The Initiate Brother Duology

by Russell, Sean

  “I have received information from Seh that would indicate this is true, Sister Gatsa,” the Prioress said at last.

  There was a minute shifting of position as though in discomfort among some of the Council.

  “Excuse my presumption, Prioress, but should not the Council have been informed of this?”

  “In time of war,” the Prioress said so quietly that she forced the others to lean forward to hear, “the Prioress has authority to act without the Council. It has always been so.”

  Gatsa nodded, her face not quite masking her pleasure. She had sprung her trap. “In time of war, Prioress, this is true. But war has not yet come and there is much that should be done in case a calamity should befall us. There is much that we all should do.”

  “A fine point, Sister,” the Prioress said. “Shall we put it to a vote?”

  Sister Gatsa hesitated noticeably. She had expected to request this herself. “If the Council so desires, Prioress.”

  The Prioress smiled her beatific smile, unsettling Senior Sister Gatsa even further. Of course, the Prioress knew she would lose—she could read her Council that well. But after the Wind Chimes had gone against their Prioress once, they would be less willing to do so on each subsequent issue, especially when the true nature of the situation was made clear to them. Today they would ring to the words of Prioress Saeja, the old woman was certain of that.

  “Let the proceedings begin,” the Prioress whispered. Yes, let them begin. In three hours she would have approval of everything she had already begun. Let the vultures gnaw on that. She smiled again and closed her eyes to wait.

  Thirteen

  THE GREAT AUDIENCE Hall of the Empire of Wa was the largest chamber in the known world and considered to be a marvel of both art and engineering. The rows of pillars that lined the central hall were each carved from a single iroko tree and lacquered to a deep sheen. Rafters soared in elongated curves up into the tiered roof structures and light filtered down from on high without an identifiable source. So polished was the marble floor that it reflected images and light as faithfully as clear, still water.

  At the farthest end of the hall the dais seemed to float on this unrippled surface. Three steps of the finest jade led up onto the dais, the blocks joined so seamlessly that the steps appeared to have been carved of a single, massive block of green-blue stone. Behind the dais, seven painted panels showed the Great Dragon in flight among stylized clouds above a landscape of rugged beauty—ancient Cho-Wa of the Seven Princes. The Princes themselves sat their gray steeds at the foot of the Mountain of the Pure Spirit about to create the Seven Kingdoms that would one day become the Empire of Wa.

  Below the center panel sat the Dragon Throne of Wa carved from a single block of flawless green jade.

  Upon the Dragon Throne sat Akantsu II, Emperor of Wa. His voluminous ceremonial robes flowed over the carved stone, reaching almost to the floor, where a small cushioned stool protected his feet from contact with the earth. His sword of office stood in a silver stand to one side, and it was apparent to any who knew him that he missed its feel and hardly knew what to do with his hands without it.

  The Ministers of the Left and Right sat in their appropriate places, before the dais to either side, while down the length of the Audience Hall the Great Council of State was arrayed: Reminders, Major and Minor Counselors, and the senior Officials of various ministries. They sat in rigidly defined rows, dressed in their state robes that created a most pleasing pattern of color and form, each man a tiny island on the unbroken, liquid surface.

  Behind the senior officials sat functionaries of high rank, scribes, and bureaucrats, and behind them stood the ceremonial guards—generally younger sons of favored peers—dressed in ornate armor.

  On the first step of the dais knelt the Major Chancellor who governed all proceedings, listening carefully to the whispered comments of the Son of Heaven and proclaiming these to the Great Council.

  At the moment all sat listening to a senior Counselor who spoke in glowing terms of the recent efforts to rid the canals and roads of brigands. Several minor decrees, that had been issued almost after the fact, were singled out as showing great foresight and the senior Counselor bowed in the direction of the officials responsible for these—members of his own faction, as everyone present knew.

  While the great statesmen of the Empire involved themselves in this activity, the man who had convinced the Emperor to embark on this program sat quietly in the ranks of the minor functionaries. It would be out of the question that Colonel Jaku Tadamoto would ever speak on such an occasion or to such an august assembly, yet in his sleeve rested a summons to the Emperor’s private chambers. He would meet alone with the Son of Heaven later that same day—something many of the senior officials present had never done.

  The Council carried on, largely ceremony, for, in truth, real government took place elsewhere, in less impressive chambers with far fewer involved. Jaku Tadamoto waited patiently, trying to keep his mind focused on the conversation, not for the content but for what it told him of the shifting alliances within the Council. Even so his gaze shifted and he found himself contemplating the Dragon Throne, remembering the history, or perhaps myth of the ancient seat of power. He turned away before the Emperor might notice his gaze, but the image stayed in Tadamoto’s mind.

  It was said the artist Fujimi had cleansed his soul through fasting and prayer for seven days before locking himself in his studio with the untouched stone.

  Fujimi’s apprentices gathered outside the doors while the Master toiled. The sounds of stone being worked would go far into the night and whenever they stopped the apprentices could hear the Master chanting in a language none had heard before. In the early morning of the twelfth day all noise ceased—no sound of stone being polished, no chanting…stillness. By midday the apprentices’ concerns were such that they appointed their most senior member to knock on the door and call out the Master’s name. Three times this was done, but there was no answer and still no sounds came from within. They waited.

  By sunset it was decided to break down the doors to the studio. With some effort this was done. The shattered doors swung open and the setting sun illuminated the throne shining as though it had its own light within. A dragon flowed around the seat and back of the throne, a dragon so real, so alive it seemed to have turned to stone in mid-flight.

  The apprentices stood in awe until the light of sunset faded and then, remembering their purpose, lit lanterns and began searching the building. The Master could not be found. All the doors were securely locked from within, yet Fujimi was gone, never to be heard of again.

  Taken to dwell among the gods, some said. Murdered by the Great Dragon for stealing her soul and encasing it in stone, said others.

  * * *

  When the final ceremonies were completed and the Emperor and senior officials had left, Tadamoto rose and returned to his chambers without retinue or fanfare. In the privacy of his own rooms he removed a letter from a locked box and held it a moment as though the thought of opening it caused him pain. With some care he unfolded the paper on which he had written a deciphered version—the letter in his own hand noticeably more elegant than his brother’s original.

  Moving to a nearby screen, Tadamoto opened it a crack to catch the gray winter sunlight that a covering of cloud did its best to obscure.

  My dear brother:

  It is with some difficulty that I write to you, not only because of the nature of our parting, which I regret deeply, but I have arrived in Seh to discover things that neither of us had ever expected. I do not know how to convince you that what I have learned is true, but I must find a way. Tadamoto-sum, on the souls of our father and mother I swear that every word I write is true. The fate of Wa depends on your ability to recognize the truth—seldom has so much depended on the heart of one man.

  There is no doubt that beyond the border of Seh a barbarian army of unprecedented size waits to invade in the spring. I realize that this defies the commo
n wisdom that says the tribes are diminished, but the common wisdom is false, have no doubt. Seh is not prepared for such an attack and will fall within days.

  The chieftain who has gathered the tribes and will lead them across our border is a formidable man, familiar with the situation in Seh and not unaware of the plots within our own court. You realize, I am sure, that the Emperor will not send troops to support Shonto. The barbarian chieftain knows this also, I am convinced.

  The barbarians will not stop once they have swallowed Seh. They have a force that will allow them to push into Wa. If we begin to gather an army now, it is possible that the barbarian advance could be stopped in Itsa Province or perhaps Chiba. If the Son of Heaven cannot be convinced of this, the Emperor will lose his Throne to a barbarian chieftain, and this will be one of the lesser evils of such a defeat.

  It is difficult to be here in the north knowing my own part in all of this. If the men of Seh realized what destruction this feud will bring, I would certainly not be allowed to live. Yet the men of Seh do not even realize that the enemy sits on their border and such is their arrogance that they will not listen to Lord Shonto Motoru. You would think that the Shonto House had not once made great sacrifice to rescue Seh from the barbarians.

  I realize the Emperor will think I have sided with the Shonto, but a way must be found to convince him. Above all, you must not lose your place close to the Son of Heaven or there will be no voice of reason in the entire court.

  Tadamoto-sum, it is a task of enormous weight I charge you with, and I confess I do not know how it can be accomplished, but the future of our Empire depends on you now. All we can hope to do in the north is slow the invasion—there are not enough men in all of Seh to do more.

  I remain your Servant,

  Katta

  Tadamoto let the letter fall to the mat where he knelt. It was so impossible! If what Katta said was true, and he had trouble convincing himself that it was so, then the Empire was almost certainly lost. Tadamoto knew Akantsu II as well as any man and he did not believe for a second that the Emperor could be convinced that Katta had done anything but joined the Shonto. That Fanisan daughter and Katta’s interference with her…that was the seal on his fate. It was all so impossible.

  Tadamoto reached for the letter, read a few lines, then let it drop again. He shook his head. Katta, he thought, knew what words to use, it had always been one of his gifts. Tadamoto had never heard his brother swear by the memory of their parents, no matter how desperate, he had never done that. Somehow Katta had known that this was the one thing he could do that would shake his brother’s certainty. Could he be telling the truth?

  He slumped against the frame of the opening and looked out into a fine curling mist, letting the cold air wash across his face. Wasn’t it just like Katta to get himself into an impossible situation and then expect Tadamoto to get him out of it! Botahara save him—save us all. He was an impossible man. But was it true? If it was and he refused to believe, then Tadamoto would bear some responsibility for the calamity that would ensue— because he could not believe in his own brother. He rolled his head against the cool wood of the frame. Katta, Katta, Katta. Why do you always demand so much of me? How can I be loyal to you and loyal to my sworn duties?

  A gong sounded the changing of guards. He must make himself ready for his audience with the Emperor. As Tadamoto began his preparations, his mind went back to Osha. Osha in the Emperor’s embrace. Both of their lives were terribly at risk now, Osha was correct in this. Still the question echoed over and over again: what kind of man was he that he could continue to advise this Emperor? Advise him, comfort him, knowing that he allowed the woman he loved to act as a common street harlot with this same man? What kind of man was he?

  * * *

  Tadamoto never wore armor into the presence of the Emperor, not even his lightest duty armor. He felt it was a ridiculous affectation and the fact that Katta had done it often had always bothered him—embarrassed him, perhaps, would be closer to the truth. Tadamoto wore his black uniform with its dragon insignia and the marks of his rank but no more. Even this was less ornate than it easily could have been.

  It was the courtiers’ obsession with signs of rank and favor that drove the young Jaku wild. What pettiness! Could functionaries of the third rank wear a gold sash? Could officials in the Ministry of Ceremony wear the peaked cap? It was obvious to Tadamoto that the honorable officials who governed the Empire of Wa were far more concerned with the hierarchy in the palace and signs of rank than with the governing of the land.

  Realizing how angry he had become, Tadamoto tried to calm himself. It was this situation with Osha and the Emperor that was affecting him so. He was an advisor to the Emperor—it was important that he put emotion aside.

  As acting Commander of the Imperial Guard he was whisked through to see the Emperor with less formality than even the most senior officials. After his morning in the Great Council, he took some satisfaction from this. He knelt before the entrance to the Emperor’s chamber and waited to be announced.

  Bowing his head to the mat, Tadamoto waited until the Emperor deigned to acknowledge him.

  “Colonel Jaku,” the Emperor said, “be at your ease.”

  Jaku rose to a kneeling position and moved forward to within a respectful distance of the low dais.

  “Thank you, Sire.”

  The Emperor nodded. He was studying a scroll and seemed barely aware of Tadamoto. “You have received a letter from your brother, Colonel?”

  “I have, Emperor.”

  “But not from Lord Shonto?”

  “No, Sire.”

  The Emperor looked up from his scroll and picked up a letter from a small table. He set this before the dais, nodded at it, and went back to his reading.

  Stretching as far as he was able, Tadamoto got two fingers on the letter and retrieved it. So, he thought as he began to read, this is the hand of the famed lord. It was a strong hand of the older style.

  Sire:

  As I have recently written, the transition of governments in Seh is complete and I have been able to devote myself to the problem of the barbarian raids. This situation has been found more complex than one could ever have suspected.

  As there seemed to be no agreement among the Lords of Seh regarding the extent of this problem and due to the consistent rumors that a new Khan had risen to power among the tribal peoples, it seemed the best course to gather my own information directly. To this end I sent highly reliable men into the wastes, secretly. After journeying as far as the desert they came upon a recently abandoned encampment that had contained seventy thousand warriors. The men sent into the desert were experienced in such matters and I do not doubt their estimate is true. This army had since decamped, but one branch of it was observed and consisted of forty thousand armed men, many on horseback.

  It is clear that there will be an invasion as soon as the spring rains have ended. I believe that more than Seh is in danger from this attack. At this time I am sure that in all of Seh there are not twenty thousand men of fighting age and only half of these are trained in the arts of war. It is possible that all of Wa could be under threat.

  I believe, Sire, that the Empire has not faced such a threat since the time of Emperor Jirri. If we do not raise an army by spring, Seh will fall and a barbarian army will come down the path of the great canal.

  I have spoken to General Jaku Katta concerning this issue and I believe he concurs with my assessment. I cannot stress enough the peril the Empire is in.

  I remain your servant,

  Shonto Motoru

  Tadamoto looked up at his Emperor who continued to read.

  “What is your response to this, Colonel?” the Emperor asked, still not looking up.

  “It is similar to the letter I received from Katta-sum, Sire, though a less emotional appeal.” Tadamoto weighted his words carefully. “It is difficult to know from this distance precisely what is occurring at the other end of the Empire. For that reason I hesitate t
o dismiss this information entirely.”

  The Emperor looked up from his scroll. “What would you advise, Colonel?”

  “It seems most prudent that we seek outside corroboration of this information. We should send someone whose loyalty is beyond question to Seh, Sire.”

  “I had such people in Seh, Colonel Jaku.”

  “Excuse me, Sire?”

  “They disappeared at almost the same time your brother arrived in the north. Gone.”

  Tadamoto swallowed hard.

  “Coincidence seems to follow your brother, Colonel, it does not fill me with confidence.”

  Tadamoto said nothing. The Emperor stared at him for some seconds and though he did not wish to do it, Tadamoto looked away.

  “Write to your brother. Tell him that we will make him the Interim Governor in Seh when Shonto falls. But if he sides with Shonto…he cannot be saved. Tell Katta-sum that my anger has passed, he may return once the task is complete. But above all find out what truly transpires in the north—your brother certainly will know.” The Emperor set his scroll aside and shifted to face Tadamoto. “We will answer Governor Shonto’s request for support. I will send my son, Prince Wakaro, north to Seh before the spring in company with a force of Imperial Guards—an honor guard only, but that need not be stated. We will charge him with assisting Lord Shonto in his task.”

  The Emperor played with a stack of Imperial reports. “It causes me grief to do this, Colonel, my own son but…he is not fit to rule.” The Emperor shook his head, a slow gesture. He glanced up at Tadamoto for the briefest second and left the younger man to wonder if it was truly anguish he had seen written there. “He is not fit…so few are.” The Emperor’s head sank down and he stayed like that, face hidden for many minutes. “It is a difficult role that I play, Tadamoto-sum, sometimes…very difficult.”