Page 47 of Angel in Absentia
Iris crossed her arms, swallowing as she stared at the weapon gravely, seeming to completely disregard their doubts.
“I’m saying,” Iris replied, “a Veilin couldn’t have.”
Myken’s words echoed through Clea’s mind.
Your story speaks of the four heroes, but you never discovered what they became.
“You’re the city of the mind. Think it through,” Iris said. “Vanida’s grave was empty.”
“Okay, okay,” Idan said, waving back as he started toward the porch again. “Going from saying her grave was empty to saying she was a Venennin is a stretch! This is the city of the mind. Fear lives in the heart. That means you need to prove your theories. Come on, Merune. At this rate, I’m going to need a drink too.”
“It’s morning,” Merune said.
“I just spent the last few months in Loda. Humor me,” Idan replied.
Clea and Iris exchanged glances. Iris had calmed down significantly and with such a sudden change in demeanor that it was strange. Often flirtatious and open, she now looked grave in the staunch, angular clothes of Ruedom and her hair tied into a bun. She glanced over at Clea and said, “I guess I was wrong.”
Clea opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say. Iris clearly didn’t think she was wrong, but her direction had changed completely. She eyed the weapon, rubbing her chin. “This weapon likely is valuable to the Insednians though,” Iris began. “The more I think about it, honestly, with this and Myken, you might get a fair chance at…something with the Warlordof Shambelin. The…Warlord of Shambelin,” Iris repeated thoughtfully.
“I’m surprised you’re not objecting,” Clea said skeptically, still searching Iris’s expression carefully for any hidden intent. Something was going on in Iris’s head. Something had been going on for a while.
Iris looked to Clea, and then out to Idan and Merune, laughing between themselves. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she looked at Clea and then took her hand.
Clea was surprised by the gesture, looking into Iris’s hazel eyes that were focused and pleading as she said, “My only ask is that maybe tonight you consider a different path. You go out with us tonight after your visit to the healing temple. Maybe…” Iris hesitated. “Maybe you consider staying in Ruedom. Can you do that? We can show you what Ruedom has to offer. You’re going to marry Idan soon anyway. You’ve done so much over the last few years, Clea. Everyone deserves the chance to live and breathe for a while. Why not stay here?”
“But then—” Clea started.
“But then, what?” Iris said, raising an eyebrow. “You won’t save your city? Loda is full of capable people. Who is to say Loda will be attacked? Maybe if you gain power here, you can negotiate a stronger treaty, improve trade, even bring Lodain people into our walls, which you know full well are impenetrable.”
Clea paused thoughtfully, and Iris squeezed her hands. “I’m just saying to consider it,” Iris said. “There is so much unrest in Loda right now. People are inclined to act recklessly when that happens. Will you just think about it? It’s what your city wants anyway.”
Clea sighed. “Of course,” she said.
“Just think about it tonight,” Iris said, looking back at the weapon, “and then you go back to breaking history and waging war on warlords. That is, if you really want to. Or, you might discover there is one more option.” Her grip softened on Clea’s hands and Iris faced her one more time as she said, “freedom.”
Clea watched Iris, and despite her passion, the woman still seemed lost in thought, looking down at the weapon again as if she was in fact looking at a key. To what, Clea had no idea.
CHAPTER 14
THE MIRROR
HE TEMPLE OF healing was entirely unfamiliar in its beauty, but familiar in spirit. As Clea walked barefoot along the marble, she no longer felt like a teacher but relished in the feeling of being humbled as a student.
They eased down onto two small benches in a small room of the temple, and Tenida poured a cup of tea. There had been a strangeness Clea had noticed when the woman opened the ancient gates to greet her. She’d looked at Clea as if she’d recognized her for a moment, and then her countenance had folded into reserved warmth.
When Clea explained that she’d come to learn about the history of the temple and tour the grounds, the woman’s expression had changed from reserved warmth to simply reserved. Clea expected the woman to decline simply due to her cold reception, but here Clea was, at the end of a tour and on her way to a private room.
The sound of pouring tea was loud in the stone quiet. Clea was surprised at how few people inhabited it, having only seen three or four students within the grand walls.
Tenida wasn’t a rushed woman, and Clea waited patiently to drink. For a moment, Tenida took the tea in her hands, and glancing down at the steaming liquid, she said, “We harvest this from our own gardens. The purest in the city.” But there was no pride in the statement.
The woman took a deep, empty breath, countenance heavy and thoughtful before she looked out a nearby window and watched the trees rustle softly outside. The light spilled in golden streams through the vast open window. “Our healing practice teaches us openness,” she said. “I’ve practiced the discipline all my life, and even now, I feel myself struggling to impart this story to you.”
Clea wondered at the comment. When asking about the history of the healing temple, she had just imagined a quick summary, perhaps five minutes of history, but Tenida had insisted on having tea and not sharing about the history until they had a moment to sit. If there was something so dreadful about the temple to impart, Clea was sure she would have already read about it by now.
“All of the land used to be full of cities,” Tenida began. “When cien shattered the world, infecting everything it touched, we barely had time to question where it had come from. In the early years, ansra had yet to be manifested, and so all mankind had was fire. We set entire cities ablaze to stave off the infection of cien, burning thousands alive. No matter the sacrifices, in time, cien always returned.”
The history of the temple, Clea now realized, seemed to go back much farther than she was anticipating. It reminded her of the time she once sat and listened in Althala’s tent. This woman was in every way Althala’s opposite, poised, refined, and grounded where she sat. Clea reflected back on her original journey from Virday, a journey which had been repeating itself in so many opposite ways. Althala had imparted chaotic truths in haste and confusion, but Tenida’s poise assured her that the story the woman prepared to share was as refined and sharp as a needlepoint.
