“You have it,” Lady Osmo said. “The outer palace guards have much to atone for. Let us hope that this coup was the doing of just a small number of fanatics.”
Lord Boethy saluted Lady Osmo and, with a fierce expression, took the majority of his soldiers and headed south. A smaller group of soldiers went east to Minister Tivadin’s family compound.
Osmo waved Eun and Miri over to her side. “My husband will live, I’m sure of it. Disease couldn’t kill him. Starvation couldn’t kill him. A hundred Kitran swords couldn’t kill him. Mere hot water will not be his demise.” After a pause, she continued, “You two women from Shila have proved your worth this day, especially you, Lady Eun. I am grateful. Perhaps all the wives of the arch-governor should take up archery so that we can shoot down rebellious ministers when the men hesitate to make a move.”
Eun tried to bow in response, but the reaction from the battle finally caught up with her, and she nearly fainted.
“Take her back to her house and see that she receives every care,” Lady Osmo said to an attendant. “The Lady Eun is a hero this day, as she struck the first blow against the traitors to our lord.”
The end of the fighting had left Miri feeling utterly exhausted. There was nothing for her to do now; she had no role to play any longer. Lady Eun was the hero, and she was simply the message bearer.
Where was her husband? Where was the man who would cheer her bravery and then carry her back home? She had to face the prospect of dragging her feet all the way back to the Kelten embassy, on her own. What was Sandun doing that was so important that he couldn’t be here to take care of her when she needed him most?
She sat down on a stone step that was not spattered with blood and remained there, feeling empty and alone.
Strangely, it was Lord Vaina who noticed her. He had woken from the drug-induced stupor, thanks to an antidote given to him by Doctor Haz. Lady Osmo, sitting at his side, proceeded to answer his increasingly cogent questions. Miri could tell the two were talking, but she felt only a glimmer of happiness, like the flicker of sunlight on a pool of water, while the remainder of her mind was a void. Then, Osmo’s maid approached her and said the arch-governor would like to speak with her.
Miri sighed and rose to her feet. She smoothed her new dress only to realize that it was ruined by many drops of blood, including a great arc of blood below her knees; oddly, it was shaped like the sliver of the moon. She looked at her dress and her hands in dismay, but there was no help for it. She walked over to Lord Vaina, now wrapped in wet towels, and knelt beside him.
“Lady Eiger.” He spoke softly but with some effort. “My wife tells me that you uncovered the plot, far from here, at the Compassionate Cloud Temple?”
She nodded but couldn’t think of anything to say. Lord Vaina’s body gave off a sweet smell, as though he had been cooked in spices. His face was red and puffy.
“That is many tik from Tokolas. You must be a fine rider,” Lord Vaina said to her. “I am…how shall I put this? Indebted to you.”
Miri thanked him politely. In her experience, it was rare for a man in power to thank a woman. She couldn’t think of a time when that happened, other than when a woman gave birth to a son.
“Acting as matchmaker between you and Sandun was one of the better decisions I made last year,” Lord Vaina said with a smile, which turned into a wince of pain. “You could never have uncovered the plot against me if you were locked inside the inner palace. And you would have had no reason to risk your life on my behalf if you had not been married to my trusted advisor. Yes, I was wise to not be seduced by your beauty. I am alive today because of my wisdom and self-control.”
Miri looked at Lord Vaina, and he held her gaze for a few seconds. As she searched his face, she felt a growing warmth in her heart. He was teasing her, but he meant what he said. This backhanded compliment was perhaps the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. Lord Vaina had seriously considered marrying her after all! She wasn’t just an afterthought; she was exactly where he wanted her to be. She smiled shyly and then turned her head away in confusion. In her mind, she heard her mother saying, You can’t flirt with a man when you are a married woman.
“I thank you, Arch-governor, for your kind words,” Miri said. “I do have a boon to request from you.”
Lord Vaina nodded.
“I wish permission to write private letters to the leader of my house in Birumaz.”
Lord Vaina looked at her thoughtfully and then held up the fingers of his hand in a gesture used by the followers of Eston that indicated acceptance. “That would make you the representative of your house here in Kunhalvar. Unusual. I impose one condition: Sandun must read what you write before you send it. You are a very beautiful woman, and I would say that if you can charm him, you can charm the world.”
The arch-governor started to laugh as he saw her confused reaction to his words. Then he said, “Ow. It hurts to laugh. Quick, where is Minister Dirak? He has never made me laugh even once. And bring a carriage for Lady Eiger. She deserves to return to her home in style.”
So Miri returned to the Kelten embassy. She was feeling happy, giddy and lightheaded as she lay on the cushions in the back of the carriage. Her mission to Serica had been a success after all.
Chapter Fourteen
A Ghost of the Past
Sandun walked fast. Not a run, not a jog, but a swift walking pace. Late afternoon, and the sun was sinking behind the front range of the Tirala Mountains. Fewer and fewer travelers were on the road heading into the mountains; at the moment, no one was in sight, but he was not alone.
The ghost was following him.
It wasn’t just any ghost. He knew quite well who it was that was haunting him—the ghost of Ashala. She was following him, and he was leading her back to Gipu, the city where she had lived all her life up until the day she had ridden out of the city gates and traveled east to Tokolas. And there, she had died, poisoned by assassins who had tried to kill everyone in the Kelten embassy.
She was not a talkative ghost. Not like when she was alive. Death had taken her voice along with so much else. In fact, when he had returned from Flame Iris Temple, it had taken him time to understand what she wanted. When she was alive, she had rarely left his side, but now, when he stopped for an hour to rest in the shade of a tree, she often wandered in a circle, keeping her distance, searching for something. He now knew what she was searching for: her home, and that was where he was taking her. Back to Gipu.
Sandun didn’t know if what he was doing was wise. What little he knew of ghosts was from Ajh. She had taught him that ghosts needed to find Sky’s Edge, enter it, and find peace or absolution or whatever it was that ghosts of the dead found when they entered that astonishing column of pure light. Yet here he was, escorting Ashala’s ghost back to Gipu. And the only way he knew how to get to Gipu was on foot, following the road he had taken a year before.
For most of this return journey, he had been alone, walking day and night, hardly eating, drinking water from streams that crossed the road or from wells that had been built to supply the merchants who traveled back and forth to the Tea Hills. He wasn’t entirely sure what day it was. He had crossed the Mur at Solt’varkas. The next day, late, he had found Trader Rogge’s town and delivered the message of Knights of Serica: none of the Keltens could accompany Rogge’s nephew on his trade expedition to Kelten this year. Rogge had been very understanding. Sandun had given him a copy of their logs, written by Basil, carefully wrapped in waterproof oil cloth and sealed, saying, “If your nephew delivers this to our king, he will be richly rewarded.”
Rogge accepted the package with a solemn oath that his nephew would guard the papers with his life. Sandun departed early the next morning, claiming that he had to deliver a personal message to the town leader of Hazeny.
Rogge was surprised at this news but wished Sandun a safe journey. “Be on the lookout for Vasvar
cavalry. In our border region, there has been skirmishing between Red Crane cavalry and horsemen from Lakava. So far, the towns along the border including Hazeny have all adopted the posture of a tortoise, befitting this new year. However, since King Tuno’s army has returned from conquering the province of Buuk, no one knows how long the border will remain. Everyone fears a great war will rage on this side of the river. Here in Lenaterkes, we trade with everyone fairly and hurt none. Eston willing, this will continue.”
But Sandun had not gone to Hazeny; instead, he had kept to himself, just a lone traveler with a large hat and a walking stick, heading west. He used the times when no other travelers were in view to practice his power. Pulling lightning down onto streams or ponds was safe enough, for it did not cause fires. Thunderstorms were not common in the early spring, but he needed to practice and so he unleashed carefully controlled blasts of lightning.
Ashala’s ghost paid no heed to the lightning he summoned in the real world. If there was something analogous to weather in the second world, he could not see or feel it.
When the Tiralas appeared on the horizon, Sandun considered the many changes that had taken place since he had seen them last. So much had happened: battles, wars, death, as well as new friends, marriage, and most importantly, Ajh. Two months with the divine. He was no longer the same man, and yet here he was, escorting the ghost of his dead lover back to her home. He had left Lord Vaina, left his wife and friends, to do this task.
Hour by hour, the snow-covered mountains of the front range of the Tiralas edged higher. In the clear morning air, the peaks stood bright against the blue sky beyond. By late afternoon, haze obscured their outlines, softened their edges. The white peaks could even be mistaken for distant clouds, low on the horizon.
Sandun’s thoughts shifted to his friend Kagne. Where was he now? What was he doing? Number Eight’s words returned to him as he walked west: a new krasuth, Kagne the Kelten, now serves King Tuno. Number Eight’s words had opened a hole in Sandun’s soul: in order for Lord Vaina to become king of Serica, he had to conquer Vasvar. Thus Sandun would have to fight against Kagne, the man who had risked his own life to save Sandun. The thought filled him with dismay. He could not see how to avoid this terrible confrontation.
Ajh had explained that over the vast expanse of time, there had been decades when her desires and Ell’s came into alignment, like the wandering stars in the heavens. This has been true recently, as Ajh and Ell had been working for the same purpose: the destruction of the Kitran Empire. However, such a confluence of interests never lasted long. Always Ell seeks change, the overthrow of the old, settled order, Ajh had told him. He is not constantly wrong in his desire, but often he tears down beautiful creations that he does not fully appreciate or understand. Accident and haste explain some of the destruction, but so too do malice and envy. I believe he will set your friend against you, but fear not—you are the stronger. Ell divides his power between all eight of his servants, while you alone are my champion.
Now, months after leaving Ajh’s vast presence, Sandun was afraid. He was afraid of what he might do, of what he quite possibly he had to do. In a test of loyalties, with Lord Vaina on one side and Kagne on the other, he had to choose. In the coming battle, how could he stand apart?
He knew he could not escape the responsibility for this choice. It had not been forced upon him. He had freely decided. He, not Ajh, had picked Lord Jori Vaina to be the next king of Serica. Perhaps his choice had been unwise, made in haste, decided without full knowledge of all the facts. He had never met Two-Swords Tuno; he had never gone to Naduva and seen the Iron King of Dombovar. He had chosen to go to Tokolas almost by accident more than a year ago and had never looked back. He remembered the moment so clearly, when he stood up in the Kelten embassy, persuading the other men of the Archives Expedition to help Lord Vaina. He had succeeded. In that moment, he had made his choice without realizing the implications.
Why had Ell decided to withdraw his support for Lord Vaina?
Was it because Sandun, the Champion of Ajh, had chosen to support him? Ell had sent his krasuth to help Lord Vaina a year before the Keltens’ arrival. Perhaps Ell would not have withdrawn his agents if Sandun had never accepted Ajh. All the decisions Sandun had made, one after the other, step by step, and now he and Kagne were on opposite sides of what looked like inescapable war.
What could he do? This time of solitude, his retracing of a path taken a year ago, brought his conflict into sharp focus, but of all the various means of escape he considered, none were satisfactory. As Lord Vaina had said recently, Sometimes, all possible choices are bad.
Perhaps this was why he had undertaken the journey to Gipu; it was an attempt to find a way out of the trap he found himself in. But as his feet propelled him onward and the Tirala Mountains loomed higher, he could see no way out.
At least he could fix one problem. By bringing Ashala’s ghost back home, he could set one thing right. I am repaying a debt from the past, to help remind me of who I am, Sandun told himself. In the final accounting, when he stood to be judged for his life’s deeds, he hoped this act would be set on the golden scale and not on the green scale of corruption.
However, even this one good quest left him troubled. The more he understood, the fewer the actions he could take that were unalloyed. Every step he took in one direction was a step not taken on a different path. Back when he had no power, nothing he did really mattered. His work at the Royal Archives was, in the grand scheme of things, irrelevant. Now that he had godlike power, every act he undertook was accompanied by a host of consequences and paths untrod—and he knew it! Everything he did resulted in events that were delayed or would never take place at all because he had chosen to do something else.
He had left his wife without warning. Why? Because he couldn’t face her, couldn’t explain what he was doing or why he had chosen to do it? He didn’t want to think about his relationship with Miri, but she was in his mind, and he had the growing sense that he had abandoned her unfairly, even cruelly.
He walked faster.
Sandun’s steady pace ate up the miles. It was remarkable how far you could travel if you didn’t have to stop to eat or sleep; he guessed that he made more than sixty miles a day. Only the fastest message riders could boast greater speed. Now that he was on the main road to Gipu, he recognized some of the places they had passed by last year. He traveled through the Tea Hills in just over one day, stopping only for an hour when he chanced upon a busy market.
To avoid thinking about his living wife, Sandun started recounting his days with Ajh to Ashala’s ghost. Strangely, she stayed closer at these times and began to take on her living form, when she’d traveled with him on this road. Sometimes, he seemed to hear her laugh as she used to do when they spied something she had never seen before. One afternoon, as the hills above Sandun glittered with white snow, she appeared in the real world, just as she looked when she was alive, smiling, but unspeaking.
Together, they crossed the pass in the middle of the night when the snow-covered landscape around him seemed to be glowing under the starlight. Here in this wilderness, far from human settlement, there was a close correlation between the real world and what he could see of the second world. The mountains looked similar, and even some of the old trees had counterparts in the second world. The path was well trodden, for it had not snowed for several days; some merchants or hunters had braved the Tiralas and visited Gipu, or left it to head east into Serica. A bitter, cold wind blew down from the west, and he felt it keenly.
That night, with the freezing wind blowing bits of snow into his face, he realized what he had been avoiding thinking about. He had made a commitment to Miri, and he was not living up to it. He had so many reasons: it had been an arranged marriage, she was not from Kelten, she followed a different religion, he did not know her past or her family. On and on. He had called her a gift, but she was not a gift. She was a living, breathing
woman who had pledged her life and body to him. He had failed her, failed to be honest with her, failed to treat her with the respect she was owed. He had not loved her.
He resolved to change this, though he had come too far to turn back just yet. He would guide Ashala’s ghost back to Gipu, and then he would go home as he had promised. And when he returned, he would do better. He would be Miri’s husband, with all that the word implied.
With this in his mind, Sandun drew upon his secret power and drove himself faster than ever before.
Two days later, just after noon, Sandun and the ghost passed by one of the stone towers that marked the border of Gipu’s territory. Ashala’s spirit seemed to change from that point. She knew the way home, and although she stayed with him, she was the one leading the way, sometimes looking back at him with a curious, unreadable expression on her ghostly face.
He pushed on, heading due north as the sun set behind the range of hills to the west. The wind rushed through the pine trees, making the sound that would, for the rest of his life, remind him of the Tiralas.
Finally, as the first stars twinkled in the evening sky, the walls of Gipu appeared across the cleared land ahead of them. Firelight shone through windows, and the smell of smoke was in the air.
Ashala spoke once, and the sound of it was like a breeze over a wave: “Home.”
Then she stopped and stared at Sandun for a long time, without moving. Sandun felt tears in his eyes, but he raised his right hand and said, “Good-bye.”
For a moment, Ashala looked just as she had when she had set forth from the city, as though time had no meaning and the morning was filled with bright promise. As though she was still present, still alive. But then Sandun saw the lights of the gate tower through Ashala’s figure, and the vision faded in the night.
Those days were gone. Time like an arrow sprang from God’s bow, which never stopped and never flew back.
The Flame Iris Temple Page 36