Thirty-four
THE PONIES WERE surefooted and strong, bred for hardiness and life on the northern steppe. As they picked their way down a narrow trail in failing light, hooves drumming up the long ravine, they inspired their riders with the utmost confidence.
Despite being wrapped in thick cloaks it was easily seen that these men wore the robes of Botahist monks—an Initiate and a Neophyte—out of place in this arid landscape.
The trail leveled and broadened somewhat as they found the bottom of the ravine. Scrub brush and the occasional stunted tree appeared here and there as though scattered down the draw by the relentless wind of the high steppe.
They rode on in silence until a large rock offered some shelter and here they dismounted. Komawara immediately began tending to the horses, the two mounts they rode and a third pony that acted as a pack animal carrying a burden that was largely water. Shuyun prepared a cold meal. It was a routine that they had fallen into in the six days they had been traveling north beyond the border of Seh and neither man seemed inclined to change it.
The northwest wind sounded like an endless breath from the lungs of a dying man, neither a moan nor a whistle but blending something of each. It was a voice that spoke of a long pain. The steppe was slowly being consumed by the desert, though no one knew why, but for a hundred years the men of Seh had been aware that the high steppe was disappearing. And the wind registered a desperate agony.
Whirling around their sheltering rock the wind picked up dust and spun it into the air, into the clothes, into the pores. Rubbing reddened eyes, Komawara came over to where Shuyun crouched.
“You must use the compress on your eyes again this night, Brother.”
“I do not want to be blind in this place. It seems the worst possible course. We have no idea what may appear in the night.”
“My teachers taught that in the darkness one uses one’s hearing, one’s sense of smell. Feel the vibration of movement—if you search the darkness with your eyes you will not focus on what is heard, what is sensed. We learned this lesson with cloth bound over our eyes. You can learn it with compresses over yours. You cannot continue with your eyes as they are. If we meet the tribal people, they will know. A Brother who is ill is not Botahist. I will prepare the compresses; let me worry about what hides in the darkness.”
Komawara nodded and, as he did so, absently rubbed his recently tonsured scalp. A look from his companion and he withdrew his hand with an embarrassed smile. He was Shuyun’s student in this endeavor: no longer a peer of the Empire of Wa but a Botahist Neophyte—not even that. Shuyun taught him some simple breathing exercises and meditations as well as the outward habits of the monks. To be truly believable, the monk felt Komawara should understand some of the basis of the Brothers’ manner and had explained several principles of the training given to young monks.
At one point, as a demonstration of focus, Shuyun and Komawara had “pushed hands”—palm to palm trying to find resistance in Shuyun’s movement, but whenever Komawara pushed, Shuyun’s hands gave way though they never broke contact. It was, as Shuyun said, like pushing water or air, there was nothing to offer any purchase. Shuyun had twice put Komawara on his back and, the young lord realized, could have done it at any time but even so Komawara did not feel it was pride in his skill that led Shuyun to do this. The monk merely wanted Komawara to know what error he made by resisting.
After these sessions of pushing hands, Komawara had begun to question his martial training which was largely based on resistance. And so Komawara, a lord of the province of Seh, slowly and, at times, painfully, began to acquire some of the surface attributes, the mannerisms and posture, of a Botahist monk. He also began to develop a new respect for the Brothers and their level of skill and discipline. This respect was made even stronger by the knowledge that what Shuyun had revealed was not a thousandth part of his knowledge: there was that much the young Botahist was not revealing, and never would.
“I wish we could risk a fire,” Komawara said.
Shuyun gave a small shrug. It was a gesture Komawara was getting used to: it meant that nothing could be of less importance to Shuyun, though he felt that it would be impolite to say so.
Komawara began to draw in the sand with his finger and a very rudimentary map appeared. He placed a small white stone on his cartography and said, “The spring should be only a few rih away.” He tapped the earth. “We are here. This is believed to be an ancient river bed, though it is hard to imagine that water ever flowed here. If we follow it for another day, we should come to water—if the spring hasn’t dried up. I don’t know if we will meet barbarians there, but it is very likely. We must have water if it is at all possible.”
Shuyun shrugged. “We can last many days on the water we have.”
“You could last many days, Brother, but the horses and I have received poor training in survival without sustenance. We occasionally must eat food, also. Please excuse our weakness.”
“For your weakness,” Shuyun said, and passed the lord a flat bread stuffed with vegetables and a paste he did not recognize. The Neophyte monk, Brother Koma, looked at this offering with unconcealed disgust, making his teacher smile.
“You are a typically ungrateful student, Brother. You will not progress until you become thankful for your chance on the wheel. It is possible that even you will make some progress toward perfection in this lifetime. This food will help sustain you so you may do that. Therefore, you should be thankful for it: flavor is not important.”
“I did not realize that striving toward perfection was so intimately entwined with continual discomfort, Brother. Tonight I will attempt to find a rockier place to lay my bed.”
* * *
Shuyun lay still in the darkness. The wind moved over him and seemed to cause the stars to blur and waver in a cold sky.
I am assisting a man who is impersonating a Botahist Brother, he thought. I could be ousted from the Botahist Order forever.
He went over the argument in his head again. He had been given the task of serving Lord Shonto, a man of vast importance in the Empire of Wa. A man who supported the Botahist faith in a time when the Emperor did not favor this faith nor those who practiced it. This alone made Shonto vastly important to the Botahist Brotherhood. The lord was also responsible for the defense of Seh and, for all practical purposes, the Empire: an Empire that even under its present Emperor was still the one and only home of the Botahist faith. And despite the attitudes of the Son of Heaven, the true faith was practiced by most of Wa’s population. The tribal people of the high steppe and the desert were not followers of the Perfect Master—if anything, they could be a threat to the practice of the Botahist faith. Shuyun went over the words of the Supreme Master at their last meeting.
“You must not always think of your own salvation. There may be times when your liege-lord will ask things of you that seem incompatible with the tenets of the Botahist faith. At such times you will have to make a decision that will favor the situation of the Brotherhood, for it is the Brotherhood and the Brotherhood alone that keeps the teachings of the Perfect Master alive.”
So Shuyun had been told…and then he had met a young Botahist nun on the Grand Canal who cared for a respected Sister—a Sister who, it seemed, had lost her faith. A Sister who had seen the hand of Botahara and, miraculously had ceased to believe. A Sister who was convinced that what she had seen was false. The young monk no longer knew what to believe and what to disbelieve.
For the first time in his adult life Shuyun experienced unsettling dreams and awoke from his sleep with no feeling of renewal.
* * *
Komawara bent over the hoofprints, now touching them with his finger, then bending down till his face was almost in the sand and blowing into the depressions.
“A half-day ago, at most. Any longer and the wind would have hidden them completely. At least a dozen riders and perhaps eight animals of burden.” He came back to his horse and took the reins from Shuyun. “There seems to be m
ore and more evidence of barbarian…I do not know what else to call them but patrols.” He shook his head. “Common wisdom says the barbarians move in their tribal groups: woman, children, animals, and all belongings. Groups of a hundred or more and never less than fifty or sixty. I am at a loss, Shuyun-sum. This is unexplainable.”
Shuyun shaded his eyes and scanned the ridge of the dry river bed. “A young lord of Seh, Komawara, I believe, holds unpopular notions that the tribal people have changed their patterns in the last few years. You would do well to listen to his views if the opportunity ever presents itself. A senior member of my own faith believes there is something amiss in the historical pattern of attacks on the Empire—and the members of my Order hold historical evidence in very high regard. What do you suggest we do?”
Komawara mounted his pony. “We can do nothing but press on. As of yet we know nothing.”
Shuyun gestured and Komawara again took the lead, picking his way among a maze of house-sized boulders.
The day was cool, made cooler by the wind and a high thin film of cloud which filtered the sun and muted all shadows so that things at a distance were harder to distinguish.
A hundred yards farther along, Komawara again dismounted and bent his knee.
“This seems to be turning into a trail again, Brother. There should be a spring not far off, if our maps are not too ancient. Who will be there, however, our map does not show.”
They moved on again, single file until the trail became unmistakable. Here, Komawara led them up an incline of solid rock and into a grotto formed by massive boulders. He took some care to hide the marks of their passing and, when he was satisfied, returned to Shuyun who watered the horses.
“I don’t think we should approach this spring without making an attempt to observe any who are there before they have an opportunity to observe us.” Shuyun nodded his agreement. They each took a drink from a water skin—Shuyun’s much smaller than his companion’s—and made a light meal.
The ponies were hobbled and the two men proceeded on foot. Komawara took a staff with him, regretting again that he had no sword. The blade had been a matter of contention, but finally Shuyun had convinced him that there could be no explanation for a Botahist Neophyte to be carrying a sword, no explanation at all. Komawara had finally realized that Shuyun was right, but the sword was missed almost hourly.
They chose a path that seemed to run parallel to the trail they assumed led to the spring but soon were finding dead ends and forced corners that led them away from their goal. The trail appeared, unexpectedly, and they decided to cross it and try their luck on the other side.
After an hour of this maze they heard a noise that at first neither of them recognized, it was so unexpected.
“What is that?” Komawara asked.
“The wind. The wind blowing through leaves.”
Komawara nodded. “It seems impossible but…I believe you’re right.”
They crawled up onto a shattered boulder and looked down into a long gully. The wind came down the gully and blew in their faces, a wind soft with moisture. Two stooped and aged trees bent down over a tiny pool of water as though they knelt to drink. The gully itself was a gradation of color from the stiff brown grasses of the high steppe to a deep green at the heart of the spring.
Shuyun reached out and touched his companion’s sleeve and pointed. In the darkest part of the shadow at the base of the trees a man bent over the water filling a skin. He stood up so that his face came into the light, and if it had been Lord Shonto neither of the travelers would have been more surprised…the man was a Botahist monk.
Komawara turned to Shuyun. “What is this?” he hissed, and it was apparent that he believed he had been betrayed.
“I do not know, Lord Komawara, I have no explanation.”
The Brother looked up at the two travelers and a smile spread across his face. He motioned to them to approach and gestured down at the spring.
“What do we do?” Komawara asked.
“He is a Brother of my faith, he will not lead us into danger, but I would suggest you say as little as possible, under the circumstances, Brother Koma.”
Shuyun led the way, now, and they quickly picked up the trail and followed it into the grotto. Another surprise awaited them: tents and a rough corral containing ponies of the barbarians stood in the shade of the cliff.
The monk saw their reaction to this discovery and smiled and waved reassuringly. He did not speak until they were very close, as though he did not want others to hear. “It is indeed an honor to meet Brothers of the true path wandering here where so few travel.” He made the double bow of his kind and Shuyun and Komawara did the same. “I am Brother Hitara,” the monk added. “Welcome to Uhlat-la; the Spring of the Ancient Brothers.” He gestured to the gnarled trees. “A fitting place for us to meet.”
Shuyun bowed again. The monk who addressed him was young, perhaps only three years older than Shuyun, but his face was dark and creased from too much time in the sun and his body was thin and wiry from long rationing of water.
“The honor is indeed ours, Brother. I am Shuyun and this is Neophyte Koma, who has taken the vow of Barahama and apologizes for his inability to speak.”
“There is no need to make apologies, Brother, the Way is difficult enough without need of making apologies for pursuing it.” He gestured to the small pool. “The water is good, I have drunk it on several occasions.”
Shuyun and Komawara went to the water where Brother Hitara offered them a half gourd for a cup. Shuyun drank sparingly and offered the cup to Komawara but then stopped the lord as he began to dip water from the pool. “Have care, Brother, too much water will destroy your focus and cause you other unpleasantness.”
Komawara showed reasonable restraint, though not perhaps as much as Shuyun would have liked.
“It is a great honor and also a surprise to meet the Spiritual Advisor to the great Lord Shonto here in the wastes. I assume that you are no other?”
Shuyun was only slightly taken aback by the directness of the question. A Botahist monk wandering in the high steppe could perhaps be expected to have forgotten a few formalities. “You are well informed, Brother.”
“Not at all, Brother Shuyun, you are merely unaware of your own reputation. The youngest Spiritual Advisor to a Great House—in our history. Winner of the Emperor’s kick boxing tournament at the age of twelve. I have even heard of your destruction of what I have been told was a finely wrought table. Even more is said about your level of accomplishment, but I do not wish to test your conquest of pride by saying more. I will confess to stand somewhat in awe of you, Brother.”
Shuyun shrugged. “I am equally impressed to find a Brother of the Faith wandering here. How is it you have come to the high steppe alone, Brother Hitara?”
Hitara opened a saddlebag and began to remove the makings of a meal. “I minister to those of other faiths. It should never be repeated, Brother, but I have made more than one convert, though I have not spoken a word to bring this about. I heal the sick. If I am asked questions, I answer. I meditate in the ancient places. It is a small part that I play, Brother Shuyun, but it gives me ample opportunity to meditate upon the word of our Master. I do not need more.
“Would you join me in a meal, Brothers?” Hitara said and offered a stick of dried fruit to Komawara who reached for it readily. The fruit was drawn back, however, before Komawara touched it. “I had forgotten your vow, Brother. Please excuse me, I have been alone for too long. Please forgive my lapse.”
A sound ended all conversation. A sound masked and distorted by the huge boulders and the high rock cliffs of the old river bed. It was some time before it was apparent that this was the echo of a horse’s hooves.
“It is the man who guards this encampment. The others will be gone for several days,” Hitara said offering food to Shuyun. “I once saved this man’s son. He remains grateful.”
They waited in silence for several minutes until finally a warrior of the tribes
appeared, leading his pony. He looked up and caught sight of the monks and immediately cast his eyes down and turned back the way he had come.
Komawara was tensed like a man before battle and twice, while they waited, Shuyun had noticed him reach down to touch a sword hilt that was not there. If Hitara had seen, he said nothing.
“What is this camp, Brother, and where do they ride to from this place?”
It was Hitara’s turn to shrug. “I find it is better not to ask.” He began collecting up his belongings. “You should take water before Padama-ja returns. He cannot be expected to turn a blind eye always.”
“You go so soon, Brother? I had hoped you would be able to speak with us longer. We have so many unanswered questions.”
The monk strapped his few belongings onto a small brown pony and swung himself into the saddle. “I fear the questions you want answered I have found it wise not to know the answers to, Brother. I also fear that your purpose will endanger my own, for if you are found here, in the future all Brothers will be suspect. I do not mean to interfere, your karma is your own, but this is not a good place for you, Brother Shuyun. Return to Seh.” He hesitated before he went on, speaking quietly now. “Tell your lord that his worst fears are true. Tell him to beware of those who worship the desert dragon.” His horse began to shy suddenly and he fought to control it. “I do not know what transpires here, nor is it my concern…but war brings no soul to perfection—of this I am sure—so I do my small part to discourage its veneration. The tribes prepare for battle—I am certain of this. Gold has appeared among them and a new Khan commands the loyalty of all but a few. Look not to meet the few, for they are scattered and do not wish to be found. Return to Seh. Here you can do nothing.”
Komawara stepped forward. “But we have seen nothing with our own eyes. Your word is all we have. Return with us. If there is a warning to give, then it is from you it must come.”
“My place is here.” He bowed from the waist, turned his horse then stopped and turned back to them. “If you must have proof, warriors gather not far to the north. I do not go there. Three days toward the spike mountain where the Two Sisters rise at sunset.
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 44
