The Initiate Brother Duology

by Russell, Sean

  Traditional methods of forming alliances would not be applicable in a province that was so insular, especially when it was clear that Shonto’s stay there would be brief. A marriage between the Shonto and the Taiki was not feasible, not only because of their difference in position, but Lord Taiki’s only son and heir had just recently celebrated his fourth birthday. Of course, such an arrangement was not unheard of, but Shonto would never subject Lady Nishima to such an indignity: he adored her far too much for the good of his family, he realized.

  When Shonto took leave of Komawara and Lord Akima, the two men stood on the dock saying nothing, yet neither made a move to leave, as though there was something to be said but neither could grasp it.

  Finally Lord Akima ended the silence. “Perhaps, Lord Komawara, if you stand close enough, you will one day be mistaken for a governor yourself.” He bowed and walked down the quay to the place where his guards waited with his sampan.

  Komawara felt like a man caught thieving: there was no denial possible—it was what he secretly hoped for, so secretly that he barely admitted it to himself. Yet old Akima had seen it easily. Seh, the young lord told himself, the welfare of my province is my true concern.

  Akima, Komawara thought, is an old man, well past his prime, unable to see even the most obvious things: like the change in the pattern of barbarian raids. Yet was it not true that virtually all the lords of Seh agreed with Akima in this matter? Was the old man right? Was the lure of the Governor’s Palace really what attracted him?

  Komawara stepped into his sampan and seated himself without even a nod to his guard or boatmen, so lost in thought was he. The old lord’s remark had stung him more than he would ever have expected.

  * * *

  “I find this an interesting habit, Lord Shonto, perhaps one that is native only to my own province.” Lord Taiki said. “I cannot understand how anyone can take a position on an entire dynasty. Certainly I can weigh the accomplishments of a past dynasty and decide if, on balance, they were good or bad. But this desire to take a position on an Imperial Family that has existed only eight years and has placed only two Emperors upon the Throne— I can only judge one Emperor at a time, myself. The Yamaku may well produce a second Jenni the Serene, but I have no way of knowing.”

  Lord Shonto and Lord Taiki walked in the garden of the Governor’s Palace. They were followed by General Hojo and Shuyun, while Lord Taiki’s young son Jima ran around them in circles, imitating the motions of a man on a horse and occasionally charging Shuyun with a shout and then veering off after he had run the monk through with an imaginary sword.

  A path of raked gravel led them through the trees of late autumn, almost bare of leaves; those few that were left were the most beautifully colored. Wind cedars that had been shaped into living sculptures were placed where they would create the most striking effect, here among large gray rocks that suggested a cliff, and there beside a small carp pond. The palace walls blocked most of the wind, so the sunlight seemed to have more warmth than would have been expected.

  “The present Emperor has allowed the thoroughfares of our Empire to fall into the hands of bandits. He has forced all trade beyond the Empire to take place through only one port, a port that is not close to Seh. This means that we must bring our ships into Yankura, instead of into our own province, pay exorbitant taxes and warehousing costs, then we must ship our goods a thousand rih on a canal that is infested with criminals.” Lord Taiki gestured with his hands as if to say, “And you ask me my opinion of this dynasty?”

  Shonto shook his head. He was sympathetic to the problem, and he would even state, in the right circumstances, that he felt this was unjust, but there was little he could do about it.

  Lord Taiki had turned out to be an immensely likable man, not that “likability” was a quality that Shonto felt was terribly important, but all the same this northern lord radiated common sense and fairness and concern for others in a way that one almost never saw in the aristocrats of Wa.

  “Lord Taiki, your logic is undeniable, and I must say that I wish others would cease this prejudging of entire Imperial lines—leave that to history and the historians—we need to be concerned with today. If the barbarians are truly diminished and represent no threat, I for one would be relieved. But these persistent raids have caused concern at court. If the barbarians are no threat, then why do we not stop the raids? That is the question continually asked.”

  “Certainly, Lord Shonto, you know the reason. A handful of barbarians in a large desert are very hard to find. We cannot fortify our entire border, it is not possible. And besides, these raids are little more than an annoyance; we of Seh are used to them. People often drown in the canals of the capital; you do not fill them all in with sand. It is true that occasionally the barbarians kill people of my province, but very few of them lately, and there is little we can do. You do not send an army to fight gnats; you learn to defend yourself and live with the occasional bite, that is all.”

  Shonto smiled. “I understand what you say, Lord Taiki, it is only that I would like more evidence that the barbarians are so small a threat. Because you have only seen one tiger in a forest, it may not be wise to assume that there is only one. I will not write to my Emperor that the tribes are diminished until I can clearly see that it is the truth. I agree that these few raids would seem to indicate that the tribes are small, but perhaps it indicates other things though I confess I do not know what. I would only stress that we do not truly know what the desert is hiding from us.”

  Lord Taiki stopped suddenly. “Jima-sum? What are you playing at?”

  The young child knelt at the edge of the gravel, staring fixedly into the base of a wisteria vine that climbed the nearby wall.

  “Jima-sum?” the lord said and started forward.

  Shonto gripped his arm suddenly. “Do not move.”

  Hojo reached out and took the lord’s other arm. “Lord Shonto is right. No one must move.”

  There, within reach of the child, the head of a sand-viper seemed to hover above the bush. It stood erect, ready to strike. The three men held their breath for an instant.

  “Let me go,” Lord Taiki said. “I must draw its anger to me.”

  “Lord Taiki, if you move, it will strike your son and then you. It is that fast.” Shuyun said.

  “Shuyun, can you save him?” Lord Shonto asked.

  Shuyun did not speak for a second and when he did his voice seemed to come from farther away. “I cannot reach the boy before the viper, Lord Shonto.” The monk paused and Shonto could hear his breathing change rhythm. “I may be able to save his life, though at a cost.”

  “What cost, Brother?” Taiki asked.

  “He will suffer the fate of Kamu.”

  Lord Taiki let out a long, ragged breath. “Is there no other way, Brother?”

  “I cannot stop it. You know what will happen when he is bitten.”

  The lord went silent and then Shonto felt the muscles relax somewhat in the arm he still held.

  “Jima-sum, do not be afraid, my son. You must do everything Brother Shuyun tells you to do. Do you hear me? Everything.”

  Shuyun began to slowly shift his weight and turn his body.

  “Lord Shonto, please take your hand, slowly, from your sword hilt. Very slowly.

  “Jima-sum, you must close your eyes and then extend the hand closest to me toward the snake,” Shuyun said quietly and Shonto felt the father’s arm, which he still held, go tense again.

  The child hesitated. He shifted as though he would bolt, and the snake swayed toward his face but stopped as the child froze.

  “Jima-sum! You must do as Shuyun-sum has said. You must be brave. Close your eyes, now.”

  Tears welled out of closed eyes, but the boy raised a small clenched hand toward the snake—a hand that trembled.

  The viper struck. Lord Shonto felt the sword leave his scabbard though Shuyun was as much of a blur as the snake. Everything then seemed to occur simultaneously: the snake seemed to dis
appear toward the child; Jima screamed and pulled back his hand, but his hand was no longer there. Shonto saw the snake’s body writhing on the ground, the head, jaws twitching, beside it. Shuyun has swung the sword twice, Shonto found himself thinking: twice and Shonto had not been able to focus on either movement. Shonto’s sword lay on the ground and he realized that Shuyun was holding an unconscious child and staunching the flow of blood from the stub of his wrist.

  Lord Taiki was moving now toward his son.

  “Does he live?”

  “Yes, Lord, and I will not let him die. We must carry him into the palace. Lord Hojo, could you please find a servant to bring my trunk?”

  * * *

  Shonto sat reading by the light of a lamp. He read the letter twice and then refolded it carefully and placed it on his small writing table. It was from Lord Taiki.

  Shonto touched his fingertips together at his chin as though he were praying, but those who knew him well would recognize this action as one of his several poses of thought.

  The snake in the garden did not find its way there unaided, that was certain, and the snake’s intended victim was not a small boy, who would now live his life without the benefit of two hands. Shonto shook his head. The letter had been infused, understandably, with an air of deep sadness. And Shonto found some passages quite unsettling.

  As you might expect it was all rather confusing for a small child: he does not realize that it was your Spiritual Advisor who took his hand, but believes instead that it was the viper.

  His mother is understandably distraught and there is little that I can say that will comfort her. The snake was not meant to find a small boy playing in the garden, so it is possible that the loss of my son’s hand has served to save another’s life. Who can say?

  It is certain, however, that Jima-sum would not be alive if not for the actions of your advisor, Brother Shuyun. Even for one who has made many hard decisions I can say that never have I been forced to make a choice more difficult than the one I made in your garden.

  But my son lives, and for this I am forever in your debt.

  I have considered the things we discussed and presented your arguments to my own staff. There is no denying what you say: the evidence we have does not prove conclusively that the barbarians are diminished. Perhaps there is a viper hiding in the desert—I do not know—but I believe we must find out.

  Yes, Shonto thought, we must.

  Twenty-nine

  Having campaigned for seven years

  And defeated the armies

  Of the rebel general of Chou,

  I was then spoken of at Court

  As a threat to my Emperor.

  Behind the sleeve I was said to be

  Vain and ambitious

  With my gaze fixed on the Throne.

  So it is that I have come

  To the house by the lake,

  The House of Seven Willows,

  And ask as a reward

  For the years of my service

  Only to rise each morning

  To the sight of snow-covered Mount Jaika

  Reflected in calm water.

  The House of Seven Willows,

  by Lord Daigi Sanyamu

  IT WAS A three-decked Imperial barge ornately carved with dragons and cranes and painted crimson and gold. The Emperor’s pennant was displayed high on the stern, and on carved staffs to either side of it the black pennant of the Commander of the Imperial Guard and the deep blue pennant bearing the Choka Hawk granted to the Jaku family waved in the gentle wind of the boat’s passing.

  Oarsmen pulled and the barge swept through the capital at first light, scattering all other craft before it. Along the quays people of all classes bowed low, wondering which Imperial Prince or Major Counselor hurried by to do the Emperor’s bidding. Many of those watching offered a prayer to Botahara asking long life for the esteemed occupant of the barge, whoever it might be.

  On the upper deck, inside the house, the two brothers Jaku—Tadamoto and Katta—sat on silk cushions and drank hot plum wine which the elder brother ladled from a heated cauldron. Servants set trays on stands beside the small table that sat between the two brothers. Once the trays were settled Jaku waved the servants out, for this was the traditional meal of farewell and the occasion required that there be no servants.

  The meal itself consisted of the simplest foods, but each course represented the participant’s hopes for the journey.

  Tadamoto raised his wine bowl. “May you encounter the finest of companions on your journey, brother.”

  Jaku raised his bowl in return. “You honor me with your concern, Tadamoto-sum. May your companions be many and light of heart, as I’m sure they will be.” They both drank, raised their glasses to each other again, and then set them back on the table.

  “The Emperor does you great honor, brother, to send you off in one of the Imperial Family’s own barges,” Tadamoto said in his scholar’s voice. As he spoke, he began to serve the first course, a broth soup made with a rare spicy mushroom.

  Jaku nodded. “It is one of your many strengths, Tado-sum, this understanding of honor.” Katta sipped his wine and tiny beads of the liquid clung to the ends of his luxurious mustache. “If our father were still alive, he would be proud to see what you’ve become. A respected scholar, a confidant of the Emperor, a man desired by the most beautiful women, and still one who honors his elders and retains an unusual loyalty to his family. He would be more than proud of you, my younger brother.”

  Tadamoto bowed slightly, as though modestly acknowledging praise. “I thank you for your words, brother, you are too generous, especially for one of your talents and position.” He placed a bowl of soup before his brother. “May you carry the warmth of your family’s home with you throughout your journey.”

  Jaku bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “And may the warmth of our home surround you in my absence.”

  Tadamoto bowed slightly in return and they fell silent for a moment as they ate. A fish hawker could be heard passing by, calling out the day’s wares.

  “I have not forgotten, Katta-sum, that it was your efforts that raised the Jaku from obscurity into the Emperor’s favor.” Tadamoto met his brother’s gaze. “Just as it is your loyal service that has gained you your present appointment. Our Emperor is very wise and has long been aware of your labors. It is this wisdom that has allowed him to understand, as few others do, how well your efforts serve his purpose.” Tadamoto glanced out the slightly open shoji as though suddenly taken by the passing scene.

  “The common person who bows before you can little understand how tireless your efforts have been, Katta-sum. They do not understand what it means to reach above oneself, to exercise one’s grasp.” He began to raise the porcelain spoon to his lips, then stopped. “The common people are bound by superstition and fear and feel that it is the will of the gods that they occupy their place on this plane. These people do not even dream of moving up in the world, of knowing a life of refinement, or of courting a lady of high birth; but by and large they are not dissatisfied and thank the gods for what they have.” Tadamoto raised a spoonful of the hot liquid to his mouth and drank it down slowly, taking time to savor its spices. “Not everyone constantly desires more, Katta-sum. Many feel they have been blessed to simply be alive—to be allowed to serve their Emperor would be a dream beyond imagining. And as the Emperor’s boat passes, they bow readily and without resentment.”

  “It is a difference between you and me, Tadamoto-sum. Bowing is not an exercise I enjoy.”

  “That, brother, is obvious.”

  “But you see, unlike the common man, I do not fear the anger of the gods nor do I feel that my hands will not be strong enough. I simply reach out; it is my nature to do so and as a result the Jaku have risen with me.” Jaku finished his soup and began to serve the next course, noodles covered with a pungent sauce made of marsh root.

  “It is as you say, Katta-sum, you have brought the family honor. This cannot be denied. But now what
will you bring us? Is it not enough to have become the Emperor’s right hand? Is it not enough to have risen to the Third Rank and to have every reason to believe you will be raised to the Second, to one day perhaps be titled? I do not understand you, Katta-sum—how is it that the same blood flows in our veins?”

  Jaku stopped in his preparations and placed his large hands on his thighs. He appeared to be completely calm as though he discussed the weather or the charms of the country in springtime. “It is a question I have often asked myself. I, for instance, would put loyalty to my House above desire for a woman, especially if desire for that woman were to endanger my House.” He returned to his preparations and then set a bowl of noodles and steaming sauce before his brother.

  Tadamoto did not seem to notice the food. “Ah. So this correspondence that you carry on so secretly does not endanger our House? I am glad to know this. You are aware of what the Emperor thinks of this matter?”

  “This correspondence should do anything but endanger the Jaku. The lady in question is, after all, a woman free to make her own choices not bound to a husband…or lover. As for the Emperor’s concern; I, for one, do not understand it. I cannot even imagine how such a trivial matter came to the attention of the Son of Heaven.”

  Tadamoto lit incense from the flame of a small lamp and placed it in a silver burner. “May Botahara bless your journey, brother,” Tadamoto said quietly and they both raised their wine bowls again as they began their next course.

  “I was also surprised,” Tadamoto said, as though there had been no interruption, “when the Emperor mentioned this correspondence to me. Perhaps it was the unfortunate incident with the Lady Nishima on the canal that piqued the Emperor’s curiosity. Who can say? No matter, I have assured the Emperor that, to the best of my knowledge, you do not continue to see the lady. I hope, as always, that I have spoken the truth.”