The Flame Iris Temple

by Colin Glassey

  Sir Ako shook his head. “We like that part of Serica, my lord. The people were friendly, and there is good hunting to be had. I also believe Sandun when he says there is a lost city of the Piksies of Serica under the mountain, and none can say what we may find therein—when we have the time to explore it. For now, we are content.”

  “I think you will find little of worth in such a place. Why else would it have been abandoned? Nevertheless, if you are happy with this, then I am happy. My officials are happy, my soldiers are happy, everyone is in good cheer. And speaking of everyone, the Lady Eun is with child, and the court physician is certain it is a boy. If Doctor Haz is correct, and if the child is born, he will be my second son. Daughters are good, but sons are better!”

  Turning to Miri, Lord Vaina pulled out a carefully folded piece of fine paper. “The Lady Eun asked me to give this to you. She requests the pleasure of your company. She tells me she wishes to converse with a woman of her native country. I would be grateful if you would oblige her.”

  Concealing her surprise at this renewed invitation behind a politely bland expression, Miri opened the paper and found that the request, written in archaic language of Shila, was exactly as Lord Vaina described. “Of course, I would be happy to visit with your wife. She is doing well?”

  “Quite well. This last month she has been practicing archery, shooting for an hour each day. My other wives find this behavior amusing, but Eun says that this custom produces sons who are fearless in battle. Born to the bow, as she puts it. Do all women of Shila do this?”

  Miri smiled at that question and said no, this was a custom of the women in Sorabol, not Birumaz. What she didn’t say was that this practice was discouraged by the women of the Kirdar clan because if the doctors were wrong and it was a girl being carried, then that girl might well develop a thirst for battle, and that rarely ended well. Warrior women were not unknown in Shila’s history, but they usually died young or never married. “Let the men fight as they enjoy it so much,” was the expression the women of Kirdar clan used.

  After the arch-governor left, Miri decided to see Eun that afternoon. Nothing would be gained by delaying the visit, and she had already agreed to come. No one else knew of their conversation on the battleship when Eun had casually admitted that she would have had Miri murdered if she hadn’t married Sandun. In a strange way, it was a compliment: Eun considered Miri a real threat. For the visit, Miri chose her fourth-best dress—after all, this was not a state meeting—and she put her hair in a simple traveling style. She knew that Sandun didn’t appreciate the intricate hairstyles of noble Shila women; the few times she did make her hair up properly, he barely looked at her.

  If she had a maid, this would be much easier, but then, she hadn’t had a maid for a year, and doing everything for herself had become a habit. Of course, when she was in mourning, she had done little but dress plainly and pray at the temples. However, now that Sandun had returned, a maid would be appropriate, given her position. Certainly, she could afford to hire two or three maids.

  But if she and the Princess Tuomi brought maids into the Kelten embassy, how long would it take before the maids were cavorting with the other Kelten knights? A month? Perhaps less. She and the princess were treated with the greatest respect by the knights—no surprise as they were married to the two leaders. But the Kelten embassy was home to a number of young men who enjoyed women’s company: Lathe in particular, but his tall friend Wiyat was no slouch in that department either. Could she hire an old crone, perhaps? But that was ridiculous; a proper lady’s maid was just a bit younger and not quite as pretty as her mistress. Just like her maidservant Diasu had been. Miri missed Diasu. It would be lovely to have her in Tokolas, but those days were gone. Unless she returned to Shila, Miri was sure she would not see her former maid again.

  Escorted by two of War Minister Boethy’s guards, Miri walked to the palace and was conducted to a new building in the inner palace where the women resided. The Lady Eun, with barely a hint of the baby showing, appeared happy to see her. They drank tea imported from Shila and nibbled on crisp slices of astringent ginseng while Eun told her news from the court in Sorabol. Evidently the chief minister of Shila was making an effort to keep up communications with his playing piece who he had successfully moved into the proper position in Tokolas.

  Miri wondered if King Olvin of Shila favored Arch-governor Vaina over the Iron King of Dombovar. Doubtless Eun was extolling the virtues of her husband in her messages back home. Most likely, the King of Shila didn’t care so long as someone with a Shila wife won out in the end.

  Would things change if Eun bore the arch-governor a son? It couldn’t hurt.

  The conversation shifted to the small territory that the arch-governor had just given to the Kelten knights. Miri admitted to Eun that the prospect of one day living in an underground ruin filed her with dismay.

  Eun smiled and shook her head. “Don’t worry, my young country cousin. It’s a military base, nothing more. You do know we have such a fort in the hills near Sorabol, don’t you? The army keeps it supplied just in case there is another…emergency like during the last civil war. I’ve been there; everyone in House Tols must see it. Outside the fort are some lovely villas set amid the forest with streams running between the buildings. Every summer, we stayed a week or two, escaping from the heat in the capital. I have no doubt this fort your Keltens found was just such a base built for the Gold Kingdom, or some other Serice kingdom: old, abandoned, and forgotten. The idea that Junithoy were living in the very center of Serica—t’is a comical notion!”

  Eun sipped her tea and then said, “As Tokolas is to be the future capital of Serica, I don’t mind telling you that my lord’s palace will not remain here in the middle of the city. This complex? Built for a provincial governor and not suitable for a king, not nearly big enough or grand enough. My husband has his eye on land just east of the city walls, in the hills. It would wise to start building your own villa in those hills in a year or two. I recommend that you buy some land now. Or you can purchase one of the houses in the eastern district. You have the money for it, and what man would not sell to the arch-governor’s high advisor? You know, your husband saved my lord’s life. He told me this himself.”

  Seeing Miri’s surprise, Eun smiled triumphantly and said, “You see, I am your friend. We are a long way from home, and we Shila women must stick together. House Tols and House Kirdar are allies of old—that’s why we gave you Birumaz after the great revolt. Never forget it.”

  Miri’s mind was whirling. Eun let her go soon after, content with having upended her country cousin’s ideas about the future.

  Back at the embassy, she examined the money her husband had collected and then asked Princess Tuomi about expenses. In conversation, Miri revealed that the arch-governor would likely move the palace to a new location, but Russu clicked her tongue and frowned.

  “You can’t move a palace!” Russu said, as though Miri had suggested turning into a bird and taking flight. “A palace is where it is because it’s in the right place. Our palace in Velochaken, the Hemina, is old, cramped, constantly being repaired, and yet it cannot be moved. The rituals of rule have been performed there for five hundred years. Longer even. Where would the spirits of the ancestors go?”

  Miri didn’t agree. “Tokolas isn’t like Velochaken or Sorabol. Tokolas has never been the capital of Serica, not like Kemeklos or Naduva. If…when Lord Vaina becomes king, he starts fresh. I think he could build a new palace in a new location.”

  “Trust me, Lady Miri. The palace won’t move. In Rakeved, we have a joke. Every time a new man is appointed to the position as head of the palace grounds, he is shown around the complex, from the roofs to the tunnels underneath. So many problems, so much decay, from rotted roofbeams to foundations sinking into the earth. Each time, the new man says, ‘We need to rebuild the palace in a new location.’ And each time, the response is the same: the pala
ce can only be repaired, it cannot be moved. But why, the new official asks. Because the palace cannot be moved!”

  Miri did like the idea buying a new house and living in a building not shared by a dozen warriors. But not now. That night, she asked Sandun if he really had saved Lord Vaina’s life when they collected the treasure. He froze briefly and then resumed running his fingers through her hair.

  “Yes, I did. I can’t very well help him become king of Serica if he dies, can I? Many others helped, and some…gave all they had.”

  Miri didn’t ask more; she could tell that Frostel’s death saddened her husband.

  Six days passed, and almost every night Sandun resumed his excursions into the city. He invited her to come with him once, and she found that they were also accompanied by two of the palace guards. When Sandun sat down and began his meditation, she discovered that the silence around him assumed a different quality than before. There was a sense of anticipation, as though something were going to happen. A few people, perhaps sensitive to the subtle change Sandun wrought, came outside and sat facing him in the darkness. No words were spoken; it was as though words were unnecessary, redundant. She fell asleep in the middle of the night with her head resting on her husband’s shoulder. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t uncomfortable either. It was as though it didn’t matter. As though something important was happening at a level that she could only barely perceive.

  At the end of the week, the funeral service for Blue Frostel was held at the Rowan Horse Temple. Everyone from the embassy attended. A large crowd of military officers also came to pay their respects, as did Minister Boethy, accompanied by his son. The service, held at noon, was short because almost everyone had to return to work in an hour or two. A light rain started half an hour after noon and continued throughout the service. Appropriate weather for a funeral, Miri thought.

  Miri looked intently at all the shrines in the Rowan Horse Temple; it seemed strange to her. All these gods the Kulkasen worshiped, so many! Two gods of war, a god of medicine, a god of learning—not the Great Sage!—the river goddess, the great mother goddess, the god of merchants and thieves. One of the gods she recognized from her own faith: the god of judgment after death, Hohema, called the god of death by the Serice. She would have thought that Hohema was a god only worshiped by followers of Ekon, not a god the Kulkasen would pray to, but obviously she was mistaken.

  While she half listened to the priest in his robes, chanting and waving a large stick of incense, Miri thought of all the lesser gods her people worshiped. Without doubt, Ekon stood above all others, but she prayed for blessings from the god-kings—the immortal rulers of four perfect realms at the far corners of the earth. Also, she knew many people who prayed to Hohema and the other lords of judgment to speed the souls of their loved ones to a new incarnation. And of course, like everyone, she prayed to the four great ekonistars: Lokavara, Rekuman, Garbehan, and Pujilan. While the ekonistars were not gods as such, they were immortal beings, willing to help those who devoutly sought their aid.

  Counting up, she had to admit to herself that she prayed to just as many powers as the Kulkasen did. And when she thought back on it, several temples in Birumaz bore some similarities to this Kulkasen temple, what with the individual shrines, the multitude of bronze statues and sacred bronze vases and incense burners. Miri found it disturbing to realize there were such similarities between her religion and that of the Kulkasen.

  After the service, she asked Sandun what he thought of the Rowan Horse Temple.

  “What do you mean?” he asked her. They had stopped for tea at a very nice teahouse called Damjan’s Inn, which served the best tea in Tokolas. They were sitting in a private booth, overlooking a lovely garden with carefully managed trees perfectly placed beside a small stream. The raindrops made a gentle sound on the ground, and the air smelled of water.

  “Are the Kulkasen correct in their prayers for the dead?” she asked.

  “That’s a fair question,” he said. “I was thinking about that myself as I watched Blue Frostel’s service. The answer is no. Not really. They are right about a few things: there are several gods, but they are not like what the Kulkasen say.”

  “That is what I think as well,” Miri told him. “We—I mean, my people—do not worship the same gods which the Kulkasen believe in. But what about my religion, the religion of Ekon—what do you think of it?”

  Sandun looked at her for a while, searching her face. She stared back at him, wondering why she had dared to ask that question.

  “What would have me do? Drive you away from the beliefs of your people? I did not return to Tokolas to start a religion.”

  “You talked to an adesari,” Miri replied. “That’s what you told me on the first night you returned home. It’s as clear as day that you are transformed. Everyone who knows you sees it. Even people who don’t know you call you the Ghost Queller. You conversed with a divine being. Why can’t you tell me what you learned?”

  “I’ll say these words, borrowed from the Great Sage. He said he believed in treating people humanely and with reciprocity. Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself.”

  “Yes, agreed. But the Great Sage famously never said anything about the nature of the gods and the afterlife. Nothing! He refused to talk about it.”

  “I can follow his example,” Sandun said.

  It seemed Sandun was going to stop there but, after a long pause, he continued. “Miri, I don’t understand the teachings of Ekon. I haven’t had the time to study with the masters of your religion. Someday, I will learn more and then, perhaps, offer my opinion.”

  Miri wondered if she should apologize for asking her question. Was she, like all the Keltens, just supposed to ignore Sandun’s transformation? Accept that he had been altered and leave it at that? She was his wife—didn’t that mean something?

  Two days later, Sandun woke Miri up and said, “There is something I have to do. I will be gone for a few weeks. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t understand. Where are you going? What calls you away?”

  Sandun looked at her silently, and she soon realized this was yet another part of his life that he could not or would not explain. “I see.” She told him, “I will wait for your return. Please hurry back.”

  He smiled briefly. For a moment, it felt like she was standing in the sunlight, not sitting in a shuttered room. He told her, “I can say this much: I am heading west, and I will return that way. You are my wife, Miri Kirdar, and I will not forget it. Three weeks, at the most.”

  “Is anyone going with you? Basil? Some of the knights?”

  “No one. They would only slow me down. A lone traveler will attract no notice. I will be quite safe on my own.”

  Sandun put on his traveling clothes: a worn leather jacket and patched pants with the dust of a thousand tik that had resisted washing. He belted on his Piksie sword and a knife and picked up a knapsack of extra clothes, with two waterbags, and a small amount of silver. Miri didn’t know what she felt. Her chest was tight, and her mind seemed fixated on one of the brass buttons of his jacket, which looked loose. It needs to be sewed, but I can’t delay him, she thought, over and over.

  He went down to the inner courtyard, and she followed. There, Sir Ako and Basil and Wiyat stood impassively. Sandun put out his hand, and they shook it. Miri thought it looked unnatural.

  “While you are gone, I’ll be taking the knights out on another ride,” Sir Ako said to him. “We will see you when we get back. Then we can go visit our new domain.”

  “Sounds good,” Sandun replied stiffly

  “Give our regards to Rogge. Perhaps next year.”

  “Even so.” With that, Sandun kissed Miri good-bye and walked out of the embassy.

  Miri struggled a bit as she used the Kelten language to ask Sir Ako who Rogge was. Her stomach felt queasy, her forehead hot. Ako
explained that Rogge was a merchant with whom they traveled from Gipu to Serica. “Nine months ago, Rogge came to Tokolas and said his nephew, Evet, would be leading an expedition west across the Tiralas, starting around now. At the time, we thought we would send Wiyat and Lathe with the merchants, both to guide them and to bring documents back to our king. Things have changed since then, and I can’t let Wiyat and Lathe leave, not this year. Also, the fact that Vasvar has taken control over much of the west bank of the Mur, makes travel more dangerous.”

  “My husband is going to tell this trader that you won’t travel with his nephew? Can’t you send a letter? Can’t Sir Wiyat go and explain?”

  “Believe me, my lady, we said these things to Sandun yesterday evening. But when Sandun says he must do something, who can argue with him now? Not I, not any of us.” Sir Ako sighed and looked at the gate Sandun had walked through. “In the Archipelago, there is an expression: When a man is touched by Sho’Ash, you either follow him or lock him up.” Turning back to Miri, Sir Ako tried to reassure her. “Don’t worry about your husband. He is a match for a hundred men. I’m confident he will return in no time.”

  Basil said pointedly, “Wiyat and Lathe are the wrong people to go back to Kelten, in any event. My family and I should be the ones to return to Kelten. Olef wishes to return home, and I have little more reason than her to stay here in Serica.”