The Initiate Brother Duology (141 page)

Nishima folded the letter with great care, and then offered a prayer asking Botahara to protect all those she loved.

B
ROTHER SOTURA MOVED slowly through the barbarian encampment, and though he searched with a practiced eye there were no signs that Shuyun had made even the slightest error.

He is a marvel, Sotura thought. He was never taught to manage an outbreak of plague such as this, and yet…. The tribesmen the senior monk saw appeared well, if somewhat underfed.

Tents off to the west housed the sick. Sotura made his way in that direction, receiving many bows from the barbarian warriors who lazed about in the warm sun. Among some crude shelters he found a Botahist Sister praying with three tribesmen. She is making converts here, he thought, not sure why this bothered him.

Nearby, men cooked by a dung fire, apparently impervious to the smoke and the smell. Horses were being moved about the area and staked where there was less-trampled grass. Nowhere was there evidence of weapons—skinning knives were all the monk saw. Quiet, Sotura realized, it is so strangely quiet here. And it was true any who spoke did so in subdued tones; there was no laughter, no calling out. A military camp and it was as silent as a temple.

The population of the camp thinned noticeably as Sotura approached the tents of the sick, but there were tribesmen standing guard here, watching him warily.

Why would they guard the tents of the sick, Sotura wondered and then realized the answer. It was Shuyun—some would brave the plague to meet the Teacher.

Many Brothers of the Faith had forsaken their vows to come to Shuyun and minister to the barbarians, so the tribesmen who stood guard did not question Sotura as a stranger in the camp.

The sound of men coughing came to the monk as he stepped over ropes guying a barbarian tent. A Sister hurried past and Brother Sotura spoke to her. “Brother Shuyun, Sister—where may I find him?”

She stopped and eyed him carefully, suspiciously even, and then pointed toward a tent across an open area. He bowed his thanks. To Sotura’s surprise he found himself nervous as he crossed the sward.

Four barbarian warriors bearing staffs guarded the tent and stopped Sotura as he approached. Speaking in their tongue, he asked for Brother Shuyun.

“The Master is at his labors, Brother,” one warrior answered. “If you require instructions it is best to speak to Sister Morima.”

Morima!
Sotura almost said aloud, she has become Shuyun’s shadow.

“I have come with a message from the Botahist Brotherhood. It is important that I speak with Brother Shuyun.”

The tribesmen exchanged glances. “I will ask,” one offered and retreated toward the tent. In the dim light inside the door Sotura saw the man gesturing to a young Sister. She stared out at Brother Sotura for a second and then hurried off.

A moment later Shuyun appeared, drying his hands on a scrap of cotton. If he was surprised to find his former teacher, he did not show it.

“Brother Sotura,” Shuyun said, bowing low. “This is a surprise and an honor. Please.” Shuyun gestured off to one side and ushered the senior monk away from the tent, out of hearing of the young Sister.

A breeze ruffled the heavy fabric of the tents and overhead a plague banner fluttered on a tall staff, adding its staccato to the eerie silence of the encampment. Once assured of privacy Shuyun did not hesitate, as though matters of great importance required his attention. Yet he was unfailingly polite.

“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 intention. 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.”