The Initiate Brother Duology

by Russell, Sean

  Kitsura nodded.

  “Okara-sum is wise, cousin.”

  “I agree,” Kitsura said after a few seconds, “I agree entirely.”

  Gently they disentangled.

  “I am certain that sovereigns are not supposed to require such coddling,” Nishima said.

  “They require nothing but, cousin. Have you not read the histories? You are the exception in that you don’t require such treatment all the time.”

  The tea had grown cold and what was in the cauldron was too strong. “I will call for more,” Nishima said.

  “Thank you, cousin, but—I know it is improper to excuse one’s self from the presence of the sovereign…. My father often awakes in the late afternoon and is strong enough for a visitor.”

  “You must take him my warmest regards.”

  Kitsura bowed low and with a squeeze of her cousin’s hand slipped into the inner rooms.

  Nishima stood and paced across the balcony. She sat on the rail for a moment, looking out over the encampment, but then rose and returned to her work table suddenly. Rubbing a resin stick over her inkstone Nishima began to breathe in rhythm.

  When Shokan heard that Nishima had given her mother’s inkstone to Komawara, he sent her a stone that had belonged to Lord Shonto. She recognized it immediately. The inkstone was very old and had seen much use and she adored it.

  Nishima added a few drops of water. Shuyun would not come for some hours. As she had not yet received a poem from Lord Komawara, she decided to force a response. The Empress would write to him.

  * * *

  By the time dusk arrived, Nishima was pleased with the poem she had composed. But after making many drafts she chose to send one that showed less skill than the final version. She did not want to intimidate him entirely. And then she laughed at her own vanity. A few moments later, however, she convinced herself that she was simply being considerate of Komawara’s present state. In the future, when the lord had begun to heal, this would not be required of her.

  Nishima read the poem a last time. She hoped her memory for the verse Komawara had composed in her father’s garden so long ago was correct.

  Distant horizons glimpsed in the autumn garden

  Casting the ancient coins

  Among the mist-lilies and new friendships.

  The Boat setting forth

  Into uncertain winds

  As unwavering as the constant heart.

  Does the Open Fan of temptation

  Appear to you

  Spread against a white sky?

  We all stare into green water

  Seeking the passing cloud

  Knowing it appears only to the tranquil soul.

  Calling for a lamp and wax Nishima folded and sealed the poem, then hesitated before she stamped the soft wax. After a moment of consideration she chose the shinta blossom rather than the five clawed dragon circling the sun—she had asked Komawara to help keep a part of her former life alive, after all.

  The sun had sunk into a line of clouds above the distant mountains, appeared briefly in a blaze of copper between the cloud and the peaks, and then dissolved into embers, leaving the clouds glowing like hot coals. Nishima turned and watched the scene slowly fade.

  A maid knocked on the frame to the opening, bowing low.

  “Yes,” Nishima said, distracted.

  “Brother Shuyun, Empress.”

  Nishima returned from her brooding immediately, trying to hide her pleasure from the maid. “Please, I will see him here.” Quickly she reached over to the cushion Kitsura had used and pulled it closer.

  Although it was hardly expected of an Empress, Nishima could not stop herself from staring at the opening, waiting for a glimpse of the monk. She could barely wait to see his face, as though the answer to the question that had become her litany might be seen there even before they spoke.

  Coming through the opening, kneeling, Shuyun bowed immediately, hiding his face. The last light of the day lit the room in a warm, golden light and when the monk rose, his features appeared softer, less severe than Nishima had come to expect. And the light seemed to illuminate him, light him from within.

  Something has occurred, Nishima thought. Look at him—he has had a revelation. A feeling akin to panic began to rise inside her and she struggled not to give in to it.

  “Shuyun-sum,” she said, trying to give her voice warmth, but the words came out of a constricted throat and sounded so. “Please join me.”

  Shuyun came forward with the grace that always delighted her, and though his manner was as serious as usual, she sensed a lightness in him that she had not seen before. To her surprise, Shuyun reached out and took her hand in his own. For a moment she found herself carefully scrutinized by those eyes that seemed at once ancient and innocent.

  “You are well, my lady?”

  Nishima nodded, her voice suddenly deserting her. She did not take her gaze away from his eyes, still looking for the answer to her question.

  Shuyun took her hand between both of his suddenly and she felt a warm tingle of chi-flow. “Has something distressed you?”

  With effort she found her voice. “I am well, truly. Learning to govern has taken some toll, perhaps.” She made a gesture as though dismissing this as minor. “The barbarians have been cured?”

  “The healing takes some time, Nishi-sum. It will be many days yet. But it is not too soon to consider what will be done with them when they are well.”

  Although the conversation led away from the discussion she desired, Nishima found herself taking it up with some relief—the news she feared would be delayed. “Kamu-sum has begun the arrangements. We will send the barbarians north up the canal, returning them to their own lands.”

  Shuyun nodded. “Excuse me for saying so, but I believe we should do more. We must establish regular commerce with the tribes and open relations. We must send ambassadors and gifts when chieftains are named and allow the barbarians to trade across our border more freely. If we do not…” Shuyun bent his head toward the barbarian army, quickly disappearing in the growing darkness. “We shall have another Khan one day.”

  “I am sure you are correct, Brother,” Nishima responded. “It will be difficult to convince the Council that this is the path of wisdom—the anger toward the barbarians is great—but I will speak to my advisors. There must be a way to convince the Council.”

  “May I also suggest, Nishima-sum, that the Kalam could become an ambassador between the tribes and Wa.”

  This surprised Nishima and she felt herself drawn further away from the true questions that she must ask. “Is it not true that he is obliged stay with you until death ends his servitude?”

  “It is true, Tha-telor is a strict law, but so much has changed in the world now. I have spoken to the Kalam at length and he has agreed to act as I have suggested, if it is the wish of the Empress.” Very quietly Shuyun continued. “The Kalam realizes now that he cannot follow me on my journey.”

  Nishima let out a long breath, looking down at his hands around her own. “In your eyes I see that you have made decisions, Shuyun-sum,” Nishima said quietly. “You will make a journey?”

  Shuyun stroked her hand. “What you see, Nishi-sum, is tranquillity of purpose. Though I have been told to seek it all my life, it is only now that I have found it. I will seek the Teacher. It is my place to serve him, as it is yours to rule an Empire.”

  Nishima felt her senses swirl into confusion—it was like numbness creeping through her body, but it was not lack of feeling—it was too much. Too much and all at once and she could not sort those feelings or control them. The reaction was not unfamiliar, for it felt as though she had learned of yet another death.

  “Will we never meet again?” she managed to say.

  “I do not know, Nishi-sum,” the monk answered. Nishima could hear how gentle his tone had become. He reached out and took her into his arms, but she remained limp as though this last blow had robbed her of all remaining strength.

  “You a
re not the Teacher, then? You know this?”

  Nishima felt Shuyun’s head nod, close beside her own. “When I first met Quinta-la, when she prostrated herself and recited a prayer in her own language. Later I realized some of what she said: he who bears the Word. Among the mountain people there is a seer—an ancient woman. Your brother spoke to her. She questioned him about me.

  “In the ancient scroll that speaks of the coming of the Teacher it also says that one will come bearing the Word. Botahist scholars have long agreed that this was another reference to the Teacher, but it is not so.” Nishima felt the monk take a long breath. “It is a reference to me, Nishima-sum. I will bear the Teacher’s Word. He has sent for me. He sent for me some time ago and I did not realize it.”

  Part of Nishima wanted to offer an argument, dispute the logic of what he said but another part of her believed he could not be wrong in this matter.

  He walked out into the fields alone and stopped the barbarian invasion, Nishima told herself. Among the senior Brothers he inspires both awe and fear and the Sisters have followed him since the day he arrived in Wa. And now he goes to meet one who has attained perfection—as though Botahara has been reborn. It is no wonder that I have become unimportant in his life. How could I think that he would stay with me?

  “It is without question, then,” Nishima said, trying to keep the feeling that she had been slighted out of her words, “you must leave to seek the Teacher.”

  “Perhaps I have not yet achieved perfect tranquillity of purpose,” Shuyun said, his voice tender, “for I do not know how to leave when my heart is here with you.”

  Nishima reached up and put her arms around him now, holding him close. “Then you must stay until you know.” He wants me to release him, she told herself in a flash of insight.

  Shuyun reached up and traced the curve of her neck with a finger. He did not speak as she expected him to. Stars were beginning to appear in the sky, and even in the west the light was all but gone. Nishima began to feel a deep sadness rising out of the confusion of her emotions, overcoming all else.

  It was completely dark before they spoke again and it was Shuyun who broke the silence. “I wish to take a gift to the Teacher, but the gift I desire is not within my power.”

  “If it is something I may provide, Shuyun-sum, you have but to name it,” Nishima said without hesitation.

  “Then I would ask you to write a poem.”

  “This is the gift you will take to the Teacher?” She pulled back slightly so she could see his face in the light of the lamp.

  He smiled. “Yes. It is the gift he will desire, I am certain.”

  “Shuyun-sum, this man is the living evidence of the Way. He is as close to being a god as one can come. Certainly he does not want a poem from me.”

  Shuyun touched his forehead against her own. “A poem from you is what he desires,” the monk said firmly.

  “But what would I write? What words could I send to the Teacher?”

  “It does not matter. Write about the sunset or becoming Empress or about your garden. It only matters that it is from you and that it is signed Nishima-sum.”

  “Really, Shuyun-sum, this is an unusual request, to say the least.”

  “Have I asked too much of you?”

  This stopped Nishima for a second. “No. If it is a poem you desire, I will attempt to write a poem worthy of one who has reached perfection—as impossible as that may be.”

  Shuyun pressed her close to him and then, to her surprise, released her, waving toward her writing table.

  “You don’t expect me to do this now? Really, Shuyun-sum, I must have time to think.”

  “You do not need time to think. Three lines would be adequate. I would venture that one would be enough.” He smiled again and she began to wonder if he was serious. This did not seem like an occasion for humor to her.

  Throwing up her hands in resignation, Nishima turned to the table and began to prepare her ink. As she did so, she felt Shuyun’s fingers begin to explore the intricacies of the fastenings that held her hair in place. Though this made concentration almost impossible, Nishima did not want to ask him to stop, for to her it was a sign that he felt some sense of intimacy as she always he hoped he would.

  Her hair fell about her shoulders and cascaded down her back, bringing a smile to her face.

  “You are not focused,” Shuyun said close to her ear. “Your teacher would be disappointed.”

  “You are not helping, I must tell you.”

  He laughed. “I will leave and let you work in peace.”

  “You certainly will not! You must sit close to me and try not to be too much of a distraction.”

  “I can be as still as a stone,” he said, and she felt the smile in his voice.

  “Well that may be more than is required.” It took a great deal of will power, but Nishima removed a piece of mulberry paper from a folder and dipped her brush in ink.

  Even a few years without change

  Lull the mind

  And then in a day

  The world changes utterly.

  Heroes appear

  And legends come to life.

  Things immutable are transformed:

  War turns to peace, despair becomes joy

  The living die

  And are born again.

  “You are finished?” Shuyun asked.

  “Finished? I have hardly begun.”

  “Let me see,” the monk said and then leaned forward to read over her shoulder. “Nishi-sum, it is perfect.”

  “It is perfectly awful. I will need hours to make this a poem.”

  “No. Do not change a word. That is the poem I will take to the Teacher. You must sign it as I said.”

  “But Shuyun-sum, I would be ashamed to have anyone see this. And now you ask me to sign it in a familiar form. This seems most unconventional.”

  Shuyun put a hand on her shoulder. “The Teacher is not as other men. Do not judge him according to the standards of the Empire. Please, sign.”

  Shaking her head, Nishima did as he asked, wondering if the culture of the Botahist monks was perhaps more different than she had formerly imagined. She blew gently on the ink until it dried.

  “Now you must fold it as gateway,” Shuyun instructed.

  Through resisting, Nishima did as she was asked, handing it to Shuyun as she finished. “I hope your Teacher will not think me as poor an Empress as I am a poet.”

  Shuyun smiled, putting the poem into his sleeve pocket.

  The night was growing cool, as nights usually did in the late spring. Nishima reached out, touching Shuyun’s wrist, then slid her hand up his sleeve past the elbow, feeling the warmth there.

  “Now you must do a favor for me,” she said.

  “I am your servant,” he answered, his tone serious.

  Rising, Nishima drew the monk up with her and, taking him in tow, she walked into the inner room. She opened a screen and entered the sleeping room. There was no lamp lit here and only the starlight through the open shojis gave the scene light.

  Releasing Shuyun’s hand, she undid the complex knot at her back and unwound her sash. When she had done this, the monk helped her remove her outer robes until she wore only a single layer of silk. She felt the questions that consumed her being pushed aside by growing desire. When she reached out to untie Shuyun’s sash, her fingers were not inclined to obey and her breath was short.

  Pulling back the quilts, they almost tumbled into bed. Nishima slipped out of her robe almost immediately and pressed herself as close to him as she could manage.

  “If you did not spend the night resisting me,” Nishima said close to his ear, “I’m certain you would not be in such a hurry to leave. You might spend a few days more, at least.”

  “I fear that this is so,” Shuyun answered.

  They lay close for a moment more and Nishima realized that she was not alone in having lost her breath. She kissed the soft place at the corner of his eye and his mouth found hers. For t
he first time, he returned her kiss. Nishima thought she felt a strange sensation, almost vertigo, and then she realized that a kiss became endless and her skin was alive to the touch as it had never been before. Strong currents of emotion and energy and chi seemed to flow through her. For a second she felt panic begin to touch her, but it was swept away by a wave of tenderness and she abandoned herself to the feeling without hesitation.

  * * *

  Much later, Nishima lay bathed in the warmth of her companion.

  “I do not want to sleep. I want to say everything that is in my heart though I do not know where to begin to find the words.”

  Shuyun kissed her neck. “There are no words. Everything has been said.”

  Despite her desire to stay awake, Nishima could not and she fell into an untroubled, dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  A breeze moved her hair and this finally awoke her. It was early morning, but completely light. She lay completely still for a moment, lost in memories and pleasure, and then turned to find her lover.

  But Shuyun was not there. Where…she began to ask herself when awareness came. Burying her face in the quilt she lay very still, as though moving would alter everything for ever. If she could just not move….

  A bell sounded and Nishima opened her eyes to the light. On a table at the bedside lay a brocade bag containing something angular. She sat up and found the most delicate blue seashell on top of this and in the cup of the shell a bit of white paper had been placed so that it could not blow away. On this was written a single character which meant she who renews. My heart will break, she found herself thinking, my heart will surely break.

  Setting the shell upon the pillow, Nishima took the brocade bag and opened it, finding a plain wooden box inside.

  It is the blossom of the Udumbara, she realized. For a moment she did not know what to do but then, with great care, she set the box aside and rose from the bed. She found her robes and slipped them on, belting them loosely. Taking up the box in both hands, Nishima went out onto the balcony.

  She perched herself on the rail with her back against a pillar and forced herself to be calm. Performing a breathing exercise taught to her by Brother Satake helped.