Haren seemed burdened by the truth. “I think I always did…”
“Then read.”
Haren inhaled deeply, and returned her eyes to the book. Even with Morello in her mind, she knew she had tasted the truth and needed more.
The third portrait was followed by another six quatrains.
The third King was Serich,
The greatest King of all time;
His soul was the marriage
Of warrior and wise.
The invincible Liege
With unstoppable strength
Bore impossible siege
Of indefinite length.
His mind out-thought his foes,
His brawn out-duelled his bane;
He defended his throne
And slayed malevolent Vayne.
His rivals fell in droves,
His great staff was his scythe;
From him and him alone
Was the Serpent’s demise.
In the rains of his reign,
The King grew Bergamot,
And so his bloom became
The plant he shaped and wrought.
With peace struck in heaven
And peace further foreseen,
The King who was legend
Took Rhea for his Queen.
Haren backed away from the book and repeated the one word that was breaking her heart.
“Bergamot…”
As she dropped her forehead into her palm and pushed her hand slowly back through her hair, a heavy sigh fell from her lips. It was as if a weight – a pressure that had been building for her entire life – suddenly fell through.
“It was him,” she whispered. Her wide and amazed eyes turned to Igallik. “All this time, he was the voice. He is the voice.”
Igallik was uncertain what she meant. “The voice?” he asked.
“My great friend,” Haren said with tears welling in her eyes. “The bergamot… the rain. Serich has spoken to me my entire life,” she cried. “He is the reason I’m here.”
“You’re sure?” Igallik asked.
“Deeper than anything.”
Igallik smiled. “Then you are ready.”
“For what?” Haren asked.
Igallik pointed back to the book. “To know about the chapter you are writing.”
6
After learning that Serich had been the voice, Haren felt compelled to return some act of thanks to the fallen king. Her first act, although miniscule in comparison, was to learn more about Serich’s world. Igallik proved to be a knowledgeable teacher. The head monk revealed everything he could about Animus Letum. He explained to Haren that she was a Deathrider, and then explained how many of the monks at the Throne’s Eye shared the same gift. Then, using the different kings of the Lyran House, Igallik chronicled every age of Animus Letum. He described the look and power of the Soul Cauldron, he explained the evils of the Dark Pool, and he introduced Haren to the afterlife’s newest king.
“So Forneus will rule until someone kills him?” Haren asked.
“I doubt he would concede the crown,” Igallik said. “So, yes, if we want to restore heaven, we must kill him.”
“There must be people in Animus Letum who will try,” Haren said.
“Try and fail,” Igallik replied. “With Serich gone, and his entire army destroyed, Forneus and the Vayne will meet little opposition as they forge their new regime. With the throne under their complete control, the afterlife will become Hell.”
“So what will you do?” Haren asked. “Surely, you will make a move.”
Igallik eyed the young Deathrider for a long moment. “We do intend to make a move,” he said finally. “However, our first move will not be made across realms.”
Haren’s eyes shifted, trying unsuccessfully to decipher the head monk’s meaning.
“I don’t quite understand,” she admitted.
“We must make our move from a position of strength,” Igallik began to clarify. “The divide between the earth realm and Animus Letum has become a weapon. We can cross at will, whereas those in Animus Letum cannot. A war is inevitable,” the head monk predicted. “Our advantage is that we can decide when it begins.”
“So you will wait to act,” Haren realized.
“Until the only possible outcome is our victory,” Igallik confirmed.
“Could be a lengthy wait,” Haren said cynically. The notion of letting an entire world suffer did not agree with her – even if it was temporary.
“You may be right,” Igallik said. “However, we believe we have been given two very important reasons to wait.”
“The twins?” Haren guessed.
“The heirs,” Igallik corrected. “We have been given Lyrans, and we intend to make them throne-worthy.”
Haren’s eyebrow rose as she calculated the timeline. “So your move is to raise the boys until they are men,” she said skeptically.
“We were hoping it would be your move as well,” the head monk said calmly.
Haren’s neck tilted back from Igallik. Her immediate reaction was alarm.
“Forgive my boldness,” Igallik said, trying to ease Haren’s panic. “I was uncertain how to time this conversation. Sometimes it is easier to climb over the mountain than to go around. Quite plainly, Haren, we are inviting you to live among us. We have voted to offer you a home.”
Haren’s anxiety was still controlling her pulse. “In return for what?” she asked.
“Your help raising the boys,” Igallik said.
Haren was stung. “Because I raised a brother,” she said, hurt by the apparent reasoning.
“That played a part,” Igallik admitted. “But not all of it. You were chosen, Haren – selected by minds and hearts much greater than our own. We believe you were sent to us, a belief I think you share.”
Haren became quiet.
The head monk was right. With the revelation that Serich had been the voice, Haren believed that she had always been destined to arrive at the Throne’s Eye. It seemed very much that her arrival – and possible adoption – were intended by Serich’s will. However, there was a terrible thought that followed this belief. It burdened Haren to think that Morello had somehow been a hindrance to her destiny. It was heartbreaking to sense – even in the slightest – that Morello’s life had been insignificant. More and more, it felt as if Haren’s future had the terrible agenda of erasing her past.
With her gaze fixed ahead and her mind only loosely engaged in the present, Haren gave the only reply she could. “I will need some time to consider.”
“Take as much as you need,” Igallik said. “No one should rush one’s future.”
As Haren nodded her thanks, Igallik made a slow sweeping gesture to the Spine’s bookshelves.
“Our library is at your disposal,” he said as he stood from the table. “You never know, you may find your answer in here.”
Haren sat back and looked once more onto the impressive bookshelves.
“I promise to take a look,” she said.
Igallik offered a gentle smile. “As you please.”
The head monk made a slight bow, and with almost inaudible steps, he turned and exited the Spine.
After Igallik had left, Haren felt very lost within the library. She sauntered along the circular bookshelves, uncertain where to start or what to think. As she walked, she traced a finger along a dark wooden shelf, drawing a straight line through the dust that had accumulated. After the line had overlapped twice, Haren realized that she was no closer to a starting point. Inevitably, her focus and steps returned to the book entitled Animus Letum.
After reseating herself, Haren turned the pages and examined the portrait of Serich and Rhea.
As the great king looked up from the page, Haren’s tear fell onto the paper.
“I don’t know how to say thanks,” Haren whispered to her friend. “I don’t know if I can. I should feel awake. I should feel reborn. But all I feel is guilt.”
Haren looked skywards for a mom
ent, contemplating and revising a question that she needed to ask. “Did I really need Morello to die?” she asked weakly. “Did you?”
The question hurt. Especially with no answer. As Haren shook her head, she brought her hand to her forehead, and leaned into it for a moment. After exhaling deeply, she sat back, and used both hand to sweep away the tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Serich… I owe you more.”
After another deep exhalation, Haren sank into the chair, wishing somehow for rain and bergamot.
Staring at nothing, Haren’s mind fell blank and her head began to nod off. As her body began to recline to sleep, she barely noticed the door to the Spine slide open.
Until a male voice screamed.
As the war cry registered, Haren leapt from the chair with her senses clenched and survival instincts engaged.
“Aw hell, birdy,” Raine laughed. “We’re gonna have to shape you up. You move like a mule!”
“Why would you do that?” Haren cried. “Why would you yell?”
“You looked like you were sleeping,” Raine replied casually.
“I was, Raine! I was sleeping!”
“Figured you’d wanna eat,” Raine said as he presented a plate and water. There was a glint in his eye that was thoroughly enjoying Haren’s alarm.
Haren managed to catch her breath, and despite her resistance, a smile began to surface on her face. “In the name of… Raine, what is wrong with you?”
“No one’s been able to figure that out,” Raine said as he placed the plate of meat and vegetables on the table. “I think it might have something to do with my astrology.”
Haren’s curiosity rose. She had studied some astrology in her village.
“When were you born?” she asked.
“Don’t know,” Raine replied. “But I figure it’d explain something.”
Haren shook her head. There was no adequate reply. After she gave up trying to offer a response, Haren examined the plate of food.
“I didn’t notice any livestock around here,” she said. “Where do you get the food?”
“We have some friends in a village not far from here,” Raine said. “Town called Northton. They like to take care of us. The villagers are mostly miners, but a few of them farm.”
Haren was surprised. “So they just give you food?”
“More or less. We’ve sorted out a few of their messes,” Raine said. “I think they like to keep themselves in our favour.”
“And what favour is that?” Haren asked.
Raine smiled. “I don’t play games, birdy. I know the old man told you what we do. If you have a question, be honest about it.”
Haren took the advice to heart. “Have you killed people?” she asked.
“Many,” Raine answered.
“Does it bother you?”
“Not in the least.”
“What if they were innocent?”
“They weren’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Trust.”
“Trust with whom?”
“The Deathriders.”
Haren backed away from the warrior, and played with her food for a moment.
“So you’re not a Deathrider?”
“I told you when we met,” Raine said, “my talent is getting bashed in the face. It just so happens that I can dish it out too.”
“And you will dish it out to anyone the Deathriders say deserves it?”
“Yes.”
“But how could the Deathriders know?” Haren asked. “How could they know who should be killed?”
Raine nodded, understanding the confusion. “Igallik explained it to me this way: imagine you had a flower in a crystal vase. And in that vase you can see two colours: orange and blue. When you see blue you know the flower is healthy and is going to bloom. When you see orange you know the flower is going to wither and die. If you saw orange, would you intervene? Would you try to get rid of it?”
“I suppose I would,” Haren said.
“I figured so,” Raine said, “because I would too. But wanting to get rid of the orange is not as common as you might believe. In this world there are many people who like the orange. They like to breed it. We are at war with them and we have been for centuries. Igallik and the other Deathriders are able to sense the two colours. They’ve learned to detect where orange is growing. And when they do, me and the brawlin’ boys head out and dish out some blue.”
“And they’re always right?”
“Always. And let me tell you, birdy, orange looks mighty sinister in person.”
The expression on Raine’s face suggested that there was no need for description.
“So how did the Throne’s Eye find you?” Haren asked. “I mean how did you get here?”
Raine sat down in the seat across from Haren. “I suppose it’s not so different from how you got here.”
Haren leaned into the table, quiet, attentive, and expecting the tale.
As Raine detected Haren’s curiosity, he seemed tentative about sharing. The old warrior seemed to shake off some emotion, but after he adjusted his collar, he wiped his eyes and reclined further in his chair.
“Not many know my story,” he said with a small waver in his voice. “I’d prefer if it were kept between us.”
Haren put her hand over her heart. “I promise.”
Raine tilted his head for a moment and rapped his fingers onto the table. The hardest part of his story was starting it.
“I had a boy,” he began.
Haren choked up instantly – there was so much hurt in Raine’s voice.
“Named him Ruscai,” the old warrior said. “His mother left when he was young. His mum was a dreamer, and I guess one day she had a dream that meant more than me. Either way, I raised Rus by myself. I was scared at first, you know, raising him on my own, but I learned pretty quickly that all I needed was the two of us.”
Haren smiled – she knew the feeling.
“Ruscai was pretty quick,” Raine continued. “A lot smarter than me. Figured he was meant for something special.”
The old warrior looked skywards and then shook his head. “I guess I figured wrong. Or at least, I figured he’d have more time to show it. When he was nine, me and Rus were on our way back home from a day in the field. All of a sudden four men jumped out on the roadway. The four of them started coming at us. It was a real strange thing to see on the way home from work. I got in front of Rus, preparing for the fight ...”
Raine shook his head, paused and took a long, heavy breath. “There must have been a fifth behind me,” he said. “I never saw him, but he had to be there, ’cause when I woke up a few hours later there was blood gushing from the back of my head.” Raine shrugged and wiped a welling tear from his eyes. “My money was gone, and Rus was lying dead on my lap.”
Haren slumped, her posture broken by Raine’s trembling voice. “I’m so sorry,” she said as she placed her hand over his.
Raine let out a strange laugh. “Me too, birdy.”
The old warrior wiped his eyes again. “Anyway, I sort of wandered for a few weeks. I didn’t know where I was headed – only that I knew how to get there. It was like there was a compass in my head. I could hear a voice sometimes. I couldn’t hear the words, but I felt something that was giving me hope.”
“Serich…” Haren said.
Raine nodded. “The greatest king of the afterlife led me right to these Throne’s Eye gates.”
“It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it?” Haren said. “To know that he cared.”
Raine nodded with a small smile. “Boggles my mind.”
Haren and Raine looked away in unison, leaving a long silence between them. Finally, after considering her question and its timing, Haren broke the quiet.
“Do you think it was your destiny to end up here?”
Raine smiled. “What’d I say about games, birdy? Be upfront with it.”
Haren dropped her head, avoiding Raine’s eyes. “Do you think Rus
needed to die for you to end up here?”
Raine nodded. “I’ve considered it,” he said. “But I soon realized that I was looking at the question backwards.”
Haren looked up, hoping that the old warrior knew something she didn’t.
“The Throne’s Eye isn’t a penance,” Raine said. “It is a prize. It is where we go to salvage our tragedies. We got wrecked, Haren. This world smashed our hearts like a hammer to ice. But was it destiny that brought us here? No. It was mercy. Rus didn’t die so I could end up here. I ended up here so that I could honour Rus. The Throne’s Eye is my second chance.”
Something turned in Haren’s mind.
“Are you happy here?” She asked.
“I have a purpose,” Raine replied. “Happy is when I see my boy again.”
Haren tilted back, suddenly realizing that Morello was in Animus Letum.
The rush of knowing that she would one day see him again hit her like sunshine through a window. As a series of thoughts aligned in her mind, Haren realized that she had an answer for the head monk.
With beaming eyes, she let the old warrior know first.
“You know, I think I might stay,” she said. “I think I can manage having a purpose.”
7
After Haren had joined the ranks of the Throne’s Eye monastery, the monks turned their attention to the sons of Animus Letum.
The twins were given the names Odin and Galian. Their crib became a regular stopping point on every monk’s schedule. The boys had lost their parents, but had inherited one aunt and two hundred uncles. The children were so revered that there became a title for not only their arrival, but also for the clearing where their mother had crossed realms. The term was Sanctus Donum – sacred gift.
Both twins were born with blonde hair and blue eyes, but both of them were not born healthy. As Haren tended to the twins, it became clear that Galian – the second-born child – had been seriously damaged by the conditions of his birth. His muscular composition was far weaker than his brother’s, and he had an irregular skeletal structure. It was as if Galian’s body had shifted – his spine was curved significantly to the left, and the rest of his body had been forced to adapt. His left side hung lower than his right, and his ribcage had a non-symmetrical formation that constricted the functioning of his lungs. Furthermore, Galian failed to respond vocally to any stimuli that Haren presented. After a collection of specially-aimed tests, Haren came to a painful realization. The child had been born mute – he would never speak.
The Sons of Animus Letum Page 8
