The Initiate Brother Duology (143 page)

“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 are 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.

“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 the 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.

Finally, when her spirit was as calm as she could make it, when the pang of Shuyun’s leaving was a sweet sadness not a sorrow, she opened the box.

To her great surprise she did not find a sacred blossom inside but a white butterfly, tinged with the faintest purple. It fanned its wings slowly and then, in a single motion, took to the air. It circled about the balcony once, then rose on a current, descended again, and then fluttered off into the garden where it was soon lost from sight. Nishima watched long after it had gone, hoping for a last glimpse, but it did not reappear and she leaned her head back against the pillar and closed her eyes.

My heart is both broken and full of joy, she told herself. I do not know whether to cry or laugh.

Opening her eyes she realized that a perfect paper shinta blossom lay on the silk of the wooden case and she set the case on the rail and took it up. After a moment of searching, she found the key and began to unfold the blossom. In the heart of the paper flower she found a single line of characters written in Shuyun’s beautiful flowing hand.

She thought of the butterfly flying out of the case and she smiled.

“Things are never what one expects,” Nishima said to herself, and she laughed. She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

*   *   *

The guards led the Empress along a path paved in stones. They stopped at a simple wooden gate under a small arch and tile roof. Very quickly, one of the guards passed through the gate and when he returned four other guards
came with him. This man nodded to the senior officer who in turn knelt and bowed to the Empress. The garden was secure.

Nishima went through the open gate and heard it close behind her.

It is a day for partings, she told herself.

A few steps into the garden Nishima stopped to look out to the north over the large encampment of the tribes. She knew he was not there, but still her eyes searched for a moment among the thousands of tiny figures before she turned away.