The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

  For a half hour, Raine gave Odin time to himself. But finally, with his nerves balled in his gut, the old warrior went in search of his apprentice. He finally found him at the top of the Temple staircase.

  “Waiting?” Raine asked as he ascended the final few steps.

  “Have to,” Odin replied.

  Odin’s face was pale white and his voice was low and hoarse as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

  As Raine sat himself on the step next to Odin, he began to hear the voices of the Order monks echoing from inside the Temple. The monks’ words were indecipherable, but their emotions were not. There was great anger and even greater worry.

  “You’re trying to listen to that?” Raine asked.

  “Trying to,” Odin said. “Can’t manage much focus.”

  “I can shut up, if you want,” Raine said.

  “I think I’d rather talk,” Odin replied.

  “Okay. What about?”

  “Galian left me a letter,” Odin said, “a final message.”

  “What’d it say?” Raine asked.

  Odin pulled the letter from his belt. “See for yourself.”

  The old warrior watched Odin for a moment.

  “You sure you want me to read this?”

  “I would appreciate it,” Odin said.

  “Okay, mate,” Raine consented. “I’ll give it a read.”

  With careful hands, the old warrior unfolded the page and set his eyes onto Galian’s cursive.

  Odin,

  I know I have lost you. My actions broke us. My heart knows this pain even more than yours. I took a hammer to the diamond that we were, and now we are apart – scattered in the pebbles of something that should have been grand.

  Three years is long to be without your soul. That is what I’ve been. You were, and forever will be, my greatest friend. I robbed myself of you, and for that, I am damned. I wish I could explain what I did. I wish I could show you why. But the future requires my silence. Our destiny – if it can ever be recovered – requires us to dance alone.

  I write this letter because I have no idea if it will ever reach you. Hell stalks me, Odin. I wish I could face my future with you. I want nothing more than to be at your side when I face my greatest foe. But from what I have seen, I am alone when I meet my end. Fate has me believe that I will never be your brother again. Fate tells me that I die with you still hating me. I have never carried a pain like that. I have never suffered more.

  This is my goodbye, Odin.

  This is me saying that I hate myself for what I have done.

  Our love – our great mighty roar – should have crushed Hell. We were the ones! The might sons of Animus Letum! We were kings.

  I robbed us of that ...

  My death is coming, Odin. Of this, I am sure. And the only thing I want is to have you back in my life. As I look towards my death, I realize the last three years of my life have been wasted. All I want is for us to reclaim the greatness we were.

  But I killed that chance.

  I pray you remember us, the way we were supposed to be – as kings.

  Live strong my brother. And think of me when you become the hero that I know you are.

  Forever your friend, forever your brother,

  Galian.

  Raine wiped his eyes, a small tremble sounding in his voice.

  “I’m sorry, Odin,” he said. “It should never have been like this.”

  Odin swallowed, and with his throat still tight, his voice whispered weakly from his mouth.

  “He died thinking I hate him,” he said. “I never did. I never did… I just… God damn it, Raine. He’s gone! He died without me. I should have protected him!”

  “It’s not your fault,” Raine said.

  “But it was!” Odin yelled. “I chose to leave him! He was the star! And I left him. I should have protected him. It was my job! My one job!”

  Odin’s face fell hard into his palms, his head shaking as he sobbed through his fingers. Raine patted Odin’s back, doing anything to offer condolence, but the pain in Odin’s voice made it clear that the only sympathy Raine could offer was a caring quiet. So the two sat in sorrowed silence – grieving a man who had never spoken a word.

  Another fifteen minutes passed before the High Temple’s bronze doors were drawn open. Igallik exited first, followed by the other members of the Order. Odin leapt to his feet immediately, awaiting anything from his brothers, but the Order monks seemed intent not to address him. Instead, each Order monk was thanked by Igallik, and after they offered Odin an apologetic bow, Nile, Bysin, and Jeston descended the Temple’s long staircase.

  Unsure of the implication, Odin turned his eyes to Raine, and then to Igallik.

  “Come inside,” Igallik said as he retreated back through the bronze doors. “Both of you.”

  The two Aerises quickly followed, and as they entered the High Temple, Igallik sat quickly back on his throne and grabbed for his tobacco hookah. After Raine and Odin had seated themselves in the foremost pew, Igallik took a series of small puffs from his hookah, exhaled, and addressed Odin.

  “I would imagine you have many questions,” the head monk said. “If you can be patient with me, I will try to answer them now.”

  Odin did not hesitate.

  “What’s happened to Galian?” he demanded.

  “Your brother is dead by the Reaper’s Covenant,” Igallik said. “His soul has been taken to Animus Letum.”

  “Why couldn’t he see this coming?” Odin asked. “How come he couldn’t prevent it?”

  “Galian did know this was coming,” Igallik said. “For the last three years he and I have been on a mission to prevent the events of today. Obviously, we failed. It would appear that Forneus has played his master hand. I doubt you will take any solace from this,” Igallik added after a pause, “but you should know that Usis was merely a pawn in this game. He was the marionette to Forneus as puppet master.”

  Odin couldn’t care less. “He chose to be a pawn,” he said bitterly.

  “I suppose you’re right,” Igallik said.

  With disdain, Odin shook off all thoughts of Usis and returned his focus to Galian.

  “So if Galian is in Animus Letum, he should be fine, right?” he asked. “We can get V to find him and hide him from Forneus.”

  Igallik shook his head, deeply apologetic for what would be his honest answer.

  “V will be unable to help,” he said gravely. “Your brother has been taken to Forneus’s Soul Cauldron. And the power of ten thousand souls now binds your brother in torment.”

  The head monk inhaled deeply. “I hate to tell you this, Odin, but in this tragic time I must be forthright. The Cauldron is a prison of virtually no escape. Galian will likely die under its weight.”

  Odin keeled over. “No!” he yelled. “It can’t be! He can’t…”

  Raine rested his arm over Odin’s shoulders, and looked pleadingly to the head monk.

  “There’s got to be some hope,” he said. “You said there is barely a chance. That is better than none.”

  As Igallik saw the hope in the two Aerises, he regretted that he had to dash it.

  “Galian’s only hope is to break the Cauldron,” he said. “And the only way to break the Cauldron is to kill the king. If Forneus were to be defeated, Galian could be freed. But in that plan lies two impossible tasks. Firstly, someone would need to kill Forneus. And as if that were not enough, Galian would also have to endure the pressure of the Cauldron for an unprecedented amount of time.”

  “What about V?” Raine asked in desperation. “There’s got to be some move there?”

  “I have tried everything I can to contact V,” the head monk said. “He is nowhere to be found.”

  “We need to do something,” Raine cried. “We can’t surrender. You have to think, Igallik.”

  The head monk raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m at a loss…” he said finally. “I don’t know what to do.”

  After collapsing in his thron
e, the head monk wrung the air with his hands and repeated himself.

  “I don’t know what to do…”

  “I do,” Odin declared as he stocked his hand with a dagger from his belt.

  “Odin,” Igallik cautioned as he saw the dagger, “please, rest your mind. This is not a time for impulse.”

  Odin looked the head monk straight on, his eyes full of sorrow, but his face steeled with determination.

  “Galian died thinking that he had lost me,” he said sternly. “He died thinking I hated him. I will die to show him he was wrong. I will die to save him. Brothers, this is goodbye.”

  “Odin!” Igallik cried. “No!”

  It was too late. Odin’s heart had made up his mind. The mighty Odin, against all odds, looked once more upon the earth realm, and with a furious exhalation, he stabbed the dagger deep into his own chest.

  The moment the dagger pierced Odin’s heart, the entire environment morphed into a different world. Odin had been broken from his flesh. He had become only his soul. Odin was still in the Temple, but the Temple was not of its earthly structure. The golden walls and roof of the Temple had turned into a giant piece of black coal that was being rapidly torn apart by the world’s raging winds. Even Raine’s and Igallik’s forms had transformed and were being blown to ash.

  In moments, the Temple and all in it were no more, and Odin stood defiantly alone at the summit of the monastery’s giant staircase. As Odin craned his neck up, he witnessed the crimson red sky, its deep hue playing host to a hundred crows, and blowing wildly with black ash.

  As Odin watched, suddenly, he felt a pull in his core, and as if the feeling were towing him, he marched slowly to the mouth of the giant staircase.

  As he looked down, there, standing with ominous intent, was Death.

  The great Reaper’s skeletal face was waiting under its dark hood, and as its hollow eyes gazed up, it measured its prey like a practiced hunter. No act would stop it from claiming the second son of Animus Letum.

  Odin stood unafraid.

  He would use the Reaper, regardless of the scythe’s allegiance, as his great ally.

  “Claim your prize!” he roared.

  Death would assent.

  Death slammed its scythe into the courtyard, and as the weapon ignited with purple flames, the Reaper stretched out its massive fifteen foot wingspan. After a moment of stillness, the Reaper made a few powerful flaps, and after ascending effortlessly into the air, Death began to climb the staircase in flight. With its flaming scythe dragging behind it, the Reaper soared directly at its prey. As the haunting Reaper flew at him, Odin tried to brace himself for impact. I regret that there exists no adequate preparation. As Death reached the staircase’s summit and it swung its burning scythe forward into Odin’s abdomen, Odin was struck with a pain he could never have imagined. Odin squirmed and screamed. The Reaper dragged him across the stone floor, bouncing and skipping his body hard against the ground. After thirty yards, Death slowed its pace, and as its black wings swung in haunting symmetry, it raised its scythe and peered callously into Odin’s eyes.

  Odin’s face and body wretched from the incredible pain that the scythe had delivered to him, but he still managed to stare back into Death.

  “Play your part,” he seared.

  A devious smile turned on the Reaper’s skeletal face. And in the next moment darkness of not just sight but of mind and soul fell over Odin. There was nothing. It was a horrifying torture. Void of all awareness but pain, Odin slowly faded.

  Seconds passed until all consciousness was gone.

  Odin had died.

  37

  In the Temple, after Odin had driven the dagger into his own chest, Raine and Igallik tried desperately to revive the young Aeris.

  As minutes passed, Igallik painfully recognized the truth.

  “He’s gone. Both of them…” he said with tearing eyes, “gone.”

  Raine threw his hands up in futility.

  “Did we fail? Did we ruin this?”

  “I pray the answer is no, Raine. Not after everything… not after everything we’ve been through.”

  “What’ll we do?” Raine brooded. “What can we do?”

  Igallik hated to acknowledge his decision. He was torn. His mind was sure of the next step, but his heart was reluctant to take it.

  “First, we must honour Odin’s body,” he said finally. “If Odin is to succeed, there is an individual in the afterlife whom we must pay a toll. Secondly, we must prepare the Forge.”

  Raine shook his head, at odds with both the speed and gravity of their dilemma.

  “Igallik, be honest with me,” he said. “What are Odin’s chances? I mean, even with the Forge.”

  “Not good,” the head monk replied. “But if he is to have any, we have to hold to our end of the deal. I need you to bring his body to the altar.”

  Raine shook his head. “I can’t. Not like this.”

  “Raine, we must,” Igallik said. “Please, I need your help. If Odin is to have any chance, we must act quickly.”

  After a furious breath, Raine conceded. “Fine,” he said. “For Odin.”

  As Raine heaved Odin’s dead body up over his shoulder, Igallik made his way to one of the Temple’s cabinets and retrieved two silver coins. Igallik then unlatched an unlit torch from the Temple wall and brought the torch and coins to where Raine had laid down Odin.

  “The coins should ensure safe travel,” Igallik said as he placed them over Odin’s eyes. “And the torch will sever Odin completely from our realm.”

  After moving the torch over a lit candle, it ignited in flames.

  As Raine again shook his head in deep regret, he reached down and patted Odin’s chest.

  “You’ll do great, mate,” he tearfully bid. “Make us proud.”

  Igallik, too, allowed himself a farewell.

  “Tragedy brought you to us, and now tragedy takes you away. But in between, we were witness to a king. It is time to honour your father’s sacrifice. Take back your birthright, Odin. Be the miracle we have waited for.”

  After a solemn breath, Igallik touched the lit end of the torch down onto Odin’s body, and the Aeris’s body was slowly set aflame.

  In silence, Igallik and Raine watched Odin’s body disintegrate to ash.

  The second son of Animus Letum, only hours after the first, had vanished from the first realm.

  After the burning had completed, Igallik patted Raine’s back.

  “Come,” he said, “we must prepare the Forge.”

  Raine nodded; however, as he and the head monk began to walk towards the Temple doors, they began to hear screams and cries echoing from the monastery courtyard.

  Hastily, Raine swung the doors open.

  The sight was horrifying. Dozens of monks lay dead on the courtyard floor.

  “No…” Igallik protested. “It can’t be…”

  38

  In Animus Letum, the Serpent sat on his throne. The king’s orange eyes burned intently at the Scale entering his Throne Room.

  The Scale, proud and certain his news would appease his king, slowly approached the Serpent Messiah.

  “My Lord,” he boasted as he grew close, “your plan has come to pass. The sons of Animus Letum, both the mute and the warrior, have passed into our realm.”

  “And the people?” Forneus growled.

  “It would seem that any faithful to Serich remain completely unaware of the mute brother’s presence in your Cauldron.”

  “Send my serpents to the Boatman,” the Dark King ordered.

  “If I may,” the Scale said, “are we not overestimating this warrior? Is he not the weaker of the two?”

  “A master is never unprepared,” Forneus said. “It was in fact Serich who underestimated me. Scale,” he coldly repeated, “send my serpents.”

  The Scale nodded and quickly left to carry out his orders.

  With a grin, Forneus, the great predator, set his hunting eyes upon the far reaches of the horizon.
<
br />   “Come,” he snarled to the second son of Animus Letum, “face your villain.”

  39

  Once Odin had died and arrived in my realm, it was his ears that first woke to consciousness. The sound they heard was like a serene water bank. However, the sound quickly evaporated, and Odin began to wince as the strident pitch of one hundred thousand screaming voices cut through the dense air. Odin’s thoughts began to return to him slowly, and as the echoes of the first realm surfaced in his memory, he was instantly reminded of his actions. He was dead by his own hand and was now in Animus Letum. Odin fought to open his eyes, but as he strained, he startled himself with the realization that his eyes were open. He was blind. Instinctively, Odin brought his hands to his face, and as he pressed into his eyes, he could feel a thin metal coin lodged into each of his eye sockets. Odin attempted to remove the coins, but even after committing his full strength, the two coins remained intact. Confused but driven, Odin began to feel out his surroundings. Odin ran his hands over his clothes and soon realized that he was in the same battle attire he had worn when he died. Even Sleipnir and his four daggers remained locked to his belt. With calm, even breaths, Odin quickly detected the rocky earth beneath him.

  The ground, although Odin could not see it, was barren and black. And the skies above were scorched with slashes of orange and purple cloud. As Odin began to move, he collided with numerous other walking bodies. Odin could hear the mournful cries of what seemed to be millions of other sightless souls walking the rocky ground.

  The others, unlike him, had no coins in their eyes.

  Odin was on the Isle of the Lost. It was the barren rock where every poor soul, not given the Boatman burial rite, was doomed to walk blind for eternity. Screams of panic and pleas for help screeched through the air as the millions of people wandered in blind hysteria. Odin tried his best to keep his composure, and then, using his hands, he began to navigate through the myriad of terrified bodies. As the mass of damned souls screamed and fought futilely against their blindness, Odin wandered through them for a half hour. His lack of sight combined with the persistent terror of the many voices was beginning to unreel his calm. The sound was madness. But as Odin, in an attempt to break from the auditory burden, knelt down to the black rock, a new and very strange voice moved by his ears.