Shuyun shrugged slightly. “I am Botahist trained,” he answered simply, and Shonto saw the young man’s eyes dart to the table before him.
Shonto clapped and servants slid aside the shoji. “Remove these things from Brother Shuyun’s table.”
After doing their master’s bidding, the servants bowed and backed toward the exit.
“No, stay,” Shonto said on impulse. I will have all the servants know of this, he thought. Then, committed to this course of action, Shonto clapped his hands twice and ordered the guard to enter and observe.
Brother Notua cleared his throat and then spoke in his soft voice, the rasp more pronounced than before, “Excuse me, Lord Shonto, but this is most…unexpected.”
Shonto drew himself up and answered, enunciating each word with care, “Is it not the custom that I should test the monk who is to be in my service for a lifetime?”
“It is, Lord Shonto. Excuse me if I appeared to criticize.” The old monk smiled sweetly. “It just seemed to me…Shuyun-sum has so many talents,” the monk looked up at the fire in the lord’s eyes. “Of course, this matter is for you to decide, excuse me for interrupting, I…please excuse me.” He fell silent.
Shonto turned to Shuyun, “Do you have objections to this test, Shuyun-sum?”
“I am ready to begin, Sire, if that is your wish.”
Shonto paused, deciding. “Begin,” he said. He watched as the young monk entered a meditative state, slowing his breathing, his eyes focused on something unseen. Glancing at the older monk, Shonto realized that he, too, had begun to meditate. Strange, Shonto thought, but his attention was taken up by the younger monk.
Shuyun focused his being on the table in front of him. Time slowed and he followed the pattern of his breathing, a pattern as familiar to him as the halls of Jinjoh Monastery.
The table before him was beautifully made of iroko wood, a wood so dense that it would sink in water; “Iron Tree” it was called by the peasants who cut it. The top was twice the thickness of a man’s hand, two hand lengths across, and stood at a convenient height for a person kneeling. Shuyun knew the table’s joinery would be flawless and each plank selected for its strength and beauty—there could be no weakness in the structure, so there could be no weakness in his will.
In the sunlight streaming into the room, the monk’s face appeared as peaceful as the face on a bronze statue of Botahara. Very slowly he drew his hand in a low arc and placed it, palm down, on the center of the table. The tight grain of the wood felt warm against his skin. Sunlight illuminated the fine hairs on the back of his hand and forearm. He pushed.
There was no visible change in the young monk’s body, no sign of strain. And the table stood as solid as if it were carved from stone.
Botahara forgive me, Shonto thought, I have set him a task at which he must fail. Memories of an oar shattering came to him. Shonto cursed himself for this ill-considered act. Hadn’t the old Brother tried to warn him?
Suddenly there was a sharp crack, and slivers of dark wood flew in all directions, spinning in the sunlight. The old monk drew back like one who has been brutally awakened by a slap, and on his face, clear for all to see, was a look of fear. The table had not buckled, it had exploded.
Guards and servants stood in the hall like statues of stone. The table lay smashed in the center like an animal broken under its load. Shonto slowly picked a sliver of iroko wood off his robe and turned it in his hand as though it were entirely alien material. No one else moved, no one spoke, preserving the moment as long as possible. Then Shonto bowed low to his Spiritual Advisor and everyone in the room followed his example.
Shuyun watched through his altered time sense as Lord Shonto bowed, watched the ripple of muscle that showed even through the man’s robe.
Slowly Shonto returned to a kneeling position, his awe apparent, even to those not Botahist trained. But there was more than awe, there was wonder—wonder at what he had seen in the old monk’s face.
Shuyun bowed in response as deeply as the shattered table would allow. He began the return to real-time; the sound of the birds changed tone, he watched Lord Shonto blink and the movement took only a fraction of a second.
Shonto nodded to the guard and the servants, dismissing them. “Shuyun-sum, my steward Kamu will take you on a tour of the grounds and give you the passwords. Please join us for the midday meal with Lord Komawara. Thank you.” Shonto nodded to the monk, again with deference. “Brother Notua, please leave your papers with my secretary. It has been an honor.”
The two monks bowed again and Shonto was sure that the older monk faltered almost imperceptibly as he rose but caught himself and backed from the room with dignity, leaving the lord in a state of confusion.
Shonto and Tanaka were alone again, but neither of them spoke. Before them the table lay broken, and Shonto noticed for the first time that the legs were pressed through the thick floor mats. He turned to Tanaka who was plucking a spear of iroko wood from his beard. Like his lord, he examined it carefully, as though it had a secret to reveal.
“How much weight would that table bear?” Shonto asked.
Tanaka shook his head and shrugged. “The weight of five large men?”
“Easily,” Shonto shook his head. “Impossible, yeh?”
“According to my understanding of the principles of nature, yes, Sire. Even if it were possible for him to bring his entire weight to bear from a sitting position, he should have merely pushed himself away from the table.” He shook his head and turned the sliver in his hands again. “I’m glad I saw this with my own eyes, otherwise I would not have believed it.”
Shonto said nothing for several long moments. He considered asking Tanaka if he had seen the old Brother’s reaction but something stopped him. Finally his eyes came back into focus and his face brightened. He smiled broadly. “A most interesting morning, Tanaka-sum! I wish to refresh myself before Lord Komawara arrives. Please join us later, in the summerhouse in the main garden.”
He clapped his hands twice and spoke to the guard and servants who appeared. “See that no one disturbs this.” He gestured to the broken table. Rising, the lord turned to leave by his private entrance, a servant rushing to take up his sword and follow.
Tanaka bowed but did not move until Lord Shonto was gone, then he went closer to the table, full of curiosity. The guard, who had positioned himself inside the door, cleared his throat. The merchant looked up. “Amazing, yeh?”
The guard nodded but continued to stare at Tanaka.
Suddenly the merchant realized that he still held the shard of iroko wood. He raised it. “What shall I do with this?”
“Lord Shonto ordered that nothing was to be disturbed.”
“Ah, I see.” Tanaka looked suddenly puzzled. “But as this clung to my beard, and I don’t think Lord Shonto wished me to remain here until he has made a decision on what he will do with this table, I am puzzled.”
The guard realized that Tanaka was having fun with him and despite the fact that Tanaka was a servant and the guard was an officer, there was no doubt in the man’s mind that Tanaka was far more important to Lord Shonto than any legion of soldiers. “I think it should stay in the room, Tanaka-sum,” the guard said, using the honorific.
“But anywhere I put it will not be its natural place and, therefore things will be disturbed, yeh?”
The guard felt his temperature begin to rise, but he remained outwardly calm. If the merchant forced him to go to Shonto to clarify what should be done about a sliver of wood, the lord would be furious. The guard shifted uncomfortably.
“Perhaps,” Tanaka offered, “I could place it near where I sat and that will be the best we can do, yeh?”
The guard broke into a grateful smile. “Yes, I agree. That would be best. Thank you, Tanaka-sum.”
The merchant returned the smile and set the piece of iroko wood on the floor in the agreed position and then swept out of the room with as much grace and confidence of manner as a lord.
Neit
her guard nor merchant was aware that a servant watched all of this through a crack between shojis, and that when he repeated the incident to Kamu, who had him repeat it to Shonto, the lord laughed and banged his fist on his armrest with pleasure. The servant was greatly surprised by this reaction. Humor was sadly lacking among Shonto’s retainers.
Seven
The canal beyond my garden
Is like a dark vein,
And yet I cannot
Take my eyes from it.
Where has he gone this long night?
And why does the canal
Flow so loudly?
Origin unknown but attributed to
the poetess, Lady Nikko,
or one of her students
LORD KOMAWARA SAMYAMU, the ninth Komawara Lord to be so named, watched the bustle on the canal’s edge as his boatmen deftly guided his sampan among the throng of craft that filled the waterway. He had chosen to pass through a commercial area where cargo from the Floating City arrived, not because this was the most scenic or the quickest route to the House of Lord Shonto Motoru, but because Komawara wanted to see the variety and volume of trade—to see the commerce of the capital with his own eyes.
Soon, he thought, soon Komawara goods will arrive at these very quays and then there will be a change in the Komawara fortunes.
The young lord’s sampan was preceded by only a single boat, in which rode his guard, and neither craft was of the ornate variety commonly seen in the capital. Komawara’s steward had pressed him to hire more boats of better quality so the young lord would not arrive at the Shonto estate looking like a country pauper, but Komawara had decided against this. Shonto, he knew, was too clever a man to be impressed by appearances and it was also likely he would have made himself familiar with Komawara’s exact situation. Shonto would be able to acquire such information with ease, and would do so, out of course, with a new associate.
Yes, Komawara thought, and it is likely that no one, not even the Emperor, knows the scope of Shonto’s holdings. I would look the fool to arrive in hired sampans, to wear a lie.
I am of an ancient House, he reminded himself, as ancient as the Emperor’s. I have fought twenty skirmishes with the barbarians, a handful of duels, and I taught those cattle thieves, the Tomari, that the boundaries of my fief cannot be encroached upon. Shonto is a general of great renown; he will judge me by what is important, I need have no doubt.
Yet the Lord of the Komawara did have doubts. He was on his way to meet the Lord of the Shonto, and who knew who else, for a meal. The Shonto! A family with a history unlike any other’s. To think that Hakata the Wise, upon whose teachings were based all the principles of the Empire’s government and law, had been a retainer of Shonto’s ancestors. Generations ago a Shonto lord had sat with Hakata himself and discussed justice and moral philosophy as today people discussed the thoughts of the Wise One at their own tables. It was a Shonto lord who had the writings of Hakata inscribed upon the One Hundred and Three Great Stones that lined the Walk of Wisdom in the Shonto garden. The One Hundred and Three Great Stones at the Emperor’s Palace and at the Imperial Academy were but copies of the Shonto originals.
Yet the man Komawara had met at the Emperor’s party had not seemed at all impressed with his own greatness. In fact, he had seemed very direct, a man who had no time for vanity and who spoke from the heart. Komawara had liked him immensely.
And the daughter, Komawara thought, a smile appearing involuntarily. But then he shook his head and the smile disappeared. She is to be an Imperial Princess, perhaps an Empress, and I—I am the poor Komawara from Seh. My family is ancient enough, but my holdings are nothing. He sighed.
And the cousin!—she is even more beautiful. But she is also more dangerous. Even the cold-fish Emperor becomes a boy in front of her. With a wife like that I would be lost. I would abandon all the pastimes of true men and do nothing but write love poems and court. What a fool I would become! Ah, well, there is little danger that I will wed Kitsura Omawara, so I need not lose sleep in worry.
Komawara gazed at the scene around him. Ships of all sizes, though of common design, lined the quay—the shallow draft river junk with its high stern and blunt prow. The bargemen, many bare from the waist up even on this cool autumn day, worked quickly, swinging cargo ashore with booms and tackle. The smaller junks of the river people swept past in every direction, without course or thought to safety, whole families sculling with all their strength and yelling at every boat within range as they moved goods out to the inns and the myriad shops and private homes of the Imperial Capital. Komawara reached out and trailed his hand in the cool water.
He marveled at how clean the canals were. The Imperial Edicts governing the waterways forbade the dumping of refuse, dunnage, or human waste into the canals. The penalties for doing so were severe in the extreme. Yet, Komawara thought, perhaps they need not be so. Human waste was used to fertilize the rice fields of the great plain and the capital provided the majority of that most essential material—he had seen the dung barges early that very morning. Beyond that, the people of Wa were never wasteful and always fastidious by nature. But, the lord thought, the waterways of Wa are the veins and arteries of the Empire and we would die without them. Their preservation cannot be left to chance.
They passed out of the main canal and down a byway lined with prosperous inns and tea houses. Traffic on the waterway thinned. Along the stone quays lining the canal walked merchants and minor peers, landholders, and not a few soldiers—among them Komawara thought he saw the blue of Shonto livery.
Areas such as this attracted him, they were perfect places to gather gossip. He had spent a good deal of time on this trip sitting in tea houses and frequenting inns, listening to conversations, asking questions, enjoying the role of the naive young lord from the outer provinces. He had learned a great deal. For instance, that very morning he had overheard two Imperial Guards whispering about a failed attempt on Shonto’s life!
He also knew, as did most of the population, that Shonto had paid the Botahist Brothers for the services of a Spiritual Advisor. The Emperor, Komawara thought, will not be pleased. Yet it might be worth the displeasure of the Son of Heaven to have one of the Botahist trained in your service. But what a price it must be, he thought. How many could afford the cost of such an advisor? No, it wasn’t the money that made the Botahists’ services prohibitive—it was the greater cost—the displeasure of Akantsu II, Emperor of Wa. Very few could pay that price, very few indeed.
They turned again, into an area of residences this time—not the residences of the great, they were further toward the outskirts. Komawara himself might afford a home in this area one day soon. He admired the houses set in their small gardens, half hidden by walls, and imagined himself as prospective buyer, choosing among the better locations, imagining which garden received the afternoon light. He laughed at this fantasy, and turned back to his thoughts.
So Shonto will come to Seh. When he sees the truth of my situation there, will his interest in me disappear? He had no sure answer to this question. All he could be certain of was that Shonto was known for his loyalty, and their fathers had shared a mutual respect. My fortunes can’t help but rise with the good will of the Shonto…as long as the Son of Heaven does not become too disaffected by Shonto’s independence. Perhaps I should advise the lord against taking on this monk? Komawara rejected the thought immediately. Shonto, he knew, had advisors of great renown—he must be careful not to presume too much.
It is not my place to advise Shonto Motoru, he thought, not yet. Though when he comes to the north, Shonto will need all the support he can arrange. The men of Seh do not take kindly to the suggestion that they cannot deal with the barbarians themselves.
He pondered again the behavior of the savage people and found it, as usual, unexplainable.
Ah, well, Komawara thought, if all goes as I hope, I will have a powerful ally, an ally who will soon be the Governor of Seh. So few days in the capital and already my fortunes
have begun to rise! But perhaps I should be careful not to alienate the Son of Heaven entirely. It has been nine generations since a Komawara resided in the Governor’s Palace in Seh. That, he thought, is too long.
* * *
Beyond the garden of Shonto Motoru were arranged the other gardens of the estate. Some, like Shonto’s, were small, enclosed and private, while others were open, with large areas of lawn for outdoor entertainment. Pathways bordering ponds wove in and out of the stands of exotic trees, then ascended to the next terrace into a garden with a different theme, another purpose.
Streams meandered, seemingly without design, among arbors, under the arches of bridges, and through stands of cherry and willow and pine.
Lord Komawara could not help but compare these gardens with his own in Seh—the comparison was humbling. And this, the lord realized, was Shonto’s secondary residence!
He followed Shonto’s steward down a long, tiled portico. The steward, Kamu, had met him at the gate and despite the young lord’s lack of entourage, had greeted Komawara like an old and honored friend of the Shonto family. Komawara knew of the one-armed old man by reputation. In fact, his own father had spoken of him often, for Kamu had been a great swordsman in his day—a man around whom legends had grown. In Seh such a man would have been made a minor peer, but it was known that Kamu felt it a greater honor to serve the House of Shonto than to be a lord in the outer provinces. There were many who would make the same choice.
Turning a corner, they came at last to a gate, which Kamu opened before standing aside to allow Komawara to step through. The old man bowed as he passed. “Lord Shonto awaits you, Lord Komawara. May your stay with us be pleasant.”
Komawara Samyamu bowed and went through the gate. A set of steps, made of stones set into the bank, led the lord up into a stand of pines. The aromatic scent was strong on the breeze and reminded Komawara of the forests of Seh. The path branched, and on the walkway which turned left, a fist-sized stone tied with a thong of softened bamboo marked the way he should take.
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 15