“Do you truly bear a message, Brother Sotura, or have you found compassion in your soul?”
Sotura gave a small frown, not easily adjusting to being addressed as though an equal. “I do bear a message, Shuyun-sum—a message of compassion.” He met the younger man’s eye. “The Supreme Master will send our Brothers to meet the barbarians who ride toward the Mountain of the Pure Spirit. We will offer to heal them if they, too, will lay down their weapons.”
Shuyun gave the senior monk a deep bow. “May Botahara chant your name, Sotura-sum.”
Sotura remained impassive. “I was also instructed to give you this.” He held out his clenched fist. Shuyun hesitated for a moment, then extended his open hand. He half expected Sotura to release a small blue butterfly into his palm, but instead he felt the cool weight of a jade pendant and chain.
“Never before has one been returned, Shuyun-sum. It is my hope that you will not refuse.”
The young monk looked down at the pendant in his palm. “Why, Brother?”
“Many felt the Supreme Master may have acted in some haste,” Sotura said, embarrassed to be admitting fallibility on the part of his Order. “We have swayed him in this matter.” Sotura waved a hand at the camp. “Think of the other Brothers who have followed you here. If they see you wearing your pendant, Brother Shuyun, it will cause them to reconsider their decision. I am concerned for their souls, Shuyun-sum—for theirs and yours.”
The younger monk broke into a smile that seemed to arise from joy. “Your concern would be better focused elsewhere, Brother. Those who have come here to cure the barbarians of the plague live the word of the Perfect Master.” He held the pendant up by its chain so that it hung between them. “No stone can change that.”
“Brother Shuyun,” Sotura said, his voice carrying an edge of desperation, “they come because they believe you are the Teacher. What do you tell them?”
Shuyun reached out and took the senior monk’s hand, lowering the pendant into it and then closing Sotura’s fingers, holding the Master’s hand thus as though expressing great affection. “I tell them I do not believe I am the Teacher.”
Sotura shook his head in confusion. “If this is true, what will you do? You have turned your back on the Botahist faith.”
“But the Teacher is among us, Sotura-sum. I will go to him and hear the Word from one who has attained that which we can only dream of.”
Sotura reached out and gripped the younger monk’s shoulder, staring steadily into his eyes. “Do you know where the Teacher dwells?”
Shuyun nodded.
“Where?”
Shuyun shook his head slowly. “When the Teacher wishes you to find him, he will send you a message, Brother Sotura.”
Sotura gave Shuyun a gentle shake. “You have had such a message?” he almost demanded.
“I believe I have, Brother.” Shuyun, stepped back so that Sotura released him.
The older monk stared down at the grass for a moment. “How can this be true, Brother? Why has he not sent for the Supreme Master, for Brother Hutto?”
“Their karma is their own, Brother,” Shuyun said with great gentleness, his face full of concern. “Ask why he has not sent for you, Sotura-sum. It is the question that will lead you to wisdom.” Saying so, he bowed to the senior Brother and returned to the tent where he labored to heal the enemies of Wa.
* * *
The following day Shuyun was interrupted in his work by Sister Morima. She stood silhouetted by the sun as Shuyun bowed over a young tribesman who lay on blankets on the grass.
“Brother Shuyun?”
Like all the Botahist trained in the encampment, she still called him Brother though the tribesman called him the Master.
He looked up, squinting. Though he could not see her against the light, he knew and was glad that Sister Morima had returned to her previous appearance of good health. Her step had grown light as she went about her work—her crisis of spirit had been resolved by an act of compassion.
“Sister?”
“On the edge of the encampment,” she waved to the south. “The Prioress, Sister Saeja, has come. She asks for you, Brother, and will come to you if you will allow her to enter the camp.”
Shuyun said a few words to the tribesman and then rose quickly. “I will go to her, Sister.” He hurried off across the encampment, nodding to the many bows he received.
Emerging from the edge of the camp, he saw that a small pavilion had been erected on the invisible border maintained by the Shonto guards. He set out toward this immediately, unprepared for the reaction. There was a surge among the people who had been gathering around the encampment. He heard his name over and over and people offering prayers of thanksgiving. The soldiers were not caught off guard by this, appeared to have anticipated it, in fact, so the crowd was restrained.
Steeling himself, he moved forward. Looking at the press of the crowd and the hope in the faces Shuyun thought, this will become my life, I cannot turn away. Approaching the Sisters, Shuyun noticed some of the faces he had seen in the palace. The one with the strong jaw and the haughty manner, the small one who tended the Prioress.
When Shuyun was three paces away, the Sisters knelt and bowed low. The Prioress stayed in her sedan chair this time but managed a bow all the same.
Before Shuyun could speak, the dry rasp of the Prioress’ voice broke in. “It is our shame to admit that we do not know how to address you.”
“I would be honored if you would call me Shuyun-sum, Prioress,” Shuyun said without hesitation.
The ancient woman considered this for a moment but then rejected it as inadequate. “Master Shuyun, we seek the Teacher,” she said simply.
Shuyun looked into the ancient eyes and saw the hope there and it saddened him. “He will be found by few, Prioress,” Shuyun said, his voice carrying a note of concern.
The Sisters exchanged uneasy glances.
“Master Shuyun,” the old woman said, the hope in her eyes replaced by growing uncertainty, “are you the one who was spoken of?”
Shuyun slowly shook his head, sorry that he must do so.
The Sister took a long breath, her face growing soft, like a child whose hopes have been dashed—who would dissolve into tears. “Then how is it that you have powers unheard of in all our history?”
Shuyun looked down at the grass and when he raised his head his eyes seemed moist, his voice almost overcome with awe. “I am the bearer, Prioress. I will serve Him.”
There was a long silence then, the nuns not taking their eyes from the monk as though he were a myth come to life. “The few who will find the Teacher…who?” the Prioress asked, her question tentative as though she feared the answer.
“I am not certain, Prioress.”
The Prioress nodded. “Master Shuyun, will you not take one of us with you?”
Shuyun looked down again, but only for a brief second, and then he raised his head, saying, “If I may, I will send word to Sister Morima, Prioress. I will ask her to join me, if it is possible.”
In some of the faces Shuyun saw a hint of anger, resentment, but the Prioress smiled suddenly, like the sun emerging from behind a cloud. “I have not been wrong in all things, at least. Botahara bless you, Brother. I will pray for you.”
“Prioress?” Shuyun said, deeply serious. “Shimeko-sum—the one whom you called Sister Tesseko—it is her soul in need of your prayers.”
The Prioress paused for a second, her face grave. And then she nodded once and the smile returned.
* * *
The Empress sat on the balcony overlooking the vast barbarian army. She had finished reading a letter written by Tanaka—a report on the state of the Imperial Treasury. The situation was not as desperate as her worst fears had whispered it might be. Hojo had secured so much of the palace when the Yamaku fell that few officials were able to slip away with stolen fortunes. Over many years Tanaka had made an exhaustive study of corruption in the Imperial Government, though it had never been his intentio
n. The Yamaku way of governing had forced him to it. Tanaka had paid for information, bought influence when necessary, bribed ministers and bureaucrats. As a result he had a long list of those who could not be trusted and was quickly purging the civil service. It was an irony her father would have appreciated, Nishima thought.
The Empress smiled. She had talked with Shokan regarding Tanaka and discovered the poor man was consumed by guilt. He had given Colonel Tadamoto a detailed list (though incomplete) of Shonto holdings and now felt he had betrayed every trust he had ever been given. As this ploy had quite possibly kept the merchant alive, Shokan applauded it as wisdom. But Tanaka was not reassured and suffered all the same.
Duty, Nishima thought. He thinks he has failed in his duty, though absolutely no harm came of his action and much good—he preserved his very valuable life. It occurred to her to send the merchant a charter, raising him to a minor peerage, and citing his betrayal of Shonto trust as the reason for this. She was not sure he would see the humor in this, however.
A knock on the frame of the open screens drew her attention inside.
Lady Kento knelt in the opening.
“Kento-sum,” Nishima said, smiling, for pleasure came to her easily that day.
“My lady. Captain Rohku is satisfied with the security in the block of your apartments, the private Audience Halls, and the Imperial guest chambers. He feels it is perfectly safe for the Empress to move through these areas without guards.”
“This is good news indeed, Kento-sum. I was going mad being followed everywhere. Please commend the Guard Commander for his diligence.”
“And, Empress, Lady Kitsura has arrived.”
“Please, do not keep her waiting.”
Lady Kento bowed and disappeared.
Nishima quickly rolled the scroll and pushed her work table to one side. She gazed out over the fields again. A message had arrived from Shuyun earlier that morning. He would come to the palace that evening and Nishima looked forward to this visit with both excitement and dread. How long will he stay? she asked herself again. The question had become a litany.
Kitsura appeared, bowing in the opening to the inner rooms.
“Kitsu-sum, you are as welcome as the arrival of spring and as lovely.”
“Empress, it is good to see you well.” The eleventh day of mourning had passed and the only white Kitsura wore was a sash, in memory of those who were lost during the recent turmoil and for Lord Shonto, of course. Her robe was deep green embroidered with a pattern of gold-edged seashells.
“You have seen your family, I am told. I trust they are well?”
“It is kind of you to inquire, cousin. They are indeed well. My family send their highest regards to the Empress.”
Nishima leaned over and squeezed her cousin’s arm. “Kitsu-sum, your father—how is he truly?”
Kitsura gave her cousin a tight smile, thanking her for her concern, and began to turn a ring on a finger. “It is true that he is less well than he appeared when I left for Seh, but he is a miracle, truly, Nishi-sum. Speaking of your ascension, he told me that Wa has lost a great artist but gained a greater Empress. I think he wanted you to hear that.”
“Lord Omawara is too kind.” Nishima felt her heart go out to her cousin, for she had twice lost a father and knew what it meant. She did not press the matter further.
“Cha, Kitsu-sum?” Nishima asked, moving the conversation away from the area that caused her cousin pain. “Or shall we sample some of the palace’s fine wines. There is a trove of rare vintages, I am told. Shokan-sum has said the wine cellar is of greater value than the treasury.”
“Cha would be lovely, cousin, thank you—though I would gladly sample your rare wines another time.”
Nishima clapped for a servant and asked for cha.
“I was able to speak with Lady Kento when I arrived,” Kitsura said casually. “She is determined to find you a suitable husband, Nishima-sum.”
“Me!” Nishima said, taken aback. “It is you she is searching for.”
“As I suspected,” Kitsura said, laughing. “I tease, cousin. She said nothing of husbands for you.” Kitsura tried not to look too pleased with herself. “Who has my Empress chosen for her loyal and humble servant.”
“Your Empress has not yet decided.” Nishima answered, shaking her head at how easily she had been tricked. “It will depend on how loyal and humble the Lady Kitsura is able to demonstrate herself to be.”
Kitsura laughed. “I fear for the happiness of my marriage, cousin.”
They both laughed.
“I will admit that we had not progressed beyond the obvious choices: Shokan-sum and Lord Komawara.” Nishima eyed her cousin as she said this, wondering what her reaction might be, but Kitsura showed no sign of what she felt.
Cha arrived and Nishima shooed the servant out so that she might complete the preparations herself.
“The hero of Wa, Empress? I did not realize you thought me that loyal and humble.” She considered for a moment. “Though I would have to live in Seh, far from my beloved Empress.”
“…and the pleasures of the palace,” Nishima added, ladling cha into bowls.
Kitsura’s face turned suddenly serious. “Meeting Lord Komawara here in the palace garden only last autumn, I would never have believed his name would one day be on everyone’s lips. People kneel down and bow to him in the streets—peers! I have seen it. Lord Toshaki, who almost forced Lord Komawara into a duel in Seh, is now his shadow. And all the young women of the Empire are mad to meet him. Your first social events will be attended by more lovesick young women than either of us can imagine.” She held out open hands and shrugged. “Our shy Lord Komawara. Who ever could have guessed?” Kitsura sipped her cha. “Of course I tell all the women who ask that I—that we—saw this in him from the beginning. I admit that I am a most shameless liar, Empress.”
Nishima stared into her bowl of cha. “Does this mean that you will accept Lord Komawara, Lady Kitsura?”
Kitsura laughed, but Nishima thought it was somewhat forced. “I believe our young hero must make his own choices, Empress.”
Nishima looked out over the barbarian camp. “Lord Komawara has suffered a serious wound to his spirit, Lady Kitsura. I am not quite sure what can be done for him.”
“I can think of a number of things,” Kitsura smiled, “if I am not being too bold.”
“I was thinking of something more spiritual, Lady Kitsura.”
“He is a warrior, Nishima-sum. A spiritual cure may not be what is required.”
Nishima shaded her eyes and looked out toward the mountains. Was that a dust cloud? She had received news that morning: the Brothers had met the wandering barbarian army and, with Lord Taiki’s assistance, convinced them to lay down their arms. Shokan had been right, the Brotherhood were scrambling to recover from their mistake.
The barbarian force retreating north on the canal was not faring so well. They were dying in numbers, leaving a trail of burial mounds behind them. There would not be a handful left when they crossed the border into their own lands. It was a terrible thing. The Kalam had returned to the capital the previous day, sent by Lord Butto. He was convinced the barbarian army would not surrender. Imagine such pride, Nishima thought.
Kitsura was speaking again, and Nishima had not been listening.
“…everyone says it is so, Nishi-sum. Is this true?”
“I’m sorry Kitsu-sum, my thoughts wandered. Please excuse me.”
Kitsura looked at Nishima with some concern but must have been reassured by what she saw, for her concern faded. “Brother Shuyun? Is it true, as everyone says, that he is the Teacher?”
Nishima took a moment to ladle more cha and stir up the embers of the burner. It was the question she had been avoiding for days, though somehow late at night it became more persistent and troubled her both waking and dreaming.
“I do not know, Kitsura-sum. Brother Shuyun denies it, but Tesseko, may Botahara rest her soul, believed he might be the Teache
r and not yet know.”
“What is your own belief, Nishi-sum? What does your heart tell you?”
“My heart?” Nishima said, with the tiniest hint of resentment in her voice. “I am an Empress, cousin, I am not governed by my heart.”
Kitsura was quiet for a moment, watching her cousin who stared out toward the fields, her mood suddenly changed.
“Excuse me, Kitsu-sum,” she said turning back, catching Kitsura looking at her closely. “Please accept my apology. It is unworthy of me to become bitter because of the part I have chosen to play.”
Kitsura reached out and took Nishima’s hand. Her skin was so perfect and soft. “Where will Shuyun go now? Will he go with Lord Shonto?”
Nishima shook her head. “Shokan-sum has released him.”
Kitsura pressed Nishima’s hand. “Then surely he will stay with you.”
Nishima squeezed her eyes closed.
“Cousin?”
Nishima wanted to give a neutral answer, but she could not and she felt Kitsura move closer. A hand rested on her shoulder, stroking her gently. Then Kitsura came still closer and embraced her. They stayed like that for some time.
“If you marry, Kitsu-sum, you must promise to remain in the capital. I cannot bear to lose anyone else.”
“You have my word,” Kitsura whispered. “Shuyun-sum is out among the barbarians?”
“He returns this evening.”
“What may I do, cousin?”
“Nothing. You have done so much already. Often, when we traveled on the canal and in Seh, you were my strength. I have not forgotten.”
“Do you know,” Kitsura said, and Nishima could hear the smile in her voice, “Okara-sum told me that we must learn not to compete with one another?”
“Us, cousin?”
Kitsura nodded. “But, of course, now you are the Empress and therefore have won everything. There is nothing left to compete for.”
Nishima did not smile. “I feel that becoming the Empress has meant more loss than gain.”
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 105