THE
INITIATE BROTHER
DUOLOGY
DAW Books by Sean Russell:
The Initiate Brother Duology
THE INITIATE BROTHER
GATHERER OF CLOUDS
Moontide and Magic Rise
WORLD WITHOUT END
SEA WITHOUT A SHORE
The River into Darkness
BENEATH THE VAULTED HILLS
COMPASS OF THE SOUL
SEAN RUSSELL
THE
INITIATE BROTHER
DUOLOGY
THE INITIATE BROTHER
GATHERER OF CLOUDS
THE INITIATE BROTHER copyright © 1991 by Sean Russell
GATHERER OF CLOUDS copyright © 1992 by Sean Russell.
Author’s Note copyright © 2013 by Sean Russell
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-698-14627-3
Cover art by Michael Whelen.
Additional cover elements by permission of Shutterstock.
Cover design by G-Force Design.
Map by Pat Tobin.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1626.
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First Printing, July 2013
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INTRODUCTION
The Initiate Brother was a strange hybrid in its day. The book grew out of my love of Tolkien, my fascination with T’ang dynasty poetry (and thus the period), and my newly discovered interest in the court writings of tenth-century Japan, especially The Tale of Genji. It was also deeply influenced by Chinese history and the great wars of succession. It was not the first “Asian Fantasy,” but I believe it was the first successful one. I was determined at the time to distinguish my book from all the vaguely medieval, Norse-saga fantasy that was being written at the time. An Asian based fantasy seemed to be one way to do it. The problem was—and I had no way of knowing this—that publishers were still looking for more of the same.
The Initiate Brother had no wizards, elves, dwarves, or even “magic” as it was understood. In fact, it read more like an historical novel than a fantasy, yet it was set in a non-existent kingdom that combined elements of ancient China and Japan. No one really knew what to make of it. The letters that came back from editors were confusing to a neophyte writer. On the one hand, several editors appeared to love the book, but they didn’t know what the market might be for a book that fell somewhere between an historical novel and a fantasy. Who would read it? What shelf did it fit on? One British editor wrote my agent to say that she didn’t think they could sell The Initiate Brother, but she thought I might be a major writer one day and would we please send her anything else I wrote. It was like good news/bad news. Love the book—can’t publish it.
It began to look like The Initiate Brother would be confined to that odd little category of good books that just didn’t fit into the publishing paradigm. That was until Betsy Wollheim came to the rescue.
Betsy was the part-owner and one of the two senior editors at DAW Books, a company started by her father, Donald A. Wollheim. One of the things about Betsy’s position was that she could buy a book without having to get half a dozen other editors on board. I remember the day Betsy called me—at work (I still had a day job). I had the flu and was actually on my way out the door, heading for home, when someone caught me to say there was an editor on the phone wanting to talk to me. I scurried back to my desk, answered the phone, and that moment aspiring writers dream of occurred. A woman with a slight New York accent told me she loved my book and wanted to buy it. I always remember what Betsy said: “I don’t know if we can sell it, but it’s too good a book not to be published.” I thanked her profusely, went home, and threw up. Not really the way it’s supposed to happen, but we don’t get to write our lives.
I was terribly intimidated by Betsy at first. After all, I had wanted to be a writer from the age of ten, and here was my chance. “Don’t screw it up” was my main thought. Over the next few months, though, we became friends. We were the same age, had come of age in the sixties, liked the same music and books. Despite the fact that she grew up in New York (Queens, actually) and I grew up in small town Ontario we had a great deal in common, and she was a dedicated editor. At the time I had nothing with which to compare this editorial experience, but having worked with countless editors in the subsequent twenty-three years, I have learned that Betsy is an editor from the old school. She edits. She loves the job, loves the books she works on, and is utterly determined to make the books better. And she did, too. Betsy is the only editor I’ve ever had who asked me to make a book longer!
I attended a couple of “cons” the year the book came out and was welcomed into the world of writers. People like Tad Williams, Stephen Donaldson, Pat McKillip, Neal Stephenson, and Sean Stewart became friends and have, over the years, supported me both personally and professionally. It is no exaggeration to say that The Initiate Brother changed my life.
I have noted recently a number of fantasy novels drawing on cultures other than northern European, and even heard an interview recently where someone asked if this was a new trend. Considering that I started writing The Initiate Brother in about 1984, this made me smile. The Initiate Brother might have more “mysticism” than “magic” (it is more like the film Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon than The Lord of the Rings) but I still think it has that “feel” that made fantasy such a popular genre. It is epic in its scale, filled with intrigue and characters that match the scale of the world. And it has action—lots of action. I still get letters from readers asking me if I ever plan to write a third book in the series. (My answer: “Never say never.”)
I look back at the last twenty years of my writing career and am firstly rather surprised that it has been that long—I still feel like a new writer with much to learn. And secondly I can’t believe what a crooked path I have followed. Certain books stand out as having shaped some part of my writing life. The Initiate Brother began a period of fantasy writing for me—nine books in total. More recently, Under Enemy Colors turned me into a writer of successful historical novels. Even more recently I have written a mainstream novel with an elderly Huckleberry Finn as the main character. Rather ironically, editors are again saying, “We love this book, but what is it? Who will read it? What shelf does it go on?” I have somehow cycled back to the beginning—to an unusual book that does not fit into the publishing paradigm. Here we go again.
Writing is rather like marriage, I think—it is not for the faint of heart. It requires persistence, yes, but more than anything it requires an enormous amount of love. You have to want to do this more than anything else. I still get up in the morning and feel blessed that all I have to do that day is write. I am one of the fortunate few. For this I have to thank editors, publishers, agents, friends, family, and most of all readers. I get letters from re
aders almost every day, and it is one of the great pleasures of my morning to read them while I drink my coffee. I never forget that it is these people who have allowed me to do what I do for a living.
I am delighted that Betsy and DAW have decided to bring this book out again. I don’t know if we could call it “groundbreaking,” but it was certainly unusual in its day. To those people who ask “What is it? What shelf does it belong on?” I say it is a novel. You can put it on any shelf marked “Fiction.” Readers write and tell me they have put it on the shelf reserved for their favorite books. That is the shelf writers long to have their books on. To those readers I say, “Thank you.”
Sean Russell
2013
Table of Contents
The Initiate Brother
Dedication
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Gatherer of Clouds
Dedication
Acknowledgments
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Forty-eight
Forty-nine
Fifty
Fifty-one
Fifty-two
Fifty-three
Fifty-four
Fifty-five
Fifty-six
Fifty-seven
Fifty-eight
Fifty-nine
Sixty
Sixty-one
Sixty-two
Sixty-three
Sixty-four
Sixty-five
Sixty-six
The
Initiate
Brother
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my grandfather, Stan Russell, in his ninety-fourth year, and to the memory of my father who loved books.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank my family and friends who supported my efforts tirelessly and more selflessly than anyone could have a right to expect.
As one reads the history of our Empire, it becomes apparent that we have always had a preoccupation with our past. For two thousand years we have written the chronicles of our dynasties, histories that reach back into the distances of time to the Kingdoms of the Seven Princes. It is interesting to note that we are taught to value all of these works equally. Yet, as we read back through them, each successive chronicle seems less factual and more storylike. When one has studied the writings of antiquity, it can be seen that history and fantasy become indistinguishable.
The Spring Analects;
Hakata.
One
THE PRACTICE OF condemning messengers, the Supreme Master thought, had not developed without reason. The old man looked down at the scroll he had received from the Floating City that very morning and he shook his head. A lifetime of dedication and effort and still he received messages like this. It seemed a great injustice.
Brother Hutto, the Primate of the Floating City, wrote that Botahist Brothers were being accosted on their travels by criminals and ruffians: accosted by the people of the Empire!
The Supreme Master slowly began to roll the mulberry paper scroll. The attacks were not the true problem—one would have to search a lifetime to find someone more able to defend himself than a Brother of the Faith—it was what these attacks said about the situation in the Empire and the attitude of the new Emperor. This was the Supreme Master’s real concern.
He set the scroll on the corner of his writing table. Brother Hutto had written that several of these robbers had been injured recently, but this did not seem to be a deterrent. If anything, the attacks were increasing. The old monk reached for the scroll as if to read it again, but stopped himself. There could be no doubt of what it said.
If only the Emperor would turn his attention to the roads! That would be an indication that this new dynasty was capable of something more than ambition.
The Supreme Master took a deep calming breath. Emperors, he reminded himself, come and go; the Faith is eternal. It was important to keep the proper perspective.
Of course, Brother Hutto had recommended that a display might be appropriate. It was an old solution but one that had not been employed for many years. The Supreme Master lifted the scroll again and hefted it as though it were Brother Hutto’s suggestion he weighed. Perhaps a Brother of the Faith should enter the Emperor’s kick boxing tournament during the River Festival.
Yes, the Supreme Master thought, he would allow a monk to enter, but not a senior Brother; no, that would not have the desired affect. He would allow a junior Initiate to compete—the smallest, youngest looking Initiate that could be found. That would be a message neither Emperor nor subjects could mistake, a message to spread down all the roads of the Empire!
Fortunately, it appeared that finding the boy would not be difficult. The Supreme Master felt satisfied with this idea. Not only would it fit his purpose, but there was historical precedent for such an act. The Lord Botahara himself had first been a warrior and, in his time, had entered the Emperor’s tournament—though the other fighters would not compete against him.
Lord Botahara had crossed the cobbled courtyard to the fighting ring and the cobbles had broken under his feet. The story was no longer believed by the population at large, such was their lack of faith, but the old monk knew it to be true. The Supreme Master himself could…. Well, it was wrong to be proud of one’s accomplishments—after all, what were they compared to the Enlightened One’s and he had overcome pride altogether.
Addressing the problem in Brother Hutto’s letter had been the first difficulty of the day. Difficulty two had just disembarked at the monastery’s wharf. Sister Morima; Botahist nun, acquaintance of forty years (could it be that many?), would grace him with her presence as soon as she finished her bath. Days like this were sent to try him! The Supreme Master had always hated surprise visits. That was one of the many beauties of the monastery on the island. There were almost no visitors at all, let alone any coming unannounced.
His mind drifted back to the report from Brother Hutto. What was tha
t ass of an “Emperor” up to now? The old fool had lived on past all predictions. It happened sometimes, and not always to everyone’s advantage. The only benefit of this Emperor’s long life was that he did not leave a mere child to follow him, which invariably meant succession struggles. But then, the heir was no prize either, and not friendly to the Botahist Order. Well, the Brotherhood had plans and plans could be adapted to changing situations, just as one adapted one’s strategy at the gii board. Botahara taught patience as a principal virtue and the Supreme Master adhered to the principal virtues whenever possible.
The old monk let his eyes drift over the design set into the opposite wall in polished woods. Such a perfect pattern—abstracted from the blossom of the Septfoil, one of the ninety-four healing herbs. Seven petals within a septilateral, within a circle, the design intersected by the seven lines of power. So simple. So complete. The work of Botahara was a constant source of joy to him.
I am a fortunate man, he thought, and then realized that someone was approaching down the hallway. Sister Morima.
There came a tap on the frame of the shoji.
“Please enter,” the Master said, his voice the model of quiet dignity.
The shoji slid aside, revealing the great bulk of the Botahist nun. She was dressed in a long, unpatterned kimono, in a most unbecoming shade of yellow, gathered at the waist with the purple sash of the Botahist Orders. Her hair was cut short like a boy’s, offering no softness to relieve the square line of her jaw. She was, the Supreme Master noted, tanned like a peasant.
“Sister Morima. We are honored that you would come so far out of your way to visit us.” He rose from his cushion and bowed formally. The nun returned the bow, though only equally.
“The honor is mine, Brother Nodaku. To visit the monastery of your sect is a privilege granted to so few…” She stopped, as if at a loss for words.
As he had planned earlier, the Supreme Master moved his writing table aside, but the nun did not apologize for interrupting. He offered her his cushion and took a second one from a wall closet.
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