The Initiate Brother Duology (116 page)

*   *   *

The Lake of the Seven Masters was not large enough to develop much swell except in storm winds; still it was not as calm as a canal, and Lady Nishima
steadied herself by clutching the frame of the port. The fane of the Brothers of the Eightfold Path was quickly falling astern. Nishima could see the cliff that appeared almost to have been carved with shadows and light—carved into the form of a man and woman in the act of love.

She moved away from the port and returned to kneeling on the carpet. After a moment, she lay down and cradled her head on her arm, pressing her eyes closed, the image returning as she did so. The boat rocked her as she lay there, making her feel like a child, though she knew the ache she felt was not the ache of a child.

J
AKU TADAMOTO, FOLLOWED by officers and engineers, strode along the top of the earthworks. Stopping suddenly, he let his eye follow the line of the newly built defenses which ran between two steep hills broken only in its center by the Grand Canal. The earthworks swept up at each end following the curve of the hills and provided a surprising degree of symmetry to the entire composition.

Only a day north and west of the Imperial Capital, the position had been chosen after long deliberation. Tadamoto’s eye examined the plain that stretched out for several rih north of the hills. It was there that the battle would take place—the fortifications were only built to ensure that.

Despite all the discussion that had led to this decision Tadamoto was not entirely convinced this was the best course. The Emperor wanted to be certain that Shonto could not reach the capital where there was every possibility that the population would rise up to support him. It was also true that the Imperial Capital would be a difficult, if not impossible, position to defend. After all, the capital was not a fortified city but an enormous sprawl without continuous walls or towers and festooned with gates and canals.

And so Tadamoto had been sent north of the city to create these defenses. But who would the battle be with? That was the question in the young colonel’s mind. There were two armies hurrying south on the canal—one appearing to pursue the other. Once they encountered the Imperial Army, what would occur? The situation was so confused and unclear that anything the Emperor did was undoubtedly a gamble.

What if Shonto had agreements with this Khan the Emperor had thought was his own toy? Would the rebel army suddenly join the army of the desert, creating a force double the size of the army Tadamoto had raised?

Recent reports indicated that Shonto was rushing down the canal as fast as an army could be moved. This, despite the fact that his own letters claimed he did everything to slow the barbarians’ advance so that the Emperor could raise an army. What was Shonto thinking?

Turning south, Jaku looked out over the encampment that was slowly filling with the newly recruited troops. Beyond that lay the commandeered mansion that would be the residence of the Son of Heaven. As he trusted no one and felt everyone to be less capable than himself, the Emperor had made it known that he would assume command of the Imperial Army himself. There was no doubt that the Yamaku would survive or fall according to the decisions made on this field, and the Emperor did not intend to let another take control of his fate.

Tadamoto continued toward the canal. A continuous flow of refugees passed by, both day and night, swelling the population of the capital and straining the ability of the city to support such an influx. Crime was growing at alarming rates and the Imperial Guard were hard pressed to deal with this, preparing for war as they were.

A messenger approached Tadamoto’s guard and was allowed through. He bowed and knelt before his commander. Tadamoto nodded for the man to speak.

“We have brought the merchant, Colonel Jaku, as you requested. He is under guard in your quarters.”

Somehow the capture of Shonto’s vassal-merchant had been kept a secret and even now Tanaka’s name was never used.
Merchants
were as common as street women and a reference to one meant nothing. Tadamoto was not sure what part Tanaka might play in events, if any, but it seemed prudent to have the old man present. He was someone Shonto respected and there were few of whom that could be said.

A hundred paces more brought Tadamoto to the canal bank. Although most of the flowers had been swept from the trees this far south, farther north the Plum Blossom Wind was still blowing, for the boats of refugees were decorated with white and the canal still bore petals south toward the sea.

Turning in a slow circle, Tadamoto surveyed the scene one last time.
When his gaze fell on the mansion where the Emperor would dwell, the question that had bothered him all morning flared up: who from the Imperial Court would accompany the Son of Heaven? He whispered a silent prayer. Let the gods spare Osha that indignity—that she be brought along like a common camp woman.

T
HEY HAD ASCENDED and descended so often that Shokan no longer knew how high in the mountains they were. The type of vegetation that grew seemed to be an indicator but was affected by too many other factors to be relied upon entirely.

The lord lay in the darkness, looking up at the stars. The world he traveled in was so strange that he was surprised to see constellations he recognized floating overhead—the Two Sisters were peeking over the shoulder of a mountain now.

It was not as cold as usual, which might be a sign that they were at a lower elevation. Whatever the reason he was thankful for it.

A few feet away Quinta-la slept, wrapped in a fur. Since they had left the village in the valley she had refused to teach him new words in her language but insisted he teach her words in his own tongue. He was not sure what had led to her decision to learn the tongue of the lowlanders, but she approached this task with an earnestness that Shokan could not help but find charming—
almost comic. Even so, Quinta-la was learning at a pace that surprised the men from the Empire.

Closing his eyes, Shokan felt sleep hovering close by. Earlier in the evening he had bathed in a hot spring—an experience almost worth the days of walking. It had been a large pool, one of several etched out into the rock by ten thousand years of moving water. The dwellers had a different sense of propriety—the women bathed with the men and no one seemed to care.

Quinta-la had slipped into the pool beside him and continued her language inquiry without being self-conscious about the naturalness of their state. Shokan smiled. He had fallen into the strange world of a story; at least for now.

*   *   *

The litter was lifted carefully over the river boat’s rail and set gently on the deck where it was secured against movement. Sister Sutso stood by, her hand to her mouth. Stepping forward, she opened the curtain a hand’s width and was surprised to find the Prioress awake, her lively eyes turned to a half-open curtain on the litter’s opposite side.

“Excuse me, Prioress,” Sutso said pulling the curtain closed. “I did not mean to intrude. Excuse me.”

The dry voice filtered through the curtain. “How far to the river, child?”

“Perhaps seven rih, Prioress,” the senior nun’s secretary answered. “This creek is quite narrow and not straight. We will be some time,”

“It is a day to be enjoyed, Sister Sutso. A shame the trees have lost their blossoms, but the new leaves are beautiful, are they not?” Before Sutso could agree, the Prioress went on. “Have you heard the most recent news?”

Sutso shook her head. The Prioress took delight in surprising her and usually succeeded. “I have not, Prioress.”

“He arrived in Yankura, three days ago; the Brotherhood’s Supreme Master. We cannot tarry. Are Sister Gatsa and her companions content with our pilgrimage?”

“They speak of little else, Prioress.” The faction lead by Sister Gatsa had been told that the Prioress was on a pilgrimage to Monarta. The fact that the Prioress had sent a message to the Brotherhood demanding that they open the grounds to the Sisters had caused a hum of discussion—so much so in fact that no one had yet thought to wonder if Monarta was their true destination.

The Prioress did not speak for a moment, but Sutso was used to this and
waited. One could never be sure when the Prioress slept and when she was awake.

“War could sweep away the prize for which we have lived all these lives. That fool of an Emperor has gone off with his toy army?”

“He has, Prioress.”

“May the hand of Botahara guide us. Pray for fair winds, Sutso-sum, the currents are against us.”

*   *   *

The officer was awakened in the night and found he was dizzy and disoriented when he sat up. Imperial Guards, he seemed to remember gambling and Imperial Guards…and rice wine. His men—the men Lord Butto had left at the northern end of Denji Gorge to be certain the locks were filled—were billeted in the Imperial Guard Keep. Not perhaps the best idea.

“Captain?” The voice came from outside the door to his tiny room.

“What is it?” he said, unable to sound civil.

“Barbarians, Captain. Many barbarians—they are only two rih off.”

The officer was on his feet. “Botahara save us! Alert the Imperial Guards.”

“The Guards will muster immediately, Captain. Your armor is being readied. I have a lamp.”

The Captain opened his door a crack and a lamp was passed in. He began pulling on the clothing that would go under his armor. “What hour?”

“The owl, Captain.”

“Huh. And we hoped these barbarians did not even know of Denji Gorge.”

A clatter in the hall announced the arrival of his armor, and he threw open the door to his attendants. He could hear men shouting now, the sound of men running.

It could not be a large barbarian force, or Lord Shonto’s patrols would have known of it, he reasoned. They would not allow functioning locks to fall into barbarian hands, of that he was certain.

*   *   *

Shimeko had taken up chanting again, not because she had found her faith but because the chant was like a curtain between one’s heart and the world. The smell of smoldering maji was thick in the converted hold of the ship. Maji cleansed the air and inhibited the spread of disease, but it stung the eyes despite its health-giving properties. She lifted the head of a young man and fed him his drug cake a small piece at a time. He was the only soldier on board, a cavalry man in Lord Shonto’s army.

“You must make the effort to chew, Inara-sum,” Shimeko chided him. “Come, just a little.”

The young man made a tiny nod and moved his jaw in a feeble effort. He was racked by the cough that marked the disease then, and Shimeko had to wait some time for him to recover enough to take a sip of water and then she fed him another piece of drug cake—the Brothers’ great secret.

“That is better, Inara-sum. You will be well before you know it if you make an effort.”

He shook his head a little. “You would be less concerned, honored Sister,” he whispered hoarsely, “if you had seen the army that pursues us.”

“I do not want to hear this talk. All of your focus must be given to becoming well. Let Lord Shonto and his able staff worry about barbarian armies. You fight your own battle.”

The young man nodded weakly.

Most of the sick were slowly recovering, but this boy-man was getting weaker and this concerned the former nun greatly. Of all the patients on the ship this man was without doubt the most devout follower of Botahara and he was the only one who did not seem to respond to the Brother’s ministrations. It was as if he was resisting the treatment in some way.

Shimeko was chilled by the conversations she had overheard between this young man and the Brothers—talk of completion and rebirth. This obsession with the size of the barbarian army also unsettled her. It had obviously had a great impact on his young mind.
He is choosing to die,
Shimeko thought. Her recent crisis of faith made this realization extremely disturbing.