The Sons of Animus Letum by Andrew Whittle

Author:Andrew Whittle [Whittle, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2015-11-27T22:00:00+00:00

21

Inside the Temple, the thunderous blast had woken Odin. He was dazed in his first moments, and after realizing that there was a blanket draped over him, he pushed it off and stared blankly at his surroundings. He was in a small nook, and Galian was asleep beside him. As more wakefulness came, Odin examined the space, but as he leaned up, a sharp pain stung the left side of his face. Odin touched his hand to the pain, wincing as he traced a deep and bloody groove cut into his left cheek. After feeling out the length of the groove, Odin saw that Galian also had a scar, but Galian’s was on the right side of his forehead. The scars confused him, and with a tinge of panic, Odin brought his fist to his chin and tried to replay his last hour. There was haze. But soon, an order of events fell into place. The Scale were coming. He and Galian were sent to the High Temple. Haren had a blue sheet. They had attempted Vinculum Imletalis. More haze.

As much as Odin tried, he couldn’t recall how the ritual had ended. With a gingerly tap, Odin tried to wake Galian, but the quiet monk did not respond. As the tap graduated to a shake, Odin suddenly remembered that Haren had said Galian would be greatly drained by the ritual. Accordingly, Odin decided to let his brother rest and began to investigate the nook. Of the four sides of the nook, one had a golden drape covering it. Odin lightly swatted his hand into the drape, and after finding nothing behind, he drew the cloth to the side and exposed a small set of stairs that led up.

With a slight stagger, Odin followed the steps back into the main room of the High Temple.

“Haren,” he called out as he reached the top. “Haren, I’m up.”

There was no answer.

The Temple was in complete disarray. The pews and windows were smashed to pieces, and their fragments were sprawled over every inch of the Temple floor. The only items left untouched by the blast were the Order thrones and the Temple altar.

Through the broken windows, Odin could hear the clash of battle resounding from the Throne’s Eye courtyard.

With slow steps, he approached one of the windows and peered down into the fray.

His hands turned to fists as he looked down. With a tight throat, he swallowed, sorry for the many dead monks he could see lying on the courtyard floor.

Odin scanned the Temple again.

“Haren!” he yelled.

Without Haren, Odin became increasingly tempted to unlock the Temple doors. He knew he could help in the battle. He knew he could prevent more deaths.

“For Symin,” he whispered.

As the sounds of war sang to him, Odin put his back to the entrance wall and began to move towards the door, looking back into the Temple as he scanned for any sign of his violet-eyed minder. However, as his fingers reached the door’s latch and he began to pull, his eyes suddenly fixed on something behind the altar.

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