The rest is missing

Irene remembers the last time she was in the Archives. How she had lost control of her emotions while Seulgi comforted her. The other girl had made her feel a bit better, lending a shoulder to cry on.  

But truly, time might be the only solution to solving her guilt.

Stifling her yawn, she stretches her arm, trying to remain awake. 

“Irene.”

She shivers from the slight draft, turning her attention onto Brother Orion. The man is pensive, studying an unfurled map, covering the entire table.

Irene recognizes some of the landmarks and others are unfamiliar. It is definitely a map of their city, but it is not of the present. She has never seen green pastures in the middle of the city or a river flowing through the bazaar. 

“Take a good look. This is our city a thousand years ago,” says Brother Orion. He points to a miniature sketch of a white temple. 

“This was the former location of the High Temple. Before it was mysteriously destroyed in a fire. In fact,” he pauses, “there were many suspicious events occurring exactly a millennia before our time.” He eyes her knowingly.

“The Lion Massacre,” she says. 

“Yes, correct. Our archives hold records of our people’s history since we first began to walk the earth. Yet our records are incomplete.” Brother Orion taps his finger on various black cross marks littered over the map. 

“We know the lions went extinct due to a murder spree that remains unsolved to this day. We know the Head Shaman, Aurelius, was a lion,” he says. Irene has never heard about Aurelius before. She takes deeper breaths in hopes the extra oxygen will help her cope with her tiredness. 

“Our records tell us that Aurelius died unexpectedly, due to illness. For the next ten or so years, we have no idea what was happening. I have searched extensively, yet I cannot find a single hint,” Brother Orion grumbles. 

“How could the records suddenly stop for ten years?” she says. 

“That is one of the greatest mysteries of our history.”

“Did something happen to the scribes?” 

“Perhaps. However, the disappearance of the lions cannot be a simple coincidence with our missing records.” She tries to follow his line of thought, tries to piece together the information. 

“Then Joy is here, a millenia later,” she states. 

“You are here as well, as a warning from the Earth Mother.” Brother Orion walks behind her. 

“I will be honest. Understand that I am placing a great amount of trust in you.” He pulls another map from the shelf, spreading it on top of the table. 

“This is our city today and between those thousand years, the Old Quarters have risen and fallen,” he says. 

“The Old Quarters. The sewers?” she says. 

“To us, it is the sewers, but it was once the centre of a flourishing city. It had expanded underground due to population growth and now the section above ground has been abandoned.” Irene herself has never lived in the Old Quarters nor has she been near it. Her parents had ingrained in her to never enter the area. 

“People nonetheless live in the section underground. The poorest of the poor, he says, fists clenched. 

“We can only do so much to alleviate poverty. The Tiger Clan possesses ancestral claim from the marshes where they reside,” he indicates, “to there, the entrance into the Old Quarters.” 

The Tiger Clan is an old, aristocratic family line. Some say that the tigers are the hidden hand behind the city’s inner workings, having power equal to the Shamans. 

Beyond any doubt, they are filthy rich, controlling much of the city’s property. Renting land, collecting taxes. Even her father has to pay the tigers every month for his fruit stand since it operates on their land, the marketplace.

“They’re crooks. Robbing the poor of what little they have,” she says, seething. Irene is definitely awake now. 

Brother Orion’s gaze hardens. 

“Our hands are tied as Shamans. They are staying within legal boundaries and they have not done anything wrong. It is their land after all.” 

“Then what can we do?” 

“Brother Darius was chosen to be a Shaman for this very reason, being the bridge between us and his clan. We hope to work with them in improving the people’s living conditions, yet they are very stubborn.” Brother Orion rolls up the maps as he talks. Her blood boils, listening to every word.

“What does the Earth Mother say about this?” she asks.

“It is not in her place to judge them. She simply guides us, she cannot force things to happen,” he says, putting the maps back into the shelves. His expression is as if he had aged ten years. 

“Rallies are common in front of the Old Quarter’s entrance. They beg us to negotiate with the tigers, to implement land reforms, to help lower taxes.” He shakes his head somberly. Defeated. 

“Darius reports his clan elders will only agree to lower taxes if we allow them to expand their land claims to the iron mines in the south.”

“Doing so will only strengthen their reach. They’ll be able to produce steel,” he explains, “they’ll control the economy, the market to an even greater extent.” 

“And who knows what they’ll do with that steel,” says Irene darkly. 

“Their other condition is ludicrous. Utter foolishness. They demand four seats on the Shaman’s council,” says Brother Orion. The Head Shaman walks, beckoning her to follow him, leaving the Archives. 

Past the dining hall, the sleeping quarters, going further into the twisting hallways of the High Temple. Down marble stairs.

“The problem now is that the rallies have died out. All of a sudden. There must be an explanation,” he says, pushing open the double doors. In the middle of the sanctum, a distance from them, is a long reed mat where familiar faces sit. 

She can make out a frowning Wendy. Beside a bubbly Rosé who is holding a cup of tea. 

“And I believe everything is connected,” he finishes. He leads her to the mat and they sit, joining the waiting apprentices. 

Rosé brings the cup closer to Irene.  

“You want a sip?” the girl offers. The smell is inviting, urging Irene to kick her tiredness into orbit. She accepts and the girl almost shoves the cup into her hands. 

“Ahem. If I can have everyone’s attention,” coughs Brother Orion. 

“I have gathered you all to brief you on today’s patrol,” he says. An elbow knocks into Irene’s arm, liquid sloshing violently in the cup. The offend