The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

  Galian met Bysin’s eyes dead-on. “If you only knew.”

  That evening, the storm that Odin had been waiting for swept over the monastery. Lightning and thunder laid claim to the night, and the wind was so fierce that the rain blew sideways across the courtyard. Trees were bending like weeds, swaying wildly as their leaves howled like a pack of mourning hounds.

  It was a fitting scene for thirty-six reeds.

  Amid the tempest, Odin had been locked into a wooden stockade. Typically, the punishment of reeds was dealt to a person hanging over a post, but because Odin was supposed to be served thirty-six, he was confined to the stocks to ensure that he did not crumple.

  The only monks present were Igallik, Raine, and Odin. No rational monk would ever choose to see or hear the pain that Odin was scheduled to suffer – especially Galian.

  As the rain poured down over Odin’s bare back, a flash of sheet-lightning overtook the sky, painting Odin’s soaked flesh – if only for a moment – with the white flare of storm-light. As the light faded, Raine wound back his oak reed, and as the thunder roared mightily from above, the old warrior struck his weapon against Odin’s naked back.

  Odin’s cries were drowned out by the storm.

  After five reeds, Odin’s skin had torn away, the blood on his back channeling down his spine like a crimson creek. After ten reeds, Odin’s body trembled and wavered in the stocks, convulsing more and more with each ensuing reed. After the twentieth reed, six of Odin’s ribs had cracked and he was limp, whimpering weakly as he hung helplessly in the stockades.

  With Odin’s blood spattered over his own face and hands, Raine looked pleadingly to Igallik.

  “No more,” he begged. “He can’t take no more.”

  “Sixteen more,” the head monk ordered. “I will permit half force.”

  The old warrior nodded regretfully and stood back for a moment as he wiped his massive hand through the rain and tears on his face.

  “I’m sorry, mate,” he whispered.

  The beating continued.

  As Raine cracked the thirtieth reed onto Odin’s back, he felt and heard Odin’s spine shift.

  “I won’t do no more!” he yelled through the storm. “I’m done, Igallik! He’ll die if I hit him again!”

  “Alright, Raine, alright,” Igallik conceded. “Take him down.”

  With a puddle of blood encircling the base of the stockades, Raine quickly unlocked the wooden trap and cradled Odin’s unconscious body to the courtyard floor.

  As lightning lit the scene and Raine’s frame flashed in the light, the head monk stumbled back – every line in Raine’s face was growling at him.

  “If I have killed him,” Raine threatened, “you’ll be next. I promise you that. You should have called it!” Raine yelled. “This is not us! We are not monsters!”

  Igallik reclaimed his poise. “Does he have a pulse?”

  Raine gritted his teeth as he put his fingers to Odin’s neck.

  “It’s faint,” he said begrudgingly.

  Igallik nodded and then turned back into the heart of the monastery.

  “Wylak!” he yelled. “We need you! Bring your chest!”

  The herbalist quickly arrived and was soon followed by another twenty monks. As Wylak began to administer herbs, Raine and the other monks lifted Odin’s limp body and began to carry him to his room.

  Odin did not regain consciousness for three days.

  When he finally woke, he did so screaming. Each breath shifted his broken ribs, and as he lay in a body splint, nearly every move he made was torture.

  Galian was seated next to him.

  As Odin gasped and wheezed, Wylak sped into the room, and after kneeling next to Odin’s bed, he poured a vial of crystal blue liquid down Odin’s throat.

  “For the pain,” Wylak said. “Just hold on, Odin. It will take effect in a minute.”

  With gritted teeth, Odin’s limbs locked and clenched into paralysis as he grunted through a minute of hell.

  Finally, the tension released, and Odin began to pant heavily, letting his lungs fill without the strain of his broken ribs.

  “Better?” Wylak asked.

  “Better,” Odin grumbled.

  “I’ll be just outside the door,” Wylak said. “Call if you need anything.”

  Odin managed a nod, and with an exhausted breath, he let his head fall against the bed. He had purposely turned his head away from Galian.

  For an entire hour, not one word was spoken. Both brothers knew what was at hand.

  As Odin finally turned to his brother, his eyes were heavy.

  “You knew I would take the reeds,” he presumed. “You saw it before it happened.”

  “I did,” Galian signed.

  “Maybe I should rephrase that,” Odin said. “You knew you’d let me take the reeds.”

  “I did.”

  “And you still won’t tell me why?”

  “No.”

  Odin nodded. “Then I assume you know what I am about to say?”

  As Odin met his brother’s eyes and he saw the pain in Galian’s face, Odin’s throat began to tighten – it was the only time that Odin had seen Galian cry.

  “I not only know what you’re about to say,” Galian said. “I’ve seen it in practice.”

  Odin swallowed. “Well, just so I can hear it, I’m going to say it anyway. We will never be the same, Galian. I have lost the trust that was between us. It was knocked out of me thirty times.”

  Tears began to roll down Odin’s face. “You used me,” he said. “You knew I would take the reeds. You knew and you still went ahead.”

  “There is a bigger picture,” Galian tried to argue.

  “Not to me!” Odin yelled. The force of his voice immediately cost him. As he winced and gasped, it was as if he channeled the pain into his eyes.

  “Not to me,” he repeated with a cold stare. “Was it like the hare?” he asked.

  Galian would not answer

  “Yes or no, Galian. Did you have a choice?”

  Galian wiped the tears from his eyes. “Yes.”

  The answer hurt more because it was expected.

  With tears streaming down his cheeks, Odin took a long and meditative breath through his nose. “Take a walk, Galian. And don’t come back.”

  “I don’t blame you for being angry,” Galian signed.

  “Angry?” Odin shouted. “I’m not angry, Galian. I’m ashamed. Mostly of myself. I was foolish to think that I mattered more to you. I asked you not to attempt Descent. You did. I want to know why you killed the miners. You won’t answer. It’s clear that you only need me when it’s convenient. I am telling you now, that this year, when we have the Forge meeting, I will be resigning my name. You’re the heir, I am the spare. You’ll do just fine without me.”

  “You can’t,” Galian protested.

  “I will,” Odin replied coldly. “I wasn’t given a choice in the first place,” he seared. “I think it’s only right that I have one now. I am tired of carrying you.”

  “I have never asked you to carry me,” Galian asserted.

  “That’s exactly right,” Odin fired back. “You just expect me to. You expect me to take the hits for you. Like Cole, like the miners. I am done. You take the glory, Galian. I’ll take the hits.”

  Before Galian could reply, Odin pointed to the door.

  “Go,” he ordered. “Before I hate you even more.”

  Galian took one pace, but stopped and turned back to his brother. As pain wrenched his face, Galian clenched his fists, and with red flushing his face, suddenly, a sound forced through his throat.

  Even amid his pain, Odin’s eyes grew wide – it was the first time that Galian had made a sound.

  With tears welling, Galian tried again, but after a moment of strain, it was clear that there would be no second sound.

  “I’m sorry,” he signed. “And I’ll be sorry forever.”

  Ashamed, the quiet monk hid his face from his brother and limped away.
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  I have told you once that the scythe can hurt less than breathing. I remind you of this now, on behalf of Odin and Galian. As Galian shuffled away, both brothers had been broken.

  Although Odin would heal from his wounds, his heart would not mend fully. I regret that something in Odin had changed.

  That year, amid wild protest, Odin removed his name from the Forge.

  30

  In the years after Odin’s thirty-six reeds, the Throne’s Eye was free of any attack on its soil. Galian’s power of sight had allowed the monks to eliminate all threats against the monastery long before they reached their gates. In that safety, Odin’s and Galian’s skills had grown immensely. Unfortunately, the twins had also grown apart. After he had been served his reeds, Odin made good on his word. He had removed himself from the Forge and only spoke to Galian when it was necessary. For the most part he avoided his twin at all costs. Galian tried extensively to mend their broken bond, but his efforts were repeatedly thwarted by an unmoved Odin. The rift had affected the entire monastery. It was a slow poison that forced monks to censor themselves and, even worse, pick sides. Many members of the Forge began to worry about their mission. Without Odin, the army was far weaker. The Forge’s mass suicide grew closer every day, and understanding this, many monks attempted to force a reconciliation between the twins. But Odin was unflinching. Trying not to offend Odin, the Order monks had given him his space. They believed – and hoped – that Odin was simply showing his youth and that maturity would eventually help him come to his senses. However, they may have given him too much space. Many seasons soon passed upon Odin’s stubbornness – seasons that spanned nearly three years.

  In those years, Odin dedicated himself to his craft – more so than ever. Not believing he had a role in the afterlife, Odin switched his focus to the first realm. The Damns became his salvation. From dawn until dusk, Odin applied himself in the martial arts, and soon, his calloused fists and undefeated record announced him as the Throne’s Eye battle god. His instincts and skillset in combat – measured against any who had contested him – had grown without equal. Without reservation, Odin was awarded the privilege to attend the Throne’s Eye mercenary missions. There were even rumours that he would be given the rank of Aeris, a fitting title for the greatest fighter that your realm has even known. The mighty Odin!

  Allow me now to praise the great Galian. No flattery of word will ever truly convey his greatness. But allow me to make one truth clear: he was the most powerful entity to ever set foot in your realm. His weakness was non-existent. Galian’s sight, wisdom, and work ethic were equally matched by his humility, compassion, and understanding. The mission that Galian had chosen as a child had been achieved – he had become a worthy Lyran.

  Although their paths had breached, the sons of Animus Letum had become the two strongest members of the Throne’s Eye monastery. Much good came from this truth. Galian had become powerful enough to read the pain in other people, and with the lengths of knowledge and instruction Igallik offered, Galian learned how to heal the physical ailments of others. At the same time, Odin had become a pivotal piece in the mercenary excursions that Raine orchestrated. However, it was soon becoming apparent – even as Odin’s humility fought it – that Raine’s missions would be far more successful if Odin attended them alone.

  Five months after Odin and Galian’s twentieth birthday, and at the completion of one of Raine’s missions, Odin made his way back to the Throne’s Eye gates. His convoy had been away for nine weeks. The sun was setting as they arrived home, and as the gates unlocked, the fatigued monks nodded to each other in acknowledgement of a successful mission, and then, seeking to heal their wounds, they lined up at the door to Galian’s quarters.

  As the line grew, Odin slinked away. He always did. Stubbornly, he chose to suffer pain rather than to ask for Galian’s help.

  As Odin broke away from the pack, a heavy arm fell across his shoulders.

  “Well, my friend,” Raine said, “another wrong has been righted, the world is a little more at peace, and I want a drink. Shall I pour two?”

  “If you’re hurting,” Odin replied, “you should stay in line.”

  Raine shrugged. “A beer should do just fine.”

  “You don’t have to tend to me,” Odin said flatly. “I’m alright.”

  “I know,” Raine said. “But I like beer.”

  With a firm grip, Raine began to steer Odin towards the library.

  “One drink,” he said. “You owe me that much.”

  Odin conceded. “One drink.”

  After the two had settled down in the Spine, one drink quickly turned to ten.

  As Raine nursed his tenth beer, he kicked out his legs and reclined back in the library chair.

  “Good to be back,” he said as he stretched his arms. “Much nicer pace here.”

  “What?” Odin prodded with a smile, “the missions getting too fast?”

  “Aw shit, Odin,” Raine complained. “They’re way too quick.”

  Odin laughed and then watched his mentor for a moment.

  “You know,” he said finally, “you’ve trained us all pretty damn well. You don’t need to come out as often.”

  Raine dropped his head a little, muttering before he took another swig of his beer.

  “Go on, then. I know what you got on your mind.”

  “Let’s be quite clear, Raine. I don’t want to do this.”

  “So it’s your burden, is it?”

  “It’s my responsibility” Odin said firmly. “I have not and never will doubt your judgement in the field. You weigh all factors of war with a great wisdom. But now you have to be honest about your own abilities. Raine, you know you hurt us on that mission.”

  Raine was visibly offended, but it was not an offense rooted in surprise. He knew that this conversation was looming.

  “I’ve known for a while,” he admitted. “My mind still has a leg up. But my body’s ’bout three steps behind.”

  “There’s no shame in that,” Odin said with a smile. “Realistically, you’ve been the best fighter in the world for thirty years.”

  Raine laughed. “I guess that is a hell of a run.”

  “So you’ll not fight this?” Odin said. “You’ll stay back a little more often?”

  “Shit, Odin, what else can I do?”

  “I didn’t mean to corner you like this,” Odin apologized.

  “It’s alright, Odin. It had to be done. Though, I suppose it does lead into something we need to talk about.”

  Odin was caught by surprise. “What’s that?”

  “Like I said, mate, I knew my time was closing. What I needed to make it official was Igallik’s blessing. And I got it before we left on that last mission.”

  Odin was confused. “You needed Igallik to okay your retirement?”

  “No,” Raine said. “I needed him to give me the okay on electing the next Aeris. Odin, we’ve elected you. You’re our new Aeris.”

  “I’m an Aeris?” Odin repeated in disbelief.

  Although he had always wanted the title, Odin was tentative about accepting it.

  “Are you sure?” he said. “There are other candidates – monks with far more experience.”

  “More experience, maybe,” Raine said. “But more talent? Not a chance. We’ve all known this was coming,” Raine said. “It was written in the stars, mate. We figured with the possibility of me stepping down, it’d make sense to have you step up.”

  Odin couldn’t wipe the smile from his face.

  “You carry the torch now,” Raine said as he raised his beer. “It’s never been in better hands.”

  Odin raised his drink too. “To the torch, and to all the hands that have brought it to me.”

  After their bottles clinked, Raine winced and gripped his shoulder.

  “Bloody hell,” he groaned. “That one hurts.”

  “You should go to Galian,” Odin said.

  “Maybe I should,” Raine said. “Maybe you should, to
o.”

  “You know I can’t,” Odin replied.

  “Why?” Raine challenged. “’Cause he killed those miners and let you get your back smashed up?”

  The drink had obviously loosened Raine’s nerves. But even still, his abruptness made Odin flex back.

  “You knew?” Odin asked.

  “We all did, mate.”

  “And you let it happen?”

  “If my memory serves, so did you.”

  Odin looked for any way out of the conversation.

  “I think you’ve had too much,” he said as he tapped his beer. “We can talk about this another time.”

  “You gotta bury the hatchet, mate. A brother is a terrible thing to lose. Especially if you can choose to get him back. We only got about five years before you boys and the Forge go back. You need to use those years for all they have. The Forge needs you.”

  “They have Galian,” Odin said plainly.

  Raine shook his head. “Is your pride really that hurt?”

  After Odin took another swig of his beer, his eyes fell to the floor.

  “Time will tell,” he said curtly.

  After studying his apprentice for a moment, Raine was a little ashamed of his actions.

  “I didn’t mean to ruin your moment,” he said. “Come on, mate. Be happy. You’re an Aeris now.”

  As Raine held up his beer for another toast, he examined it for a moment, frowning at what he considered to be an insufficient amount of beer.

  “We’ll each have one more,” he said. “We’ll end this night the right way.”

  Odin managed a nod. “One more.”

  The eleventh beer hit Raine harder than expected, and it was only minutes before the old warrior was passed out in his chair.

  Choosing to leave his mentor in peace, Odin ambled out of the library. He too was feeling the effect of the alcohol, and as he sauntered clumsily around the monastery, he soaked in a great sense of achievement. He was an Aeris! Without even realizing it, his steps began to lead him to Galian’s door. Some part of him – some piece of his soul that sought to forgive his brother – wanted to share the news. When Odin suddenly realized where he was headed, he halted mid-step.

  The new Aeris paused for a long moment, his posture wavering from the beer. After a few staggers, he reclaimed his balance.