The Initiate Brother Duology

by Russell, Sean

  The two Imperial Guards held their positions.

  “We will not harm your Emperor,” General Hojo said. “Let us pass.”

  One guard shook his head, pushing Narihira away with his foot.

  Scrambling to his feet, the Hajiwara retainer joined the other party where Shonto guards pushed him to the rear.

  Hojo motioned Shonto swordsmen forward.

  Lady Nishima turned away and suddenly her cousin came and knelt beside her. The ringing of swords stopped abruptly and Hojo stepped up to the now unguarded door.

  “Wait,” Tadamoto said, lurching to his feet. Supported by a man in Butto livery, he followed Hojo as he tried the door and found it unbarred.

  Entering the room everyone stopped, searching the dim corners, looking for doors. The room was empty.

  “He has hidden or made his escape,” Hojo said, driving his pommel into a gloved palm.

  Waving at the balcony, Tadamoto moved forward. On the balustrade a torn scrap of silk wafted in the light breeze. The guard colonel stepped out onto the balcony, looking around, confused.

  One of Hojo’s officers peered over the balcony and turned to his commander, inclining his head almost imperceptibly. The general hurried forward and Tadamoto did the same. A white form lay on the stones far below, a dark shadow at its side.

  “There is our Emperor,” Hojo whispered. Beside him Tadamoto turned slowly and spiralled to the floor.

  A Shonto officer pointed out beyond the north gate where a long line of torches snaked its way south.

  “And there is Lord Shonto and his army,” Hojo said, his voice strangely quiet. “Inform Lady Nishima. She will have some good news this night.”

  * * *

  Standing inside the Gate of Serenity, Nishima held tightly to Kitsura’s arm. They almost leaned upon each other, their exhaustion was so great.

  “Food,” Nishima whispered to Kitsura. “I will greet my father and then food and perhaps a bath. If we are to escape or face a barbarian attack, let us do it fed and clean, and perhaps even rested.”

  “I could sleep upon the cobbles,” Kitsura said.

  “You did, cousin,” Nishima reminded her, but her lightness of mood was entirely false, in her heart she sent up a silent prayer: bring him to me safely. He is good and wise. Bring him safely.

  The gates were open and soldiers pushed back the crowds outside. They jostled and shouted and still called for the Emperor, his death not yet known, and then, suddenly, they cheered.

  “That will be the hero, Komawara,” Kitsura said. “Imagine.”

  Men on horses appeared in the dim light, framed by the great arch under the dark sweep of tile. Three men rode abreast, one in darkest blue, one in gray, and one in Shonto blue. Nishima let out a long sigh and another prayer to powers unnamed—a prayer of thanks.

  Outside, the people in the streets fell utterly silent, and then Nishima heard a single voice—the sound of a woman crying. She found herself moving forward, Kitsura trying to restrain her. She shook off her cousin’s grip and continued. Komawara was dismounting now and the rider in Shonto blue also: her stepbrother, Shokan. And then she was running. Shokan saw the movement and turned toward her, his face black from dust and streaked with tears. Nishima felt her body stop, as though it obeyed commands from forces more powerful than her will.

  Shonto’s personal guard came slowly through the gate bearing a bier of lances upon their shoulders and on it lay a form draped with a banner—the blue silk of the shinta blossom. Nishima felt her knees strike the ground. A cry of deepest agony tore at her throat. Then she felt hands lift her, and she pressed her face into the blue lacing of Shokan’s armor. Kitsura’s arm encircled her shoulder and she heard the soothing voice of Shuyun, chanting a prayer for the dead.

  * * *

  Nishima had not eaten, bathed, or slept. She sat in a strange room in the Imperial Palace turning a cold cup of cha compulsively between her hands. She stared off, deep into her memories, perhaps, and looked as if she would begin to sob again at any second.

  Kitsura had left her for a few minutes, lured by a hot bath, and Shuyun was off seeing to the ceremony for her father. There was so little time; they would have to perform the rites before dawn. They’re going to burn him, she thought, and this realization was like a blow to her heart.

  A tap sounded on the door to the room and a maid’s face appeared—one of Nishima’s own maids!

  “Tokiwa,” Nishima exclaimed, “how is it that you are here?”

  “Steward Kamu brought us, my lady,” she bowed, hesitating, her eyes cast down. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

  Nishima nodded. Her mouth formed the words, thank you, but no sound came.

  “Lord Shonto and Steward Kamu wish to speak with you, Lady Nishima.”

  “Please bring them to me,” she said. Perhaps their company will help, she thought.

  The maid disappeared.

  Seconds later Shokan and Kamu entered. They bowed and knelt on the mats.

  “I have no cushions, I am sorry,” Nishima said, her voice small.

  Shokan shrugged.

  “It lifts my heart to see you safe, Kamu-sum. It is a miracle.” She looked into each of the men’s faces. Certainly they are able to maintain an appearance of dignity better than I, she thought. I must look a ruin.

  “The miracle,” Kamu answered, “is Brother Shuyun’s servant, Kalam. He went out into the fog and met a horde of barbarian raiders, sending them off chasing phantoms. He led us and hid us and put his ear to the ground and lured barbarians off into the mist and even drew his sword against his own people. He will be a man of Wa yet.”

  Nishima’s smile was pained.

  “Nishi-sum,” Shokan said gently, “despite all, we must prepare for the future. There are many things that must be spoken of.”

  Nishima nodded, a sudden coldness spread through her. “You will not marry me to this Khan, will you, Shokan?” she said, surprised by the edge of hysteria in her voice.

  “Sister, I would not marry you to anyone you did not choose.”

  She turned her tea bowl, still focusing on nothing.

  “Nishima, the Lords of Wa and the officials of the government are meeting in the Great Hall as we speak. There is no heir to the throne.”

  “There are sons, Shokan-sum. Have you forgotten?”

  Shokan glanced over at Kamu. “Wakaro is certainly dead, and the others will follow their brother once the people learn that the Yamaku have fallen. They are a despised family, Nishima-sum. No Yamaku will sit upon the Dragon Throne again.”

  There was silence for a second, but Nishima did not really take this information in. She could not force herself to focus on the conversation.

  “If a suitable sovereign is not found, there will be a civil war, sister.”

  Nishima looked up. I have lost a father, why have they come to bother me with this, she asked herself? “Shokan-sum, excuse me for saying so, but you are speaking the worst foolishness. The Khan is about to take the throne. In a few hours he will sit in the Yamaku’s place. The Empire, I may remind you, has fallen.”

  Shokan rubbed his palm with his fingers. “If there is not a chosen sovereign, claimants will spring up all over Wa. There will never be a concerted effort to oust the barbarians, for there will be no alliance strong enough. The lords of Wa will war among themselves, making the barbarians’ work easy. It will be a generation before we see the enemy gone, perhaps more.”

  “They are such fools,” Nishima said coolly, but there was no conviction in her voice.

  “Nishima-sum!” Shokan reached over and took hold of her arm, spilling cha over her hands. “You must listen.”

  She fixed him with a cold glare and he let go of her hands. “I am listening, brother. What is it you have come to say?”

  Shokan took a deep breath.

  Nishima realized he waited for eye contact before he spoke and so she looked up, not trying to hide her anger.

  “There is one candidate acceptable to all,” h
er stepbrother said, speaking with unnecessary precision. “If you will consent to become our Empress, Nishima-sum, we will avoid civil war.”

  Nishima started to laugh, but the laugh died in her throat. She began to speak and could not. She stared at her brother as though he had spoken words that, beyond all doubt, confirmed him mad.

  “Lady Nishima,” Kamu spoke gently. “Thousands of lives may be saved by your decision. There is an entire Empire to think of.”

  My father is dead. The Empire has fallen. Why will you not leave me in peace? “Kamu-sum,” she said as reasonably as she could. “I know nothing of the ways of government. How can you seriously expect me to rule? This is madness,” she said, exasperated. Again she began, trying to achieve a tone of reason. “What of Lady Kitsura? The Omawara have as much Hanama blood as the Fanisan. Perhaps she will consent to be your Empress. Please, brother. Speak no more of this…I cannot bear it.”

  “Sister, my father raised me to understand my duty.” Shokan’s voice was as cool as hers now. “Did he not do the same with you?”

  Lady Nishima stared at Shokan. My father is dead, how can you insult me now? Have I not paid enough?

  “Lord Shonto,” she said to her stepbrother, “if I seriously believed that I could play a part in saving Wa, I would not hesitate to do so. But once this crisis is passed and we avoid civil war—then Wa will be saddled with an Empress who knows nothing of the art of ruling. If one day we do oust the barbarians, I would not know where to begin to rebuild an Empire. I would be a worse ruler than the Yamaku.” She waved a hand at the door. “Bother me no more with this. We have a lord whose ceremonies must be seen to.”

  “I will say no more, sister,” Shokan answered, “though I would ask you to come to the Great Hall and inform the gathered lords of your own decision. Then you may see the civil war begin with your own eyes.”

  “Shokan-sum!” Nishima cried. “You do not know what it is you ask. Please do not place this burden upon me.” Her hands trembled and she dropped the cha bowl to the mat. “Please, it is my life you ask for.” She covered her face with her hands but no tears came.

  Oh, father, she thought, they are not satisfied with one Shonto life, they want another.

  “Sister,” Shokan said very softly, “I would spare you this if I could. I would take it upon myself, but I cannot. By midday a barbarian army will be at our gate. We must have a new sovereign and we must have made our escape. If you will not take up this duty, the Empire will dissolve into chaos. Let me tell the gathered lords that you require time to consider. That you will answer in an hour. Let us hold off calamity as long as possible. Sit and ponder the alternatives, sister. Speak with your Spiritual Advisor. Let me say you will decide within the hour?”

  Nishima sat for a long moment, then nodded her head, the tiniest of movements. “I will give you my decision at dawn. Please ask Brother Shuyun if he will attend me.”

  Kamu looked over at Shokan who nodded toward the door. Bowing, the two men rose and left, closing the door quietly behind them, and making Nishima think that they suddenly felt they should not disturb the grieving daughter. As though they had not thrown her already uncertain life to the wind once again.

  She sat unmoving, and then Lady Kitsura entered through a screen. She was dressed in the silk robes of a peer—one of Nishima’s robes, in fact.

  “There is a bath, Nishi-sum, and your servants have found some of your own robes.” Kitsura paused.

  Nishima did not look up. “I can accept the fall of the Empire,” she said in a flat voice, “more easily than I can believe that my father is gone—he seemed the greater of the two.”

  Kitsura nodded. Kneeling, she took Nishima’s hands. “A bath will help, cousin, truly.”

  Nishima nodded. Servants came and led her to her bath, leaving her to soak in peace as she preferred. Carefully laid out within view were robes and combs and perfumes, and the box that belonged to her mother decorated with the warisha blossom of the Fanisan House. Nishima closed her eyes. So many had died that day. Jaku was dead, she realized. His death poem was hidden in her hunting costume. I must have it sent to his brother, poor man. She hugged her arms across her breasts and felt the warmth work at knotted muscles. Remembering the teaching of Brother Satake, she began an exercise to relax her muscles and calm her spirit. Her focus was so poor that this was an indifferent success.

  A tap on the screen preceded a maid’s voice from outside. “Brother Shuyun awaits, my lady.”

  Nishima fought back a sudden attack of tears and, when she felt she had mastered them, she stepped out of the bath.

  Dressing without too much haste was difficult, but she forced herself to move slowly lest her servants think she rushed to meet a man. “Tokiwa,” Nishima said to the maid who waited beyond the screen. “I wish to pray with Brother Shuyun, I do not want to be disturbed for any reason.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Have you laid a bed for me in the adjoining room? I will try to sleep later.”

  “It has been done, Lady Nishima.”

  “Thank you, Tokiwa. You may go. I will tie my sash.”

  She could easily imagine the servant nodding and performing her graceful bow before hurrying off.

  Nishima left her hair down and combed it carefully. She tied her sash with particular care.

  Slipping into the room, Nishima was disappointed to find Shuyun not present and then she heard his voice whisper her name from the balcony.

  Shuyun was standing at the rail, looking out to the north. Nishima came and stood close beside him, resting her hand on his shoulder.

  “Upon the fields,” he said, pointing off to the distance.

  A fire burned there and then Nishima realized that it must be many rih distant—the figures moving around it were so small. The blaze was enormous.

  “What is this?” Nishima asked.

  Shuyun shook his head. “Even the Kalam does not know.”

  “They burn the fallen, certainly.”

  Shuyun shook his head. “Perhaps, but it is not their way, Lady Nishima.”

  They stood a moment longer and then Nishima took his hand and gently led Shuyun away from the spectacle, back inside. Nishima opened a screen at the room’s end where an enormous bed had been made. A single lamp cast a soft glow.

  Nishima stopped him at the bed’s edge and embraced the monk who returned the caress with more warmth than usual. Nishima guided his hand to the knot on her sash. “Pull,” she whispered.

  Doing as he was instructed Shuyun felt the knot give and unravel in his hand.

  “A Lover’s Knot,” she said.

  The monk almost stepped away, but she held him.

  “I am a fallen Brother,” he said, an edge of anguish in his voice. “A lost one.”

  She held him close, afraid he would leave. “Do not despair, Shuyun-sum, I have found you. Please stay with me. Tonight I have need of a friend more than ever.” She reached back and took the sash from his hand and let the heavy brocade slip to the floor, uncoiling itself around her feet.

  “They have asked me to ascend the throne,” she said suddenly, her voice the smallest whisper.

  He nodded. “I have been told.”

  She stepped away, pulling the quilts back on the bed and drawing the monk in after her.

  They lay close in the dim light of the lamp. “I must tell them what I will do in a few hours.”

  They did not speak for some minutes. “I do not think I can bear my father’s death, Shuyun-sum. I have not the strength…and they want me to be their Empress.”

  “I believe Lord Shonto will be reborn in only a few days. His spirit will return, though you may never meet it or know it if you do.”

  Nishima did not answer immediately. “Even so, he is lost to me. I am a selfish, spoiled peer, and it is my loss that grieves me though it shames me to say this.

  “It is not surprising that I have led you from the path, Shuyun-sum. I am so far from perfection it is a marvel I was not born an ant.”


  Shuyun smiled. “Be careful what you say, ants have Empresses also. It is a fate that can pursue you from lifetime to lifetime.”

  The sounds of distant voices reached them, the chanting of the crowd beyond the gates.

  “I do not know what answer I should give the lords of Wa. My father warned that an act of bravery might be required of me, yet I do not think I am brave enough. I know nothing of ruling, Shuyun-sum. It seems a sham to ascend a throne that in a few hours will belong to this barbarian Khan.”

  “I am not certain the barbarian will be long for this throne,” Shuyun whispered. “Perhaps only days.”

  Nishima pulled back so that she could see the monk’s face. “Why do you say this?”

  “In the mist, when I disappeared and had you and Lady Kitsura wait—do you remember the coughing? The tribesman suffered from the plague, there is no doubt. It will spread among the army of the desert more easily than the wind blows through unshuttered houses. It will be a great tragedy. Tens of thousands will die, and if the Khan takes the city the plague will spread through the capital. Barbarian patrols have crossed the river and turn back all those who hoped to make their escape. The population of the city is four times what it would be normally.”

  “Botahara save us,” Nishima said. “We will all die-barbarians and people of Wa alike. Is there no escape?”

  Shuyun nodded. “For the few, there is hope of escape.”

  Nishima closed her eyes. “Do the others know of this, the plague?”

  “I have told only General Hojo. It is possible that others may guess what the barbarians’ fires mean—they must burn the plague-dead and all of their belongings, perhaps even their horses, hoping this will save them. It will not.” Shuyun paused. “I regret that General Hojo will not listen to my counsel in this.”

  Nishima pulled back so that she could touch the monk’s cheek, tracing the outline with great tenderness. “What have you counseled?”

  “To save Wa, we must save the barbarians. It is the only possibility.”

  Nishima froze, unable to believe what she had heard. “Even I am aghast at this suggestion. They have murdered the length our Empire.”