The Sons of Animus Letum

by Andrew Whittle

  As Haren studied the rain from her jail cell, one phrase spoke through the rain: “Back up.”

  Even amid her anguish, she knew she had to consent – a friend was asking.

  As Haren pressed herself against the cell’s back wall, a blue flash flared in front of her cell and then immediately disappeared. The peculiarity of the blue light was enough to draw Haren off the wall. As she approached the cell bars, she nervously scanned the roadway to see if anyone else had seen the flare. There was no one. Then, as Haren’s nose twitched from a burning smell filling her cell, a snap of electricity struck against the steel bars, and a blue flame sparked onto the cell door. In seconds the blue fire engulfed the jail’s metal bars, and as the flames grew wild around the jail door, Haren instinctively recoiled back and guarded her face with her gown. Shielding herself, Haren was hit with the strange realization that there was no heat coming off the blue fire. With the azure glow of the fire beaming onto her, Haren tentatively lowered her gown and stood aghast before the inexplicable flames. Her mind protested its possibility. Then, with a sudden snap the cell jolted with intense warmth and the fire extinguished.

  The aftermath of the blue fire confounded Haren. In prudence, her reason tried to comprehend what she was seeing, but it was to no avail. As gray ash floated and settled in every corner of her cell, Haren’s disbelieving eyes were fixed on a miracle. The jail door had been completely disintegrated by the blue fire. Haren examined the open cell with an element of fear in her breath. She was too stunned to exit. The shock of the fire had pushed her against the cell’s back wall, and as she eyed her exit, she was cripplingly confused by how it had happened. Vainly, Haren fought to disprove the event, but as the proof continued to stare back at her, she surrendered her disbelief. With gritted teeth, she found enough sense to make a tentative step off the cell’s back wall. As her foot landed in front of her, her ears perked, and she immediately recoiled back from the threatening sound of large flapping wings. As the flapping grew louder, another distinct pitch rang in Haren’s ears. She began to wince from the sound, and as she leaned against the cell bars for stability, the voice, somehow even more thunderous, rang in her head.

  “Follow the heron,” the voice boomed.

  As the voice seemed to echo back and forth in Haren’s mind, all confusion evaporated from her being. All of her tension and pain seemed to fade. Haren’s posture grew erect in the serene calm, and as the sound of flapping returned, she embraced the tranquil sound and watched a blue heron land gracefully in front of her cell. As the giant bird extended its long neck and eyed her, Haren felt something inside of herself that she couldn’t define. There was a spark growing within her that burned with more promise than anything she had ever felt. It felt like the actualization of the strange feelings she had experienced her whole life. Indeed, her abilities and destiny had collided. As the voice and heron beckoned her to follow, the reality of Haren’s cell compelled her to stay.

  “I have something to finish,” Haren said apologetically. “I cannot follow.”

  “It is already finished,” the thundering voice said.

  Haren heard the voice’s words, but felt something much more. In the voice’s reply Haren had been assured of her vengeance. Haren could feel that Morello would be avenged, and that there was a hell waiting for Tholyk that even her own hatred couldn’t match.

  Haren’s eyes welled thankfully for Morello’s justice.

  “Follow the heron,” the voice repeated.

  As Haren wiped her eyes, she looked onto the mighty bird and then onto the village that had tried to break her. She spat at the latter, and as she paced out of the cell, she looked sternly at the heron.

  “I don’t have much left,” she said, “but I am giving it to you.”

  The great heron seemed to understand the pact, and after opening its wingspan it launched effortlessly into the air and flapped headlong into the east.

  Although Haren would follow, it was not her faith that forced her steps. It was desperation. Any exit from her village would have sufficed.

  Your realm had tried to break her, but mine was trying to build her. It is a sad truth that your realm destroys more legends than it builds. In this instance, we were wise to intervene.

  2

  Destiny disguises herself in many different cloaks. It is not often that she reaches out her naked hand. Winged and blue, Destiny had landed in Haren’s village. A cold air – far too cold for the season – had followed the bird. The chill had touched the town with a layer of frost, and under the bright moon, every line and angle in Haren’s village sparkled with the white shine of astral light. A strong wind crashed through the village’s surrounding trees, and as the branches moved like waves, a madness of whispers spread across the freezing leaves. In such a costume, most would mistake Destiny for something far more sinister.

  Haren saw what she wanted – an exit.

  Destiny had said “Follow the heron” and had exclaimed the message with an opus of sight and sound. Destiny had proclaimed entry – to a purpose, to a higher path. But after the great bird had ascended out of the frosted village and had soared into the night with a grace somehow unaffected by the powerful winds, Haren had followed only to escape. The further the better.

  Without Morello, the village offered nothing.

  Wearing her brother’s blood, Haren escaped for eight days.

  The mighty bird maintained an eastern course, and strangely, even after eight days, Haren had had no desire for food, water or even sleep. There was a bond – a trance induced by the great bird – that had enabled Haren to escape even the most basic human needs. Like the bird, Haren seemed to be fuelled by the phenomenal. It was as if every step brought more energy. Haren had left her village with a famished body, but like a fading candle held to a burning flame, the exile had begun to feed upon a greater source of fire.

  As the trance pushed Haren’s body forward, Haren knew that something incredible was happening. But even though the walk felt amazing and purposeful, as if the blue fire had freed her from more than just the village cell, a heart like Haren’s can never let go of the past. For her there could be no fresh starts – even if a mystical heron was promising otherwise. There were facts – truths like shackles – that Haren was dragging away from her village. The worst and heaviest was that Morello was gone. Haren had often felt like a gardener while she was raising Morello. There was a thrill to waking him every morning, giving him what he needed, and then watching how the day would shape him. The ritual was consistent, and the yields were fulfilling. Like any gardener, Haren was forging greatness at the root. The growers – of man or of nature – seem to practice this more than most. In so many ways, they build themselves as they build their crop. However, in very much the same way, gardeners are lost when their crop is destroyed. Although she was being led by a guide, Haren knew that she was completely lost. The aftershock of her brother’s murder was that she had lost her purpose.

  The fear that Haren had lost her purpose was worsened by the idea that another one was waiting. Although Haren was trying her best to outrun it, there was a thought stalking her from her village. The thought was that she had reaped a benefit from her brother’s death. There was an argument within her that condoned and then condemned what had happened. The heron, the blue fire – they promised something more. The thought was like an elixir that served a dose of medicine and then a sting of poison. Haren knew that she was worth more. She had always known. But like a monster looming over her past, more asked a sequence of morbid questions: wasn’t Morello enough? Did Morello have to die for Haren to be found? It is a sick feeling to think you’ve been freed by your little brother’s murder. Even sicker is to be glad it happened.

  As Haren kept to the mighty bird’s brisk pace, she wanted so desperately to know what was happening. She threw her questions to the heron, but the bird was uninterested. Its gentle squawk said simply to walk on. Haren felt she had no other choice. She had promised Morello that no monster would
ruin them. It was up to her to hold the promise. Although she hated it, Haren knew that if she was going to honour Morello, she needed to embark on the awful duty of leaving him behind.

  After Haren had walked under the suns and moons of nine days, she arrived at the mouth of a massive forest. The forest was composed of staggeringly tall pines that were lined like the wall of a fortress. Both sides of the wall stretched further than the horizon. The greenery of the massive woodland was vivid. The hues before Haren seemed somehow unreal, somehow too healthy. It was as if the rain, sun, and earth had impregnated the woodland with too much life. Haren felt the same aura from the forest as she did from the blue heron. It seemed that both the bird and forest belonged to a time before man, a time when nature ruled the earth and the forests were a kingdom.

  As Haren watched the sun rise and drench the green woodland with light, the heron perched upon a massive pine directly in front of her. The great blue bird then cocked back its long neck and made three gentle squawks. After a small moment, Haren heard the rustling of leaves. Expecting an animal, she clenched her dagger; however, as she eyed the forest, there was a flash of blue fire, and with a sound like sawing wood the undergrowth in front of her began to twist and spread. At first it seemed that a narrow passage was burrowing into the treeline. Upon her second look, Haren realized it was not merely a burrow; it was a perfect tunnel. Vines, trees, and undergrowth had grown, stretched, and knotted themselves into a hallway of nature’s design. Twisting roots framed the gateway, and ivy, flora, and dark earth coloured the hall into a bouquet of green, ivory, and lilac. It was as if the woodland was a vast being, and the earthy tunnel was the vein leading to its heart.

  As an astonished Haren approached the gate, she leaned over to search for its end. It was not in sight. As she looked, the tunnel created a sense of vertigo, and Haren was forced to balance her hands on her knees. Even after she had averted her gaze, it was as if a piece of her had forged ahead into the burrow, and like some mystical rope, it was trying to pull her in tow. There was something about the pull that said there was no going back. After a tentative step into the treeline, Haren glanced to the great bird for confirmation. The heron replied with an affirmative squawk, and then launched back into the air.

  “I can’t go back,” Haren whispered to herself as she breached into the tunnel, “because there is no back.”

  As Haren pushed into the tunnel, the rich hues of the tunnel as well as the sun breaking through the thick green overhead created what Haren could only call a dream walk. The sun danced upon her from all angles, and as its light reflected off the tunnel’s moisture, an aura of gold light sparkled over the passageway. Small gusts of wind rustled the green hallway and there seemed to be a rhythm to the sound. Like music, the wind blew across the tunnel’s sides and played a melody of rustling leaves. The experience was so extraordinary that as Haren pushed thirty minutes further into the tunnel she had to remind herself of Morello just to keep a piece of herself in reality.

  After forty minutes of wonder, Haren began to see an end to the burrow. As she neared her exit, she saw that the hallway opened into a massive clearing surrounded by enormous trees. The clearing was as incredible as the tunnel. The base of the giant trees, widely spaced from one another, formed the glade, but as the trees grew eighty, ninety feet high, their branches began to stretch across the hollow like the ceiling of a massive cathedral. Like the tunnel, the morning sun surged through the branches overhead and cast the rich earth in deep hues of brown and green.

  Haren stood in awe. The clearing seemed unkempt; however, as she studied the landscape, its motions – the wind, the swaying grass, and the dancing light – began to untangle the undergrowth into a visible supernatural path for her. Haren – a foreign presence in the sacred meadow – began to chase the unfolding path. After reaching the end of the path, she found herself at the clearing’s center next to a giant stone. Haren was unsure of her next move. As the wind threw her burgundy gown into the same motions of the waving meadow, Haren knelt slowly and began to search the clearing – for anything. There seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. The clearing, aside from the wind, seemed to be typical. Regardless, Haren knew, deep in her heart, that something profound had drawn her to this place. Then, as she remained kneeling, a deep hush suddenly overtook the glade. It was a powerful silence: a deep, imposing, nearly maddening stridence of nothing. The quiet sustained for a long moment, until with a sudden howl, a chorus of shrieking winds crashed over the meadow. The winds began to scream through the perimeter of the clearing, bending and cracking the trunks of the glade’s border trees. As the wind wailed like a fearsome siren, the clearing’s branched roof collapsed powerfully and drowned the meadow in darkness. All sound and all light were lost.

  As the madness that possessed the meadow frightened Haren into a scared huddle, a kindling of blue sparks began to appear on the glade’s center stone. The sound and colour of the sparks were enough to lift Haren’s head out of her crossed arms. Peeking out from between her arms, Haren watched the fire burn its blue hue across the entire meadow. Then, with a giant blast, the blue fire exploded into a wild blaze that consumed the entirety of the meadow. Somehow immune to the fire, Haren watched the blaze in awe. There was a feeling amid the flames that Haren found soothing. She stood upright, and with the fire circling her, she attuned her ears to what seemed like words slashing around in the flames. But as she strained to listen, a sudden scorching snap rocked her frame, and the blue fire drew rapidly back to the stone. The shockwave of the fire blasted the upper branches of the trees back into their cathedral-like roof, and as the valley flooded again with light, a slender blond woman in a white gown lay sprawled on the stone at Haren’s feet. The woman’s throat was badly wounded, and over her pregnant belly, she was clutching a giant staff and a golden crown. Haren hovered over the woman for a moment, overwhelmed by not only her, but also the great fire that had brought her to her feet. As Haren looked her over, the woman’s body was clenched tightly in panic. Her breath escaped in an erratic rhythm of wheezes, and her eyes were wide as if she had just seen a murder. Not knowing what else to do, Haren carefully knelt over the woman and placed her hand over her forehead to comfort her. The moment Haren’s hand connected with the woman’s skin, Haren’s body jolted, and a sudden wave of fear rolled over her. As she began to wheeze exactly in time with the woman’s rapid gasps, Haren withdrew her hand. The break in contact seemed to dull the fear, but even still, the panic was enough that Haren had to brace herself on her knees. Although she didn’t understand the phenomenon, Haren felt a tangible connection to the woman, a bridge that seemed to balance the woman’s fear equally between both of their bodies.

  After Haren caught her breath, she leaned back to the woman. Haren was compelled to help, but after the first transfer of fear, Haren was afraid to re-open the bridge.

  “Just keep breathing,” she said finally. “You’re safe now. Just breathe.”

  It was unclear if the woman heard. The look in her eyes said that her mind was elsewhere. It was as if a scene of horror was playing repeatedly in her mind, and no matter what she did, she could not escape it. After another minute, Haren began to slap the stone next to the woman’s ears. There was an immediate response to the sound, and in increments, it seemed like the woman was breaking out of whatever daze had claimed her. When she awoke completely, the woman’s eyes began to well with tears. She seemed tormented by her presence in the meadow. She began to sob with a jaw gritted so tightly that her skin flushed a crimson red. From her damaged throat, the woman let out a deep sorrowful moan, a heartbroken wail that, without words, still screamed the anguish of watching a loved one die.

  Haren recognized the sound.

  As the woman cried, Haren heard the exact pain that she had felt in the barn with Morello. It was the sound of a dying soul. It was not fair that Haren was forced to bear that pain alone. It was not fair for anyone to bear that pain alone. As the sound of tragedy bled from the woman’s mouth,
Haren knelt next to her and wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders. As the woman collapsed into Haren’s arm, the exile took a deep breath and allowed herself to share the heartbreak.

  After five minutes, the woman’s sobs had slowed and weakened. As she remained on Haren’s shoulder, a strangled whisper seeped weakly from her mouth.

  “Thank you…”

  Haren could feel her gratitude.

  She could also feel the thump of the woman’s heartbeat fading.

  “Your injuries are grave,” Haren said as she examined the woman’s throat. “We need to get you help. Can you walk?”

  The woman’s eyes were doubtful but she nodded yes. As Haren braced her arm around the woman’s torso and helped raise her to her feet, it suddenly dawned on Haren that she didn’t know where to go. She had no bearing of direction or destination.

  Haren looked the woman in her vibrant green eyes and saw something that seemed beyond human.

  “You know where to go, don’t you?” Haren said.

  The woman nodded, and then placed her right hand on Haren’s forehead.

  In an instant, gentle warmth took over Haren’s body. However, it was not only warmth that overwhelmed her – it was information. As the heat subsided, Haren was left with the knowledge of exactly where to go. It was as if a map had been transferred directly into her mind.

  Haren braced the woman more tightly. “Hold on,” she said as they began their stagger out of the glade. “We’ll get you to the Throne’s Eye.”

  Haren assumed that the Throne’s Eye was a place.

  She was only half right.

  3

  Hidden deep in your earth realm’s history there lies a secret that you are not meant to know. This truth has been active in each century of your recorded past. Your tyrants have denounced it and your historians have omitted it, but nevertheless it is there. The motives that have kept you unknowing are vast. However, there is one key root to this deception: the rulers of your realm are afraid. They are afraid to let you know the truth.