Tiris Avu

November 11, this year
Upper Priest Lake, Idaho
12:48am PST

She sees it.

Wyn Avuqua.

Her heart sings the name. As the open Jeep sloshes and slides along muddied pathways, she imagines the polished white brick walls bursting up through the emerald forest veil, terraces draped with heavy ivy and flowering crimson amaranth, and the high silk banners coiling and stretching like green dragons in the air.

“We’re passing through Vifae quadrant now,” Graham tells Astrid. “Of course, you probably knew that.” She notes that his voice sounds nervous.

The four Itonalya households, she thinks as her head shakes with marvel. Vifaetiris, or House of Wings, covers the western quadrant of the city. Northernmost is the House of Mind or Keptiris—east of the Citadel is Vastiris the House of Heart, and in the South is the House of Talons, Shartiris. Wyn Avuqua means: Heaven’s Tear, and is thought to symbolize a tear of joy in the eye of Thi, the mingling of bliss and pain. The cities name represents the dynamic nature of the human condition—happiness and grief, love and hate, hope and fear—tears of joy. There are perhaps a few scholars, save the half dozen that have studied the Itonalya, that would admit Wyn Avuqua as the first inspiration to symbols such as the yin and yang or the Greek masks of comedy and tragedy. How will the world respond when they learn that the city exists? Will they believe it? Will they care?

She thinks of her Facebook news feed and how misinformation is mainlined to a meme-hungry population. Will there be an areal photograph of the site with the caption: Columbus my ass. Or, in this political climate: Let’s rethink immigration. Will it matter to anyone that a culture existed here for millenniums? A people that managed to stay hidden? Could such a fantastic thing change the way people see the world. It is certain that this discovery will alter the story of humankind. The question is if anyone will give a shit. But to Astrid, right now, all that matters is she has not been chasing a ghost.

She grins. Partially excavated cobbled streets branch out from a crossing. She imagines the pathways back in the day, inlaid with smooth stones and outlined in moss. She sees herself wandering down into Vifaetiris to listen to the musicians and poets. The jeep jostles through a series of deep puddles. Mud spatters the windshield. Her face is misted with brown water. She wipes it away, still grinning.

But even as her attention is magnetized by the passing images of her waking dreams, her wide-eyed excitement is interspersed with looks to her driver, Graham Cremo. My word he is tall. She glances back to Molmer behind her. He smiles. Next to him, seated behind Graham, is Marcus Rearden. He appears to be uncomfortable due the lack of leg room. She smiles again, only this time because it is strangely satisfying to know that Rearden is uncomfortable.

The Jeep slithers down an embankment and pitches sideways. Graham easily corrects the direction as if he is driving on ice. He laughs. Astrid grips the door handle and her grin intensifies.

“Goddamn it!” Rearden spits from the back seat. Black, watery mud has splashed his upper body.

Astrid now stares at Graham.

“My apologies, Dr. Rearden,” he says looking into the rearview mirror. “This is a messy business. We’ll get you cleaned up when we arrive.”

To Astrid he says, “Perhaps when we get there we could play a game of Shtan.”

She smiles at him. “You’ve found a Shtan set?”

Graham laughs, “Many.”

“Shtan?” Rearden questions. “You found…” he breaks off.

Graham glances into the rearview mirror and answers, “Itonalya chess, I guess you could say. It is believed that their game of Shtan influenced chess.”

“Yes. Of course.” Rearden says.

“Do you play chess, Doctor?” Graham asks.

Rearden turns his head to the landscape. He does not answer.

Graham turns north. The Jeep clambers over a weedy bank. He points to an obvious structure jutting out from the side of a low hill. “We’re on the edge of Keptiris now. And there is Tiris Avu, House of Seeing.” He points.

A chill needles along Astrid’s neck. The citadel of Wyn Avuqua.

“I can’t imagine your excitement right now,” Graham says. “In some ways, I’m more excited for you to see this than I was when I uncovered it.”

Astrid faces the approaching stronghold—the center piece of her long career—the very fortress that has held her heart through loneliness, divorce and years of what seemed to be meaningless searching. When she turns to Graham, he is smiling at her. She can’t decide which dream has come true.