The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

  “Then hold on,” Odin said. “You’re a lot fatter than you used to be.”

  Adeptly, Odin carried his brother down the steep slope of forest and quickly arrived on the grounds of Northton. After climbing off Odin, Galian took the lead. He led Odin around the town’s outer edge for ten minutes and then announced that they had reached their destination.

  Even with the limited information that he had been given, Odin was confused by the details of the meeting. Strangely, he and Galian were standing near a mineshaft, shrouding themselves with a bulk of bushes as they watched a group of twelve men saunter around the mineshaft’s lift.

  Galian was still carrying the red leather bag.

  “We’re meeting with them?” Odin asked.

  “One of them,” Galian replied.

  Odin shook his head. “This is very bizarre,” he said. “Why these guys?”

  “I need them,” Galian replied.

  “Why?”

  “Be patient,” Galian signed.

  As Odin watched from the bush, eleven of the twelve men entered the lift. The men varied in age. The youngest – who didn’t enter the lift – was a boy of around fifteen. The rest appeared to be thirty or over. The men on the lift wore dark overalls with no shirt underneath, and they were all carrying large picks and hammers. As the sun glinted over their frames, it was clear that each of them shared the same ginger hair and white skin. The similarity was enough to safely assume that they were all related by blood.

  After the eleven men had settled on the lift, the boy gave them a nod and began to crank a series of levers and gears that lowered them down into the mineshaft.

  “Are they bad men?” Odin asked as he watched.

  “No,” Galian said. “I am counting on them being very good.”

  Before Odin could reply, Galian pushed through the bushes, limping forward on a direct path to the boy operating the gears.

  The boy looked up almost immediately, his eyes squinting through the beating sun.

  As Odin and Galian reached within earshot, the boy relinquished one hand from the lever and offered the twins a salute.

  “Throne’s Eye, eh?”

  As Odin hustled up to his brother, he nodded back to the boy. “How’d you know?”

  “The clothes,” the boy replied. “You guys dress the part.”

  “The part?” Odin said

  “Oh, no offence, eh,” the boy said. “Your skills are legend round here. The Godmen,” he laughed.

  The boy had a contagious charm.

  “And what are your skills?” Odin asked.

  “Us?” the boy said. “We’re the Minin’ McEnrow,” he said. “Family’s been minin’ for ’bout a century. We’re damn good, too.”

  Galian nodded with a strange smile and then walked around the shaft, inspecting the descending lift with a studied focus.

  “What’s with him?” the boy asked as he nodded to Galian. “Doesn’t look like most of the Throne’s Eye that come through.”

  Odin conceded the point. “No, he doesn’t,” he agreed. “But looks can be deceiving. Would you believe that he’s the strongest monk we have?”

  “I’d need proof,” the boy laughed. “He ain’t got much to him.”

  Odin knelt and picked up a stone. “Ask and you shall receive.”

  With a slow lob, Odin tossed the stone across the mineshaft towards Galian. As the stone arced over the shaft, Galian snapped his fingers and the stone exploded into dust.

  “Holy shit, eh,” the boy chuckled. “That’s a trick!”

  As an amused Odin looked over the shaft to Galian, the quiet monk communicated to him in sign.

  “He don’t talk?” the boy guessed.

  “He is unable,” Odin said.

  “So what’s he sayin?” the boy asked.

  “He wants to know how deep the shaft is.”

  “’Bout six hundred feet,” the boy said. “But she spreads under us for miles.”

  The information seemed to satisfy Galian, and after a nod he bobbed back to the boy’s side. Once he was next to him, Galian signed another message to Odin.

  “Now what’s he sayin?” the boy laughed.

  Odin was still trying to understand the message himself. “It was a message for you,” Odin said. “You and your family.”

  “Well,” the boy prodded, “what was it?”

  Odin watched Galian for a moment, and then turned to the boy.

  “He says ‘sorry’.”

  In a flash, Galian pulled the dagger from his leather bag, sliced the cable that was supporting the lift, and then leapt at the boy, tackling him down as he stabbed wildly into his neck. As blood splashed and sprayed, Galian hacked into the boy’s throat, plunging his blade repeatedly into the boy’s windpipe.

  Odin froze.

  “Galian!” he cried finally. “Galian, stop!”

  As the boy went limp, Galian pulled the blade from his throat. Before Odin could say anything, Galian silenced him with his finger.

  As screams and then a massive bang echoed up the mineshaft, Galian nodded, and with an eerie calm, he rolled off the boy and began to wipe the blood from his face and hands.

  29

  Silence followed the murders.

  Galian remained his customary quiet self, and Odin, in complete shock, was keeled over, watching his brother with horror churning in his gut.

  “Not you,” Odin began to ramble. “Not you. Not you…”

  Suddenly, Odin’s voice erupted into a hoarse yell.

  “God damn it!” he screamed. “Not you, Galian! Not you! You are the star! Don’t you get that? You are the star!”

  Galian looked painfully up at his brother, blood still splattered on his face and hands.

  “I had to,” he signed.

  “Why?” Odin demanded as he pointed furiously at the boy. “Why this? You’re the light! You’re the one we follow! God damn it, Galian, you’ve ruined yourself!”

  “I had to,” Galian repeated.

  Odin buried his face in his hands, screaming wildly into his palms.

  “You don’t get it!” he cried through his fingers. “I lied to you! I lied to you about Cole! He haunts me every god-damned day! I’m damned by his ghost! I would never want that for you!”

  With a hard swallow, Odin’s voice turned to barely a whisper. “I ended him, Galian. Cole should have had a chance… a chance to choose who he was supposed to be. I took that from him…”

  “I know,” Galian said. “I just took the same choice from the McEnrows.”

  Odin turned away, craning his neck as he looked helplessly to the heavens.

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why would you do this? Why would you damn yourself?”

  “It had to be done,” Galian said.

  Odin’s hands clenched into fists. “That’s it?” he cried. “It had to be done? That’s all you’ll give me?”

  “That’s all,” Galian said. “Give up trying to understand. I can never tell you more. The sooner you realize that, the better.”

  “After everything we’ve been through,” Odin seared, “You’re choosing this? You’re choosing secrets? I’m warning you, Galian, this is not a path for two.”

  “I know,” Galian said.

  Odin exhaled furiously. “I need a moment away from you…”

  After another hard swallow, Odin turned from his brother, and with curses spilling from his mouth, he stormed away.

  Odin did not return for nearly half an hour.

  As he came back to the mineshaft, he could see that Galian had used his power to raise the lift. All twelve bodies were lined next to each other, and Galian had placed silver coins over each one of the McEnrow’s dead eyes.

  “What’s next?” Odin asked as he grew close. His voice was devoid of any and all affect. It was flat and even, like a man who has banished his own emotions in the name of duty. Galian, after all, was his duty.

  The change in Odin’s tone had no effect on Galian.

  “We burn them,” he
said.

  The quiet monk reached into his leather bag and pulled out a book of wooden matches and a vile of flammable tar.

  Odin eyed the items for a moment.

  “Can you manage?” he asked. “Or shall I?”

  “I’ve come this far,” Galian replied.

  Ten minutes later, the sons of Animus Letum were leaving Northton, a funnel of black smoke rising behind them.

  Their walk back home was quiet and heavy. There was an argument looming between the brothers, but as they walked, it seemed that neither of them wanted to make the first move.

  So instead, they kept on, each knowing that something had changed between them.

  Choosing to forfeit a night’s rest, the twins made it back to the Throne’s Eye in only one day. The two walked through the gates and parted ways without a word.

  As Odin walked away, he prayed for rain. He prayed for a thunderstorm to wreak its havoc over the Throne’s Eye. Odin needed to see the chaos. He needed to watch the rage. He needed something to reflect his state of mind – something he could stare into so that he didn’t feel alone.

  No storm came.

  Instead, two days after the McEnrows were burned to ash, the twins were called to the High Temple. Odin knew exactly why. Odin was still angry with his brother, but he also believed that Galian would set things right. Surely, in front of the hallowed Order, Galian would explain himself: he would give his reason why, and in doing so, he would vindicate himself to the Order and, more importantly, to Odin.

  The sun was just rising when Odin got the call.

  After collecting himself, Odin walked slowly out of his quarters. The morning was bleak and dreary. The sky was painted over with thick gray clouds, and the earth was damp and intoxicating.

  Odin forced himself up the Temple staircase, and as he passed slowly through the Temple doors, he moved like a man expecting release. There was a heaviness to his walk, but there was also a small bounce of hope – an expectation that Galian was about to ease his soul. For two days, Odin had been carrying the burden of Galian’s actions, and as he dragged the ball and chain towards the altar, he fully expected that he would be released from its shackle.

  Inside the Temple, Galian was already seated at the foremost pew, and in front of him, all five totems were seated in their thrones. There were two new totems in the Order. A tall and lanky white man named Jeston had replaced Palis as the Mercy totem. Jeston was a middle-aged Sight who spent a lot of his time in the Spine. He was lessoned extensively in world history, and it was with little reservation that he was appointed into the Order. The other new appointment was Raine. After Raeman was murdered by Usis, the Order considered its options, and ultimately, they voted unanimously to appoint the monastery’s strongest warrior into the role of Justice totem. Odin was ecstatic when Raine’s appointment was given, but now, as he sat with his brother in the foremost pew, he could only manage a sparing look at his mentor – he was a little embarrassed that their relationship required this chapter.

  After taking a quick draw from his hookah, Igallik commenced the hearing. There was a shortness in his voice – an anger that was just barely contained by his sense of decorum.

  “Let it be understood,” he said sternly, “the verdict for this hearing will be final unless an exceptional force decrees otherwise. Because the verdict is final, the totems of the Order shall be permitted any length of time to make their verdict. However, if a totem is uncertain about a verdict – even in the least – he will defer his vote to another totem’s speciality.”

  The Order totems each gave a nod of affirmation.

  Igallik took another short puff from his hookah.

  “It is pledged,” he said as he exhaled.

  As the smoke spread out into the Temple air, Igallik glared down at the twins, his stare cutting angrily through the billows.

  “Take a trip recently?” he asked curtly.

  Odin turned to his brother, expecting Galian’s explanation, but somehow, Galian seemed quieter than ever.

  Igallik sat further back into his throne. “We had visitors last night,” he informed. “A group from Northton arrived.”

  Odin tried to spur Galian’s explanation with a small knock to the shoulder, but Galian seemed uninterested.

  As he watched, Igallik was beginning to sense the rift between the brothers.

  With a loud clap, the head monk continued. “It turns out the visitors wanted our help,” he said. “A family of miners was murdered, and they’ve asked our monastery to hunt down the killers and bring them to justice.”

  Still, Galian would not speak.

  Igallik eyed Odin for a moment. “Anything to say, Odin?” he asked.

  With his heart torn between loyalties, Odin looked back and forth between Galian and the head monk.

  “No,” he said after a long pause. “Nothing to say.”

  Igallik nodded, and after pulling a sleeve of coins from a pouch on his throne he lobbed a handful of twenty-four silver coins onto the floor between the twins.

  “Shouldn’t be too hard to find the killers,” Igallik said as the coins sprawled across the floor. “Some pretty familiar looking coins, wouldn’t you say.”

  It was as if both brothers had been born mute.

  The head monk turned to the Logic totem, Nile.

  “You’ve seen these coins before, haven’t you, Nile?”

  Nile adjusted his glasses for a moment. “I have,” he replied. “They are a one of a kind silver.”

  “One of a kind, you say?” the head monk said. “Why is that, Nile?”

  “They are minted here at the Throne’s Eye,” the Logic totem said.

  “I did think they looked familiar,” Igallik agreed.

  After another look at the twins, the head monk turned to Raine. The old warrior had been purposely keeping his gaze down and away from Odin and Galian.

  “Were you aware of any Torches or Aerises leaving our monastery two days ago?” Igallik asked.

  “No,” Raine said. “There were no scheduled departures.”

  “But you did see two monks leave, correct?”

  “I did,” Raine confirmed. “I watched Odin and Galian leave early in the morning.”

  “Curious,” Igallik said.

  Igallik turned back to the boys and left a small moment of silence. The silence began to build and become uncomfortable, until, suddenly, Igallik slammed his fists against the arms of his throne and the charade was over.

  “Why would you do this?” he demanded. “What right did you have? You better have a hell of a good reason!”

  It was only Galian who knew the reason, and he wasn’t telling.

  “Silence?” Igallik yelled. “You are choosing silence?”

  The twins answered with more quiet.

  “Fine,” Igallik said sternly. “The punishment for the murder of any innocent citizen outside our walls is three reeds. You two have killed twelve citizens; therefore, I move that the thirty-six reeds are divided evenly between you.”

  Igallik looked to the totems on his left and right. “All in favour of eighteen reeds served to each brother?”

  Odin’s eyes bulged with panic. He hadn’t considered the punishment. As Odin’s face flushed with red, his heart began to beat throughout his entire body, thumping his consciousness with unarguable truth: eighteen reeds would kill Galian. He couldn’t allow it.

  “I did it!” Odin blurted before the Order could rule. “I killed them. Galian tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  Igallik’s eyes narrowed in on Odin. “Why, Odin?” he demanded. “Why would you do this?”

  Odin tried to hide his grief under a heft of attitude.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he replied defiantly. “You’re not a Lyran.”

  Igallik returned a piercing stare. “No Lyran ever killed an innocent,” he said sternly. “Your father would be ashamed.”

  The words stung, but after a hard swallow, Odin shook them off.

&nb
sp; “My father’s dead,” he said. “I doubt he cares.”

  After keeping his eyes down for most of the hearing, Raine raised his head and looked pleadingly to his apprentice.

  “Were they bad men, Odin?” he asked. “Do you know something we don’t?”

  Odin looked fleetingly at his brother and chose to repeat the exact sentiment that Galian had given him.

  “Give up trying to understand,” Odin said to the Order. “I can never tell you more.”

  Raine’s hands fell to his sides.

  “If you won’t give us a reason,” he said, “we cannot amend the punishment. It is that simple. By your own admission, you are courting thirty-six reeds. That is greatly more than we have ever dealt. Thirty-six will wreck you.”

  “I am aware,” Odin replied.

  Raine let out a deep sigh. “Thirty-six it is,” he said. “Any other thoughts, brothers?”

  Bysin and Nile indicated no, but Jeston, the new Mercy totem, was eyeing Odin with suspicion.

  “I get the impression that it is you who is being merciful,” he said. “Am I wrong to assume this?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Odin said shortly.

  “This is your last chance,” Jeston said. “This is your last chance to seek our mercy. You are in the power-seat, Odin. Not us.”

  Odin shrugged. “We both know that’s not true.”

  With an irritated huff, Igallik grabbed for his hookah.

  “Very well,” he said firmly. “Odin will incur the punishment of thirty-six reeds. They will be served at this evening’s close.”

  The head monk took a puff of his tobacco.

  “Brothers,” he said, “we are officially adjourned.”

  Odin and Galian stood immediately, but before Galian could grab his brother’s arm, Odin turned on a heel and stormed out of the High Temple.

  As Galian stood in the center aisle and watched his brother, the Order monks rose and filtered past him. They seemed intent not to address him. It was as if each of them suspected they had been given only half the truth – Bysin more than anyone.

  As Galian managed to catch the Instinct totem’s eyes, Bysin’s return look was somewhat scornful.

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said as he passed by. “Even love can die if you beat it long enough.”