The Flame Iris Temple

by Colin Glassey

  He knelt beside his friends and said the words he had learned as a youth, and he wept as he did so, for the world was a poorer place without Arne Frostel in it.

  Later that day, sailors, summoned from the boats down at the river, labored on rigging a crane inside the large cavern. Lord Vaina had promised everyone fifty cats of silver if they extracted all the treasure by the following noon. As a result, everyone was working with frantic energy.

  Already the first chest containing ancient jewelry had gone down to Lord Vaina’s cabin on the boat, escorted by all the Knights of Serica, excepting Sandun. Sir Ako and his knights had been placed in charge of loading the treasure and seeing that none of the gold bars “escaped” downriver.

  A few of the treasure chests hauled out of the cavern were locked and gave every sign of not having been opened for decades. Rather than break them open in the plaza, Lord Vaina ordered them taken down to the ships below, intact. Back in Tokolas, there would be plenty of time to investigate their contents.

  Number Eight stepped into the role of chief advisor for Lord Vaina. As the arch-governor said to Sandun in an aside, “If you can’t trust your head spy, who can you trust?” Number Eight presented a paper with the partial treasure inventory to Lord Vaina, who smiled broadly as he stamped it with his personal seal. Sandun looked at the grand totals and was stunned at the numbers; it was more gold than King Pandion of Kelten collected in a year.

  “If I doubled the size of my army and built ships as fast as possible, how soon do you think I would run through all this money?” Lord Vaina asked.

  “At current prices? I’d say this is enough to buy another army as big and as well equipped as the Red Crane Army today,” Number Eight said thoughtfully. “However, I remember when the Red Sword rebellion broke out and the government fell into chaos. We stopped paying taxes, everyone was richer, and we all thought, Hooray! Then the prices went up. Everything got more expensive. I had more money, but I couldn’t buy liquor at the old price. Sausage cost more, even my barmaids demanded a raise. One girl came up to me and said, ‘I know you aren’t paying taxes so you can pay me more.’ What could I say? It was true. We—the merchants and storekeepers of Solt’varkas—we held a big assembly at the guild hall where we tried to figure out what was causing the prices to rise. We couldn’t. It was like a giant circle, and none could say where it started.”

  Number Eight sighed and then continued. “Here’s my prediction. Everyone in Tokolas will soon know you’ve come back with a vast treasure. There is no way to keep it a secret. And then, prices will rise.”

  “Well, you certainly haven’t lost your knack for seeing the dark side of good tidings,” Lord Vaina told him cheerfully. “But I’m going to ignore your prediction and think about my new army, sixty thousand men strong, with which I’m going to conquer Vasvar and then Dombovar and then the coastal provinces and then…we will see when the time comes.”

  Lord Vaina inspected several of the buildings of the Flame Iris Temple with Sandun and a couple of guards. One building housed the pilgrims, the visitors to Flame Iris who had come to pray here for several days or perhaps longer. Lord Vaina assured the pilgrims that they would be free to depart in a day or two, but he warned them that Flame Iris would be closed for some months until new monks could be brought from Kunhalvar.

  Lord Vaina finished his inspection at the former abbot’s residence. Touring the abbot’s private rooms, he examined the exquisite pieces of art on display and then ordered everything packed up and brought back to Tokolas. He took a seat on the abbot’s cushioned chair and had the guards shut the door, leaving him alone with Sandun and Number Eight.

  “By rights, I should destroy this place,” Lord Vaina pronounced. “I should dismantle the grand tower and have it rebuilt on one of the hills outside Tokolas. They tried to kill me, and they took up arms against my men.” Number Eight nodded agreement. “But I don’t want to be remembered as the man who demolished Flame Iris Temple. Also, the gold that was left in their safekeeping is now is coming home with me. So that weighs against its destruction. However, my forbearance, if it becomes known, will be seen as weakness. If the true story of what happened spreads throughout Serica, people will think me soft. And when my government officials learn of this night’s events, they will demand the destruction of Flame Iris, doubtless citing half a dozen examples from the past.” He paused for a bit, idly fingering an old piece of twisted bronze metal he’d found on the abbot’s desk. “Who exactly knows the monks here tried to kill me?”

  Sandun replied, “Aside from the knights, only Number Eight’s agents. I never explained to the soldiers how you ended up trapped in the cavern. I just told them you were in danger.”

  Lord Vaina pondered this for a span of time. “But will anyone think it was mere happenstance that the treasure chamber was flooded with me inside? No, something like the truth will spread. I cannot reward the soldiers who saved me and ask them not to talk about what they did!” Lord Vaina sighed. “Well, many times there are no good answers, only choices that are bad in different ways. For the present, I’m not going to destroy Flame Iris. But I will leave a garrison here. If later I must destroy the temple, no one else in my army will die going up the stairs. This is now the southeastern border of my territory.”

  Number Eight interjected, “My lord, please don’t announce this till after we get back to Kunhalvar. The plan calls for us to sail the gold right past Nogisvi. They must not learn your plan.”

  “Obviously, Number Eight. And that is why no one else will leave this place till we are well on our way downriver.”

  Lord Vaina had River Reed brought to him. When he arrived, Lord Vaina explained that he was leaving a small garrison behind and that the temple would remain closed for at least half a year.

  River Reed acknowledged the arch-governor’s command but asked for six monks to help say the prayers for the dead and to take care of the great shrine. This request was granted, and River Reed withdrew.

  After a simple dinner of eggs and steamed rice prepared by the three men using ingredients from the well-stocked kitchen, Lord Vaina mused, “Flame Iris doesn’t have to remain a temple of Eston. I could give this place to Frostel’s people, as gift in honor of his sacrifice. He was such an odd character, like a figure from the past. It’s a pity he won’t be setting up his new school in Tokolas.”

  Sandun didn’t trust himself to say anything.

  “I see,” Lord Vaina responded to Sandun’s silence. “You actually cared about the man. Well, when you have seen as many men die as I have, you will forgive me for having a cutting board face. What about your Keltens, Sandun? You’ve seen this place—perhaps the Knights of Serica would like Flame Iris better than that small town in the hills, Olitik.”

  The idea of the Knights of Serica taking over one of the most holy temples in the land struck Sandun as nearly unthinkable, so he countered with a suggestion of his own: “What about giving it to the Red Swords?”

  “Return this place to its roots, you mean? Yes, I recognized the statue in the chamber below. The worship of the Mavana is an old religion, as Minister Boethy explained to me a few months ago. But no, I prefer to keep the Red Swords close where I can keep an eye on them. If the priests of Eston are to be removed, I’d like someone harmless to take their place.”

  Number Eight offered a comment: “My lord, I’ve thought about this problem all through dinner, and I don’t think you need fear. Here me out: you are taking the grandest treasure in Serica’s history out of this place. I tell you, no story other than that will gain any credence, and there will be many competing explanations for this event. Once the fantastic is accepted, everything will be believed, and when there are five or more conflicting stories, the truth will vanish. Trust me, in a month, half a dozen stories will be told, each one more unlikely and unbelievable than the one before. I may invent one myself—it wouldn’t be the first time. Yes, your soldiers know you
were trapped in a room filled with water, but where did the water come from? Was it natural? An accident? Or perhaps a trap left by the Last Chancellor when he left the treasure here? The truth, as dramatic as it is, will be lost in a forest of conflicting tales.”

  Lord Vaina stared at his spymaster for short time, and then he shook his head. “I’m tired. Maybe you’re right. However, I will take great pleasure in dismissing my ministers when they come to tell my why the Flame Iris Temple must be destroyed, and I’ll say to them: What? You believe those fairy tales?”

  Four days later, they were sailing downriver in a flotilla of more than fifteen ships. They had left Frostel’s body with his men at the base of the Rulon Mors karst. Sumetar had stayed with Frostel’s body as well. She saluted the Knights of Serica but said little other than farewell. Sandun observed that Number Eight had a short conversation with Sumetar about something, which he thought odd as, to his knowledge, they had never previously talked.

  Filpa’s body was set on the docks of Omot with a solemn ceremony and then given over to his grieving family and his thunderstruck young widow.

  Later, as they sailed past Anessa, Sandun asked Number Eight what he had said to Sumetar.

  “Oh, I asked her to work for me if she ever left the Rulon Mors Temple.”

  “As a spy? She certainly kept her thoughts to herself. I thought she very much liked Damar. I know he thought so. Her decision to leave him came out of the blue.”

  “Actually, and more accurately, I told her that she would not be allowed to leave the Rulon Mors Temple unless she agreed to spy for me. You see, she had been a spy for Dombovar.”

  Sandun looked at Number Eight searchingly; he was not joking.

  “Yes, I’ve known ever since the Northern Expedition. In some situations, a known spy is better than an unknown one. Why Sumetar picked—as her mark—a Kelten who knew the least about Serica, I’m not entirely sure. However, it soon became obvious to me that her loyalties were divided between Blue Frostel and Dombovar. After Blue Frostel announced he would set up his new school in Tokolas, Sumetar’s messages to Dombovar ceased.”

  Number Eight stroked his short beard. “Now that Blue Frostel is dead, I thought it likely she would go back to her old employer, which I won’t allow. Your friend Damar needs to find a different woman. Preferably not a spy this time.”

  Their little flotilla sailed past the city state of Nogisvi without incident and on into the lower Sukanea River controlled by Kunhalvar. No word of what happened at Flame Iris had preceded them. Another day passed, and it seemed everyone was cheerful as the realization set in that they would be returning to Tokolas with the greatest treasure in all of Serica’s history.

  Night had fallen, and Lord Vaina sat facing Sandun in the captain’s cabin. Everyone else was standing guard or asleep, with their weapons close at hand. The fact that they were on a boat carrying thousands of bars of gold had not been lost on anyone. There would be time to celebrate when they were back in Tokolas and the gold and silver were safely stored in the treasury.

  Lord Vaina was in a strange mood. Everything had been accomplished, the mission was a success, his government was saved. And yet, for the first time in the year Sandun had known him, he was sad.

  “Sandun, I…all this treasure, these beautiful pieces of Serica-glass, carved stone, jewelry… it’s not what I want.”

  Sandun waited for Lord Vaina to continue.

  “Eighteen years ago, around now, I don’t exactly know the day, but it was around this time of year…” Lord Vaina paused, and his face assumed a vulnerable expression. “Life was terrible then. I try not to think about that month, but I can’t stop it. I force the memories away, but they don’t leave me alone. They will not leave me! There was no food, not in our house, not in the village, not across the river. Even the fish seemed to have fled. And then the plague struck. First, my mother took ill. In a day, she took to her bed and suddenly sores covered her skin, even her face. Angry red sores that broke open, oozing pus. Horrible to look upon. The next day, she was dead, the very next day—that was how rapidly the plague killed people. Then, others took sick. My father, my older brother, even my sister who came over from her husband’s house to help. We were quarantined by the village elders, forbidden to leave our little plot of land. It was like a curse. Just like that, my family all died, one after the other.

  “My older brother Somi and I, we took the bodies out of the house and wrapped them in rags, but you don’t bury people by the river, you just don’t. Our clan burial site was six tik away, on a small hill, and we couldn’t do it, we couldn’t manage to take the bodies up there. We sat and cried beside our parents and our brother and sister and waited for death. And death came, this time for Somi and the youngest of us all, my little sister Helja, who was such a sweet girl. There I was alone, with six dead bodies, and the boat had vanished…I can’t even tell you when it disappeared or what happened to it. Just another calamity, piled on the others. I tried to bury them in the yard. It wasn’t proper, but what could I do? And then a storm came, an unseasonal spring storm bringing down sheets of hard rain while thunder boomed across the valley. The heavy rain filled the pitiful grave I’d dug with mud, making a mockery of my efforts. When lightning struck the old willow not fifty feet from the house, breaking it and setting the remnants on fire, I fled. Terror seized me, and I ran away. To my lasting shame, I left my parents’ bodies…I never told anyone.

  “When I returned a week later, there was almost nothing left. My family’s house—reduced to a few posts and section of the roof, not burned, just gone, with no sign of any of the bodies. In the village, people called me a ghost and threw stones at me. My cousin Modi showed me a place where I could live in a shack at the far end of his family’s orchard, and he brought me food. He was the only person who helped me in that awful time.”

  Lord Vaina rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and took a deep breath. “What I want is forgiveness. I failed my parents, I failed to properly honor my father and mother in life and in death, and the shame of my failure haunts me. Can you help me? You are blessed by the gods, I’m certain of it. Is there some way I can see them, my parents, just one time…just once? I’d like to tell them…tell them what I’ve done since….”

  Sandun wanted to avoid answering this request, wanted to prevaricate or deny he had any such power. But he thought of the words Ajh had said: To my servant, I give a gift, in recompense for his sacrifice. It could be said that Lord Vaina was equally her servant, though he had not known it when he first began his journey to become king.

  Sandun stood, as this did not seem to be the sort of thing one said while sitting down, and pronounced the following: “Lord Vaina, when you become king of Serica, I will beseech the goddess, the adesari, to meet with you. Then, you can make known to her your wish. I am only her servant, and the servant does not command the master, but I believe she will meet with you in your hour of triumph.”

  Lord Vaina looked up at Sandun. “When I become king, you will ask your god to meet with me? How…appropriate. Did you know that the king, once a year, performs a ceremony where he asks for the blessing and guidance from heaven? I always assumed it was an empty ritual from bygone times.”

  “I did not know this,” Sandun replied. “But I doubt she will grant you more than one meeting. Nor do I think it will be a public event, as the times when the gods walked openly among men are long past. If she meets with you, I think it will be you, alone. Once.”

  Lord Vaina stared searchingly at Sandun for a while in silence. A faint smile crossed his visage. “The task before me is nearly impossible. It is more likely that I will swim the length of the Mur than become king of Serica. But the idea that there may be some forgiveness in this world, even for me. What a thought! That one day, I might be clothed in a golden robe, washed in holy water, and then freed of the burden of my past by a god…that’s worth striving for, isn’t it? Consideri
ng my deeds, I think any man would leap at a chance to be absolved, however small the chance. The Iron King of Dombovar, the Kitran emperor, Two-Swords Tuno, Sima Talmaksi, and all the rest—they must give way to me. I will be king of Serica!”

  Part Two

  Choices

  Chapter Eleven

  The Garden

  The day her husband and the other Keltens left on their mysterious mission to the province of Torsihad, Miri started a garden. She couldn’t say exactly why; it just entered her mind as she walked around the suddenly quiet embassy. She saw the cooks sitting outside behind the kitchen, talking among themselves, enjoying a relaxing morning as there were only five people to feed for the next two weeks and three of them were women: herself, Princess Tuomi, and Basil’s wife, Olef. The two remaining men at the embassy were her cousins, Ven and Jay. It was a far cry from the normal state of affairs when there were twelve big, hungry men on the premises.

  First, she noticed some weeds; kneeling on a horse blanket that she took from the stables, she pulled out the weeds for an hour before lunch. This made her hands dirty, and she smiled to herself as she imagined her mother admonishing her, “A Kirdar lady never sullies her hands with dirt.” But she was now a married woman and far, far away from home. She could do what she wanted. Her husband and the other Keltens did all manner of dirty jobs from grooming horses to mending armor to butchering animals and skinning the deer they hunted in the hills east of Tokolas.

  If her husband could get his hands dirty, she could pull weeds.

  At lunch, War Minister Boethy came by to see if they needed anything such as additional guards. Jay said they did and thanked him for his offer. The war minister, not missing anything, glanced at Miri’s hands and asked her if she would like some flowers from his hothouse. “The gardener this one employs has managed to fill the hothouse with more seedlings than there is space to plant. Please come by and take as many as you like. In Serica, planting season officially begins in a week, but obviously flowers are planted all year long.”