The Initiate Brother Duology

by Russell, Sean

  The evening’s entertainment was provided by a wrinkled, elderly man who moved with the stooped carriage of someone who’d spent his life toiling in a rice paddy. His threadbare robes, sewn in the country style, did nothing to deny this impression, though in truth this man had once been a respected scholar, holding appointments at the Hanama court where he was renowned for the quality of his verse. Long ago he had retired to seclusion in the far north and only the promise of a concert by the Ladies Nishima and Kitsura had lured him out this night—that and a suggestion that Lord Shonto might provide him with a cask of a certain rare wine.

  The old man, one Suzuku, sat on a raised platform built to resemble a balcony and behind this a silk hanging bore a sunset and far off, a V of geese winging south among crimson clouds. Skillful arrangements of dried leaves and cedar boughs symbolized the autumn, just as the flying geese were the common symbol for letters or messages.

  The old man’s voice had no doubt lost much of its power and timbre to the years, but his great refinement of speech and the beauty and richness of the language he used more than made up for it.

  He would speak softly, the meter of the verse as subtle as the rhythms of rain, and then he would break into a chant, strong cadences driving the images like drumming drove dance.

  Earlier in the evening Lady Kitsura had played without the accompaniment of her cousin, who was not in attendance, but if this had initially been a disappointment it was soon forgotten. Kitsura Omawara could hold the attention of the most critical audience without assistance. She had taken her place among those listening, now, and seemed hardly less the center of attention there. In contrast, the gathered peers of Seh, guard officers, ladies-in-waiting, and members of the administration seemed like a gathering of the dull and the gray. It was not just the refinement of her dress and manner that set Lady Kitsura apart, it was as though life flowed more strongly in her veins and gave her the ability to find pleasure and delight where it escaped others. She easily stole the hearts of all men present and gained the grudging admiration of the women.

  Among those in attendance, General Jaku Katta had the most difficulty concentrating on the verse. He hoped to speak with a certain lady, and carried a poem in his sleeve that he thought might melt some of the coolness of her manner. Although he realized it was absurd, he felt like a suitor scorned to find that Lady Nishima was not present. He tried to turn his thoughts elsewhere and redoubled his efforts to focus as Suzuku began a new poem.

  Autumn in Tu’s brocade hills

  Leaves find a death of such beauty

  A man’s sad end pales

  Poems seek out the unsteady hand

  Words dropping from the brush

  Like leaves.

  Still awake at first light

  Eyes red as the sunrise

  Letting no leaf escape

  Ink falls, drop by drop

  Yellow of weeping birch

  Crimson of blood-leaf.

  I send poems south with passing geese

  But who is left to receive them?

  So many leaves adrift

  On this chill wind

  Up here it is better to forget early days

  It is enough to ache from damp mornings

  To ache from memories too

  Is more than a man can bear

  Outside my open room

  A small cloud

  Tangles in the ginkyo’s branches

  So white against the endless blue.

  Searching among a lifetime’s clutter

  I find my worn inkstone

  What words will come now?

  What wisdom will I speak

  To frightened trees?

  The evening’s last poem read, the gathering broke into small, informal groups and plum wine flowed as smoothly as gossip. Jaku found himself in the company of several of Seh’s most well-born young ladies.

  “It is a shame,” said the youngest of the women, “that Lady Nishima was not present also. I had so looked forward to hearing her harp and had hoped she might trade a poem-sequence with Suzuku-sum.”

  Jaku could not have agreed more, though he said nothing.

  “General Jaku,” said another, “you must have heard Lady Nishima play at court?” She tried to hold the general’s gaze as he answered and was disappointed that he looked away so quickly.

  “Oh, many times. Not four days ago I heard Lady Nishima and Lady Kitsura play here in the palace. They complement each other perfectly, as you might imagine.” He was immediately embarrassed—a short time in the north and he was already playing the fool’s game of trying to impress the provincials.

  As he spoke, Jaku’s eye was drawn by Kitsura as she broke away from a disappointed group of young men and made her way across the hall. There is no doubt, Jaku thought, the rumor that she spurned the Emperor had made her even more desirable. Despite the fact that he had come hoping to meet another, Jaku could not help but feel excitement at Kitsura’s presence.

  Lady Kitsura stopped briefly to speak to Lord Komawara and Jaku shook his head. Komawara, he remembered, had made a fool of himself in Shonto’s chambers the morning before. It was bad enough he had not realized that Shonto might be forced to abandon Seh but to reveal his ignorance so blatantly exhibited the poorest judgment. Jaku was surprised that Shonto allowed the boy into his councils. Strange.

  Jaku’s attention was drawn back into the conversation as he was asked to comment on the most current fashions in the capital. He was forced to disappoint them, explaining that Lady Kitsura dressed in a more timeless style and was not a follower of the latest fad. The conversation then drifted into a discussion of the relative merits of silks from Oe and Nitashi. Lady Kitsura again caught the general’s eye. She had finished her conversation with Lord Komawara, and as Jaku looked up she motioned to him with her fan.

  Waiting for an appropriate break in the conversation, Jaku excused himself, inflicting a second disappointment upon the young women from Seh. Lady Kitsura had retreated to a quieter corner and stood fanning herself slowly, though the room was not overly warm.

  The guardsman bowed as he approached and she nodded from behind a ginkyo leaf shaped fan, jade and silver combs catching the light as her head bobbed.

  “I hope you have come away inspired by Suzuku-sum’s verse, General. Were his poems not exquisite?”

  “Certainly, Lady Kitsura, but not less so than your playing. I feel doubly inspired.”

  She nodded at his flattery, and lowered her fan enough that he caught a glimpse of her famous smile. “I am sorry Nishi-sum could not be present. My poor description will not do justice to the evening.”

  “Lady Nishima is well, I trust?” Jaku said as matter-of-factly as he could.

  “I am certain we need not be overly concerned, it is kind of you to inquire.”

  She did not offer to convey his concern to the lady herself, as Jaku had hoped she would.

  A gong marked the hour of the heron and the crowd seemed to thin noticeably in response.

  “The evening has flown, I must make my good nights. If it is not too much to ask, General,” she reached a small hand out from behind her fan and he found a tiny fold of paper in his palm, “would you read this before leaving? I would be in your debt.” Her eyes seemed to plead with him over the edge of her ginkyo leaf.

  “I am your servant, Lady Kitsura.”

  “You are so kind, General.” A brief touch of her hand on his wrist and she was gone, leaving the guardsman to catch his breath.

  It was several minutes before Jaku could find a moment alone. He opened the intricately folded letter with great anticipation—she had not been able to erase him from her mind after all! The disastrous meeting on the Grand Canal came back to him and caused him a second’s discomfort, but he made his fingers continue. Why would Lady Nishima put her fine hand to paper if she was not still intrigued?

  He read:

  My Dear General Jaku:

  I find myself in the awkward position of having to ask a favor.
Is it too much to ask that you meet me this evening? My servant will await you until the hour of the owl at the door to the Great Hall. If this is not possible, please, no explanation is preferred.

  Lady Kitsura Omawara

  Lady Kitsura! Jaku pushed hard against the post that hid him. The depth of his disappointment shocked him. He had so expected to find a poem from Nishima-sum. Lady Kitsura? He could not imagine what favor the Omawara daughter could need of him. No doubt he would soon find out. At the very least, he could now easily ask that Kitsura deliver his own letter. She could hardly refuse.

  Jaku said his polite good nights as soon as he could.

  As Kitsura had written, a servant awaited him at the Great Hall—an older woman whose accent, even in the few words she uttered, was noticeably from the Imperial Capital. Jaku knew—it was an accent he’s spent some time acquiring. The servant took a route through seldom used halls until they came to a door like many others.

  A soft knock was answered by a woman’s voice and for a brief second Jaku found himself hoping this had all been an elaborate ruse arranged by Lady Nishima so that they might meet secretly.

  It was not to be so. The opened door revealed Lady Kitsura sitting in the light of a single lamp, its golden light heightening her complexion.

  “General, I am honored that you would come.” She smiled, no fan now to hide her beautiful face.

  “Lady Kitsura, it is I who am honored.” He knelt upon the second cushion that had been set, closer to hers than he expected.

  “May I pour you plum wine, General?”

  “Thank you, Lady Kitsura. If I am not being too presumptuous, please call me Katta-sum.”

  Kitsura held back her long sleeve as she poured wine into the small cups. “I would be honored.” She passed him his wine cup. “Please, call me Kitsura-sum, whenever the situation allows.”

  Jaku gave a half bow. Polite conversation followed. Discussion of the night’s poetry, the customs and manners of the people of Seh, and even a little gossip. More than once they found cause for laughter. Such formalities completed, Jaku broached the true subject of their meeting, hoping to save the lady embarrassment.

  “If you will excuse my boldness, Lady Kitsura, is there some service I might perform for you? I would deem it an honor to do so.”

  Kitsura took a small sip of wine. “You are kind to inquire, Katta-sum.” She set her wine cup back onto the small table and turned it as though examining the quality of porcelain.

  “As you are no doubt aware, I left a most awkward situation in the capital. Unlike many families, my own would not argue my decision….” She looked up at him, her face suddenly troubled. “Yet now I fear the repercussions of that decision—not for myself, General—but I fear for my family. My own decision was perhaps too selfish.”

  “You acted according to the dictates of your heart, Kitsura-sum, a woman of integrity could do nothing less. Is there some task I could perform that would relieve some of this apprehension you feel?”

  “Truly, you are kind,” she said warmly, a sense of relief apparent in her tone. “I am concerned that my family could be in a delicate position. I am not sure…” Her voice became so small that words ceased to come.

  “Perhaps I could draw upon my friends in the capital, particularly in the court, to find out if there is reason for worry, Kitsura-sum. Would this be of service to you?”

  “Oh, yes, Katta-sum, very much so!” She reached out and squeezed his large hand. “But please, enough risk has been taken for me. Do nothing that would jeopardize your position. I could not bear it. Will you promise me this?”

  “Lady Kitsura, it would be an honor to take any risk on your behalf but, truly, what you ask is no cause for concern, let me assure you.”

  “You are kind, but you must be careful. I would not forgive myself if anything untoward should result.”

  “Your spirit is burdened with enough concerns, Kitsura-sum,” he laid his fingers gently on her arm, “do not add this to what you carry.” He removed his hand and took a sip of his wine. “Is there anything more I may do?”

  She hesitated for a time before looking up, a slight blush apparent on her beautiful face. “I wish to send a message to my family, but I fear that it might be intercepted. I’m certain Lord Shonto would do this, but…”

  “Lady Kitsura, say nothing more. I can send a message to your family in complete secrecy. Tomorrow, if you wish it.”

  “Katta-sum,” she said, a tiny tremor of emotion in her voice. “I am in your debt for this kindness. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

  “There can be no debt in such matters. Please do not concern yourself with such things.”

  “Katta-sum,” she took his hand in both of hers now, “there is debt and I will not forget it. Is there nothing that I might do in return?”

  He felt a soft tug on his hand, so soft he wondered if his imagination toyed with him. And she did not release his hand.

  “If I may ask such a favor, Kitsura-sum,” Jaku said, with obvious difficulty, “would you convey a letter to your cousin, Lady Nishima?”

  As though all of her features had frozen, Kitsura paused but then, almost immediately, she recovered. Sitting up, she reached for her wine cup though she did not drink from it but only held it with both hands as though she suddenly did not know what else to do with them. “Certainly…General, though it seems a small thing indeed.”

  “It may seem so, but it is I who am in your debt now.” Jaku produced the letter from his sleeve, slightly misshapen from the hours of neglect.

  Slipping it into her sleeve Kitsura reached again to pour wine.

  “Please, Kitsura-sum, I have duty awaiting me.”

  “Excuse me, General, I did not mean to detain you.”

  With a bow and a promise to send a trusted guard for her letter, Jaku Katta slipped away as quietly as the cat he was named for.

  Kitsura sat for some time without moving. Never had she been so thoroughly rebuffed. She had expected him to fail this test, had wanted him to. And he had asked her to convey a letter to her cousin!

  “Uncouth, common soldier!” Kitsura whispered.

  For a second she felt anger toward her cousin but then realized how absurd this was. By Botahara, she thought, Jaku must be truly smitten with Nishi-sum. What a disaster that could mean.

  * * *

  Canal’s end,

  We have traversed uncertainty

  A maid interrupted as Lady Nishima contemplated the poem’s next line.

  “Excuse me, Lady Nishima, Brother Shuyun inquires of your well-being.”

  “Ah, how thoughtful,” Nishima dipped her brush in water. “Please offer him cha.”

  Pushing aside her table Nishima quickly straightened her robes.

  The maid appeared again. “Brother Shuyun, Lady Nishima. Cha will be served immediately.”

  The servant bowed as Shuyun entered and in turn he bowed, Botahist style, to the daughter of his liege-lord. Though she knew full well that Shuyun was small of stature, hardly taller than she was herself, Nishima was always surprised when she saw him. In her mind his presence was larger.

  “Brother Shuyun, please be at your ease. It is a pleasure to have your company.” Nishima smiled.

  “I came to inquire after your well-being, Lady Nishima, not to interrupt.” He nodded to her work table.

  “Notes to myself. I was filling time, Brother, nothing more.”

  Shuyun knelt on the cushion set for him. For a second he met Nishima’s eyes and she wondered, as she often did, if it was great wisdom or great naïveté that dwelt in those large, dark eyes. She often wondered if it was this ambiguity that touched her.

  “You are well, Lady Nishima?” Shuyun said in his soft voice. A voice that always seemed to suggest intimacy to her. “I grew concerned when the poetess did not attend Suzuku-sum’s reading.”

  “I am well. Despite Suzuku-sum’s reputation, one does not always feel the desire for the company of many.” In truth she thought Suz
uku’s reputation was somewhat greater than his talent.

  Shuyun nodded. Servants arrived with a cha service and laid out the utensils with some care. Their mistress was very conscious of detail and they did not like to disappoint her.

  “And how fares the Shonto Spiritual Advisor?” Nishima asked and smiled.

  “He fares well enough, my lady. In my Order we say, well enough to serve His purpose. The Botahist-trained do not ask for more than that.”

  Nishima nodded and checked the heat of the charcoal burner that warmed the cha cauldron. “Perhaps we should all learn to ask less for ourselves and more for others, Brother. In my Order we say, I fare well, thank you—meaning, I am well enough to enjoy all of the pursuits that I hold dear, whatever they may be.” She kept her eyes cast down, fussing with the cha preparations.

  Shuyun seemed to consider this for a moment. “Excuse me for saying so, Lady Nishima, but there is a dedication to duty among many of your Order that is worthy of recognition and praise. The Shonto are renowned for this.”

  Nishima nodded. “It is true among fewer than one would hope, Brother, though certainly in reference to my uncle it cannot be denied.”

  With great care she ladled cha into bowls and offered the first to her guest.

  “This bowl must be for you, Brother,” she said, as etiquette demanded.

  “I could not, Lady Nishima. Please, this bowl must be yours.”

  Though this was the proper response, the sincerity of his words stopped Nishima and she found herself staring into his eyes again, trying to read what lay behind the words. The monk looked away and she collected her wits.

  “Your presence honors me. Please, Brother Shuyun.” She held out the bowl and he took it from her hand with surprising gentleness.

  As though there had been a lapse, a moment of too much familiarity, Shuyun’s tone became formal. “A matter has recently arisen, Lady Nishima, about which I require advice.” He sipped his cha, looking away.

  “Brother, if it is possible to repay some of the debt I feel to our Spiritual Advisor, I would not hesitate to do so. Please, what is this matter?”