“Our growing season is slightly shorter in Shila,” Miri told him. “Here in Tokolas, the New Year celebration really does seem like the start of spring. Not like back home, where it’s usually celebrated in the snow.”
“In my home of Rakeved,” Princess Tuomi said, “the weather is so warm that we have two official planting seasons. And our best gardeners reap rewards for their ability to cause flowers to bloom on auspicious days since the growing of flowers is mere child’s play.”
As none of the Kelten men were present, they all spoke Serice. Miri was somewhat intimidated by Minister Boethy’s style of speaking. His language was erudite and complex, and some of the words he used were unknown to her so she had to guess at his meaning. When he was around her husband, Minister Boethy used simpler words, and the few times she heard him talking to Lord Vaina, he did the same. Miri wondered if the minister used even more sophisticated language with his fellow ministers? He probably did, she decided, but now her concentration had wavered, and she no longer knew what the minster was talking about. Was it the best way to coax a lemon tree into bearing fruit? No, he was talking about the special care he was taking for his recent acquisition: a rare orange tree from Godalo province.
After lunch, Minister Boethy returned to his duties, and the two women, escorted by her cousins, the Rutal-lil, rode to the Boethy estate. The horses enjoyed the exercise, and she took some pleasure in riding through the streets of Tokolas, looking around at the astonishing numbers of people in the road, carrying wood, chickens, pots, and bags of all sizes, some bags as large as the men bent under them. Hawkers were out in force, offering midday meals for sale.
One fish seller held a pole with ten or more fried fish hanging from it, and the sign at the top of the pole said “Aina’s Spicy Fish.” Aina was an old Shila name; curious, Miri looked down at the man carrying the pole, but he looked much like the other thousands of Serice men she had seen in Tokolas. He looked up at her and pointed to one of the fish on his pole, but otherwise there was no trace of recognition, no spark of mutual sympathy as usually happened when she chanced to meet a fellow countryman.
Lord Vaina’s wife, Eun Tols, had told Miri months previously that there were quite a few people from Shila here in Tokolas, many more than she had expected. After Sandun had returned and she could resume a normal life, Miri was able to meet with other married women for tea or a garden tour. Most of the Shila women she met were from lesser clans, merchant’s wives, but one woman, Pim Obgar, had married into a very old and respected family from the southern port city of Pomoz. As was typical when meeting a stranger from Shila, the conversation soon turned to family, and within a minute she learned Pim Obgar was a very distant relative, five generations back.
Pim’s husband had arrived in Tokolas two months ago with a quantity of valuable medicinal herbs. He was, Pim explained proudly, an apothecary, well versed in herb lore. At first, Miri was surprised that Pim had accompanied her husband on the long trip to Tokolas, but the woman said that her husband had previously made a journey to Tokolas and this time would set up a business here. His expected customers would be the many apothecaries of Kunhalvar province.
Pim told Miri, “My husband’s older brother has managed a similar business in Dombovar’s capital of Naduva. He came to that city a few years ago, after the Kitran abandoned their fruitless siege and withdrew in ignominy. Now the family is expanding the business along the Mur. Shila’s herbs are naturally the best and since the Kitran Empire has cut off all trade with the so-called rebel provinces of Serica, prices are very good. Less competition makes for healthy profits.”
“No children?” Miri had asked. Pim had just looked away. That look told Miri everything she needed to know. Since there were no children, the wife was duty bound to help the husband in his business.
“So what is it like to be married to a man who is…not from Shila?” Pim asked. Miri knew exactly what Pim was implying by the question. She knew she was a rare case: in the last hundred years, only a few of the princesses from House Tols—like Lady Eun—had married men not born in the kingdom of Shila. To her knowledge, she was the first member of House Kirdar to marry a foreigner in a century.
“It is difficult at times,” Miri had replied cautiously, and then moved the conversation to another topic.
Returning from her reminiscence of meeting with Madam Obgar, Miri found they had reached the gate of the war minister’s estate. Miri and Princess Tuomi were greeted warmly by Boethy’s wife, Arja. Miri was called clanswoman, which made her smile, but it was the truth; since Sandun had been formally accepted into the Boethy clan, and she was his wife, that meant she was also part of the Boethy clan. These days, she never dared to call Minister Boethy anything other than War Minister, but Arja Boethy insisted she call her “aunt.”
Together with Alina Boethy—largely recovered from her kidnapping—they examined the plants in the hothouse and selected a dozen flowers. The servants brought tea, and they sat on chairs in the garden while Jay and Ven performed their daily archery practice on the targets. Talk soon turned to Alina’s upcoming marriage to Governor Vellen. Alina seemed reluctant to say anything about the wedding, nor did she give much signs of enthusiasm, though she did smile once when Princess Russu complimented Vellen’s skill as a doctor. Her mother, by contrast, was eager to explain preparations.
Miri guessed that Alina was nervous about her coming marriage. On the one hand, Vellen was a dream candidate: not quite thirty years old and already governor of a province. Before that, he had been the number-two man at the Great Sage Temple, and everyone agreed he had one of the brightest minds in the land. Easy predictions had him taking the office of chief minister in ten years, assuming Lord Vaina did become the king of Serica. Short of marrying the crown prince, there was no man more eligible. And yet, that was the sort of dream you didn’t really want to come true. Miri knew a little about life at that rarified level. She knew some of the ladies at the court in Sorabol that she’d met when she spent a summer there: never a hair out of place, the dresses always perfect, and every act studied, observed, and critiqued.
Miri had learned that the women of the court judged each other and picked up on every little mistake. To marry a man like Vellen, to become his first wife—that would expose you to constant and unrelenting scrutiny. And wouldn’t Governor Vellen be the chief critic? Wouldn’t Vellen expect perfection from his first wife? If the scholars of Serica were anything like the scholar-officials of Shila, Vellen would demand the highest standard of behavior.
Although Miri didn’t know a great deal about Serica, she knew this much: the Tea Hills were not richest part of the country. Instead, they were at the very edge of Serica, famous for their tea and not much else, a backwater region peopled by unsophisticated farmers. Not only was Alina from this farmland, but also she had been kidnapped and held for days by a gang of criminals. True, this knowledge had been hidden successfully, but if the story became known, how would Alina be able to look her husband in his face?
Finally, Miri wondered about Governor Vellen as a man. She had seen him only once, when he came aboard Lord Vaina’s ship. Handsome enough, to be sure, but why wasn’t he already married? As soon as he was appointed to a senior position at the Great Sage Temple, he should have been married. Were there no women living on the great karst? No women in the surrounding towns? No, there had to be. So why was Vellen unmarried? Perhaps behind his ideal façade he was quite flawed? Perhaps he didn’t like women at all? How awful would that be, married to a man you don’t dare talk to and who didn’t even desire you?
Yes, Miri could easily imagine why Alina looked a bit like a deer startled at night by a suddenly revealed lantern.
Miri ate a piece of winter melon and engaged in small talk while she considered her own life. Married, then apparently widowed less than a month later, she had thought about going back to Shila, her mission an abject failure. But—to everyone’s amazement—Sandun ha
d returned. At first, she had been so happy; she was no longer a widow and could give up the white dress, the social isolation, and the daily trips to the temple to pray. Also, she had missed Sandun, a bit, especially at night, when it rained, when odd sounds woke her and set her heart racing in fright. The first month after Sandun returned, Miri had experienced unalloyed happiness, something she had thought lost along with her childhood in Birumaz.
Now that he was gone again with the Knights of Serica and Lord Vaina on their mysterious quest, she could reassess how she felt. The happiness was still there, but she had questions, many questions, and few answers that made sense to her. Her husband had changed profoundly. Even though she had not known him before the wedding, everyone saw the change. Sandun used to eat and sleep as normal people did, but now he slept perhaps an hour a day, and while he drank tea and watery soup, he ate so little food she worried about him, though if anything he seemed stronger than before.
Miri still didn’t understand what had happened in the storage room. Some sort of explosion had killed the soldiers who had rushed in while leaving Sandun and herself unharmed. Little about that incident made sense, and she was reluctant to inquire further. It had to have been some of Minister Boethy’s exploding lopor; there was no other rational explanation. People couldn’t summon lightning at will, certainly not her husband—that just wasn’t possible.
Like all the children of the Kirdar clan, she had heard the master storyteller spin his tales of heroes and demons, witches and monsters. The winter tales were the scariest, and she never forgot the story of the handsome prince whose soul was captured by a demon, and as a result he had become a triatismas. Although his face never changed, he developed a taste for human blood, and he began to murder his servants and then even his own family. Finally, the horrible truth was revealed, and he was locked in an iron cage and thrown into the ocean. She, like the other Kirdar children, had shuddered with an odd mix of emotions as the storyteller concluded his tale. A tragic story of a man brought to destruction by forces beyond mortal control, much less understanding because even as he murdered those closest to him, he had gained in strength and skill on the battlefield. The demon had given him power even as it demanded blood in payment. But Sandun wasn’t possessed by a demon. No…no.
Certainly, Sandun had changed, but he was calmer and less emotional, and he radiated a comforting warmth. On the occasions when he let her follow him on his midnight visits to different parts of Tokolas, she enjoyed sitting beside him. When Sandun closed his eyes and started meditating, peace seemed to settle over the neighborhood. Dogs stopped barking, babies ceased crying, and the whole world seemed more real than it had before. Sandun had become like oil on troubled waters, as her father used to say in reference to his uncle, the peacemaker, the man everyone went to when they wanted to settle disputes. To Miri’s mind, Sandun seemed to embody many of the features of an ekonistar, as unlikely as it sounded, given that he still followed his strange Kelten religion worshipping Sho’Ash.
She remembered how Lord Vaina had told her that Sandun needed her help, that he needed a woman’s care and attention. She still thought Sandun needed her, but his need had changed. Of course, if Sandun was truly an ekonistar, his physical relations with her would come to an end. But that hadn’t happened, at least not yet.
Over the following week, Miri and Russu planted flowers, watered the soil, pulled the weeds, and talked. Somewhat to her surprise, Miri found that Russu’s life in the capital of Rakeved was more similar to her own life than she expected. Miri had assumed that the princess was just like the pampered and arrogant women she had met in Sorabol, superior to the rest of the women of Shila, living idle lives filled with endless diversions. Certainly, the princess had led a relatively carefree life. As one of the lesser members of the ruling clan, Russu was even more of a pawn in the political games than Miri had been. Influence, wealth and marriage were the constant topics of conversations and, as Russu put it, she wanted out. Traveling through Serica with just a small retinue had been a grand adventure, a chance to get away from the vicious, rumor-fueled city of Velochaken and into the simpler world of sightseeing and visiting with friendly tribal leaders in Nakata’an.
That the trip had ended abruptly and tragically with her father’s death here in Tokolas meant that the princess had been stranded a long way from home, with a year of mourning rituals to perform. The princess concluded her story as she battered a clod of thick dirt against the ground.
“When the year of mourning ended, I ran into Opmi Ako, and the next day he saved me from assassins in the east market and well, I couldn’t go back to my uncle’s house, so I’ve stayed here ever since. If I had returned to Rakeved, I’m sure they would have married me to my third cousin, a boy with a head like a cabbage and a body made of rice pudding. His family was rich and powerful since his father had run the Ministry of Rituals for ten years. Eston’s mercy, I will never have to worry about seeing that face when I wake up in the morning.”
They both laughed and gingerly hugged each other.
“We are like sisters, you and I, though we come from distant countries,” Russu said gaily. “Our husbands are as close as brothers, and when this fighting is ended, we can all visit Rakeved together. Oh, I do miss the fruits of Rakeved, the bananas and pomelos and the sweet oranges! So good!”
“Don’t you think it more likely that we will be crossing the Tiralas and visiting our husbands’ homeland of Kelten?” Miri asked thoughtfully.
“You don’t really think they are going back to Kelten, do you? Haven’t they named themselves the Knights of Serica? Aren’t they Lord Vaina’s most trusted warriors? I love Rakeved, don’t think that I don’t. But let’s face facts: this is Serica! Who wouldn’t want to live here?”
Miri shrugged. “In Shila, we say a woman follows her husband, even if he sails to Ice Island.”
The princess twirled her two index fingers around in a circle and concluded, “Our men aren’t going back to Kelten.”
When the knights returned from their mysterious quest with the arch-governor, there was rejoicing in the embassy. The men showed off their ingots of silver and gold and boasted of their courage as they’d faced death and lived to tell the tale. They made much of Filpa’s bravery and drank several toasts to the memory of Blue Frostel and his victory in his duel with the master of arms of Telihold Tanul. Also, Sir Ako and all the knights saluted Sandun for his astonishing swimming skills.
Sandun said little, though he accepted their accolades for his deeds, saying, “I did what had to be done, and Frostel did more than any of us.” He retired early; back in their room, he asked Miri what she had been doing while he had been away. After she talked about the garden and Alina Boethy’s upcoming marriage, he asked her to play music for him, a request she was happy to oblige.
When the music had run its course and they were in bed together, Sandun quietly explained that he could not tell her where they had gone, who they had fought, nor the source of the wealth they had returned with. “These are all state secrets that Lord Vaina made us swear not to reveal. In a year or two, I have no doubt, the story will be known, but for now you must be content that we have returned, successful, and even higher in the arch-governor’s estimation.”
Miri understood what he said, but it rankled. After her father was sent north for his openly expressed hostility to the Kitran occupation of Shila, she learned many things from his friends as they came to visit following his exile. She learned that there was a hidden world that the men kept secret from their wives and children, a world of plans and meetings, an underground resistance to the Kitran Empire, widespread but with its members all sworn to secrecy. Even without the underground resistance to the Kitran, men’s lives were often quite distinct from women’s lives.
She knew this, but she resented Sandun’s refusal to explain. An important, dangerous, dramatic event had taken place, and her husband had once again faced death. Yet she
would not be told any of the details?
In following days, rumors spread around the city. One story, which she heard from both the housekeeper and a merchant’s wife, was that the arch-governor, following the divination of his advisor, Sandun, had uncovered an ancient treasure hoard guarded by demons somewhere in the mountains of Torsihad. Sandun laughed long when Miri told him that story, but he didn’t say which parts of it were false. There was no denying they had gone to Omot in Torsihad because they talked about Filpa’s wedding and his bereaved widow.
Everyone could tell the government was suddenly flush with silver because debts were being paid and the Kunhalvar salt notes were being redeemed. Long lines of cheerful men outside the paymaster for the Ministry of War attested to the fact that the bonuses promised to the men of the Northern Expedition were finally being given out to the veterans. Freshly painted recruiting posters for the Red Crane Army appeared on signboards at every market.
Arch-governor Vaina came over to the embassy one day with a small group of officials and guards. His infectious grin and earthy jokes revealed his carefree state of mind. In the library, he spread out a fancy document that gave formal title for the village of Olitik and the lands to the north to “the Kelten Temple run by the Knights of Serica.”
“It’s easiest to give land to you as though you were a religious organization,” Lord Vaina explained. “Land ownership is complicated in Serica, what with the informal rules that have, for nearly all purposes, replaced the ancient laws. In theory, all land is owned by the king, but in practice, people act like they own the land they have been living on, and they buy and sell it as they wish. Formally, I’m giving you Keltens the land you asked for, but in practice, what you gain is the tax proceeds from this area and the right to build a temple on land that is not currently being farmed.” With that, he signed the document and handed it to Sir Ako. “You can change your mind later about the land you want. This region produces little revenue, and I must tell you, Minister Ussi complimented me for my skill in foisting this nearly worthless land off on you. Believe me, if my minister of revenue thinks you are being underpaid for your services, you are being cheated!”
The Flame Iris Temple Page 30