“I bring you greetings and wishes of long health from Sister Saeja,” Sister Morima said as the Supreme Master seated himself opposite her.
“And how is Sister Saeja? Well, no doubt?” Brother Hutto’s report had mentioned that the head of the nun’s Order had recently returned from her annual pilgrimage to Monarta, the place of Lord Botahara’s birth, and the old nun was slowing down noticeably.
“She is as constant as the river and as supple as the willow wand, Brother Nodaku, a continual inspiration to us all.”
He always found this ploy of hers—using his common name—disconcerting, as though the Initiate Nodaku had suddenly been caught impersonating the head of the Order.
“That is good news, Sister. Do you have other news you can share? We are so isolated here!”
She flashed an amused smile. “I’ve just returned from the island of the barbarian, Brother. I’m sure your news is more recent than mine.” The Supreme Master remained silent, but the nun offered nothing more.
Lifting an ivory hammer that sat before a polished bronze gong, the monk asked, “Cha?”
“Thank you, yes, Brother, and some food, if it is not too much of an imposition.” She bit off the last words.
The Supreme Master almost laughed as he tapped the gong. He knew the nun’s weakness. Brother Nodaku, indeed! Footsteps sounded in the hall and then, as a knock was heard on the screen, a second set of footsteps joined them.
“Please enter,” the Supreme Master said with understated authority. The face of Shuyun, the senior Neophyte who was causing all the fuss, appeared and before the Supreme Master realized what was happening, the face of the Neophyte servant came into view also. The two boys were startled by the unexpected presence of the Botahist nun. For an instant they stood in awkward silence and then they both bowed, bumping each other in the half opened doorway.
“Do you need me to serve you, Supreme Master?” the second Neophyte asked.
“That is why I sound this gong,” the old monk said evenly. “Please, bring cha for Sister Morima and me. And some food. The Sister has not yet eaten due to an unforgivable lapse in our manners!”
“Immediately, Supreme Master.” The boy bowed and hurried off.
“Shuyun-sum?”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Supreme Master. I was told to come here at this time to discuss my Seclusion.”
The Supreme Master had forgotten.
“Have you completed your term, Initiate?” Sister Morima asked suddenly.
Shuyun bowed to the nun, while watching his master out of the corner of his eye. He decided it would be impolite not to answer.
“I’m only a senior Neophyte, honored Sister, but yes, I have just finished my Seclusion.”
“Good for you, senior Neophyte. Did you stop the sand?” She smiled as she asked this question.
“No, honored Sister,” the boy said, his tone serious, “I failed to stop the hour glass from measuring time. I can count the grains and name each one as it falls, but that is all.”
The Botahist nun was unable to hide her surprise.
By the Lord Botahara, the Supreme Master thought, what karma has arranged for the Sister to be here now!
“Shuyun-sum, Sister Morima has graced us with her presence, so our interview must be postponed. I will call for you at another time.”
Shuyun knelt, touching his head to the floor, and backed out of the room. “Thank you, Supreme Master.” Then, suddenly emboldened, he asked, “May I join the junior Initiates in chi quan? They’re about to begin.”
The Supreme Master nodded his assent and made mental note to speak with the boy about addressing him after being dismissed.
As soon as Shuyun was out of hearing, the woman asked, “Is this true?”
“Yes, Sister, the junior Initiates train in chi quan every day at this time.”
“You know what I mean, Brother!” She allowed impatience into her voice. “Is his chi ten ability so far developed?”
The Supreme Master shrugged. “I have only spoken to him just now.”
The nun adjusted her posture, sitting more erect, forcing herself into a studied calm. “I believe he was telling the truth.” She drew a deep breath and then almost whispered, “By the Lord Botahara!”
The sounds of the chi quan class drifted in from the courtyard and filled the silence in the study.
“And what do you plan to do with such a one, Brother?”
“If he learns to walk the Seven Paths, he shall serve Lord Botahara, as do all of our Order.”
“Which is to say, you will indenture one with such abilities to some power-hungry lord, and draw him into the intrigues of the Empire for your own gains.”
The Supreme Master was surprised by Sister Morima’s sudden attack, but forced himself to remain calm; his voice, as always, was controlled. “We should not forget that the Lord Botahara was a peer of the Empire, born a ‘power-hungry lord,’ as you say. The political intentions of our Order, such as they are, have always been aimed at maintaining a climate in which the following of Lord Botahara can grow. We have no other purpose. Your Order benefits as much from our “intrigues”—which amount to nothing more than giving sound advice—as does my own, Sister Morima.”
“I am not a Neophyte in need of instruction, Brother Nodaku. I choose my words with great care. So, you will take this boy and thrust him into a society of decadence where even the best training may not save him? Three of your Order died of the Great Plague—don’t deny it! Botahist monks died of disease! Could you really be willing to risk one with such talent? What if he could learn to stop the sand?”
The Supreme Master fought to maintain his outward calm. How did she know about the plague deaths? Everything possible had been done to keep them secret. What a world! Spies everywhere! “To serve a peer of the Empire is a great test, Sister. If a member of our Order cannot pass it…” the old monk shrugged, “that is his karma. Stopping the sand is much more difficult than serving among the peers.”
“Who was this one in his former life?” Sister Morima asked, pushing what she sensed was an advantage.
The Supreme Master shook his head. “We do not know.”
“But he was a monk or perhaps,” the nun touched her tongue to her lip, “perhaps a Sister?”
“That seems probable, Sister Morima.”
“He chose from among the objects offered?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you say it is probable that he was a monk?”
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Huh.”
The Supreme Master realized he was revealing more than he intended. The truth was that he had no idea who the boy had been in his former life. As a child, when Shuyun had come to the Order he had been tested in many ways. One of these tests was to choose, from among a random array of objects, those commonly used by members of the Order. Shuyun had chosen all the correct objects—a feat almost unheard of—but subsequent tests to discern who the boy had been were unsuccessful. This had never before happened. Perhaps Shuyun had been a Sister! The Supreme Master found this thought unsettling.
“When will you give up this meddling in the affairs of the world, Brother, and concern yourself with the perfection of the spirit, as my own Order does?”
“I assure you, Sister Morima, that we are as concerned with the spirit and its perfection, as you are.”
“But you are more concerned with perfecting the spirits of the wealthy, yeh?”
“Our temples and retreats deal with the less fortunate also, Sister, or have you forgotten? It was our Order that found the cure for the Great Plague, saving peasants, merchants, and peers alike.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall, and then came a tap on the shoji.
“Please enter.”
Two Neophytes bowed and came into the room carrying trays.
“I will serve the cha,” the Supreme Master said.
A small wooden table was moved to the center of the room. The servers moved with studied preci
sion, anxious not to bring shame to the Supreme Master or the monastery.
The Supreme Master prepared the tea according to the practices of a thousand years, while the servers laid small platters of rice and vegetables on the table.
“Please, serve our guest first,” the ancient monk instructed, and then, with fascination, he watched the nun select from each dish offered, her pupils wide with pleasure. Such a foolish weakness, the Supreme Master thought. If she were a Brother of our faith, she would be required to live on water and air three days out of seven for the rest of her life to show mastery of her desire. He dismissed the servers and poured the steaming cha, offering the first cup to his guest.
“I am not deserving, Brother. Please take this cup yourself.”
“Your presence honors me; please, I insist.” He proffered the cup again and this time she received it with a bow which he returned. Outside, on the small, private porch, a cricket began to chirp. The chi quan training continued in the courtyard. The Supreme Master poured his own cha and tasted it. Perfect! The cha leaves were grown in the monastery’s own garden and overseeing the cultivation of the cha plant was one of his continuing pleasures. He ate a small portion of rice, to be polite, and watched the nun as she tried to hide her gluttony…and failed.
The Supreme Master knew that, when the food was gone, Sister Morima would reveal the true reason for her visit—and he wouldn’t need to guess what that reason was. He sipped his cha.
He could hear the swallows building a nest under the roof of his balcony. They would make a terrible mess, but he loved to watch them and make friends with them. Such beautiful fliers!
Looking at the running time glass on its stand, the Supreme Master began to exercise chi ten, stretching his time sense until the sand appeared to slow as it fell. He looked down at the steam rising from his cha in languid swirls, like impossibly fine curtains moving in a breeze. He smiled inwardly.
What if this young one could stop the sand, as the nun had asked? What if he could do more? Since Lord Botahara, no one had stopped the sand—not in a thousand years! Why did they all fall short of the Perfect Master? The old monk’s own teacher had had more highly developed chi ten abilities than any of his students and he had claimed to have fallen short of his Master.
The Supreme Master felt the warmth of the cha bowl in his hands. Such a simple pleasure! He pondered the secret that, for so long, only he had known, and wondered who else might have this knowledge now. The sand, the sand. He turned his gaze to watch the grains as they fell.
Lord Botahara, the Perfect Master, through the discipline of chi ten, had learned to control his subjective sense of time until the world slowed around him. All Botahist monks could do this to greater or lesser degree. But the Enlightened One had gone far beyond this. It was written that Lord Botahara would meditate upon the running sand until it not only stopped but, to His eye, it ran backward. The mere idea awed the Supreme Master. It was said that Lord Botahara could move through time like a swimmer through water. The monk had meditated upon this every day for as long as he could remember, but still, the meaning of it eluded him. He knew that it had been wise to make this part of the secret knowledge to be passed from one Supreme Master to the next. How was he to explain what even he could not understand? There was no answer.
Sister Morima had finished eating, and he noted how well she hid her sense of shame. The Supreme Master lifted the lid of a porcelain bowl and offered her a steaming, white cloth. She took one to clean her mouth and hands.
“More cha, Sister?”
“Please, Brother Nodaku. The food, by the way, was delicious.”
He poured, holding back the sleeve of the long kimono worn by all Botahist monks. Loose fitting pants that came to mid-calf, sandals, and the purple sash of the Botahist Order completed their clothing.
Sister Morima took a sip of her cha, replaced the cup on the table, and composed herself. The moment had come.
“Sister Saeja has again instructed me to ask you, in all humility, if members of our Order may come to study the scrolls written by Lord Botahara.”
The Supreme Master stared into his cha, turning the cup slowly on the table. “Sister Morima, I have assured you that the scrolls you study are the same as those studied by my own Order. The last time we spoke I offered you my personal scrolls and I offer them to you again. The words you have are the words of Botahara as transcribed by the most well versed monks of any age. They are, I assure you, the most perfect copies possible.”
“We don’t doubt, even for a moment, the abilities of the scholars who have transcribed Lord Botahara’s words, Brother. For us, this is a matter of spiritual interest only. You have come to be the guardians of this treasure, yet it is the legacy of all of Lord Botahara’s followers. We wish only to look upon the words of the Enlightened One, as you have. We don’t wish to remove them from your excellent care, Brother, but only to send a delegation—perhaps two or three of our most learned Sisters—to examine the scrolls—under your supervision, of course. There is no reason for you to protect the scrolls from us. We revere these treasures as do you.”
“Sister, the scrolls, as you know, are very old. They are handled but once in a decade, when we unseal them to inspect for the slightest signs of degeneration. They are resealed almost immediately. All of us make do with our transcribed copies. All of us. I can say nothing more. I have an oath and a sacred trust which I will not violate. Please do not ask me to waver in this area of duty, Sister Morima.”
“I would never ask that you break your trust, Brother, but you…you are Supreme Master. You may alter decisions that were made when the world was not as it is now. This is wisdom. Botahara taught that change was inevitable and to resist it, folly.
“Perhaps two or three of my sisters could be present at the time of one of your examinations? We would not hinder you in your duty, I assure you. Certainly it is allowed for the followers of the Word to attend this ceremony?”
Cunning old cow! How, the Supreme Master wondered, was he to get around this? “Let me consider your words and take counsel with the seniors of my Order. To do as you suggest would be to break the practices of a thousand years, Sister Morima. You must realize that such a decision cannot be made quickly. I will say no more and, please, understand that I can promise nothing.”
“Ah, Brother Nodaku, your reputation for wisdom is indeed well deserved. I thank you, a thousand times over! You honor me to listen to me for so long.” She bowed to him. “If you were to decide to allow us to be present at a time of examination—and I realize you have not promised this—but if; when would this be?”
The Supreme Master looked up for a second as though he needed to calculate when such a momentous day would come.
“It will be nearly nine years from now, Sister Morima.”
“A short time, Brother, the days shall fly!” She clapped her hands together like an excited child. “How close to nine years, Supreme Master?”
He paused again. “Eight years from now on the seventh moon.”
She drained her cha and then said with emotion, “May you attain perfection in this lifetime!”
And may you attain perfection tonight that I might be done with you, the Supreme Master thought.
“The ship did not have a large cargo to unload here, Brother, I’m sure they must be waiting for me. May I ask one more thing before I leave? When might we expect a decision on this matter?”
“I cannot say, Sister.”
“Perhaps you could give me some estimation, that I might allow my Sisters a time to which they may look forward?”
“I cannot say, Sister Morima,” the monk repeated, a hint of annoyance in his voice.
She bowed. “As you say, Brother, it was not my intention to impose upon you.” She rose from her cushion with surprising grace and bowed again, the old monk rose with her and bowed simultaneously.
“I have kept you too long, Brother. You have honored me with this interview. I am in your debt.”
“It is I who am honored, as your visit has graced our monastery. There can be no debt in such a matter.”
The nun bowed a last time and backed out of the room. At the door she stopped for a second, catching the Supreme Master’s eye. “What if this young one develops a perfect ear for truth?”
The Supreme Master ignored what was implied in this question, answering without hesitation, “Then he shall see not only the truth of Botahara’s words but also the truth of our sacred work.”
A senior Neophyte came down the hall to escort the Sister through the maze of Jinjoh Monastery. She nodded as though acknowledging the wisdom of Brother Nodaku’s answer, turned on her heel, and was gone.
The Supreme Master stood for a moment, staring at the closed shoji, and then slid aside the screen that opened onto his private porch. A swallow flitted off the almost completed nest, protesting the intrusion in a high voice. The Supreme Master did not step out onto the wooden deck but instead hung back in the shadow provided by the roof. In the courtyard below he could see the junior Initiates practicing the Form. He took a half step forward, bringing more of the courtyard into view, until he could see all of the students, each standing in his own Septima—the geometric design identical to the one set into the Supreme Master’s wall.
The instructor moved slowly and with perfect grace before the rows of pupils. They had come to the end of the sixth closure now and most of the students were faltering, though an untrained eye would never have been aware of this. Shuyun was in the second row, conspicuous for his small size and for his confidence. The boy’s movements were precise and flowing, executed without hesitation.
Sotura-sum had not exaggerated. The senior Neophyte’s form made the more advanced students look clumsy; indeed, he rivaled the instructor in his control. The Supreme Master watched, fascinated by the spectacle.
“Never before have I seen such a sight,” he whispered. “Who could this child have been?”
Beyond the courtyard wall, of white plaster and wood, he could see Sister Morima being escorted down to the waiting ship. She moved with a light step for one so large of frame. The woman was far more clever than he had given her credit for. He would have to be more careful in the future—far more careful.
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 2
