The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

  Backed by his Vayne, the serpent screamed his bile at the heart-broken king.

  “Destiny awaits a new king, sire,” he seethed.

  In the next instant, war erupted in the Throne Room.

  As Serich’s body exploded into blue flame and he tore through the Vayne, Odin could not withhold his astonishment.

  “He’s incredible.”

  “He truly was,” I agreed.

  Odin and I watched each sequence of the fateful battle. We watched Forneus order his Vayne to kill the queen. We watched the king quarrel with Forneus’s twin dragons. And we watched Forneus slice his blade across the pregnant queen’s throat.

  “His only weakness was his family,” Odin said as Serich caught the wounded queen. “Forneus exploited his heart.”

  “That was the only way to hurt him,” I replied.

  In the vision, Serich had cast a thick swell of blue energy across the Throne Room, and in its protection, he was tending to his queen. Wildly, Forneus slashed his blade through the energy, and as the queen was elevated in the blue fire, Serich smiled at her.

  It was then that the villain struck. The king collapsed, and as his blue energy evaporated, the queen and the blue fire surrounding her suddenly imploded into nothingness.

  Even though I knew how it would end, I was still heartbroken when the great Serich’s body disintegrated to ash.

  In that moment my past self was apprehended by Forneus’s Vayne, and the Serpent Messiah decreed my banishment.

  “Your king may be dead,” he boasted to me, “but your service to the throne is not. You, Charon, have inherited a new role. My Vayne,” he ordered, “bind our friend to the boat.”

  With a grin, Forneus then pointed to my right ankle – the bleeding ankle that he had pierced with his dagger.

  “Chain that ankle,” he said to his Vayne. “Our new Boatman will live with the pain of his failure.”

  The Vayne followed their king’s order, and as I kicked and cursed, they dragged me out of the Throne Room.

  In the aftermath of his conquest, the Serpent Messiah had set his orange eyes onto the throne. As he approached Serich’s seat, his eyes demonically surveyed the prize of his victory. Proudly, he climbed onto the throne, but to take his seat as the succeeding king of Animus Letum, he still needed to perform one last deed.

  At the length of each of the throne’s arms was a button. When pushed, the buttons released sharp blades that served as the divining rods of each new reign. The Serpent pressed the buttons, and then he slid his palms slowly over the blades. As his blood began to leak down a channel towards the Soul Cauldron, the Serpent King reclined arrogantly on his throne and awaited the true inception of his reign.

  The moment the blood reached the base of the Cauldron, the Throne Room began to tremble. Orange sparks began to flare out of the blue Cauldron, and as a tornado of hellfire started turning in the Cauldron’s base, the blue light of Serich’s reign started to expel violently into the night sky. As the tornado burned, its orange hue started to overwhelm the entire Throne Room. Then, with a series of cracks and hums, the cyclone of hellfire stabilized.

  The new Cauldron – and the new reign – were born.

  As the orange Cauldron seared its glow onto the Throne Room, the hundreds of Vayne dropped to their knees.

  “It is in this moment that Hell begins its reign,” I said. “It has been a long twenty years – longer than you may know.”

  “Has no one contested his reign since?” Odin asked.

  “A few have, but their attempts were foolhardy. Forneus is simply too powerful to attack. Instead, other means of battle have been employed.”

  “What means?” Odin wondered.

  “Means I hope you will utilize,” I said. “I have shown you all you need to see. What is now important is that we get you the help you need when you reach the mainland. There is a faction, an army…”

  “Boatman,” Odin interjected, “I don’t have time to seek an army. Each passing second drives my brother’s soul even further into jeopardy. I must face Forneus.”

  “Believe me,” I said, “I know yours is a hurried hourglass. But, Odin, I am honest when I say you cannot win this battle alone. There is a soul on the mainland named V. You must find her.”

  Odin looked surprised. “V’s a woman?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “You’ve heard of her?”

  “A few times,” Odin replied. “She actually helped my brother complete the Descent trial.”

  “Well, now you need her to help you. She can arm you with the weapons and soldiers you need to win this fight. Trust me, without V your mission is impossible.”

  One of Galian’s sermons instantly arose in Odin’s mind.

  “My brother once said that the heart does not know impossible. I realize that I aim at the unlikely, but if I fail, I will fail because Forneus has killed me, not because time has run out. My brother – my best friend – is dying. Trust me when I say there has never been a more powerful motivation.”

  Odin’s eyes looked sternly to mine.

  “If you are to know anything about me, Boatman, it is not that I am Serich’s heir. It is that I am Galian’s brother. And not Hell, nor time, nor fate is going to stop me from saving him. I don’t need an army,” Odin said. “When my brother is in danger, my heart swells beyond human. I become the army.”

  As I listened to Odin, I was awed by the ferocity of his spirit. It was in those moments that I saw Serich in his eyes – that I saw a worthy king.

  Satisfied with the man I saw before me, I ended the sequence of visions.

  Quickly, I grabbed my oar, and before I set into the water, I used it to point to a blue blanket draped over one of the corners of my boat.

  “You’ll find a great treasure beneath that drape,” I said. “I think you’ll find it fits quite nicely.”

  Odin looked quizzically at me as if I had spoken in riddle, but as I again motioned to the blanket, he eventually removed the blue cloth.

  Lying under the blue blanket was a suit of Lyran armour. The armour was crafted with gold, and it included leg guards, arm plates, swords, two golden hatchets, and a burgundy cape that fell backwards off the detailed chest plate.

  Odin marvelled at the golden armour.

  “Go on,” I said. “Try it on.”

  “Whose is it?” Odin asked.

  “Think of it as your family crest,” I said. “This armour will bond to you, and only to you. I guarantee you that this armour will move and flex with you in a way you’ve never experienced. It is as strong as steel, but moves and sounds like fabric.”

  As Odin inspected the golden mail, he could not deny its strengths. It was flawlessly crafted, and he knew simply by studying it that the armour would be an advantage in any fray he found on the mainland.

  “I am a Lyran,” he said with a smile. “It is only right that I look the part.”

  “Then suit up,” I said as I cut my oar into the water, “because we’re about twenty minutes out.”

  42

  Given the severity of Odin’s situation, not one stroke of my oar was sculled in leisure. Odin and I reached the mainland as rapidly as we could, and as I docked my boat, Odin had donned the Lyran armour. I looked him over, thinking the past had never seemed so close.

  I was staring at a king.

  Odin was quick to leap to the black earth of the shore.

  “It fits,” I judged. “Damned well, I must say.”

  Odin agreed. “I thank you, Boatman. You were a great help.”

  “It was a privilege,” I replied, allowing myself a bow.

  Odin, slightly confused by my bow, nodded back to the Isle of the Lost.

  “I think it might be best to head back,” he said. “I expect the Forge will be coming.”

  “The Forge?” I repeated.

  “My army,” Odin said. “Two hundred monks who have sworn to help me reclaim the afterlife.”

  The news was promising. “I will be able to sense if they cros
s into Animus Letum,” I said. “If they do I will give them transport. You intend to wait for them?”

  Odin shook his head. “I can’t,” he replied. “Not with Galian still in the Cauldron. The Forge will be my reinforcement, but they can’t be my strategy.”

  “I will attune my senses for their arrival,” I said. “If they cross I will find them.”

  Odin smiled. “And in the meantime?”

  I managed a hopeful nod. “I want to be close if heaven returns,” I said. “I think I’ll stay on the mainland.”

  Odin smiled again. “Don’t go too far.”

  “This damned chain,” I smiled back, “it’s a real drag.”

  “Thanks,” Odin repeated, “I hope to see you again.”

  “As do I. However, in that hope, I am compelled to offer a final counsel.”

  Odin nodded. “As you wish.”

  “When your brother spoke of hell,” I said, “when he explained that hell is a condition so cruel that good men are driven to surrender their morality, he was more accurate than you know.”

  “I saw the Dark Pool,” Odin reminded me. “I am ready for this.”

  “You saw it for only moments,” I said, “not years. The Pool has spread a sickness over this land for two decades. Some have resisted its darkness, but most have become its partner. What I am saying is that good men have become nearly extinct in the afterlife. You are entering Hell, Odin. And I implore you to trust no one.”

  “Even V?” Odin challenged.

  “You’re not stupid, Odin. I trust you can distinguish between help and harm. My point was that you’ve entered a land where you’re basically a fugitive. And if the last twenty years have taught me anything, it is that people will go to great lengths to appease a king they’re afraid of. As for V,” I said, “she has been a loyal servant to your house, even when it was in rubble. She is worth finding.”

  “I can’t promise I will seek her out,” Odin said, “but I do trust your judgement. If it happens that V can assist me, I will accept her as a friend.”

  After pushing the hair from his eyes, Odin turned and set his eyes towards the distant orange glow of Forneus’s kingdom.

  “Tonight,” he pledged, “I will win or I will die.”

  “My prayers are with you,” I said. “Farewell, son of Animus Letum. Heaven is on your side.”

  Odin nodded and then began his march into the heart of Hell.

  “And, Odin,” I called as he forged into the shadow, “hide those blues as best you can. They will garner more attention than you need.”

  “I will,” Odin called back.

  Then, beneath the hellish orange and purple sky of Animus Letum, Odin disappeared from my sight.

  Odin kept himself to the shadows as he traversed the dark earth of Animus Letum. In his desire for stealth, the dark skies proved a valuable ally. The skies were cut with slashes of orange and purple cloud that cast a dark gloom over the land. Under the clouds’ dark shadow, nature had perished. The earth was black as coal, and the thousands of trees and shrubs appeared as if they had been burnt to cinders. As Odin sprinted through the array of lifeless nature, brutal winds scorched his path, gusting against his frame with surges of ash and ember. As the wind howled like a demon hound, it seemed to burst from all directions. Odin sprinted against the hellish winds for what seemed like miles. His hair and clothes became singed by the pelting embers, but against the swirls of orange wind-fire, Odin’s contrasting blue eyes crusaded towards his destiny.

  As he pushed a steady pace through the barren outskirts of Animus Letum, he soon arrived at a large hill. Odin used the hill as a momentary cover from the scorching winds, and after composing himself, he scaled to its top. As he reached its summit, he was awarded with a view of Forneus’s kingdom. The entire land of Animus Letum lay before him.

  Odin used his vantage to survey the core of the afterlife. Even against the ash and amber streaked winds, Odin’s eyes immediately identified Forneus’s glaring Soul Cauldron. The orange Cauldron was atop a distant mountain, and its glow covered the entire kingdom with its devilish hue. It was a hellish sight. As Odin studied the landscape, attempting to claim any advantage from the living map, he noted that there was a massive staircase that led up the mountain to the Soul Cauldron. He then observed that below and at the front of the Cauldron’s mountain were thousands of stone structures. The structures, many with golden roofs, stretched further across the horizon than Odin could see. He wagered that the majority were living quarters, while a smaller portion, he assumed, were chapels. From his distance and elevation, Odin was at the advantage of seeing most of the kingdom’s roads and alleyways. Odin could clearly see the most obvious path to his destination. However, heeding my warning, he began to trace an indirect route for his blue eyes. Once satisfied with his plot, Odin drew his hood even further over his head and began his descent into the core of Animus Letum.

  Only minutes passed before Odin’s steps found the roadways of Animus Letum. The streets were littered with atrocities. There were hundreds of rotting corpses lining the alleyways and countless more serpents sliding in and out of the dark corridors. The disgraced bodies of men, women, and children served as the inarguable proof that Odin was in Hell.

  As he forged further into the kingdom, Odin employed great deceptive strategy in the pace and lines of his walk. However, before long, he began to hear the screaming voices and panicked steps of others in the kingdom. Choosing to trust no one, Odin kept his presence guised in stealth. He stuck to the shadows and held his strides to a deliberate quiet.

  As Odin’s path converged on an intersection of road centered by an dilapidated statue of his father, a large commotion of oncoming bodies began to tread into his path. With his stealth in jeopardy, Odin was left no option but to backtrack and lunge into the open doorway of an adjacent building. Odin hid in the darkness of the corridor for a long moment, but as the terrified voices began to grow closer and louder, he realized he was in a vulnerable position. In an attempt to reassess his situation, Odin crept carefully to one of the room’s gaping windows and began to survey the intersection of roads. As the screams became louder, suddenly numerous children, women, and men came running into view. The hues of the crowd’s eyes varied from green to purple, and against the dark backdrop of Animus Letum, they were a scope of brilliant colour. The crowd’s wild pace and terrified shrills were a testament to true panic. As they fled across the intersection, Odin was unsure what they were running from. But, as they came even further into view, a barrage of screaming arrows exploded from the corridor behind them, causing each runner to fall upon the cobblestone roadway. The majority of the crowd was dead. The few wounded survivors cried in pain, but their whimpers only alerted the bowmen, who promptly approached to complete their murders.

  As the attackers came into view, Odin became rapt with shock. The assailants were monks of the Throne’s Eye. They were Odin’s brothers.

  As the five yellow-eyed monks pulled out their daggers to execute the survivors – some of whom were children – Odin knew he could not remain idle. He leapt out the window and roared his censure onto the fallen monks.

  “Lay down your blades or lay down your lives!” he threatened. “The choice is yours.”

  The monks turned immediately to Odin and became perplexed by his blue eyes. They held their baffled pause until a voice sounded from the shadows behind them.

  “The mighty Odin,” the voice welcomed. “What an honour to meet you here.”

  Slowly, the source of the voice emerged completely into view.

  “Raeman?” Odin blurted.

  “Good to see your memory is still intact,” Raeman said with a smile.

  “What madness is this?” Odin demanded. “These are children, not enemies.”

  Raeman sneered.

  “Save your righteous dribble. We are in Hell, Odin. Morals are nothing more than shackles here.”

  “That is your defence?” Odin cried. “You’ll kill children because this real
m demands it?”

  “No,” Raeman replied, “I will do it because my king demands it.”

  Odin was horrified.

  “You serve Forneus?”

  “We do,” Raeman answered coldly. “Our ambition is self-preservation. I trust you can see the reasoning in that. If we must side with someone in this battle, we believe it is wise to side with the one that will win.”

  “That is not wise,” Odin scolded. “It is gutless.”

  Raeman offered a pompous grin.

  “I’m not interested in your opinion, Odin. Your presence, however, is of great interest. I must say, you have given us a very lucrative opportunity.”

  With an emotionless wave of his hand, Raeman motioned to the crowd that his brothers had littered with arrows.

  “There was a bounty on their heads,” he said. “Forneus has ordered that all associates of V be killed. To be honest, the pay is good. We enjoy some spoils, and Forneus allows us some freedom. But we are not dogs, Odin. We do not prosper under a master.”

  “I do not feel sorry for you, Raeman. You are a ghost of your former self.”

  “Not a ghost,” Raeman corrected, “an adaptation. I was once the Justice totem of our home,” he laughed. “What a fool I was! I dedicated my life to seeking justice. I thought it to be the highest order of our earth realm. And what I did get in return?” he asked. “I got killed by the very man I saved from death. I suppose I should thank Usis,” Raeman chuckled. “He showed me the folly of my ways. There is no justice, Odin: it is a construct of feeble minds. There is only survival.” Raeman made a grand sweeping gesture to the blackened world around him. “I have built myself around the hell I live in,” he said. “I now look to better my own plight, not those of others. And with you, Odin, I can vastly better my plight.”

  “I am not in your service,” Odin declared.

  “I doubted you would be. In fact, I expect you to greatly contest my next move.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Because I am going to take your head. Like I said, we have not prospered under a master. We desire more freedom. But like anything in this world, we must barter for it.”