The Initiate Brother Duology

by Russell, Sean

  Flattery as a temptation, he realized, was hardly worthy of consideration compared to the softness of a woman’s body. With great effort, he pushed the memory from his mind, but the thing that kept echoing back was the knowledge that this fall had not been an accident. There was no doubt of this.

  Shuyun found this realization as disturbing as his meeting with his former teacher.

  Six

  THE SCULPTURE GARDEN in the Imperial Governor’s Palace had not been created by an artist of great note, but it hardly mattered. The raw material was so superior in nature that it had almost worked itself.

  Shuyun crossed the lotus pattern terrace at the garden’s edge and then paused to admire the late afternoon light that slanted low into the garden. It created shadows that gave texture to even the most featureless surfaces. Already Shuyun could feel the stones releasing their warmth to the cooling air. The sea wind fell to a breath, then gusted, then fell again in a pattern that no man could determine. It would not be long before the clear northern night began to tug at the edge of the eastern sky.

  Shuyun came to the garden to meditate on the sculptures and to purge himself of certain feelings. Stopping before the Mountain Dragon, he let his eye run over the fluted sandstone. He felt a certain awe at nature’s work, thinking about the several lifetimes that the elements had scoured and carved this stone. Working patiently, waiting for the day when an artist would find it.

  The artist, a lady-in-waiting of a retired Mori Empress, had set the three stones together in a fashion that, when seen from the north, suggested an animal poised to strike; when seen from the south, however, it appeared to be sleeping. The low light made the effect far more dramatic than at any other time of day and Shuyun found he was able to bask in the artist’s skill as though seeing it for the first time.

  The voice of the waterfall drew him and he wound down the narrow path and across the foot stones toward the sound. Shuyun had been in the garden many times and knew the illusion of the cataract twisting down a mountainside was nearly perfect. The stone was cracked and sculpted in scale to an enormous cliff face and the effect was enhanced by carefully stunted trees, many the work of thirty years and more, let into ledges and cracks.

  Shuyun stepped through the final copse before the waterfall and there he found the Lady Okara, paper stretched onto a drawing board on her lap, a brush held idly in one hand. She started as the monk appeared.

  “Please excuse me, Lady Okara, I did not realize you were here. Please, I did not mean to interrupt your work.” The painter was dressed in the plainest cotton robes and Shuyun was certain she must be deeply embarrassed to be seen so. He bowed quickly and turned to go.

  “Brother Shuyun, do not apologize. I am hardly working at all. In truth, I have been sitting here weaving memories for some time.” She smiled her warm smile. “Please join me, the light is changing color by the second. Have you seen?”

  “Pardon me, Lady Okara—have I seen?”

  “Ah, you haven’t! Come, sit down, if you have the time. This will be worth the short wait.”

  Shuyun found a second sitting stone at Lady Okara’s side and took his place dutifully. Lady Okara was not someone he knew well, but he liked her immeasurably. He often imagined that the ease he felt in her company was the way he would have felt with his own mother had he known her.

  The evening sun lit the face of the miniature cliff, throwing every crevice into clear relief, the shadows stretching as the sun fell. The spray from the falls caught the light and a rainbow appeared.

  “Watch the deep rose begin to change now,” Lady Okara said.

  Shuyun stretched his time sense in an attempt to see what the artist’s eye would see. The waterfall slowed, each drop of spray catching the sun in a different way, with a different color. Indeed the rock was faintly rose hued; he had not realized this before.

  “Rose to deep purple, but watch how many shades it passes through, Brother. It is a daily miracle, I should think.”

  “I had never seen this before, though I come here often.”

  Wind rustled the needles of the small pines and the light played among the greens and cast oddly elongated shadows.

  “For many, the skills of brush and pigment are more easily learned than the skill of seeing, truly seeing. I came to Seh largely for this. Oh, not to see this garden, as lovely as it is, but to learn to see again.”

  “Lady Okara,” Shuyun said, nodding toward her half-finished painting, “excuse me for saying so, but I find it difficult to believe that you have forgotten how to see.”

  “Ah, Brother Shuyun, it is kind of you to say so, but a good painter, an artist, does not see only with the eye. A skilled journeyman could learn to capture this scene, light and all. That, I have not lost. What an artist must seek and try to capture is the part of this setting that occurs within. What does this beauty evoke in my heart? In my spirit? A painter asks that question. The true skill, the skill that separates an artist from a journeyman, is the ability to find and express that—the part of this scene that exists within.” She fell silent, as though she had begun to search within even as they spoke.

  “You see, Brother, until Nishi-sum came to my home, I did not even know that I had lost that skill. Until I encountered her lovely, open spirit, I had thought the skill intact. But it was gone. I had lost it by forming habits of seeing and habits of feeling, as well. It is easily done. One can form habits in one’s heart as easily as in one’s day-to-day existence. Cha at dawn, a walk alone at sunset, meditation on the full moon…nostalgia, loss, bitterness, comfort. All of these habits shield us from the other parts of life. The journey to a new place, encountering people, considering new ideas, different landscapes, risks, excitement, joy…disappointment…grief.

  “From the great palate that life offers I had chosen my colors—good colors, certainly, but few in number—and I had lived with them for many, many years. My spirit withered slowly in its habits. When Nishima-sum came to my house, I could see what this had done to my art.

  “It is an odd choice to make, to dedicate one’s life to a single pursuit, but if one has made that choice it would be terrible folly to limit what one can accomplish simply because of habit.” She gestured with her brush. “Watch this rainbow fade. Isn’t that wonderful? As though it had never been.”

  She reached down and for several seconds held the tip of her brush in the running water. “So I have come to Seh, hoping to find a way to open my heart and my spirit to the world again—hoping to revive my art. I do not know if this is possible: I am not the age of Lady Nishima, after all. But if there is a way, I must try to find it.”

  They fell silent again, watching the last light illuminate the miniature mountainside. Listening to the sound of the water as it fell into the pool and then ran among the stepping stones.

  Lady Okara rose suddenly. “Please, Brother, you have come here for your own purpose. I grow cold easily and must go inside. But please, I insist. I can make my way indoors without an escort.”

  Despite her words, Shuyun rose and handed her across the stepping stones before giving way to her protests and allowing her to continue on her own, disappearing down the path, her plain robes in contrast to her great natural dignity.

  Shuyun returned to the falls and seated himself where Lady Okara had been. It was almost dark now, the first stars appeared. He mulled over the painter’s words. The touch of Lady Kitsura came back to him and hovered at the edge of Lady Okara’s words as though speaking to him in some other language. He thought of Lady Nishima and how he dreamed of her in the desert, dreamed that he was in her embrace as the Perfect Master had been in the embrace of his bride on the cliff sculpture in Denji Gorge.

  All of these spoke to him in their own way.

  Words came back to him. It is an odd choice to make, to dedicate one’s life to a single pursuit, but if one has made that choice it would be terrible folly to limit what one can accomplish simply because of habit.

  The illusion of the mountain water
fall was hidden in darkness now, but the voice of the cataract still spoke, reminding him that Lady Okara had opened her spirit to this wonder.

  She explores the nature of the illusion, Shuyun told himself, that is her purpose. Whereas it is my purpose to deny the illusion: yet what is the nature of this thing I deny? Lady Okara opens her spirit to the world, while I close mine. Who can say who will learn more in this process? Lord Botahara did not attain Enlightenment from denial but from exploration—as Lady Okara has said—both within and without.

  This thought unsettled him and all of the voices in his head added to his confusion. He began a breathing exercise, chanting quietly, then sank himself into contemplation, driving out all the voices and focusing all of his mind on the words of his teachers.

  It was the habit of a lifetime.

  Seven

  THE SERVANT HAD drowned in the canal the morning before and not been discovered for almost a day. The small sampan he’d borrowed was later found floating upside-down among the flotsam in a small eddy beneath a seldom used bridge. No one was sure how the accident had occurred, but it was well known that the boy couldn’t swim.

  General Jaku Katta, the servant’s master, was surprised by the effect this death had upon him. The servant boy, one Inaga, had not held a special position in his master’s house—a personal servant—a good one, yes, but no better than one would expect in the house of so powerful a man. And yet the death was felt throughout the household.

  Jaku sat alone in his cabin on the Imperial Barge and considered his reaction to the loss. The river flowed quietly by, lapping at the barge, a reminder of every poem that had ever been written with a river as an image of life. The calls and shouts of the passing rivermen broke the calm and this seemed a great offense to the general’s state of mourning. Of course he was not officially in mourning—one did not mourn servants—but in his soul Jaku Katta mourned and this unsettled him, for he was a soldier and not unused to death.

  Inaga had been young, that alone explained some of Jaku’s reaction, but this was more than the common response to the death of a child. Inaga had possessed qualities that were rare and, though Jaku hadn’t known this, they were qualities he valued highly.

  Attempting to alter his gray mood, the guardsman dipped a brush in ink and poised the tip over the report he was supposed to be writing, but no words flowed. He realized he had lost focus entirely when ink dripped onto the rice paper, spoiling it completely. Rinsing the brush, he set it on its rest to dry and gave up the pretense of work altogether.

  Though he told himself he had no time for melancholy, Jaku could not force his thoughts elsewhere. Inaga had qualities that Jaku had seen too infrequently. It was not common to find someone who was entirely loyal and there was no doubt in Jaku’s mind that the boy had been. There had never been any doubt, not from the very first day Inaga had come to service. That was another point about Inaga—he concealed nothing—was somehow incapable of hiding anything and it seemed everyone knew that instinctively.

  Katta touched the paper on which he had been writing to a lamp, letting it burn, slowly turning it to avoid the flame. He waited until he dared hold it no longer and then dropped it onto his inkstone and let it burn itself out.

  It was not the boy’s death, Jaku realized, it was something more. The intrigue of the Imperial Palace and in the Empire was something he had always found exhilarating, like the kick boxing ring or a duel—one was truly tested—and failing the test meant more than losing a game of gii. Failing could mean loss of everything. But somehow the death of the servant had affected Jaku’s love of the game. It had been such a senseless death, in aid of nothing.

  Suddenly the game of court intrigue seemed as senseless as…Jaku was not sure what. And it was this game that had brought him here—to Seh where the Emperor plotted against the Shonto House.

  Does the Emperor intend this as a lesson or is it his intention that I fall with Lord Shonto? Jaku asked himself again. Certainly the Son of Heaven knew that Shonto would not accept Jaku as an ally—and Jaku was not about to join forces with a man who was about to fall—not just fall from favor.

  The last flame from the burning paper flickered and disappeared, leaving a pile of smoking ashes on the inkstone. The report would have been meaningless anyway, Jaku thought, just another arrangement of words on paper in a bureaucracy weighted down with words on paper.

  In a few hours he would meet Lord Shonto. He could expect no honesty there either, and certainly no loyalty. Jaku touched his fingertips together as though he would meditate. There were so many lies now that even Jaku was beginning to lose his way among them.

  He had spent hours searching among all the past lies, assuring himself that he knew his path so well that Shonto could never cause him to stumble. He thought of Lady Nishima, from whom he had not received word since his arrival in Rhojo-ma. She walked the path of lies also, though he felt somehow that she found herself there by accident, not by choice.

  There was no one he could think of now whom he could rely on to be honest at all times. He thought of Tadamoto-sum and the usual anger he felt was replaced by a deep sadness.

  A riverman called out to another and they both laughed. Jaku rose fluidly from his cushion and began to pace the cabin, six paces, side to side. A tap sounded on the screen and Jaku gave permission to enter.

  “Your audience with Lord Shonto, General,” a servant whispered.

  Jaku nodded. He mustn’t keep the Imperial Governor waiting. No. Every act of the farce must be carried out, without exception. An audience with a governor who would soon be a ghost seemed particularly appropriate to such a play. And Jaku had no doubt that a ghost was what Shonto would soon be. There would be no rest for the lord, nor for his retainers, nor for his son. Jaku was certain of that.

  And now the architect of Shonto’s downfall had arrived to participate in the lord’s fate. The guardsman shook his head. It had been a beautiful stroke, Jaku had to admit. He had not thought the Emperor capable of such a pure act. He wondered if the Son of Heaven thought Jaku should feel honored to be in such esteemed company. An audience with a corpse. He must dress for the occasion.

  * * *

  His most finely made light duty armor, the suit with the Choka hawk worked into the black lacings along the shoulder covering. A purple border with tiny silver hawks. Jaku thought it quite possible that there had been no finer armor made in his generation. Certainly, Shonto had his garden, but Jaku was not a man without means as this work of the armorer’s art would attest. And Shonto would recognize the work of an artist—Jaku was counting on that.

  The Commander of the Imperial Guard took more time than usual with his preparations—almost as though he made ready for a duel. Shonto was undoubtedly an adversary deserving of such treatment. Perhaps it was this thought that made Jaku choose his Mitsushito from among the several swords he traveled with. He opened the rosewood case with great respect and examined the weapon most conscientiously before lacing it into his sash. It was very old, almost an artifact, yet the name of its maker alone would unnerve most opponents. Jaku, of course, was too much of a pragmatist to rely on another’s reputation—the sword was a beautiful weapon, not an ornament.

  So like a journey to a duel did this feel that Jaku had an urge to look over at his Second as he took his place in the sampan. He even felt that strange sense of unreality; “floating on the surface of illusion,” his teachers had called it.

  The boatmen pushed off and began to scull rhythmically. Denji Gorge, Jaku thought. Shonto had found a way out of Denji Gorge. Bribery was the only possibility. Jaku felt himself begin to float higher and resisted with an act of will. To have men so well placed in Hajiwara’s army spoke of long preparation. Unreality tugged at him again. Just how long, Jaku wondered, had Shonto known that he would be sent to Seh?

  Jaku rubbed the palms of his hands on the padded armrest. What did Shonto know? Whose game was being played here? Perhaps it would not be an audience with a ghost but the ghost that t
raveled to the audience. Jaku looked down at his hands as though reassuring himself of their substance.

  Even if Shonto was not aware of his situation, certainly he was aware of Jaku’s part in the debacle in Itsa Province. Using the control of the kick boxer, Jaku forced a calm over himself. Shonto would not act openly, after all, the lord was a gii master of some fame. No, this meeting might serve no purpose other than to make Jaku aware that Shonto had no doubts about who stood behind the attempt at Denji Gorge. That would be more worthy of him.

  The Imperial Guard Commander realized that the irony of the Emperor’s plan was quite complete. No doubt the Son of Heaven had divined Jaku’s plans for Lady Nishima, or perhaps it was truer to say that the art of divination had not been required…Tadamoto had seen to that. What was it the Emperor feared? That Jaku Katta would join forces with the Shonto. And now the Son of Heaven had sent Jaku into Shonto’s palace knowing full well that the Imperial Governor would never join forces with the man who had arranged for him to be trapped in Denji Gorge.

  Jaku realized that, for the first time in many years, he had very few options. He had become a traveler on a path without branches, a path that narrowed with each step. So it was that he played out each act of the farce as though it had meaning. What choice was there? He had even done exemplary work ridding the Grand Canal of its parasites. Jaku laughed softly. If nothing else, he was still Wa’s finest soldier.

  * * *

  “He is in disfavor or he has been sent north to oversee your fall, Lord Shonto. If he is in disfavor, our attempts to convince the Emperor of the true threat will not be successful. If General Jaku has been sent north to be sure there are no mistakes made and that my Governor is truly brought down, then there is a slim chance that he could be made to see the true danger…a very slim chance.” General Hojo bowed.

  Shonto nodded. He shifted his armrest unconsciously, considering what Hojo said. It was not that the general’s words had not been said before, but Shonto believed that ideas, even bad ideas, in some mysterious way generated other ideas and one of those might be the truth or the beginning of wisdom. His former Spiritual Advisor had a saying that he used often: search for the truth inside a lie. So he searched, not that Hojo had lied, of course, but it was the same principle.