The Initiate Brother Duology (142 page)

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 Teacher 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.”

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.

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.”