatal wound, the sand of Galian’s hourglass fell with an agenda of death. Excruciating seconds turned to torturous hours, and as the hourglass dwindled to its last minutes, Odin had been reduced to sheer panic. He could not stay still. His fear had robbed him of any calmness, and in his frenzy, he paced wildly throughout Gal
ian’s quarters. In small repeated breaks, Odin halted his feverish gait and invited an update from Usis. In each instance, Usis reported no change to the hourglass, and Odin’s strides returned to frenetic pacing.

  Amid the uneasy sound of Odin’s footsteps, Usis remained calm. However, as his eyes remained fixed on the hourglass, he became pained by an inarguable truth: one that he was burdened to report.

  “There’s one minute left,” he announced.

  Odin’s steps were instantly halted. His breath became punishing, and he keeled over as if his air was being throttled from him.

  “Deep breaths,” Usis coached. “Come on, Odin, power through.”

  Against his great distress, Odin knew Usis was right. He could not abandon Galian. With a defiant surge, Odin composed his wheezing gasps, and as he regained his breath, he knelt next to his dying brother.

  Only seconds remained.

  “Galian,” he promised. “I will never desert you. Please, don’t desert me. Please, finish this. Come back…”

  As Odin clutched desperately to his last hopes, his eyes looked pleadingly to the hourglass. And in that moment, in that devastating fragment of time, Odin’s heart was ripped to pieces.

  The last grain of sand had fallen from the hourglass’s upper bulb.

  Odin and Usis were rapt in heartbreak. Words meant nothing. Actions were useless. Instead, Galian’s room was drowned in the painful, soundless score of tragedy. As Odin finally spoke, it was as if his soul were being expelled in one torturous, repeating phrase.

  “I’m lost,” he wept. “I’m lost.”

  Usis knew there was no consolation for Odin. He looked scornfully back to the hourglass, but suddenly his heart flared with hope.

  “Odin!” he shouted. “Look!”

  As Odin immediately turned to Galian’s hourglass and he surveyed the timepiece, his eyes grew wide in astonishment. The last grain had not touched down. It was floating in the hourglass’s lower bulb just barely above the hill of fallen sand.

  It was disputing with nature. Slowly, it started to rise.

  “He’s done it!” Usis cried. “He’s coming back! He’s won!”

  With only joy, Odin’s head fell hard into his palm.

  “Thank you,” he whispered to Palis, the Lyrans, and any who aided in Galian’s victory.

  Galian was returning.

  As the sand in Galian’s hourglass began to ascend quickly into the upper bulb, word of Galian’s triumph flooded throughout the monastery. The monks of the Throne’s Eye were overjoyed. A Seraph was arriving.

  As one more day passed, Galian’s state became recognizably improved. The blisters on his skin healed, his breathing was calm and without distress, and his body was regaining its proper mass. Even the weather was indicative of Galian’s victory.

  In the warm sun and calm wind that bathed the monastery, the monks could not help but to stoke the flames of a burning question: what strength would Galian awaken with? It was a fact that each monk having returned from Descent had awoken with a great power. Acknowledging Galian’s already formidable strength, the monks of the Throne’s Eye could not guess but only wait to see what power would emerge with Galian’s resurrection.

  Midnight passed on the following day, and as a heavy fog settled onto the monastery, some of the Throne’s Eye monks sat around a burning fire pit. After a few failed attempts, the monks finally convinced Odin to leave Galian’s side and join them at the pit.

  “Just for a moment,” Odin had said. “I want to be with him when he wakes.”

  As Odin sat down at the fire, Galian’s amounting triumph and, more specifically, what power he would reap in his resurrection were under discussion.

  Raeman, the only Order monk present, was advocating what he believed would be Galian’s new power.

  “Healing,” he declared.

  In good fun, a few monks waved off the notion.

  “We want something bigger,” one of them laughed.

  Raeman broke into a smile. “Bigger? I don’t know if Galian could manage much bigger. We all saw what he did to the Scale.”

  Craine, a Torch monk who helped with the rearing of the monastery’s horses, saw it differently.

  “Healings been done before,” he said. “I bet it’s flight.”

  “Now that would be something,” Raeman smiled.

  With curiosity, Craine turned to Odin.

  “What do you figure?” he asked.

  Odin angled his head for a moment and then broke into a smile.

  “I just wish he’d be able to talk.”

  Craine and the other monks laughed, but it was clear to them that Odin only wished for his brother to wake up.

  The small group of monks continued on into the early hours of the morning. As the moon shone its dim light through the quickly moving clouds, and as the fog moved through the courtyard, an eerie cold shook Raeman. He was about to dismiss it, but a figure suddenly emerged into the firelight and flooded the burning fire with a bucket of water. The monks surrounding the fire hurriedly turned in alertness to the figure, but were shocked when they saw his face.

  Odin gasped. “Galian?”

  Galian quickly looked each of the monks in their eyes and drew his index finger to his lips to encourage their silence. The stunned monks managed to quiet themselves, and then watched, baffled, as Galian spread his hand over the smoke emitting from the doused fire. By Galian’s will, the smoke from the coals spread in thickness and in range until a wall of smoke surrounded the monks. All visibility beyond six feet was lost. As the monks all began to wonder aloud about what was happening, Galian was quick to quiet them. Using the smoke to blend into the courtyard fog, Galian led the small congregation against the corner of two walls running adjacent to Throne’s Eye front gates. Galian used his power to shape the smoke into a slightly transparent wall in front of him and the other monks.

  For a long moment, Galian held the monks there in suspense. Finally, Odin whispered to his brother.

  “What’s happening?”

  “There’s an attack coming,” Galian replied.

  “How do you know?”

  Each of the monks watched eagerly for Galian’s answer.

  “Because,” Galian revealed, “I can see the future.”

  26

  As the monks waited, Galian handed Odin a small leather-bound book.

  “What’s this for?” Odin whispered.

  Galian placed his hand over Odin’s heart. “Place it here.”

  Odin did as he was told and tucked the book into his breast pocket. As the monks held their silence, they were soon able to hear the sound of footsteps outside the Throne’s Eye front gates.

  “Sounds like fifteen to twenty men,” Odin assessed in a softened voice.

  “But they’ll need someone to let them in,” Raeman whispered back.

  “Just wait,” Galian signed.

  The monks were deadly silent until Galian pointed his hand to the center of the Throne’s Eye courtyard.

  “There.”

  The monks watched transfixed as the silhouette of a monk appeared through the smoke screen. The tall and slender silhouette moved slowly through the courtyard, striding calmly toward the Throne’s Eye gate.

  “A traitor,” Craine gasped.

  The silhouette reached the gates and began to speak with the men on the other side.

  “Remember the plan,” the silhouette advised. “No added casualties. We take what we came for, and we only kill the targets.”

  Odin knew the voice but refused to place it.

  After receiving the acknowledgment of the men outside the monastery walls, the silhouette unlocked the gates and began to draw them open. With one motion of his hand, Galian dispersed the smoke around him and the other monks and left the traitor and his partners robbed of their desired stealth.

  “Usis!” Raeman growled.

  Usis turned in alarm, his hand already wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

  Odin was numb.

&nb
sp; As Odin watched Usis’s men draw their weapons, he was frozen. Odin fought to ready himself for a fray, but seeing Usis as a threat had thrown him off.

  “Put the blades down!” Usis ordered his accomplices. “There is no need for bloodshed.”

  The men refused.

  “God damn it!” Usis yelled. “Put the blades down!”

  Odin needed to be answered.

  “Usis,” he cried, “what is this?”

  “Shut up, Odin,” Usis snapped. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “How does it not?”

  Uninterested in their leader’s squabble with Odin, Usis’s men tried to draw the monks into open combat.

  “We’ll kill them all,” they shouted.

  Usis, however, was steadfast in his mission.

  “We only kill the targets,” he commanded.

  With a threatening eye, Usis turned his attention back to the Throne’s Eye monks.

  “There is only one target here.”

  “And which one of us is that?” Raeman demanded.

  Usis looked at the Order monk with cold eyes.

  “You, Raeman.”

  Raeman was shocked. “After what I… what we, your brothers, have given you?”

  “It’s not what was given to me,” Usis shot back. “It’s what was taken.”

  A heartbroken Odin looked back to his brother. Galian expressed a woeful and understanding nod, but with sharp eye movements, he encouraged Odin to look to the ground at his foot. Odin glanced down and saw a small blade floating at his ankle.

  “You’re mad!” Raeman yelled at Usis.

  Usis’s eyes and voice turned irate.

  “Do not feign your ignorance!” he raged. “You know god damn well what was taken from me!”

  “And you’ll kill us all? Each of us who acted that day?”

  “Yes I will,” Usis said coldly. “Right now.”

  With his men behind him, Usis began to advance on Raeman.

  Galian looked to Odin to affirm the timing; Odin nodded, and Galian used his power to float the small blade up into Odin’s grip. As Usis walked in front of him, Odin sliced the blade in front of Usis’s face, and then held it pointed to his throat.

  “God damn it, Odin,” Usis cursed. “I do not want to hurt you.”