The Initiate Brother Duology

by Russell, Sean

  Drawing himself up, the general stared at the Hajiwara lord. “This is treachery,” Hojo almost hissed. “Lord Shonto is not a man to trifle with. I strongly advise you to reconsider.” The Shonto officers formed themselves into a tight knot around their commander.

  Hajiwara stopped at the head of the stairway. “Treachery, General Hojo?” His voice sounded unreal through the metal of his face-mask. “These are strong words. I do this to assure myself that there will be no treachery. If the information your lord has provided proves to be true, then you shall be freed and your lord sped on his way. You may be sure of this. I take only the precautions any man would take—any man who was not the fool I seem to have been taken for. Be at your ease, General. You shall be treated with all due respect. Please see that your men cooperate.” The lord gave a quick nod and disappeared down the stairway.

  The Captain of the Hajiwara guard stepped forward and nodded, pointing with his sword to the stairs the men had ascended. Not exposing their backs, the Shonto soldiers passed down to the courtyard where their fellow soldiers waited.

  So, General Hojo thought as he assessed the situation around him, Hajiwara is not the fool we had taken him for. Why, then, is he out chasing phantoms in the storm, while I am here, at the heart of the fortress that controls the locks to Denji Gorge?

  * * *

  Butto Joda dismounted and his horse was led away by an armed aide. The sounds of horses, stamping in agitation, mingled with the wail of the storm.

  The Dragon Wind, the young lord thought, but who will it assist tonight? He sat upon his camp stool and a guard handed him a war fan bearing the Butto seal. Senior officers knelt waiting in the dim light of torches.

  From this position on the hilltop the young lord could see the many fires of the two armies that faced each other on the broad plain. Far off, the lights of the Imperial Guard Keep, now occupied by the Hajiwara, were just visible, and to their left, the long black line of Denji Gorge bordered the entire plain.

  If only we can trust the Shonto, the lord thought. They have lied to one or the other of us, there is no doubt of that. I pray to Botahara it is as I believe and removal of the Hajiwara is their true goal. He touched his forehead in the sign of obeisance to Botahara.

  A senior general came forward and knelt before his young lord. “An army moves over the plain, Sire, though it is difficult to know how large a force it is. Our spies tell us that, even in this storm, it is clear the Hajiwara soldiers make preparations.”

  The young lord nodded, deep in thought. In his armor, laced in black and Butto purple, Joda looked even smaller and younger than usual, yet his generals showed no sign of lack of confidence in their lord. All waited, ready to carry out his orders without question.

  “And what of the Butto, have we made our preparations?”

  “The armies await your commands, Sire,” the general said. “And the goat has been staked in the field. We wait only for the leopard.”

  Butto Joda nodded. “Our soldiers must be patient yet. The leopard comes to us. The Hajiwara will attack first, they must. And we will pull back in disarray, drawing them farther into Butto lands. A single battle stands between us and the victory we have so long prayed for. Bring me good news to take to your lord, my father. Let it be said that, in his lifetime, the Butto finally had retribution for generations of compromised honor.”

  The wind curled and howled around them, making speech impossible, but then it seemed to rise and throw itself at the sky. “It is a sign!” Butto Joda said. “The Dragon Wind comes to aid the Butto, have no doubt!” The young lord reached up and tightened the cord on his helmet, and all of his retainers did the same.

  Horses pawed the ground and snorted as the dragon howled around them. Their manes streamed in the wind, dancing in the torchlight. And then soldiers pushed the torches into the sand and the darkness was complete.

  * * *

  The hundredth Shonto soldier scrambled over the ledge, clawing his way up the cargo nets that had been made into a giant rope ladder. He nodded to Shuyun, observing some formality even in such circumstances.

  Can they not come more quickly? Shuyun wondered, though he knew there really was nothing that could be done about it. Holding a boat next to the cliff was an almost impossible task in this storm. Two soldiers had been lost already—swept under by the weight of their armor when the boat lurched.

  Leaving the soldiers to tend to their arriving companions, Shuyun entered the chamber of stone, and signaled Lord Komawara. They crossed to the stairway. It was time to see what lay ahead. The monk had a rough idea of what to expect in such a temple, for all Botahist fanes had certain things in common. But he also realized the sect that had dwelt here so long ago would no doubt have had their own needs.

  The walls of the stairway had once been painted with elaborate figures, many in the act of love. They were difficult to discern now, for the centuries had not been kind to them. Ancient written characters left Botahara’s word carved into the rock, but painted over them in many places were the blasphemies of heretics and nonbelievers.

  The stairs seemed to twist up into the rock of the cliff so that soon the little light that came from below was gone. Komawara chanced a slight opening of his bronze lantern, but this showed no change—the stairs continued their long spiral. The two climbed on, making as little noise as they could, which slowed their progress painfully. Around the next corner a dull glow seemed to come from above and the warrior and the monk slowed their pace even more.

  The stairs ended at a door in the rock and it was from here that the light came. Komawara drew his sword, but Shuyun stepped past him to approach the opening. Stopping to listen, he pushed chi through his body and slowed his time sense; when he moved again, Lord Komawara was unable to believe the speed of his motion.

  The door opened into a corridor wide enough for four men abreast. The sound of the storm was less here, but the air still rushed and funneled through the doors and tunnels.

  This will be the level of the three windows, Shuyun thought. I am in the hall that connects them. He stepped farther into the corridor, looking toward the source of the light. An eerie wail came from behind and Shuyun whirled toward it…but there was nothing there except the wind.

  The voice of the dead Brothers is still in the wind, the monk thought, and he turned back to the light. It seemed to come from a door on the right. An inner chamber, Shuyun thought, and signaled Komawara to wait while he investigated. The lord took up a position in the doorway where he could watch the hall at the monk’s back.

  Shuyun moved forward, seeming to flow like a Sonsa. His bare feet made no sound on the cold stone.

  As he came close to the door, there was a noise from the hallway’s end—footsteps and the rattle of armor. A light illuminated the opening and Shuyun could see stairs. He stepped back, ready to run, but realized there was no time. A soldier appeared, lamp in hand, his eyes fixed to the floor in front of him. He was three steps into the corridor before he looked up and saw the monk crouched in the halflight.

  The soldier’s eyes went wide and he stopped. “Spirit-walker!” he whispered and turned and fled.

  Alerted by the noise, a second soldier appeared in the door to the right. He, too, recoiled in shock at the sight of the monk and Shuyun used the second of surprise to drive a soft-fist into the bridge of the man’s nose. There was a “crack” like the sound of a breaking board and the guard fell to the stone in a heap. Shuyun jumped into the room and with a sweeping motion of his left hand deflected the blow of a second guard. Stepping aside, the monk found the center of resistance in his opponent and easily propelled the man across the hall into the solid granite wall. He fell and did not move.

  Komawara was beside the monk now, sword in hand.

  “Did one escape, Brother?”

  Shuyun nodded as he knelt to tie the guards.

  “Then we are discovered! He will sound the alarm.” The young lord’s face twisted in what seemed like pain. “We have failed.” />
  “I don’t think we have, Sire. The guard is sure he saw a Spirit-walker—a ghost of the dead Brothers who once dwelt here. No doubt he is frightening his companions with his tale even now. I think no one will venture down here while this storm lasts. But we must be sure this level is secure so that no one escapes with the truth.”

  The lord nodded and was off to the other doors without hesitation, moving with the assuredness and grace of a falcon about to strike.

  * * *

  Shonto slid his brush carefully across his inkstone and went back to the paper he worked on. No man knows the weaknesses of his own child, the lord wrote. And no man knows the strength of the tree by the shape of the seed.

  It was an exercise Shonto had done a thousand times—ever since he was a child, in fact. He formed each character with the utmost care, focusing all of his attention on every stroke of the brush. To exist beyond the world, beyond the emotions, in the purity of the act itself, that is tranquillity of purpose. He inked his brush again and stopped to examine his effort. Was that the slightest sign of a shake? Had his attention wandered?

  He set his brush to paper again, recopying the line that dissatisfied him. There was no reason for the brush work not to be perfect. The plan would work or it would not, and if it did, the fleet would be in the locks before dawn. Then, and only then, would Shonto have things to deal with. Until that time, thinking of what might or might not be happening was of no use.

  Speak carelessly and your orders will be followed in the same spirit. The brush moved on the paper without sound, and the lord bent over his work in total concentration.

  * * *

  A horse galloped up the hill, rising with such speed it seemed as though it were borne by the wind itself. Lord Hajiwara listened to the sound as though he would tell the news by the haste of the rider. It was the hour of the dove, he guessed as he gazed up. The sky was broken and ragged, clouds sailing like a fleet before the wind. The quarter-moon glowed from behind a cloud on the western horizon and in the east there would soon be the beginnings of dawn. Around him, on the shoulders of the hill, Hajiwara could see the signs of battle—fallen soldiers and horses—though the color of their livery was not visible.

  “Who wins the battle by night?” Hajiwara said to himself, posing the question from an old adage. “Those who see the day break.”

  The wind had not fallen and its howl mixed with the sound of the battle that was still raging. It was a strange, unsettling storm and none the less so for being dry. No rain had fallen and now the clouds broke up and scattered as though they had accomplished their purpose.

  The horse slowed at the outer ring of guards and then raced on to the hilltop. Reining in his mount, the rider appeared in the torchlight, a lieutenant attached to the lord’s staff. He dismounted as a guard hurried to take the bridle, and then went directly to Lord Hajiwara. He bowed without any sign of haste, and then pulled open his face-mask. His mouth was surrounded by a black ring where dust had stuck to sweat.

  “Lieutenant?” the general at Lord Hajiwara’s right prompted.

  “Sire, I come to report that we have taken Lord Butto Joda.”

  Lord Hajiwara nodded and opened his face-mask. His staff knelt around him, bowing as the lord offered his thanks to the gods.

  “Where is the vanquished lord?” Hajiwara asked. “You say you have ‘taken him’?”

  “Sire, he was captured unharmed and has been brought safely through the lines, though not without pursuit. I came ahead to allow you time to prepare.”

  The lord nodded and then he and his staff sat without discussion or sign of impatience. They noted the beauty and tranquillity of the moon in contrast to the sounds of battle. They reflected upon the state of their own spirits at that instant. The Hajiwara had waited generations for this; they intended now to make the moment perfect.

  Horses galloped, a resonance like a heart pounding out of control. Twenty men slowed for the guards and then pushed on. In the half light the Hajiwara green was visible and, as the riders grew closer, purple on one horseman no bigger than a child. They reined in and untied the child from the saddle. He was forced to his knees before Lord Hajiwara, arms tied behind his back.

  “Do you not bow, Lord Butto Joda?” Hajiwara asked quietly.

  The figure in black and purple made no move but remained still and, somehow, dignified. Hajiwara gave a signal to his general who nodded to a guard who stepped forward and removed the young lord’s face-mask and helmet. He pushed the boy’s face down to the ground and then stepped back.

  “Look up, young lord, see what your family’s pride has brought you.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, the boy rose until the flickering light of the torches illuminated his child’s face. Hajiwara was on his feet, his sword half out. He glared at those around him like a crazed man who has discovered that everyone is a traitor. And all of the faces went pale with the realization.

  “Get him out of my sight!” Hajiwara screamed.

  “Sire, we did not know…. We thought…” The lieutenant fell silent and then rose and dragged the false Joda off into the night.

  The hammer of horses’ hooves came from behind. The Hajiwara staff closed around their lord as the riders approached, but then relaxed as they saw the green lacing.

  The senior officer of the group, an old captain, dropped to his knees before his superiors.

  “Captain?” the general asked.

  “Sire, there is an army on the plain at our rear.”

  This time Lord Hajiwara did draw his sword as he rose. “An army! This is not possible! How could the Butto penetrate our lines?”

  “They do not seem to be the Butto, Sire.”

  “Not the Butto! What colors?—what colors do they show?”

  “Blue, Sire.”

  Spinning, Hajiwara sliced through the pole of a torch, sending it rolling down the slope. “Shonto! It cannot be!”

  “They are on foot, Sire. Yet they still come quickly. If you are to escape, you must go now.”

  Hajiwara’s senior general took charge, ordering horses, setting guards off with the Hajiwara banners in a different direction. Torches were pushed into the dirt. The lord set out east, hoping to skirt the Shonto army and to gather reinforcements from the Hajiwara perimeter.

  The sounds of battle did not diminish and no one noticed as the moon disappeared behind the hills. In the eastern sky, morning stained the clouds with its pale dye.

  * * *

  An arrow sparked off the stone above General Hojo’s head, causing him to crouch as he leapt. The first Hajiwara guard went down to a single stroke and the second fell back, parrying madly, before he slipped from the walkway to his end.

  Hojo Masakada moved quickly toward the tower now, not allowing himself to run. A dozen elite Shonto guards followed behind him. It had all been easier than he had hoped. His assessment of the Hajiwara men had been correct—no match for the Shonto trained. But then the men Hajiwara had left in the keep were the weakest of his soldiers. He must have truly believed the Shonto guards would sit meekly and wait for his return. The general almost laughed.

  The main gate was open now, and Shonto soldiers poured in from the plain. He would bow low to Brother Shuyun and Lord Komawara when he saw them. He had not truly believed they would succeed.

  In the darkness he saw figures pull back into the tower door. Let them hide there awhile, he thought. It does not matter. The bridge was open to them now. Only the locks remained. He hefted his sword; it was good to find that he was still a warrior. It was very good.

  * * *

  On the hillside, a mist hung in the branches of the northern pines. A hawk’s call echoed across the slopes and mixed with the creaking of leather saddles. A flight of wood-crows went excitedly from tree to tree, watching the activities of man, eyeing the carnage. A line of riders passed under the hill, banners waving, but they were of no interest to the crows for they posed no threat and were strong and very much alive.

  At the head of t
his column of soldiers, Lord Hajiwara entered the keep. It was early morning. His wrists were raw where the cords cut into them, but he ignored the pain. There was no sign of a Hajiwara soldier within the walls, though the evidence of battle was everywhere. High above the tower the Shonto banner, white shinta blossom on a blue field, fluttered in the falling wind. Hajiwara looked at it for only a second and then turned his gaze to the cobbles.

  Two Shonto guards pulled the lord from his saddle, not roughly but with little sign of respect. They moved him to the center of the courtyard and made him kneel. A noise on the stairs alerted him and he looked up. Lord Shonto descended, deep in conversation with General Hojo. He was followed by a monk, an old man with only one arm, and a young lord not wearing the Shonto blue. Shonto did not even wear armor, though he carried his own sword.

  At the bottom of the stairs Shonto stopped to complete his orders to the general, and then, finally, he turned to Hajiwara. He regarded the lord carefully, but without apparent emotion, as though the nobleman were a horse he might purchase. A stool was brought and Shonto sat, holding his sheathed sword across his knees.

  “‘An act of treachery: a victim of the same.’ Is that not the saying, Lord Hajiwara?” Shonto asked. The lord said nothing.

  “It is close enough, though you say nothing. Yet you must speak, Lord Hajiwara, and it is treachery you must speak of, yeh?”

  “The treachery I am aware of was not of my making,” the kneeling lord spat out.

  Shonto smiled openly. “Look around you, Lord Hajiwara—no, look! Do you think I have taken your stronghold and captured you this easily by being a fool? It seems that the mists cloud your sight, if that is what you believe. Yeh?” The kneeling lord maintained his silence and Shonto continued to regard him.

  “So, Lord Hajiwara, let me tell you something of the message I am about to send to the capital. I intend to say in this letter, that you and your son-in-law, the Imperial Governor of Itsa, have conspired with a certain…officer in the Imperial Guard to end the life of Lord Shonto Motoru in such a way as to make it appear that the Dragon Throne has condoned, if not directed, this plot. This would have had the effect, had it been successful, of turning the Great Houses against the Throne, creating a situation that could have proved very advantageous to the officer I have mentioned.” Shonto regarded Lord Hajiwara. “Even if I am not to use the name of this Imperial Officer, I think the Son of Heaven will quickly guess the name for himself. Do you still prefer to remain silent?” He waited for a long moment, but the lord said nothing.