The Flame Iris Temple Read online

  Not for the first time, Sandun wondered where Kagne was, and what he was doing. Kagne had pledged his life to Ell, the Hidden Master, and Sandun had been about to do the same thing. If he had, the two men would have joined in a mystery of divine union, but then Ajh had intervened. Ajh had prevented Sandun from accepting Ell. Thus, he and Kagne had parted; irrevocably set upon different paths.

  Later, Ajh had explained why. There was a rule that had been agreed upon, long, long ago. None of the eight gods would have more than eight followers. If Sandun had joined with Ell, he would have been the ninth. Ajh herself only had one agent at a time. Of course, this was not really an explanation at all as it replaced one question with another: Why the limitation? But it had seemed so perfectly clear to him when Ajh spoke. In his experience, when a god speaks to you, you can not argue; it was impossible.

  Heaving a great sigh, Sandun wormed his way in through the hole. Holding Skathris in his hand, he willed his sword to glow as brightly as an oil lamp, a useful bit of knowledge she had taught him. He began to retrace his steps into the empty ruins of Stead Half Cliff.

  As he made his way deeper into the silent underground city, he could see the footprints he and Kagne had made months ago. This time, he was not afraid; this time, he could examine the corridors and alcoves with fresh eyes. For the first time, he saw carvings in the stone, geometric designs above the doorways. And there were colors to the rock that had a pleasing regularity. Examining the colors closely, he found no sign of paint but perhaps a type of stain that he had seen used on the marble statues in front of the king’s palace in Seopolis.

  There was far more light than he’d expected in what had been the living quarters of the old Piksie city. Often the light came from shafts that headed upward at an angle. One corridor had alcoves with narrow windows that looked out over a beautiful valley below, but it was not the valley of Essebeg.

  As he approached the throne room, the stone walls changed to a fine, smooth surface, very much like marble, and they were covered with interlocking shapes in black, gray, and orange. Sandun could sense Ghost Wolf’s presence in the second world. He guessed the unquiet spirit was still in the throne room. Sandun halted and stood awhile looking at the shapes on the walls, waiting, giving Ghost Wolf the opportunity to make contact.

  The art on the walls, obviously made by the Piksies long ago, intrigued him. There were no figures, which was unusual, and the patterns were less regular than found in Kelten art, changing every three or four feet. One section reminded him of mountains, which seemed an obvious choice for these mountain-dwelling people. Another section reminded him of veins of ore, but perhaps it was depicting a river? One section, close to the last doorway, appeared to show the mountain of Half Cliff, but the colors and patterns suggested the rocks making up the mountain were far more complex than he imagined. Sandun wondered: Were mountains complex things? Were they composed of many minerals, not just gold but copper, iron, coal, and other elements woven together in a tapestry that perhaps none but Piksies could see? He looked around and imagined what it might be like to live underground, to constantly build tunnels and shafts through the stone. To the Piksies, the mountain was their sky, unchanging, and filled with structures that could be understood, learned, and recorded.

  What a loss, that Piksies and humans had rarely been able to talk with each other. Sandun sighed and shook his head. He had waited long enough. It was time to face Ghost Wolf.

  He walked into the throne room. As he’d anticipated, Ghost Wolf was waiting. Sandun could see Ghost Wolf in the second world, and he found its spirit to be unlike that of any other spirit he had seen. Without doubt, it was not human. Disturbingly, the closest comparison was to her, although Ghost Wolf was but the faintest breeze compared to the gale of her overwhelming presence.

  “Who are you, come to disturb my sad repose?” Ghost Wolf spoke as he had done before, using images. This style of communication was similar to how she communicated, but Ghost Wolf spoke with far less clarity than she did. Hearing its thoughts, seeing its mind in action, Sandun could tell that Ghost Wolf had been dead for a very long time. Sandun had been hasty before; now he would be more patient. After a minute, Ghost Wolf spoke again: “Wait…I recognize you. You were here before. You…carry the Golden Circle of Nin, an heirloom of my people. But you are much changed. So different…I would not have thought it possible…”

  Still, Sandun waited, unmoving, watching Ghost Wolf think.

  “What do you want, human? Why did you return?”

  “I was sent by Ajh.” Sandun pictured Ajh in all her glory, wonder, and power, and he gave the image to Ghost Wolf. This was not difficult for Sandun as she was still vivid in his mind; she was alive in his heart.

  “You are an emissary…from one of the sacred companions of Nin!” Ghost Wolf said. The vision of Ajh visibly changed Ghost Wolf, brought its thoughts into greater focus. “Even a king might bow to such a person, even though you are a human. You are the first such emissary to visit this stead in time beyond measure.” Ghost Wolf paused for another minute and then said. “You find both me and my hall, lacking in courtesy. I am…sorry.”

  Before Sandun replied to this, he woke his golden circle but held its power in abeyance in case Ghost Wolf should slip into madness again. “Do you remember the words of my companion, when last we stood here?” Sandun remembered clearly what happened when Kagne told Ghost Wolf that he was dead and his bones were lying on the floor. Ghost Wolf had been filled with rage and had tried to kill them both.

  “I…have not forgotten…his words,” Ghost Wolf replied with great reluctance.

  “Do you accept their truth?”

  “I do not!”

  But Sandun could see Ghost Wolf very clearly, and whatever skills of deception the king of Stead Half Cliff once had were of no use to him now. Ghost Wolf was lying, and his denial lacked any conviction. Indeed, the denial was almost a plea to be proved wrong. Ghost Wolf knew he was dead.

  “What is your name, King of Stead Half Cliff?” Sandun asked.

  “Tavod Enodson.”

  “Tell me then, Tavod, do any of your people live here? When last we met, you said there were farmers tending their fields, soldiers on watch, scouts who reported. Have you found them? Did you search your domain?”

  “I searched and I found…no one. I am deserted by all.”

  “Another question, if I may. Do you drink, King Tavod? Cups, I see none. How do you live without clear water?”

  Tavod’s spirit became tinged with resignation, and the ghost made no reply for many heartbeats. Finally Ghost Wolf said, “Do any of my people yet live?”

  “Yes,” Sandun told him. “There are still Piksies living in the Ice Hills, far from human lands. My wife told me this, and I believe her.”

  “So, my son’s descendants may yet walk the stone halls in the east.” Tavod’s spirit contracted upon itself, shrinking. “My…hate has been a terrible thing. But now I find there is nothing left but ashes in the hearth. Little good it did me in life…”

  “What do you fear, Tavod?” Sandun asked him. “Death is the fate of us all. It comes for me, just as it came for you.”

  Slowly the dam broke, and Tavod’s spirit became submerged in a new emotion that Sandun guessed to be sorrow. Then, a new question came to the surface of Tavod’s mind. “Why did I not go beyond? What crime did I commit that I must linger, for years uncounted? Why am I cursed? Doomed to eternity in this nightmare of wakeful death?”

  “I can help you,” Sandun told him. “Ajh taught me how. You called her Nin’s sacred companion; she gave me this task.”

  Sandun sat on the hard, smooth floor and closed his eyes. Remembering her training, he gradually moved into the second world and waited. Time was only loosely coupled between the living world and the second world. He waited, observing the second world with his mind’s eye. He still did not understand much of what he could see.
Ajh had told him it would take only a little time to learn, but her perception of time was not like his. For Ajh, a year was like a day and a lifetime of a man was but a season, a spring or winter. Sandun suspected he could spend the rest of his life studying the second world and still not understand it. On the other hand, when he was dead, he would have much more time to explore. But not forever. There was a time to leave the second world also. And it was time for Tavod to leave.

  Eventually Tavod’s thoughts, somewhat distorted, came to Sandun. “You say you have come to help me? I…accept your offer. What must I do?”

  “You see me here. Draw close, as close as you can.”

  Gradually Tavod’s spirit came so close to him in the second world that it was nearly touching. Sandun waited, contemplating the slow flow of colors of Tavod’s spirit like paint running down a stretched canvas.

  Tavod said, “I have seen this world in my fitful dreams. But now it is so real.”

  “Follow me, just like this.”

  Sandun moved. Not physically—he was still seated, and if he opened his eyes, he would find he was back where he had been. But if he ignored the world of earth and sun, he could move across the second world. As before, it was as though he followed a burning spark that illuminated a path. The spark still was both within him and not him. Like a hunting hound, the spark went—more or less—in the direction he wanted to go.

  Tavod managed to follow Sandun. Several times, Sandun had to stop and wait for Tavod’s spirit to catch up. Sandun used these pauses to look around. The second world continued to be confusing: shapes, colors, occasional movement that made little sense to him. Much of the second world was not beautiful, just very different and often bizarre. However, he was heading toward a place, a special location that Ajh had shown him. Seeing it with Ajh beside him had been one of the greatest experiences of his life.

  “This is Sky’s Edge. The end point.” She had sung this with a melody that was both sad and hopeful.

  Sky’s Edge looked something like a giant waterfall, but in reverse: a rushing pillar of light that emanated from a pool of glittering ice and shot upward into the sky, endless, ever flowing, ever rising. He had never seen anything like it, had never imagined there could be anything like it. Sky’s Edge filled him with an emotion he could not describe, a mixture of wonder, awe, joy, and fear.

  After a time of gazing at it, Ajh told him: “This is not for you, mortal, not yet. After your body has ended. Then you may seek the source.” It was the same melody Ajh had used before, only now more complex.

  Ajh turned away, and Sandun followed her. As they retraced their path back to Ajh’s home, she told him about Sky’s Edge, her thoughts so vivid it was as though they were walking toward Sky’s Edge, not away from it.

  Now, he was the guide, and he led Tavod’s spirit toward Sky’s Edge. Time and distance were both uncertain in the second world, tehum as Ajh called it, but Sky’s Edge was far, and it was no easy path to take. Sandun himself could not have found it again; his spirit had to follow that tiny piece of Ajh that guided him. This ability to find Sky’s Edge was another gift of Ajh.

  As they traveled up and over the second world, Tavod began to talk. At first, he spoke haltingly and with long pauses between thoughts. Gradually, the ancient Piksie king said more, narrating pieces of his life as the ruler of a community beset with difficulties. Sandun tried to understand Tavod’s thoughts and images, but it was hard because many of the mind images Tavod sent him made no sense to Sandun. In addition, Sandun had to concentrate on following the directions of his own guide.

  Ajh had taught Sandun that the farther you moved away from your body in the tehum, the more difficult travel became. “For mortals, their living body is an anchor. No living creature can reach Sky’s Edge, not without our help.”

  Tavod continued to talk, and Sandun made no effort to stop him. The old lost soul seemed to be making his peace with the past as he described his friends, his family, and finally the good days when the city was prosperous and his children were filled with playful youth.

  The landscape of the second world changed and opened up. It seemed they were very high, as though they had been climbing a steep path through a canyon and now had reached the ridgeline. Above them, only the sky; to the sides, distant peaks. Ahead of them was Sky’s Edge, leaping up, glittering, rushing, moving impossibly upward into the unknown. The burning spark of Ajh radiated contentment as well as warning. This was as far as Sandun could go.

  “We are here. This is your path now. Alone you must continue.”

  Tavod’s spirit halted and remained silent for a long time. Sandun could see Tavod’s dismay and waited. This was a good place to wait.

  “I see,” Tavod said. “Over the years, over the centuries, this was calling to me. But in my pride, I ignored its summons. Alas, now my folly is revealed in full. I was not being punished—I was punishing myself. Why was I waiting for more than this? Why? Emissary of the Sacred One, truly we reap what we sow, and sometimes we reap only the wind.”

  Sandun continued to wait, lost in the wonder of the vision of Sky’s Edge.

  “You have been kinder to me than I deserve,” Tavod said. “When we first met, I attacked you, and yet you repay me with such a gift. Let me give you something in return. Stead Half Cliff has been abandoned by its people for years beyond count. My people used to love it. I loved it. Here, at the end, I give it to you. Perhaps one day you may come to appreciate what we built. It belongs to you and your descendants. The word of opening is Meshnah. This is the master key known only to the king. It will unlock all doors, all gates. And now, I depart.”

  Tavod left Sandun’s side and approached Sky’s Edge. It took a surprisingly long time for Tavod’s spirit to reach the column of light, but finally, Sandun could no longer see or sense Tavod’s spirit; it had vanished into the ever-rushing beauty.

  Sandun returned to his body and opened his eyes. He was stiff and sore from sitting in one position for more than a day. After drinking some water, he lay down with his cloak as a pillow and slept.

  He was awakened by light coming through the window at the end of the king’s hall. Judging from the sunlight, it was midmorning. He had truly slept, for the first time since he had met Ajh.

  This is mine? Sandun thought as he examined the objects lying before Tavod’s former throne. One sword retained a hint of life, like a sapling with all but one of its branches dry and leafless. Of the ornate daggers beside it, one also still held a whisper of power, the potential for recovery. The rest of the weapons were dead, and he doubted if even the Stone Singer that had forged them could imbue them again with power.

  Sandun rolled the two potentially magical weapons in his cloak and retraced his path to the exit. Standing before the door that he and Kagne had carved open with Basil’s stone-cutting knife, Sandun wondered what the word of opening would do.

  “Meshnah!” he said loudly to the door. In his mind, he watched as energy flowed to the door from both left and right. This energy filled the stone that blocked the passage, it glowed for several heartbeats and…the door opened. Two slabs first divided down the middle, then slowly parted; letting in sunlight and a fresh wind from the wilderness beyond. No doubt there are other doors leading into the valley on the other side of the mountain, Sandun thought to himself. No time to explore. Now I must return to Tokolas.

  Tokolas.

  He would return to Tokolas. He had no questions, no hesitation. His friends, his wife, they were in Tokolas. Lord Vaina was in Tokolas, and that was the man he was going to aid. It was his choice, and he felt no great desire to even visit the other rulers of Serica. He could go almost anywhere, but why should he?

  First, he would borrow a pack from the townsfolk at Essebeg, and a water bottle as well. He walked out and then turned and spoke the word again; the doors slowly swung shut, grinding old leaves and bits of rock into powder as they lumbered back into
place.

  Taking a deep breath, he gazed all around, seeing the sky, the tall cliff face, the forest, the lake, and the small village of Essebeg with its little columns of smoke.

  Lord of Stead Half Cliff.

  He was the lord of an empty stone city, built by the Piksies a thousand years ago. Perhaps there were still books or documents inside, not yet turned to dust by the ravages of time. Someday, if he lived, he would come back. Someday.

  Chapter Three

  Molimonik

  Sandun arrived outside Molimonik an hour before dawn. The wooden gates were closed; seeing no reason to make a fuss, he sat under a crude shelter close by the walls of the city. The shelter had been built for the benefit of merchants or travelers like himself who arrived when the gates were shut. He had pushed himself, walking continuously all through the night. He enjoyed resting his legs, but he felt he could go farther if he needed to. How far could he walk in a day? He didn’t know yet. All told, he had covered more than thirty miles since leaving Stead Half Cliff, and he still didn’t feel tired. He drank from the nearby well and sat, gathering akela.

  Now that he had arrived at Molimonik, he idly considered—Why? Why hadn’t he returned to Jupelos? At the time, he didn’t really think through the question. When he’d reached Olitik, he had a choice, turn west or east, and he had picked east. One reason was that he didn’t want to see the girl, Lena, only to leave her again. One parting from her in a week was enough. Another reason was that he didn’t like being in Jupelos. There were simply too many people in the streets and outside the city walls. Somehow, he knew he would be safe back in Tokolas; he could hide in the Kelten embassy there.

  It was a strange feeling, this unease he felt around crowds. He was now terribly powerful. Yet he couldn’t simply kill people who threatened him. Until recently, he had never been alone in Serica; always he had been surrounded and protected by the other Keltens: Sir Ako, the knights, Basil, Kagne. Now, somewhat perversely, he felt safer being alone. When walking down the main street in Jupelos, he had felt vulnerable, exposed, raw, like an oyster pried open. By contrast, walking alone in the night, with no other people around, was when he felt safe.