The Initiate Brother Duology (9 page)

Shuyun did not return the bow but nodded at the cha Kogami still held. “Why have you chosen this?” The smell came to the monk now—faint, so faint—the poison.

The merchant fought to maintain his control. Without answering, he began to raise the cha to his mouth, but the monk’s hand was there, stopping him. The fingers rested so lightly that Kogami could barely feel them, yet he could not raise his arm. His hand trembled with the effort.

“Why have you chosen this?” Shuyun asked again.

“Please,” the man whispered, his dignity beginning to dissolve, “do not interfere, Brother.”

But still Shuyun restrained the man, seemingly without effort. “But that cup was to be mine.”

The merchant’s eyes widened and he shook his head choking back a sob. “Not now, not now….” He stared down into the steaming cup. “Karma,” he whispered. Then he looked up to meet Shuyun’s eyes. “It is not the place
of a follower of the Way to interfere in a matter of…continuance. It is the law of your Order.”

The monk gave a slight nod and his hand was gone from Kogami’s arm.

The merchant released a long sigh that rattled in his throat. “Listen, Brother, here is my…death poem,” he said, forcing the words out.

Beware of the priest, Brother. Beware of his master.”

The man drank off the poisoned cha and dropped the cup over the side. The desperation in his eyes was replaced now by utter and total defeat.

“May you attain perfection in your next lifetime,” the monk whispered, and bowed formally.

Kogami Norimasa crossed the deck and seated himself in a position of meditation in the shadows. He composed his mind, hoping that, in his last moments, the poison would not rob him of all dignity. He tried to fill his mind with the presence of his wife and daughter, and when the end came, these were his final thoughts.

L
ORD SHONTO MOTORU was in a state of extreme harmony with both himself, which was usual, and with the world, which was less common. He rode in a sampan sculled by four of his best boatmen and guarded by nine of his select guards. Ahead of him were two identical boats and behind three more. All had a large man and an elegantly kimonoed young woman seated inside, only partly visible through side curtains.

The canal they moved along was lined by high walls of plaster and stone, broken only by the arched entrances onto the waterway. Each entrance had solid gates extending to the water from which point metal grillwork descended to an underwater wall. Behind these well guarded facades stood the residences of the hereditary aristocracy of the Empire of Wa. Out of the walled gardens drifted occasional strains of music, laughter, the acrid odor of burning charcoal, perhaps a hint of perfume.

“I thought you said you were feeling secure, Uncle?” the young woman said. She was, in fact, his legally adopted daughter but had called him uncle from the day she could form the word and still persisted in its use, sometimes even in public.

“I am feeling secure, Nishi-sum, which is to say that tonight I’m not concerned about what the Emperor may be plotting. He needs me, for the moment. As to any others who may wish me short life—I’m a little more cautious. Thus the decoys, if that is why you ask. Security, as you can see, is a relative term.” He laughed.

“I think you are only happy when you are going off to war,” Nishima said.
Pulling the curtain aside slightly, she peered out to assess their progress, and there, riding the surface of the canal, was her reflection, wavering like a flame. My eyes are too large, she thought and closed them slightly, but it then looked as though she were squinting so she gave it up. Her long, black hair, worn up in a formal style, was held in place by simple, wooden combs, inlaid with a motif of fine silver. She took one last look at herself, sighed, and jerked the curtain closed. The Lady Nishima Fanisan Shonto did not agree with the general assessment that she was a great beauty. To her eye, the bones of her face were too strong, her eyes the wrong shape, and, worst of all, she was too tall. She did not consider the mirror her friend.

“How long will this campaign against the northern barbarians take?”

“Not more than half a year, though I will stretch it out to the tenth moon. It is always dangerous to be too successful in battle. The Emperor is not too secure himself, yeh? But for now he needs me and we both know it.”

“It would be good if your Spiritual Advisor would arrive in time to accompany us. That would be a great help, yeh?”

“Ah, I have not told you? He came to Yankura this morning. I received word from Tanaka. He calls our new Brother ‘a fine young colt in need of breaking.’”

“The monk has been sent to the right liege-lord then, Uncle. Do you know anything about him?”

“I have a full report. He seems to be somewhat special, even for a Botahist Initiate, very skilled as a doctor, very learned. I have a letter from him—the brush work is superb! I must show it to you.” He paused to pull a curtain aside a fraction of an inch to check their progress.

“Tell me, Nishi-sum, do you remember going to the River Festival in the year I married your mother?”

“Oh, yes, I could never forget that festival, Uncle, we had been in hiding for so many long months and then suddenly we were secure. What a beautiful autumn that was.”

“I seem to remember that as being the year the young Botahist Neophyte bested some of the strongest fighters I have ever seen, including one of my own lieutenants on whom I had bet heavily.”

“Yes, I remember. I wanted you to bet on the monk because he was so small and showed no fear, but as usual you ignored my excellent advice.”

“You were precocious even then. Well, I may be wrong, but I believe that boy is our new advisor.
Brother Shuyun,
does that sound familiar?”

“Shuyun…yes, that could be. If it is the same monk, you will have to rebuke him for causing his liege-lord such a great loss of money.” They both laughed, and then fell silent, lost in their memories.

When Nishima resumed the conversation, it was on a more subdued note. “What of Lord Shidaku, Uncle, now that he has failed to contain the barbarians?”

“Lord Shidaku is a great administrator and a terrible general. The Emperor sent him to Seh to deal with the problems left by the old bureaucracy, before the raids began. He was never meant to be a military leader. The Emperor acknowledges this and has transferred Lord Shidaku to his personal council. Lord Shidaku has thus been honored and his failure to contain the barbarians…overlooked. The Emperor is seldom so wise—good administrators are rarer than good generals, if the truth be known.”

The sampans turned into another canal, and the wall of the Emperor’s palace grounds appeared on the left. Guards on regularly spaced towers saluted as the water-borne entourage passed.

“Ah, you’re a governor now, Sire, see how they honor you.”

Shonto grunted, refusing to look.

“So, Nishi-sum, how will the Emperor entertain his guests tonight?”

“Dancers, certainly. They are his favorites, for obvious reasons. Perhaps a short play. The finest foods, of course. Music. Maybe a poetry contest, which you will not be allowed to enter because of your esteemed father’s reputation.”

“Good. Unlike my father, I could not win the Emperor’s poetry contest if my life depended on it. But you, my only daughter, are the one who should not be allowed to enter! I will bet on you if there is a contest.” He checked their progress again.

“Which of the Emperor’s sons will pay court to you tonight, Nishi-sum?”

“You tease, Uncle. The sons of the Emperor will not notice such a plain-face as me. Nor would I want them to. Boors! All three of them!”

“But Nishi-sum, I have it on good authority that Prince Wakaro holds you in high esteem.”

“Oh, Uncle, you must be teasing. You know I aspire to the life of a painter, or perhaps a poet. I would be miserable married to an insensitive oaf!”

“Oh, you are too great an artist to marry an Emperor’s son?”

Nishima colored. “Certainly not now, but who can tell what the future
will bring. Women produce all the finest art in the Empire, no one can deny it. Don’t laugh! I challenge you to name seven great male artists.”

“Haromitsa, Nokiyama, Basko…Minitsu made some fine paintings…”

“Already you are grasping at shoots. You see, it could be a crime against our culture to make me a wife!”

Shonto laughed derisively. “I am your
father
and your
liege-lord.
If I decide that it is in your best interest to marry someone as
unworthy
as an Emperor’s son—someone who could himself be Emperor one day—then you will do so!”

Lady Nishima lowered her head. “Yes, Sire. Please excuse my bad manners. I have acted in a manner unworthy of your respect.”

“I will consider this apology.”

They sat in silence until the sampan turned into the palace gate and then Nishima spoke. “Satsam, Rhiyama, and Doksa the print maker.”

“I was getting to them.”

“Yes, Sire.” Nishima tried to hide her smile.

The sampans docked at a stone stairway and the boatmen scrambled off to hold the craft steady. An aide to the Emperor hurried down the steps. Lord Shonto held the curtain aside so the guards could see that no one was hidden inside.

The aide bowed as Lord Shonto and his daughter stepped ashore. They were escorted up the steps by the black-clad Palace Guard to a large open house with a massive, winglike tile roof set on carved, wooden posts. Shonto removed his sword and handed it to one of his own guard, for no one went armed into the Emperor’s presence except select members of the Imperial Guard. Assassination had too long been a tool of aspiring sons and ambitious peers for those who sat on the Dragon Throne not to have learned caution.

The sound of flutes and harps came from one of the gardens and kites of every shape and color decorated the wind.

“The Emperor is receiving his guests in the Garden of the Rising Moon beside the Seahorse Pond. Would you like an escort, Lord Shonto?”

“I know my way, thank you.”

The aide bowed and Shonto nodded in return. They walked under a long portico built in the same style as the gate house. To their right, a glimmering pool descended in three falls—the Pool of the Sun—full of flashing sunfish.
Beyond this stood the most intricate hedge-maze in the Empire, planted by the ruler Shunkara VII nearly four hundred years earlier.

The Island Palace was the Emperor’s primary residence and it was impressive not only for its size but for the astonishing beauty so many centuries of royalty had created. Originally built at the beginning of the Mori Dynasty the Island Palace had been razed by fire and rebuilt three times in six hundred years. The buildings were from five distinct periods yet placed in such a manner that harmony was never broken. The finest artisans, in a culture rich in artisans, had wrought and painted and carved and sculpted in an attempt to create perfection on earth.

At the end of the portico was a terrace of colored stone which looked southeast into the Garden of the Rising Moon. The Seahorse Pond bordered the garden’s farthest edge. A wooden stage had been erected on the pond’s shore and within viewing distance in front of it stood a raised dais under an ornate silken canopy. A line of guests moved past the dais beneath which the Emperor sat, now hidden from Shonto’s view.

Perhaps two hundred Imperial Guards surrounded the Emperor on three sides, kneeling in rows that radiated out from the jade-colored canopy. A dragon design was woven into this semicircle by the clever placement of guards in crimson to form the spread Dragon Fan of the Imperial family.

His Imperial Highness, the Most Revered Son of Heaven, Exalted Emperor of the Nine Provinces of Wa and the Island of Konojii, Lord of all the World’s Oceans, Akantsu II was a small, dark man of fifty-two years.

His father, Akantsu I, had founded the Imperial line of the Yamaku when he had ascended the throne during the chaos of the Great Plague that had decimated the population a decade and a half earlier. The former Imperial family, the Hanama, had fallen victim to the disease as it swept through the capital and there had been no hesitation by any number of pretenders, both legitimate and not so, to take the fallen family’s place.

The struggle for the Dragon Throne had been short and brutal, and the outcome as much a matter of chance as martial skill. In the end, the faction that lost the fewest men to plague emerged victorious. The civil war lasted little more than three years, yet it was long enough to shake the Empire to its ancient foundations. Minor families rose to the status of Great House overnight, because of their role in a single key battle. Foot-soldiers became generals and generals peers, as the rigid social structure of the Empire crumbled.

After two hundred and fifty years of relative peace and economic prosperity under the Hanama Dynasty, the line had ended in disease and flame. A third of the population had died before the Botahist Brotherhood found the key to both immunization and cure. The social fabric of Wa had been torn beyond restoration and, under the Yamaku, order wasn’t a priority. The roads beyond the inner provinces were unsafe to all but the largest parties; pirates infested the coastline and private wars abounded—and the Emperor obviously believed this state of affairs was to his advantage.