Sandun tried a different approach to explaining his position. “Lord Vaina, the two krasuth, they served you for more than a year.” Lord Vaina nodded. “And did they tell you why? When they arrived offering their aid, did you demand they give up their secrets? No. You accepted their aid, mysterious as it was, because they had real power. You didn’t turn down allies like the krasuth even though you didn’t understand them and couldn’t control them.”
Lord Vaina sat back and visibly relaxed. This argument made sense to him: Sandun was a new type of krasuth. This was a helpful conceptual box into which he could place Sandun.
“I am different from the krasuth.” Sandun tried to project confidence. “The adesari I serve is not the same as the one they serve. I have returned, and I am here to help you. You are the future of this land. After the burning tower, you asked me to be your advisor for a year, and I agreed. Now I say to you, I will stay here and help you as long as you wish. My previous oath to King Pandion of Kelten has been superseded by a higher authority.”
Lord Vaina considered Sandun for several heartbeats, and then he let out a long breath. “I knew you, Sandun. You were a good advisor, and I have missed you.” It was clear to Sandun that Lord Vaina’s use of the past tense was deliberate. “But if this adesari told you to help me become king, why not go to me directly? Why didn’t the adesari come to me?”
This was one of the questions Sandun had expected and for which he’d prepared a response. However, he waited for a few moments to see if Lord Vaina would answer it for himself. He was rewarded when Lord Vaina slapped his forehead as though he couldn’t believe the words he had just uttered.
“What am I saying? I am the son of a poor riverboatman. That I dare to dream of one day ruling Serica is the product of a grotesquely exaggerated self-regard. I will not become a man who when given a canoe, then asks for a sloop! I am not that man!”
Lord Vaina stood up and walked around the room, and Sandun could see the turmoil within his mind. He thought about giving Lord Vaina some words of reassurance, but he remembered the long hours of silence when Ajh had stared at him and he had learned without words. Back at the Archives in Kelten, Master Eulogo had once told him, You can weaken an argument by adding more sentences.
Lord Vaina returned and sat down. “You used to be more talkative. I hope you don’t copy the krasuth too closely. If you are going to be my advisor again, you will have to say what’s on your mind.”
“I’ll make the effort, for your sake,” Sandun replied with a smile.
“What are we going to do?” Lord Vaina asked more conversationally. “Will everyone learn of your divine mission?”
“Lord Vaina, I’d like things to remain as they were, as much as possible,” Sandun said. “I am going to tell the truth to very few people. Sir Ako. My own advisor, Valo Peli. Perhaps my wife.”
Lord Vaina stroked his chin. “Some knowledge I keep even from Lady Osmo, but what you choose to tell your wife is up to you. Sir Ako and I have talked several times in your absence. He is an honorable man, and I am confident that you can trust him with the truth. As for Valo Peli, he has taken back his true name of Arno Boethy and is my new minister of war.” Lord Vaina held up his hand. “But I will respect his preexisting duty to you. Excepting those three, what will you tell everyone else?”
“What do you suggest?” Sandun asked. “You know Serica better than I. What should I say which will arouse the least suspicion?”
“Let me think.” Lord Vaina’s face lit up. As in the past, he took pleasure in coming up with a plausible deception. “Ah! I have it. Everyone knows you were imprisoned by the Red Sword holy council in Kemeklos, so we start from there. You were not rescued by your friends because—you had already been taken away! A Kulkasen found you and guided you to a secret location deep under the palace. You…stayed with him for a month, meditating, learning—whatever the Kulkasen taught you.” Lord Vaina waved his hands as though fending off cobwebs. “Then, with your spirit renewed, once the fires in the city burned out, you made your way back to Tokolas. If people ask you what you learned from the Kulkasen, you can say…” Here Lord Vaina halted for half a minute. “What do you know about ghosts?”
Sandun firmly suppressed the temptation to laugh. “A great deal, actually.”
“That’s good. Many people believe the Kulkasen have the power to drive away evil ghosts. You can claim you learned how to do this.”
“I can do that. I have that power,” Sandun told him.
Lord Vaina laughed, a bit nervously. “Sandun, you have no skill with humor. In our language, you have to give your audience a hint that you are joking.”
Sandun thought it best not to disabuse Lord Vaina on this matter; after all, it wasn’t a power he could demonstrate, not without a ghost handy. “If you think that’s a believable story, my lord, I’ll go along.”
“It won’t improve your reputation with my officials, but they don’t think much of you anyway. As a foreigner and a warrior, you are already pretty low in their estimation.”
Sandun thought about the only official in Lord Vaina’s government who was his friend. Who had been his friend. “Can we talk about Renieth?” Sandun asked gravely.
“His body was brought to Jupelos shortly before I left. It was found amid Nilin’s camp. A loss, to be sure. He has been replaced by a new man; you will meet him tomorrow, I expect.”
“Minister Renieth died upholding the virtues for which the Great Sage is famous,” Sandun said with deliberate solemnity. “Before he died, he told me he had a son, and I met his wife at my wedding. I feel a sense of obligation to his family.”
“Hmmm. What happened to them?” Lord Vaina tapped his head with his forefinger a few times. “His wife went home, with the body, for burial beside his ancestors. We knew nothing of his death. He died well, you say?”
Sandun nodded.
“I’ll direct the Ministry of Personnel to advance his rank—a posthumous promotion—he will be listed in the records as a full minister. It’s an honor his family should appreciate. If you think him worthy, I can even award his son a stipend, though heaven knows where I will get the money. We need money, Sandun. I’m swimming in debts. The army needs to be paid, and the cost of the late minister Renieth’s do everything strategy has put my government at the very edge of bankruptcy. Having a divine blessing to rule Serica is all well and good, but a boat full of silver would have been even more welcome.”
“I can’t help you with that, Lord Vaina. Treasure finding is not within my power.” Sandun’s thoughts briefly circled around the ancient weapons he had taken out of Stead Half Cliff. Potentially worth a great deal…if he could discover how to wake them and convince them they knew how to cut metal and stone again. But so far, his efforts had been unsuccessful.
Sandun stood. “I’d like to go back to the embassy to see my wife and friends.”
“Naturally.” For a moment, Lord Vaina let his defenses down. Sandun could tell, even without his second sight. “You touched the divine, Sandun. What was it like?”
There were so many ways to respond that Sandun was racked by indecision for a few seconds. Had he been away from people so long that he had lost the ability to speak naturally? Or was it because he knew too much of things that could not be shared?
“The adesari…she was so beautiful. Like nothing I can describe. But I’m not sure I’ll ever see her again.”
Lord Vaina stared intently into Sandun’s face. “I believe you,” he almost whispered. Returning to his usual voice, he announced, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the council meeting. Welcome back, High Advisor. Welcome back.”
The palace guards saluted Sandun as he picked up his few possessions. When they offered him a horse, this time he accepted. He was ready to return to the embassy. After the difficult conversation with Lord Vaina, nothing else would be as tough.
A winter fog shrouded the streets, b
ut the guards at the Kelten embassy gate recognized him and opened the heavy door. Many questions lay behind their eyes, but Sandun had too many claims on his time to satisfy their curiosity.
On the other side of the wall, a figure was waiting for him, kneeling on a square of fabric in the otherwise empty courtyard. It was his wife, the Lady Miri Kirdar, dressed in a plain gray robe. She rose to her feet and came close, staring intently at him. She reached out to touch his face, and he, casting his reserve aside, grabbed her and hugged her close.
“Welcome home, my husband,” she said softly. She buried her face in his neck and her body trembled.
“I’m happy to be back, Miri,” Sandun told her. “Very happy, I would have come sooner, but the Lord of Kunhalvar insisted on a meeting.”
“I know,” Miri said, speaking into his neck. “The palace sent a messenger telling us you had arrived in the city.”
“Sandun!” Basil shouted at him from the doorway to the dining room. His old friend rushed over, and they shook hands. Olef, carrying little Niksol in one arm, came up behind Basil and offered her greetings as well. Sandun noticed that she wore a Serice-style dress, quite a change from the past. Sir Ako’s wife, Princess Tuomi, appeared at the doorway and bowed gracefully to Sandun.
Miri’s two cousins, the Rutal-lil, Jay and Ven, came last. Ven spoke for both of them: “Ekon’s infinite mercy illuminates the world. Your return is proof that one should never give up hope and that heartfelt prayer can effect miracles.” Jay stood by his brother, his expression unreadable; however, with his second sight Sandun could see that Jay’s mind was a roiling mass of emotions. Sandun didn’t know what troubled Jay so deeply, but this was not the time to find out. Sandun was surprised to see no sign of Valo Peli or any of his kinsmen from the Tea Hills.
In the sudden rush of greetings, Sandun wondered for a second where Ashala was, and then he remembered that she was dead. She wouldn’t be coming out the door with her wide smile. He shook his head to clear his memory of her.
“Where is Valo Peli?” Sandun asked Basil.
“Our friend Valo Peli is the new minister of war,” Basil said with pride. “He moved two weeks ago to a large estate not far from here. It has a good shooting range along one wall. We will see him tomorrow, I hope.”
In the dining room, they drank wine and toasted Sandun’s return. The wine tasted different from what Sandun remembered in the past. As he held his glass up to an oil lamp sitting on the table, examining its color, Basil explained, “We have been experimenting with making a Serice wine that tastes more like real Kelten wine. I think we have made progress. Are you hungry?”
Sandun, as usual, was not hungry, but he ate a few chunks of beef very slowly, and very small pieces at that. The bits of roasted meat tasted just the way he remembered from before: delicious. He hoped he could keep the food down this time.
Miri stayed close by his side. She didn’t say much, but he could tell she was happy. Sandun felt a measure of relief; he had changed, the world had changed, but some things were still the same, or close enough.
As it happened, he couldn’t keep down even those small pieces of masticated beef. He retched them out behind the kitchen; Miri gave him a bowl of tea to help wash out the bitter bile.
“Are you unwell, my lord?” she asked with real concern.
“I am well, but I think I shall retire.” He pulled her close, and she hugged him tightly in return. After making his excuse of indigestion to the others, Sandun and Miri went up the stairs to his former room. Miri’s dresses were hanging off a wooden rack; that was the only new thing he saw in the room. She gestured to it and offered an apology. “I should have purchased a cabinet for them, but I haven’t yet. I will, now that you are back.”
She stripped off her clothes and dived under the covers and then turned and smiled shyly at him. They made love with a passion that was new. Afterward, unexpectedly, Miri started crying. Sandun just held her and kissed her neck.
“They told me, the women at the temple, that I should wear white. That I was a widow. I didn’t know what to say.” Miri choked back more sobs and pressed her face to Sandun’s chest, as if listening to his heart. “I hoped you would return. I prayed so hard! And you have come back. I’m not a widow. I’m not!”
“You gave Kagne the dragon circle. That proved critical in a time of need. Thank you,” Sandun said very gently to her. He looked over at the gold circle lying on the nightstand and woke it. Ajh had taught him something of its use. He found it helpful and comforting, but since his own transformation, the dragon circle no longer added much that he didn’t already possess. What little fatigue he felt vanished, and he spent the next hours talking with Miri about her time since they had been parted.
She described a life held in abeyance, walking a narrow path of uncertainty between fear and hope. Unwilling to go into mourning but with no news or hint of what had happened to her husband, she prayed daily at the Temple of Noon, and she waited.
“Why did you go to the Temple of Noon and not the Thundering Truth where you used to stay?” Sandun asked.
Miri shook her head. “At the Thundering Truth, they kept staying stupid things. That I shouldn’t care. That I had too much attachment to this world. That I was losing my own chance for salvation by focusing on my husband.” She paused and then continued in a relieved tone of voice: “At the Temple of Noon, the abbot, River Reed, he had sympathy. He understood me. He said, ‘Eston hears you, Eston doesn’t wish your sorrow, Eston wants you to be happy in this life.’ I never realized before how terribly cold and uncaring our worship of Ekon is. It’s no wonder the poor people of Shila seek comfort from the shamans and not from the priests of Ekon.”
Miri continued, “There is no self, our priests say. Suffering comes only from desire, not because you are sad and lonely and fearful about the future.” Tears started down Miri’s face again. “No, no. They’re wrong. I’m happy you have come back to me. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”
In the middle of the night, Miri was sleeping and Sandun lay next to her, wide awake. He had hoped that he would be able to eat food with his friends and find sleep in the embrace of his wife, but apparently this was not to be. And his efforts to wander the second world were disrupted by his wife’s naked body touching him, moving in her sleep.
His inability to sleep felt unnatural, but then, he had become unnatural. A piece of a god was inside of him, and he would never be the same. He wondered if he was sick but dismissed that. He felt fine: not hungry, not sleepy, but energetic. He could walk all day and most of the night. In several ways, he was better than before, but the costs were real. He would have to learn to adjust.
In the morning, he decided to go out into the city; there were things to do in Tokolas and people he needed to speak with. Tokolas was not just a city of the living—he had sensed many spirits around—but the day was for the quick, not the dead.
Sandun dressed, happy to wear his old comfortable clothing again. He considered wearing the sleeping Piksie sword, but he didn’t have a scabbard that fit the weapon. I’m not the Fire Sword if I don’t have a sword, am I? Sandun thought to himself. Buying a scabbard was a task for the afternoon.
He addressed the gate guard standing watch and asked him for directions to Valo Peli’s estate. The guard responded by rousing his companion from bed and then guided Sandun himself. The guard headed toward the palace and then turned north along a street lined with impressive houses separated from the street by unusually low walls. Since each of the houses had soldiers out in front and the palace was on the other side of the street, the low walls made sense. What robbers would dare attempt burglary of a minister’s home?
At the main doorway, Sandun’s escort spoke through a small hole in the oversized door. It opened outward, and the morning light revealed a large hall lined with spears, bows, and shields hanging from both walls. Aside from the doorman, who Sandun recogniz
ed as one of Valo Peli’s clansmen, the room was unoccupied.
“Lord Sandun, kinsman,” the door warden greeted Sandun warmly. “You are most welcome. News of your return reached my master, Lord Boethy, last night. He is still within, though I can tell you he usually goes to the War Office before the third hour.”
Curious about Valo Peli’s new house, Sandun followed the door warden out of the hall and across a stone-paved courtyard and into another building. “A large space,” said Sandun. “Very like a small palace.”
“Indeed, very large,” replied the warden. “Twice the size of the Kelten embassy. More men from the Boethy clan have been summoned as those of us here in Tokolas are too few to guard this estate. I hope the master’s son will join us as well.”
Inside the second building, it was immediately evident that this was the living quarters. There was little furniture, but the beams of the roof were of a dark and elegantly carved wood. The room where Sandun waited gave every indication of having been recently emptied of its contents. There were slight discolorations on the walls where paintings used to hang and marks on the floor where furniture once stood.
“Sandun of Kelten, kinsman! Your presence in this house is like the king’s roses blooming after a rain.” Valo Peli, wearing informal robes, appeared from a doorway on the right and came close to Sandun before bowing deeply. “This one must apologize for the sad condition of the room. The chairs and tables we ordered are set to arrive on the morrow, if the promises of the craftsmen can be trusted. Till then, my study has a couple of worn chairs, left by the previous minister, and some fresh tea.”
Valo Peli’s study was filled with drawers and stacks of papers. Looking with some amusement at the mess, Sandun decided that nearly everything in the study had been left by the previous minister of war. Naturally, Sandun had known the former minister of war, a thin-faced, elderly man named Ras who seemed to know nothing of war but knew how to keep the Red Crane Army supplied with food and equipment.
The Flame Iris Temple Page 7
