Shonto held up his hands. “We will let the furnishings live in peace for while, Shuyun-sum, I thank you.”
The monk nodded.
“Lord Komawara has not been seen this morning, I understand?” Shonto began eating a second piece of fruit.
“I was told the same thing, Sire.”
Shonto did not answer immediately. “I will have him found if he does not appear by midday. We need his knowledge of the desert. As Lord Komawara suggested, I will send parties into the wastes to poison the nearest springs. This is an arrow that will have to be aimed perfectly. We must send out men before the Khan’s army moves but not too soon or the springs will run themselves clean before the barbarian army comes to use them.
“Tactics of delay,” Shonto said popping another section of fruit into his mouth. “Not to be mistaken for tactics of desperation.”
Seventeen
LORD KOMAWARA SAMYAMU turned his horse off the road into a narrow path through snow-covered trees. The day was gray, windless, cast over with snowclouds that stretched from horizon to horizon with monotonous uniformity.
So still was the day that the horse’s breath appeared in the cold air and floated there as unmoving as the clouds overhead. Cries of birds and the creaking of trees penetrated by frost were muted by the snow so that they seemed to come from far off. It was early morning: the first day of First Moon.
Hunched down over his saddle, Komawara was glad he had not been so foolish as to ride out without dressing for the season. He had slipped out of Rhojo-ma in the darkness, eluding his own guards who still would not forgive themselves for becoming separated from their lord in the Jai Lung Hills. They would not be pleased.
Breaking out of the cover of the trees, Komawara pulled his mount up. His destination: the crest of a low hill north of Seh’s Capital which afforded a view of the city and surrounding countryside.
In the middle of a lake skimmed with ice and snow, Rhojo-ma clung to its island—a complex geometry of white walls and sloping roofs stacked into a structure of labyrinthine beauty. Tears appeared in the covering of white where the snow could not retain its hold, and here tile of celestial blue showed through. The single bridge to the shore spanned the distance in a series of delicate arches, too fine, it almost seemed, to win a struggle against gravity.
Beyond the city, the countryside of Seh rolled away to the south where it disappeared into the clouds. Komawara’s vantage was not high enough to give him the view he would have preferred, but even so the land was beautiful under its cover of snow. Stands of trees huddled along ridges and hilltops, forming patches of gray in a landscape of white. In a distant draw he could see the signs of a village, feathers of smoke pulled up toward the cloud.
Komawara dismounted and dropped his reins to the ground. Walking further up the crest, he stopped and steadied himself against the bole of a tree. The wound in his side made itself felt at this motion, but he ignored it.
So soon, so soon…it will all be ruins, the lord thought. My home, my people. And I will be retreating down the Grand Canal, trying to defend other provinces and the throne of a traitor and criminal.
The sun tried to break through a weakness in the cloud, throwing part of the countryside into sudden relief as shadows appeared. A few snowflakes drifted down from the branches above, and Komawara was reminded of the robe Nishima had worn at the celebration—snow falling on the Mountain of the Pure Spirit. But more than that he remembered her tall, perfect form as she stood in the shadow of a column whispering to Jaku Katta. There was no doubt, she had looked directly at Komawara and did not even realize who he was. I am not worthy of her notice, he thought bitterly. Her attentions to me indicate good manners, nothing more.
He looked down at his snow-covered boots. In Seh they were the proper thing to wear: unadorned and well worn. They seemed shabby to him now, the footwear of a country lord.
“It is what I am,” he said aloud. “I can be nothing else.” He looked out across the familiar vista. “A country lord—and not even that, for soon I will lose everything.” He hit the tree twice with the heel of his gloved hand as though testing for soundness, and the sound echoed through the still woods.
His encounter with Toshaki Yoshihira the previous evening came back to him. It would have been somewhat satisfying, he realized, to take a sword to that one. It would be the last thing Komawara would lose—his ability with a sword. Perhaps all he could hope for now was an opportunity to prove his worth in battle. It might not impress a lady from the capital, but it was within his grasp.
Komawara began to search under the snow with his feet. He would make a fire and sit a while before returning to Rhojo-ma. He could not bear to give up Seh just yet.
Eighteen
THE SNOW THAT had fallen during the First Moon Festival was only a memory by the time Second Moon appeared. Winds had blown in from the sea, bringing comparative warmth and what seemed like endless rain. The frigid cold had been replaced by a pervasive dampness, and though the nights were hardly warm they had not the same raw edge evidenced a few weeks before.
Spring came early to Wa, even in the north. By Third Moon the rains would moderate and by Forth Moon the Plum Blossom Winds would sweep in like a sigh.
Nishima sat alone in her rooms, trying to concentrate on the poetry of Lady Nikko. Though she turned the scroll and her eyes passed from one character to the next, it seemed they did not penetrate beyond her eyes.
There had been no response from Lady Kitsura’s family, and this weighed on her more with each day that passed. Unable to proceed as she had planned, Nishima found the decision to put off discussing her suspicions about Jaku Katta with her father was turning into a decision not to discuss her suspicions at all. She had been so certain the night she had talked to Jaku, but that certainty seemed to be fading with each day that passed. What would she tell her father, that she had suddenly developed truth sense? If a letter came from Kitsura’s family, indicating that Jaku had sent Kitsura’s message, perhaps this would strengthen her resolve.
But what if Jaku had not had the letter delivered as he promised? It was most confusing. Of course there was always the chance that the letter had been intercepted. If that were the case, and the letter had fallen into the hands of the Emperor, then Jaku would certainly be out of favor now, whether he had been previously or not.
I will wait, she told herself, Satake-sum invariably said that impatience would be my undoing and though I often thought he teased me, I begin to believe he did not say this entirely in jest. I will wait.
But she did not wait well and was aware of it. “Tranquillity of purpose is as far from my nature as Enlightenment is to the toads,” she said to herself.
Nishima began to reread the poem she had just finished, for not a word of it had registered. The lamp wick needed trimming, but she didn’t want to disturb the servants…nor be disturbed by them. The rain fell with such force that it seemed like gravel clattering ceaselessly on the tile roof, but rather than find this constant rain oppressive she welcomed it—as though it somehow insulated her from the outside world. It was a comfort.
A tap on the screen that led to her room was hardly welcomed, yet Lady Nishima made some effort to speak in a pleasant tone. “Please, enter.”
The face of a maid appeared in the opening. “Brother Shuyun returns a book of poetry, Lady Nishima. Do you wish to speak with him?”
“Oh, indeed,” Nishima’s tone was suddenly no longer forced. “Please, invite him in.”
Shuyun entered a moment later, the grace of his Botahist-trained movements delighting her as much as any dancer’s. There was not the slightest self-consciousness in his motions, yet she knew there was total awareness. He knelt on an offered cushion and gave the Botahist double bow.
“Brother Shuyun,” Nishima favored him with her most disarming smile, “I hope you have found the works I have given you enlightening or at least diverting.”
Shuyun nodded. “The poetry of Lady Nikko is enlightening for me, c
ertainly. My education has consisted largely of Botahist texts, Lady Nishima. Lady Nikko’s poetry tells me much of the world I now live in.”
Nishima gestured to the scroll she had been trying to read. “She wrote so much and all of it equally illuminating, I’m sure.”
They fell into a second’s awkward silence.
He has not come to return scrolls, Nishima thought, and that realization shattered her natural command of social situations. Looking up at his ancient, childlike eyes, she searched for an answer to her confusion, for a reaction to what she felt. But when he met her eyes, Nishima looked away, afraid of what her own gaze would reveal.
“Shuyun-sum, I….” She swallowed involuntarily. “I did not understand what I did when Satake-sum taught me. I was only a girl…. It was not my intention to give offense to the Botahist Order. When Satake-sum told me they were secret teachings, I thought they were secret between Satake-sum and me.” She paused. “I can apologize, Brother, but it is not possible to forget what I have learned.”
“Lady Nishima, my reaction was not shock at what you had done. I pass no judgment on your actions. It was Brother Satake’s oath breaking that affected me so strongly. I am the one to apologize if it seemed that I blamed you.”
Nishima glanced up again but his eyes appeared as always—filled with impenetrable calm. She tried to smile. “Satake-sum was a man of great curiosity, Shuyun-sum. To find out what a woman could learn…though I began at too advanced an age to ever achieve the mastery that you display, Brother.”
Another awkward moment. The rain continued, like a frame around the silence in the room.
“Curiosity, Satake-sum told me, was not encouraged within your Order,” Nishima said tentatively, as though afraid she breached a sensitive subject.
But Shuyun only nodded.
Nishima pulled her robe closer. Gathering her nerve, she pressed on. “I understand, Shuyun-sum, that there have been differing Botahist teachings in the past? Those who dwelt in the fane on the Lake of the Seven Masters, for instance.”
“It is so, though the one true Way still guides us, while the others have disappeared.”
“I wonder—did the sect that dwelt in Denji Gorge not believe they followed the teachings of the Perfect Master? Were their beliefs not interpretations of the words of Botahara?”
Shuyun shrugged. “Their beliefs were heretical, Lady Nishima.”
“Ahh,” Nishima looked down at her hands. “It seems difficult to judge their beliefs when no one is sure what those beliefs were.”
Shuyun took a long breath and let it out slowly. “Others have judged the doctrine of the Eightfold Path, Lady Nishima. It does not need to be done every generation:”
Nishima nodded though it hardly seemed like a nod of agreement. “Do you ever wonder, Brother? Are you entirely sure of your path? I question my own—often.”
Shuyun touched his fingertips together as though he would meditate. “My teachers warned that the world beyond the monastery would test my faith, Lady Nishima.” He paused, deep in thought. Then, softly, “I did not realize how hard this testing would be.”
Nishima nodded but did not answer immediately. The rain on the tile seemed to respond to the sadness she felt in the room. Perhaps all ways were difficult.
A tap on the shoji interrupted Nishima’s thoughts. A kneeling maid opened the screen a hand’s breadth. “Lady Kitsura calls, my lady.”
Nishima hid her annoyance with enormous care, well aware of how sensitive a Botahist Initiate was to tone of voice.
“How kind of her to call. Please, ask Lady Kitsura to join us.”
Nishima smiled as her cousin entered, but Kitsura’s air of excitement quickly gave way to embarrassment. She was dressed in an unpatterned silk robe in a shade of peach that was matched with only a single under-kimono. Her sash was a silk scarf quickly knotted and her hair was worn long. It was clear she had not expected to find male company in Nishima’s apartments.
“Excuse me, cousin, Brother Shuyun. I did not realize you were here, Brother. I apologize.”
“Kitsura-sum,” Nishima smiled, “please do not apologize. Our discussion of the spirit will only be more interesting with your participation. Please sit with us.” She gestured to other pillows and Kitsura took her place though she did not seem at all sure this was the proper thing for her to do.
“Brother Shuyun and I had just been discussing the development of Botahist doctrine.” Nishima looked over at her cousin and realized that with so few robes the shape of Kitsura’s breast was hardly hidden. Glancing at Shuyun, she wondered if he noticed this himself. If desire was the nature of Illusion, how was he so unaffected by it? Nishima looked back at her cousin. Men were usually all but overcome with desire when in Kitsura’s presence—Nishima had seen it many times. She was aware of being somewhat jealous of her cousin’s affect on the men of the Empire.
“Ah, Lady Nikko,” Kitsura said, bending over to retrieve the scroll. As she did so her poorly belted robes opened, and Nishima was sure she had seen Shuyun’s eyes drawn in that direction for an instant.
Shuyun bowed suddenly. “Lady Nishima, Lady Kitsura, please excuse me. I have other duties that call me.” He bowed again, responding politely to the women’s expressions of regret. The screen closed gently behind him.
Nishima smiled at her cousin, a rather sheepish smile. “Plum wine?” she asked.
“Now that I have ruined your evening,” Kitsura said, “coming to your rooms dressed like a street woman.” She pulled her robes closed at the neck.
Nishima laughed. “You did have a most surprised look on your face when you saw Brother Shuyun.” She laughed again.
“Well, I was hardly expecting you to be entertaining a gentleman. Your maid admitted me so readily. Had she said that Brother Shuyun was here, I would never have come in—dressed like this. Really, you should speak with that girl.”
“Kitsu-sum, you would be beautiful dressed as a street sweeper.”
“Well…” Kitsura looked embarrassed, “that hardly means one is allowed to appear socially, half-dressed!”
Nishima laughed again. She seemed rather pleased with Kitsura’s discomfiture.
“But I have not told you! I have just received letters from my family. Jaku Katta did have the message delivered!” Kitsura’s eyes shone with excitement. “It is information your father must have. Certainly the handsome Guard Commander is no longer in favor at court. He would never have dared send a message to my family otherwise—especially as he did not know what my letter contained. There can be no doubt.”
Nishima nodded her head. “No doubt at all,” she said quietly. “You are quite right.”
Nineteen
WORD REACHED THE acting Commander of the Imperial Guard within minutes of the discovery. Jaku Tadamoto hurried down a hall and turned into the grand corridor that connected the palace proper with the Palace of Administration. Like much of the Island Palace this had been built on a scale barely approachable by mere humans—broad and high-ceilinged with a polished stone floor that shone in the soft winter light.
In the distance he could see a party of officials moving at a pace inappropriate to their station. Peaked red caps denoted at least two Senior Ministers and the robes of the others indicated officials of high rank. In the midst of this group a sedan chair was being hurried along, but it appeared to have no occupant. Tadamoto increased his pace. An Emperor too impatient to ride as his station required was never a good sign.
Tadamoto attached himself to the rear of this silent party and matched its pace without a word. The Minister of the Left, puffing to keep up, gave him a barely perceptible nod. The silence of the party hung in the air, poised like a sharp blade.
Guards and officials and courtiers knelt with their foreheads to the floor as the Emperor passed. The palace would be alive with rumors within minutes—try to control the flow of gossip when the Emperor behaved like this!
They entered the Palace of Administration and turned into another hall
. The shuffle of feet on stone, the breathing of the rushing officials, robes of silk and brocade sweeping along the floor, conversations dying abruptly as the Emperor came into view.
Another hall, smaller now, some confusion about a door, and then a large room in the core of the ministry. Tense, chalky faces turned toward the entering party and then foreheads were pressed to the floor. A small, ironbound chest stood in the center of the room and, with the bowing officials surrounding it, Tadamoto had the fleeting impression that it was an object of veneration. He pushed past the sedan chair bearers and nodded to guards to close the doors.
The Emperor paused, holding his sword in both hands. “This is the chest?”
Nods from several quarters. Stepping forward, the Emperor lifted the lid of the chest with the tip of his scabbard so that it slid off and fell to the floor with an ominous clatter. He leaned forward to look in and stepped back as though the contents offended him. Glancing over his shoulder, the Son of Heaven saw Tadamoto and nodded.
“Colonel,” the Emperor waved his sword at the chest.
Tadamoto stepped past the frightened officials, staying a respectful distance from the Emperor. He rounded the chest and peered in, closed his eyes for a second, then reached down and removed a small brocade bag—the single object the chest contained. Untying the cord with trembling fingers Tadamoto emptied the contents into his palm. A dozen gold coins, square, with round holes in their centers.
The Emperor spun around looking at the gathered officials, most of whom stepped back in obvious fright.
“And there was nothing taken from this chest? It came exactly thus from Seh?”
Heads bobbed. “Exactly as you see it,” a senior official offered, “though with seals unbroken.” He was an old man whose voice quavered terribly. “The theft must have taken place on the canal, though the Imperial Governor’s own troops were the guards.”
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 64
