The Flame Iris Temple Read online

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are products of the author’s imagination.

  The Flame Iris Temple

  Book Three of The Secret Journey

  © 2020 by Colin Glassey

  All rights reserved

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Maps

  The Story So Far

  Part One

  The Champion of Ajh

  Chapter One

  Lena

  Chapter Two

  Sky’s Edge

  Chapter Three

  Molimonik

  Chapter Four

  Return

  Chapter Five

  Three Abbots

  Chapter Six

  The Sekovos

  Chapter Seven

  A New Year

  Chapter Eight

  Sailing the Sukanea River

  Chapter Nine

  Flame Iris Temple

  Chapter Ten

  The Duel

  Part Two

  Choices

  Chapter Eleven

  The Garden

  Chapter Twelve

  Sacred Glass

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Plot Revealed

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Ghost of the Past

  Afterword

  Personal Note

  Appendix A

  People, Places, Things

  For

  Aristotle,

  Confucius,

  Ben Franklin,

  and Feng Menglong

  Nearly all men can stand adversity,

  but if you want to test a man’s character,

  give him power.

  Abraham Lincoln

  (attributed)

  Acknowledgments

  My love and thanks to my children, my mother and father, my sister and brother, and my extended family (nieces, and nephews).

  Special thanks to Trevor K. G. for his helpful suggestions.

  Most of all, to Mia, who first suggested that rare herbs could be found on the tops of mountains, and who told me the real meaning of the Eighth Route Army. Without her love and support over the years, this book could not have been written.

  Maps

  Plate 1: A map of the Archipelago

  Plate 2: A map of Tokolas

  Plate 3: A map of Serica

  Plate 4: A map of Serica and surrounding lands

  Plate 5: A map of Kelten and parts of Fiodroch

  The Story So Far

  The first novel, The Burning Tower, details the adventures of a group of men from Kelten as they travel across a vast region of uninhabited mountains called the Tiralas, in an attempt to reach the land of Serica. The men are: Sandun Eiger, formerly with the Royal Archives; Sir Ako Rosen, a knight of the realm; Kagne Areka, a trader and respected tribesman from the wild eastern region of Kelten; and ten other hand-picked warriors. After many adventures, they arrive in Serica only to find it is a land riven by conflict. By chance, they end up joining one of the leaders of this fractured land: Lord Jori Vaina, the new ruler of Kunhalvar province. The Keltens provide valuable help to Lord Vaina in beating back a sudden attack launched on his capital city by one of his rivals, the ruler of neighboring Vasvar province. At the end of the book, the Keltens found a new knightly order, the Knights of Serica, and Sandun is appointed an advisor to Lord Vaina.

  In the second novel, The Fire Sword, the Keltens become more closely involved in the conflicts between Lord Vaina and his many enemies. Chief among his enemies is the leader of an army of Kitran warriors named Nilin Ulim. Not long ago, the Kitran ruled all of Serica, but their years in power were characterized by misrule, civil unrest, and brutal reprisals. The armies of the Kitran Empire have been fighting with many rebel Serice leaders for more than a decade, with little success; in fact, most of Serica is free of the empire’s control. Nilin Ulim has a special hatred for a man who the Keltens escorted to the Kunhalvar city of Tokolas: Valo Peli (real name: Arno Boethy). Nilin sent assassins to kill Valo Peli; when that failed, he used a rare, deadly poison to try and kill everyone in the Kelten embassy. Sandun found an antidote at the Great Sage Temple, but one person who died from the poison was his lover, Ashala.

  After a serious debate, Lord Vaina decided to lead his army north to rescue the city of Kemeklos, which was besieged by Nilin Ulim’s army. Before the Keltens left on this Northern Expedition, both Sandun and Sir Ako got married. Sandun agreed to an arranged marriage to Miri Kirdar, a woman from the kingdom of Shila, while Sir Ako married a woman he was in love with, Princess Russu Tuomi from the southern kingdom of Rakeved.

  The Keltens fight alongside Lord Vaina’s army, performing heroic deeds. Lord Vaina’s army defeats Nilin’s army and rescues their allies from the besieged city. However, during this chaotic time, Sandun is captured by Nilin’s soldiers. Facing certain death, Sandun is able to kill Nilin Ulim thanks to the timely aid of his friend Kagne. Both Sandun and Kagne are then spirited away from the middle of the Kitran war camp by a superhuman entity, known as the Hidden Master. Later that same day, Sandun is removed from the Hidden Master’s control, in a battle of gods, by a previously unknown demigod named Ajh.

  Flame Iris Temple begins about two months later.

  Part One

  The Champion of Ajh

  Chapter One

  Lena

  High above him, the geese flew in arrowheads, heading south, fleeing from frost and the chill of late autumn. Their honking calls to one another reminded him of his solitude. The geese were talking among themselves, traveling in good company, while he…he walked alone.

  He realized that he had not talked with another human in many weeks. More than a month, more than two? He didn’t know.

  Not that he had been by himself—far from it. Instead, he had been in her presence, and when she was there, what more could anyone wish?

  Nothing.

  Since she had set him down and departed, he had savored her memory in undisturbed silence. He deliberately avoided other people so as to preserve the sound, the timbre, the feeling of being with her for a little while longer.

  Perhaps the memory of his time with her would never fade, but he feared it would. The weight of mundane events, like a thick snowfall of sensory perceptions— would they bury his experience with Ajh? A Kelten poet had written: The passage of time was like a sandstorm in the desert, wearing away at every vivid event, eroding the colors, the sounds, until all that remained was the knowledge that once, a man had done something important.

  For the living, the present kept covering over the past.

  Perhaps some memories were imperishable, like the golden threads woven through the royal flag of Kelten. A piece of Ajh remained inside him, watching, waiting. A very small piece to be sure, but large enough. Like her, it would never fade. She was imperishable, and while his time in this life was bounded, hers was not.

  Sandun was walking through the hills, south of Kemeklos, north of Essebeg. He followed her command, and so he placed foot after foot on the path she had laid down for him. She had told him that he would need time to become used to the mortal world again, to become reacquainted with things that aged and decayed. Not like her and her abode of glowing crystals.

  Drinking water from a stream that flowed down from the hills, he saw his reflection in the water, and for a brief time he marveled at the change. He was bearded; back home in Kelten, he could easily have passed for a tribesman of Issedon. In other respects, he looked the s
ame, leaner perhaps, though he didn’t feel hungry. When he was with her, they had eaten only once; instead of food, he had been nourished with mystery. Eventually he would have to eat again, or so he thought. Someday, he would have to rejoin the world of men, but it was an experience unlike anything else to live in the company of a god.

  He walked on.

  The men who found him were hungry; their desire was clearly drawn on their faces just as it was evident in their souls. Why were they here?

  Like him, they were avoiding others. But they were eking out life by stealing from unwary travelers, mayhap supplemented by fishing from the stream. Their shifty eyes and their swords and bits of armor told him these were remnants of the defeated army of the dead Kitran general. It was just bad luck that they’d found him.

  At first, he was tempted to let them go. But as they came closer, an unexpected anger built up inside him. Their shouts that he set aside his weapon and possessions if he wanted to live revealed more than if they had tattoos on their faces. He could see the wrongness in their minds, the corruption inside them, the ugliness of their spirits. His hatred for them flared inside like Valo Peli’s exploding lopor—sudden and uncontrollable. They were so hideous! It was an abomination to even look upon them.

  There were fourteen of them. They were in his way and seeking to block him from his appointed task. Who did they think they were? With an effort, he restrained himself from killing them all without at least a warning.

  He pulled his sword, Skathris, from his belt and pointed it at them. With his mind, he woke the golden circle hanging around his neck; he knew how to use it now, and its power surged around him.

  “Do not seek to hinder my path,” he said strongly. Their blank faces told him he had spoken in Kelten. He repeated himself, this time using the Serice tongue. “Do not hinder me! I give you this one chance. Leave me be, and I will spare your lives. You fought for Nilin Ulim and are robbers now. By rights, your lives are forfeit, but my errand brooks no delay. Go back to where you came from and seek forgiveness there. You have this final moment to find redemption.”

  Almost he had them. Two, three men wavered, heard his words and felt some regret for their life choices. But the others would not listen. Their leader, a bully, and the only one eating well judging from his girth, laughed and spoke. The foulness of his words did nothing but stoke Sandun’s fury. Was this what men were like? Vile language that only imperfectly reflected depraved minds? Was this really a man standing in front of him, or was it a beast in human form? Every word this simulacrum uttered was like vomit dribbling out of his mouth. Sickening to hear.

  He would not stand it, he could not tolerate it. He felt defiled, and he would not allow it for one more instant of time.

  Calling upon Ajh’s gift, Sandun drew a line in his mind between the leader’s head and the sky above. A terrific bolt of lightning struck the man, even as the stream of noxious words was pouring forth. Although Sandun knew what to expect, and the golden circle protected him, the flash of light left him nearly blinded, and the noise was incredible. When he could see again, the bandit leader was sprawled dead on the ground, as were six other men surrounding him. The rest had been knocked off their feet and lay moaning in pain.

  Two men, farther back from all the others, let their weapons fall from their hands, staring slack jawed in shocked disbelief.

  Sandun swayed on his feet, dizzy from the aftereffect. Clearly, he had put too much power into that lightning, and much of the secret energy—akela, as Ajh had named it—was gone. He felt drained, and his anger, which just moments earlier had burned within him like a hot sun, was now little more than old coals faintly glowing amid the ash. Taking a deep breath, Sandun stared at the two uninjured men and then pointed his sword at them menacingly. They took to their heels and ran off like startled deer.

  Even as he threatened them, he wondered if he had the strength to summon more lightning. Sandun shook his head, unwilling to expend his last reserves on the test. But as he walked past the bandit camp, their tents nothing more than sheets of worn canvas stretched over rough logs, he asked himself: Why had he failed to convince them to go away? Why had he been so quick to kill? Had he really exhausted all other options? No, he had not, and he hadn’t really tried. But it didn’t matter. The outcome would have been the same. These bandits killed and stole and would have tried to kill him as well.

  And who was he to dispense death?

  He was the hand of Ajh.

  Unlike the deluded Radiant Prince in Kemeklos, Sandun really was the herald of a divine goddess. Ajh had chosen him, and he had accepted her. What’s more, he had asked her for this power. This was his road, his path. That this road was not what he had expected…well, whose path in life goes where they wish it?

  A soft sound, a whimpering snuffle, came from inside a tent that appeared firmly staked to the earth. The bandits had a slave? A girl to cook and to slake their leader’s lust?

  So it was. He could see her spirit in the darkness: afraid, miserable, injured from casual beatings. He should have killed them all instead of letting two run away.

  For a minute he stood there, lost in thought. He had a mission; he had limited time. There were a million men, women, and children in Serica, and he could not solve all their problems. But he could not turn away now that he was here. He had killed her captors; she was his problem now.

  “Come out, girl,” he called, more roughly than he wanted. “The bandits are fled, and I will not harm you.”

  He caught a glimpse of a grimy face, a collar around her neck, a patched and stained dress. She was young, perhaps not even sixteen. He heard her sharply drawn breath, and then she withdrew back into the shadows.

  Sandun smiled. Did he really look so scary? Perhaps she thought he was a Sogand? No one in Serica looked quite like he did, that was certain. But he didn’t have time to waste.

  “Where is your family, girl? Where are you from?”

  The mention of her family provoked a strong response in her spirit, but was it grief? Anger? Fear? He couldn’t tell. Looking at Ajh was no guide to reading humans. The girl didn’t say anything, and the silence stretched out.

  For a moment, he considered awing the girl by blasting her tent apart just as Ell had done when he descended from the sky—the True Master revealed in his glory. Sandun chuckled to himself. No, he wasn’t going to do that. Instead, he knelt down and said, “I’m going to leave here. Heading south toward Jupelos and then Tokolas. The mayor of Jupelos will take care of you. Follow me, if you wish.”

  From inside the tent, the girl spoke. “They put a rope around my neck. I can’t get it off.” Judging from her accent, she was from this part of Kisvar province.

  “Come forth, let me see it.”

  Hesitantly, the girl edged out of the tent. Her left eye was blackened from an old blow. Her hair had been raggedly cut—by who? Sandun wondered. She looked thin but wiry. A coarse hemp rope was fastened to her collar, and it trailed behind her, like a sea anchor, uncoiling from inside the tent.

  “I can free you,” Sandun told her. “I have a sword.”

  Warily, she nodded and bent down, pulling her hair out of the way to reveal the thick leather collar. Sandun examined it and found the rope was tied to an iron ring the size of an egg, embedded in the leather. Careful to avoid cutting the girl’s neck, Sandun used Skathris to slice through the metal ring. The rope, still knotted, fell to the dirt in front of her. The girl sprang to her feet and smiled. “Oh! That’s good! I don’t like being a cow or a bitch on a leash.”

  Sandun looked at the girl and saw a sudden transformation: being freed from the rope was more than a physical act—it was symbolic. She was human again.

  “Where’s your pack?” she asked. “Were you part of the Red Crane Army? Are you from Tokolas?” She was suddenly full of questions.

  He stood and stuck his sword in his belt. “I have no pack. I
was with the Red Crane Army. I am from Kelten.” As he said the words, he smiled ruefully, as he had nothing other than the clothes on his back, Skathris, and the golden circle around his neck. For him, this was enough, but the girl would have to eat and needed warmer things to wear.

  “I can’t go back home,” the girl said. “And my name is Lena.”

  “If you are coming with me to Jupelos, you will need more clothing and shoes. Anything these robbers have is yours now.”

  “Mine, is it? I know their clothes. Washed them, didn’t I?” Lena found a patched cotton jacket that hung loosely over her thin frame. “Big Betu kept his silver on him, but there’s a string of cash in his tent.” So saying, she bounded over to a large awning and fished around inside a copper pot. She pulled out a string of dirty coins and offered them to Sandun. He shook his head, and the girl found a small leather bag and dropped them inside. She then found six palm-sized corn cakes concealed in a box near the stone fire circle. Again, she offered one to him.

  “I made these with the last of the butter, and the oil was old,” Lena said. “I wouldn’t eat them if there were anything else.” She devoured one of the cakes rapidly and then washed it down with water from a wooden bucket.

  Sandun contemplated the cake in his hand, examining the bits of charred cornmeal. He hadn’t eaten food like this in a long time. When he had been with Ajh, eating had been unnecessary, though they had shared meat together—once. He suspected that he would have to start consuming food again someday, but he felt reluctant; not only did he not feel hungry, but by not eating, he preserved his connection to the goddess. Still, this was a gift. Lena had made it and given it to him. It would be discourteous to reject it.

  So he nibbled on the corn cake while Lena searched the cooking area for other needful supplies, putting them in her sack. He tasted the chewy corn and the bits of grit, as well as the hard, burned crust. The taste was vivid and woke memories of an earlier life, when he was a boy during harvest season, eating his mother’s cornbread, fresh off the iron pan. Lost in a reverie, he found the girl was sitting on a log, staring up at him, her hands holding up her narrow face.