The Flame Iris Temple

by Colin Glassey

  Here he paused and spoke almost to himself. “Merchants will pay a great deal to know about events that have happened before anyone else learns of them. Knowledge, advance knowledge, is worth money to the right person, and money is just another word for power.”

  Looking Sandun in the eye, he returned to his narrative. “After some years doing various jobs for merchants from Betesek and Solt’varkas, I set up a profitable teahouse in Solt’varkas, down near the docks. By then, I had made peace with my family. My older brothers, the ones who inherited my father’s business, they even came to visit upon occasion. Before they were ruined like so many others by the Red Swords’ revolt. In those days, I had lookouts posted on the river and fishermen brought me news. Merchants who sailed to Sasuvi or Lakava or Tokolas owed me favors and repaid me with information.

  “You have seen Solt’varkas. We stopped there briefly on the way to Sasuvi. The ruins of the old city are obvious, but there are webs of influence and power that stretch across most of Serica, emanating from those decaying houses up on the bluffs. Old capitals, like Solt’varkas and Kemeklos, they age and wither, but they don’t die. Like the carvings on ancient tomb doors, worn away by time but still readable to one with paper and colored wax. You gently rub your wax across the paper, and secret worlds are revealed. That’s my story,” Number Eight said, as if this explained everything.

  Seeing that Sandun looked dissatisfied, he continued. “You want to know why I joined the arch-governor? There is really nothing to tell. I met him the day he came into Solt’varkas at the head of five hundred Red Swords. I pledged myself to him that same evening, and I like to flatter myself in thinking that was the smartest decision I have ever made in my life. Some merchants swear they know everything about a man at just a glance. That’s an exaggeration. For my part, I know who a man is after I talk to him over a cup of tea. I pledged myself to Lord Vaina after a talk in my old teahouse.”

  Sandun nodded; he understood completely. Ashala, his woman from Gipu, the woman who had taught him Serice, had said Lord Vaina was gifted with a special power. She had used a word of her own language to describe it, but Sandun knew the right word now: charisma.

  In exchange, Sandun described how he had been rescued by Kagne and the krasuth and how he had gone into Nilin Ulim’s tent and slain the Kitran warlord at the break of dawn.

  “And then?” Number Eight asked.

  “And then, against all expectation, a miracle occurred,” Sandun said, knowing he would not be believed. “We escaped in the confusion.”

  “What about the lightning? The thunder? The sky god?”

  “No one who witnessed those events will ever forget them,” Sandun replied elliptically. “That’s all I can tell you.”

  Number Eight stared at Sandun intently for a long while and then shook his head. “In my line of work, I take advantage of the overly credulous. It pays not to believe in the miraculous. But, as I understand things, you should not be alive, and Nilin Ulim and his army should still be a threat on our northern border. Many things don’t add up.” Number Eight turned and looked out over the river at the great karst hills, which were coming into view ahead of them.

  “Nilin must have died three months ago, and you are the only man who says he saw Nilin die. Well, here is a piece of information for you. The krasuth who once served Lord Vaina is now working beside King Tuno of Vasvar. There is also a rumor coming from Buuklos that a second krasuth serves Governor-General Sima Talmaksi, and his name is Kagne of Kelten.”

  “By the spear!” Sandun said. He felt a stabbing pain in his heart and sat down on the deck of the boat. Until now, he’d dared to hope that Ell would not pit Kagne against him. But no, just as Ajh had warned him, Ell would use his friend against him if it suited his purposes.

  Sandun tried to speak calmly. “So, the krasuth have joined our enemy in Vasvar. Have other krasuth also joined with the Iron King in Dombovar?”

  “I am not aware of any having done so. Why? Do you expect this?”

  “I do. Lord Vaina is growing stronger by the day. His enemies will soon realize they must join together or face defeat separately.”

  “The krasuth are now his enemies? Strange that they worked for him when he was just the ruler of Tokolas. Yet now they oppose him? If only they would submit peacefully, then the fighting in Serica would come to an end.” Number Eight said this with apparent sincerity.

  “The same as we can hope the monks of the Flame Iris Temple will quietly hand over their gold to Lord Vaina when he shows up at their door tomorrow.”

  “Well, as for that, we need to be prepared for other eventualities,” Number Eight said with his eyes narrowed.

  They would indeed, thought Sandun. The knights sharpened their swords as they stared up at the astonishing karst hills; all except for Sir Ako, as Skathris never needed sharpening. Sandun picked up Skathris and examined the new, longer hilt.

  “It’s a good change. It suits my grip better,” Sir Ako replied to Sandun’s unspoken question. “The master smith’s hilt assembly is very strong, and it weighs more, so the balance has shifted to the cross guard, which is proper for a hand-and-a-half sword.”

  Sandun tried out the blade using two hands. “I like it. We men certainly have larger hands than the Piksies.” Using a bit of his power, Sandun woke Skathris and caused it to glow brightly in his hands, almost as though it was on fire. Everyone looked at the sword with wonder in their eyes.

  “How is your sword?” Ako asked, glancing at the weapon Sandun wore, the one he had taken out of Stead Half Cliff.

  “Still no success. I don’t even know if I’m making progress. I know it still has some power left, but I can’t reach it nor draw it out.”

  “There is at least one smith who could help you—the same Piksie that made Skathris.”

  “Yes, back in the Valley of the Giants,” Sandun replied thoughtfully. “That’s a long way from here. Closer to Kelten than Serica. Maybe I should give this sword to Wiyat, and he can ask the Piksie smith to repair this blade. Speaking of which, is Wiyat going to Kelten this year? Have we heard anything from Rogge, the merchant?”

  “No, we haven’t and no, I don’t know if Wiyat is returning to Kelten this year. I know merchants are able to cross the border between Kunhalvar and Vasvar, but I don’t think a Knight of Serica would be afforded the same courtesy by King Tuno’s soldiers.”

  Sandun knew that there was another, albeit longer way to Gipu than going due west from Tokolas. Doubtless, Sir Ako had studied the maps of Serica and knew this as well. Sandun guessed Ako felt conflicted about sending away two of his best knights.

  “When Tuno is defeated, Wiyat can make the journey,” Sandun stated, as though King Tuno’s defeat was inevitable.

  “That would probably be best,” Sir Ako said. “Rogge said his home is Lenaterkes, on the other side of the Mur, a region that is presently disputed. For all we know, his nephew, Evet, may not be ready to depart this year either. It can’t be easy to assemble a trade caravan in the midst of a war.”

  At sunset, their boat reached the dock at the Great Sage Temple. They saw lights inside the boathouse as they tied up. Sandun went ashore, curious to hear news from the Great Sage Temple. Lord Vaina, still in disguise as Sir Jomagtaro, followed along. They were greeted by two scholars and four guards.

  “Welcome to the easternmost portion of Kunhalvar province,” said the senior scholar, who introduced himself as Goran. “Since Master Donath of the temple accepted the position as the prefect of Hutinin, we have seen a steady stream of requests for books from our library, and a number of new books have come as additions. The movement of books has become so commonplace that our scholar-engineers built a new system for transporting books all the way from the top of the karst down to this building. Officially it was completed on New Year’s Day, but we have been using it for nearly a month.”

  “That should save a great dea
l of toilsome travel up and down your extremely difficult trail,” Sandun said. His antipathy for the path came across to Scholar Goran, who waved his hand in agreement.

  “Next month, we will begin a project to improve the trail. The path of chains across the cliff will be rebuilt following a new and less dangerous route. That task will take two years to complete. But as we begin the work, none can deny that our century of isolation nears its end, and so we have relaxed our rules of entry. Perhaps your fellow Knights of Serica would like to visit the library tomorrow?”

  Sandun explained that they were heading to the Flame Iris Temple and had no time at present to make the journey up the karst to see the Great Sage Temple.

  Scholar Goran’s face took on an embarrassed expression. “This scholar has gazed upon the distant buildings of the Flame Iris many times but has never actually set foot on their stairs or seen the large rooms they have made out of the caverns at the top of their karst. On clear days in the winter, one can see flashes of light as they carry what are said to be enormous disks of gold in some holy procession. A great many years ago one of our scholars wrote a small book about Flame Iris, which I have read. Really, this one has no excuse not to visit; after all, it’s less than a half day’s journey upriver.”

  Lord Vaina stepped forward and asked if they could borrow that book about Flame Iris Temple. As Sir Jomagtaro was unmistakably Serice and not Kelten, Scholar Goran thought this was a reasonable request. “Yes, we can do that. Come, you can see the new book delivery system in action.”

  Goran led the knights to a new addition of the boathouse; the room smelled of fresh-cut wood, and in the middle was a large machine with gears. To Sandun, it looked like windmill but instead of a grinding stone, an overlarge wagon wheel lay at an angle, held in place by massive pieces of timber.

  “All this,” Goran said as he gestured to the machinery, “to move this tiny rope.” The rope he indicated was thicker than a bowstring, but not by much. “This rope, made of silk wrapped with copper wire, is nearly one tik long. It forms a continuous loop, as you can see. You would think: How heavy can this rope be? Let me assure you, this rope is very heavy indeed. I will write the book request, and one of you can blow on this trumpet here to let them know a message is coming.”

  Lord Vaina took the proffered horn and went outside.

  “Three horn notes is the signal,” Scholar Goran said. Lord Vaina blew three times, which echoed through the valley, and then the other scholar came in with six fish in a net. He dexterously removed the wriggling fish and placed them into a box. The box was sealed, the book request was put into a copper tube, and both the box and tube were attached to the rope with metal wire.

  Scholar Goran walked over to the crankshaft. “Two strong men can have this message up to the first stage with a quarter hour of steady effort. My guards will show you how it is done, but you are welcome to lend a hand.”

  As the two guards, one on each side of the crankshaft, started the big wheel moving, the rope whisked the package up and away. Sandun asked Scholar Goran what happened when the message reached the first stage.

  “The men at the first stage will take the message, and the fish, and send it on to the second stage. As you know from your previous visit, Opmi Sandun, we built the three stages for our cranes to move supplies to the top of our karst. Adding this system to move books was not difficult, though we had to expand both stage one and stage two so that two men can stay there for days at a time.”

  “What about the fish?”

  “If the men on the upper stages feel like fish for dinner, they are welcome to take one or two. Stage one is quite isolated, though I know one scholar who likes working there. He is writing a massive history about the fall of Kemeklos and says he likes the solitude.”

  All the knights had a go at turning the crankshaft, and the gears translated their efforts into rotating the great wheel. The rope made no noise as it moved. Finally, a red silk flag attached to the rope appeared, and Goran halted the men working the wheel. The wheel slowed but did not immediately stop.

  “The men at stage one will bring the message in the rest of the way,” Goran told them. “Now we can eat, and you can tell me all about your role in the Northern Expedition. It must be documented!”

  Midway through their meal of deliciously spicy river fish, Sandun heard the sound of a distant horn calling.

  “That is stage one is signaling to stage two that they are starting,” Goran explained. “I have no doubt the book you requested will be here early next morning.”

  “Have you thought about moving the library to Tokolas? My friend, Minister Renieth, mentioned that possibility just before…just before he died.” Sandun thought of Renieth fondly.

  “Ah, Minister Renieth. We heard about his sad death at the hands of the Kitran,” Goran replied. “No, no plans to move the library yet. When Serica is at peace and the arch-governor is king, we will assess the book collections in Tokolas, Naduva, Lakava, and, hopefully, in Daka. But first, all the provinces must submit to the rule of the arch-governor, and that has yet to happen. Tell me, what’s your impression of the arch-governor? It is said that you meet with him frequently.”

  As Sandun hesitated, Lord Vaina spoke up. “He is the wisest, most intelligent, most courageous leader in all of Serica’s history!” Rising to his feet, he held his cup high in the air and boomed out. “To the arch-governor, long may he live!”

  The other knights rose to their feet and raised their cups to Lord Vaina, saying, “Hear hear!” Looking around at the knights, Lord Vaina began to laugh heartily, and they all joined in. Scholar Goran clearly thought something was strange about this behavior, that there was some sort of unexplained private joke. But no one broke Lord Vaina’s disguise. After the toast to himself, Lord Vaina recounted the Battle of Devek, while Scholar Goran’s assistant wrote rapidly, filling sheet after sheet of paper.

  Frostel was unusually quiet during the meal. Sandun had noticed that Frostel had been subdued during the trip. He thought Frostel would be pleased to return to his home, at the Rulon Mors, but he did not seem happy. After dinner, Sandun asked Frostel if he had heard any word from the Rulon Mors.

  “Nothing reliable,” Frostel replied. “But we will sail past it tomorrow morning, and if there is no sign, then, after the Flame Iris Temple, I will go myself and find out what is going on. The todoskar of the Rulon Mors are not essential to the plan.”

  At dawn, low clouds hung over the river, and the steep sides of the karst hills vanished into the mists. In the still air, a horn call from far above carried down to them, sad and lonely.

  “That will be the response from the Great Sage Temple’s library,” Lord Vaina said after he rinsed his mouth out with cold tea from last night. “I wonder if a system like this couldn’t be used to send messages across the city of Tokolas. There are runners posted at every gate, but at times, even the fleetest messenger can’t run through the crowds of people on the main streets.”

  “Truly, the streets are becoming more packed every day,” Sandun affirmed. “But how often does urgent news arrive at noontime, when the streets are busiest?”

  “That’s a fair point. All the interesting news seems to arrive in the morning or at dinner, although I can’t imagine why. Even so, this rope message system might be faster than runners.”

  When the first stage blew its horn, Sandun and Lord Vaina stood beside the big wheel as two of the guards worked up an appetite by rotating the crankshaft.

  “Is it easier when the package is coming down?” Sandun asked.

  “No,” puffed one of the guards. “If it was heavy enough to be noticeable, it would break the cord.”

  “That happened once during testing,” said the other guard. “We have learned from that unhappy experience.”

  The book, when it arrived, was a slim volume, but it contained an illustration depicting the layout of the temple, both abov
e ground and underneath.

  “Excellent!” Lord Vaina said. “I shall read this carefully.”

  Happy that his book met with approval from one of the Knights of Serica, Scholar Goran bowed and rested his hand on the now-motionless wheel. “A useful machine. We can copy the design plans and have them sent to Tokolas in a week or two, if you would like.”

  Lord Vaina made a noise in his throat like a badger, and Sandun accepted the offer with thanks. He could tell that Scholar Goran suspected something about Sir Jomagtaro’s identity, but the deception would continue until the arch-governor decided to end it.

  As their boat made ready to depart, the next boat in their flotilla came into view, rowing up the river. Their captain called out: “This is the Flying Crane out of Tokolas.”

  A man standing at the bow of the other ship responded, “This is Lucky Arrow out of Mousetail.”

  “How flows the river?”

  “Nothing unexpected. All is well.”

  With that, Flying Crane cast off. The oars churned the flat water of the Tilsukava River. Lord Vaina came over to Sandun and pointed to a feature on the sketch map in the book. “See this? The map marks it as ‘storage.’ The book is old, but it matches with Abbot River Reed’s description. The book says the storage chamber and others like it are natural caverns, discovered by the first monks. That’s where the treasure is, I’m sure of it!” Lord Vaina was excited, but his enthusiasm was not shared by most of the other knights. Sandun suspected many of them had not slept well the previous night. He himself was brimming with energy. In the night, his spirit had traveled with ease to the top of the Great Sage Temple karst, and there he had reveled in the rich akela.