“I am the Empress,” she whispered, as though saying these words aloud would force her mind to accept this information, help her understand the truth, for she did not feel like an Empress, she was sure of that.
Certainly she had heard the crowds repeating her name as though it were a litany. Nishima could not remember an experience that had left her feeling so cold, so isolated.
Closing her eyes she tried to conjure up another time, and an image of walking along the cliffs above the sea on the Shonto fief came to her. She could see the bleached copper grasses, their color so carefully complimenting the blues of the summer sea and the whites of the lazy, drifting clouds that spread across the far horizon. The breeze was soft and warm, welcoming her to the shore.
Eyes still closed, Nishima rubbed her inkstone, reaching out to that time, trying to hold it—but she could not. The chanting of the crowd came back, mixed with the sound of the funeral pyre as it began to blaze.
Opening her eyes Nishima picked up her brush, dipped it in ink and with great care selected a piece of mulberry paper.
The wind blows
And the grasses bow to my passing,
Perfect golden grasses
What do they know of my thoughts?
Or of the heart
They have torn asunder.
For some time Nishima sat looking at the lines she had written, wondering, for they seemed to have come unbidden, as poetry often did. The rain washed the world outside her rooms.
A knock sounded then and Nishima swirled her brush in water and set it on its rest. “Please enter,” she called out.
A woman bowed low in the opening and then rose. The round, girlish face of Lady Kento appeared, looking more serious than Nishima had ever seen it.
“Kento-sum!” Nishima broke into a smile. “It lifts my spirits to see you. Miracle after miracle has occurred this day. How is it you are here?”
Kento bowed. “It is a brief story, Empress, and less interesting than one might think especially to one who has experienced what the Empress has these past months.” Kento cast a glance over her shoulder. “I would certainly tell my tale though at the moment Lord Shonto awaits your favor.”
“Cha and a tale you must certainly tell me. Please, invite Shokan-sum to join me.”
Nishima set a small jade paperweight on the edge of her poem and moved her cushion a pace away from the table. The screen slid aside and Shokan knelt in the opening, head bowed low. Even my stepbrother must offer obeisance, Nishima thought, for an Empress has no equals—how very sad.
“Shokan-sum, please, enter.” Nishima gestured to a second cushion as her brother rose.
The lord had the powerful build of his father and a similar talent for making his presence felt in a room, even when he was not the center of the situation. Dressed in rich robes of white with the blue edges of under-robes showing at his sleeves and neck and hem, Shokan struck Nishima as a handsome figure. The sadness she could see in his face and the white robes of mourning only added to his nobility.
Taking his place, Shokan regarded his sister with a look of concern. “It has been a day that will occupy the historians for a hundred years. May I say that the Empress has begun her reign auspiciously, showing both skill and wisdom.”
“You may say that but only if you will stop calling me Empress with each breath. We are in the privacy of my rooms. Nishima, please, Shokan-sum, Nishi would be preferred though I hold little hope that you will breach this foolish etiquette to such a degree, no matter how much I desire it.”
Shokan gave a half bow. “Excuse me for saying so, Empress, but these formalities have been the tradition in the Imperial Palace for our entire history. It is difficult for me to ignore that.”
Nishima stared at him in exasperation. “In the Great Council,” she said with deadly seriousness, “I shall insist upon referring to you as Shoki-sum.”
The young lord broke into a smile and bowed low— the name Nishima had called him as a child. “The Empress has proffered a most convincing argument…excuse me—Nishima-sum.”
“Nishi-sum.”
“Nishi-sum,” Shokan said, his voice suddenly thick.
Reaching out, Nishima took her brother’s hand. They were silent for a moment.
“He saved my life, Shokan-sum—my life and my mother’s also,” Nishima said, addressing what was unspoken in both their minds. “It is wrong to say this, but he was more dear to me than my true father who was distant and formal. Your father—our father, did not just save the Fanisan House from destruction, he brought me into your family. I treasure the time I spent in his company, treasure it….”
“You were his delight, Nishi-sum,” Shokan said, his voice subdued though under control now. “It was you who were closest to his heart, who brought him joy.”
Nishima looked down, she brushed her fingers over the shinta blossom embroidered in white on Shokan’s sleeve.
The two sat, not speaking, listening to the rain, each lost in their own memories, comforted by the other’s presence.
A bell sounded the hour of the owl and both stirred. Nishima looked up at her brother. “You are the senior lord of the Shonto now, Shokan-sum. You are a lord of great influence and wealth. I shall have to consider who it would be best for you to wed. We have alliances to think of, entire provinces of young women to consider.”
Shokan smiled again. “Entire provinces…it gives me hope, Nishi-sum. Perhaps, with your guidance, I shall not live my life a lonely man.”
Nishima laughed and squeezed his hand. “Your adventures are not as secret as you may think, brother. Never forget that every young woman in the capital pours out her heart to Kitsu-sum. And I have recently been told that you have come from the mountains in the company of young woman of the mountain race.” She looked up slyly at her brother. “This cannot be true?”
Shokan shook his head. “Quinta-la.”
“Quinta-la?”
“She has been sent by her elders…. I confess I do not know why, but she has come to the lowlands for some reason…perhaps she is an emissary from her people. Certainly she has come to learn all she can, there is little doubt of that.”
“You have not asked her?” Nishima said, surprised.
Shokan smiled. “I have, but convincing a dweller to speak of something they are not inclined to discuss is more difficult than one might think. There is also a language problem—we understand each other imperfectly.”
Nishima nodded. “Shuyun-sum speaks their tongue. Perhaps we can arrange to have them meet. I would be most curious to meet…Quinta-la?—to meet her myself.”
“Anticipating the Empress’ desire, I asked Quinta-la to wait nearby—Nishima-sum,” he added.
“You have left her waiting this entire time?”
“The dwellers are very patient, sister.”
“Still…we cannot leave her waiting like this. She is your guest, brother.”
“Guest is perhaps not the word she would use herself, Nishima-sum, but certainly, I will call for her.”
A maid was summoned and sent to ask Quinta-la to join them. Almost immediately the maid returned, accompanied by a young woman who bowed her head to the floor, obviously nervous, perhaps even frightened.
“You may rise and come forward, Quinta-la,” Shokan said, speaking slowly and with exaggerated clarity. Nishima thought Shokan’s voice warmed perceptibly when he spoke to this young woman.
Quinta-la was dressed in the robes of her people, too warm, Nishima thought, for the weather. She was very small but well formed and appeared healthy and strong. Delicate of feature could hardly be said of this woman from the mountains, but despite the roundness of her face she was fair and her mouth was beautifully formed. Nishima immediately wanted to see her smile.
“Empress,” Shokan said, “it is my honor to introduce Khosi Quinta-la.”
Nishima nodded.
“Quinta-la, the Empress of Wa.”
The young woman bowed stiffly.
“We are honored t
hat you would come so far, Quinta-la-sum. There is so little commerce between our peoples,” Nishima said.
“La is an honorific, sister,” Shokan said quietly making Nishima smile at her mistake.
Shokan gave the dweller a tiny nod.
“The honor is mine, Empress, entirely,” Quinta-la said in the studied manner of a child reciting lines. “You live in a lovely village.”
“You are kind,” Nishima said with all seriousness. She had never heard the capital or the Island Palace referred to as a village.
Shokan shrugged. “My language lessons have not all been successful.”
Cha was brought by servants and Nishima felt a pang when she realized it would not be correct for her to serve this herself—they were entertaining a guest from what amounted to a sovereign nation.
Though the mountains in which Quinta-la dwelt were contained within the Empire, only the mountain people lived there and the people of Wa did not think of the lands beyond the foothills as being their own. Only a few passes were used by the lowlanders and there was a lake here or a spring there that, due to its ease of access, was thought of as part of the Empire proper.
A servant ladled the cha into bowls, retreating a few steps when she was done and sitting absolutely still.
“I am told there are many springs in the mountains and some are very hot and healthful,” Nishima said, sipping her cha.
Quinta-la smiled and darted a glance at Shokan. The lord said the word he had learned for the springs and the young dweller nodded.
“Hot,” she agreed. “Shokan-li red like an Emperor’s flag,” she said gesturing to the lord and then touching her own chest.
Nishima cast a look at her brother who sipped his cha deliberately.
“I see,” Nishima said. “I hope my brother has found suitable quarters for you?”
Shokan said another word in the mountain language and Quinta-la smiled again, which pleased Nishima. “Dragons and clouds, Empress.”
“One of the rooms the Yamaku decorated,” Shokan said. “She likes the painted screens.”
A tap on the door frame preceded Lady Kento’s reappearance. “Excuse me, my lady. Were you expecting your Spiritual Advisor?”
“Of course. Please bring him to us.” Nishima turned to Shokan. “Please, brother, I’m sure Quinta-la would enjoy an opportunity to speak her own language. Stay a while. Shuyun-sum is your Spiritual Advisor now, Shokan-li. He is a remarkable young man. Someone you would do well to know.”
The lord gave a half bow. “Brother Shuyun is dedicated to the Empress, there is little question of that,” Shokan said and smiled, “like so many others who traveled the canal from Seh in your company.”
Shuyun appeared in the doorway, saving Nishima from having to answer. “Please, Brother Shuyun, be at your ease.”
At the sound of the monk’s name Quinta-la’s eyes went wide. She turned half around toward the approaching Brother but then prostrated herself on the rug, causing the monk to stop as though he confronted a terrible sight.
“Quinta-la,” Shokan said, “please. This is unseemly. You are in the presence of the Empress.”
Unaffected by the lord’s entreaties the young woman remained facedown on the rug, mumbling rapidly in her own language.
Nishima looked over to Shuyun, her question unspoken.
“I do not understand, Empress.” Turning to Shokan he asked, “This is the young woman from the mountains?”
Shokan nodded as he tugged gently on Quinta-la’s sleeve.
Shuyun spoke softly to the woman in her own tongue. Her mumbling stopped, but she did not answer nor did she move from her position on the floor. Whispering again Shuyun reached out and touched the girl’s wrist, causing a shiver to pass through her.
“Will you not rise up, Quinta-la?” Shuyun said. There was no response. “You are making the Empress and Lord Shonto most uncomfortable and I myself am somewhat disturbed. Please, will you not rise?”
A whisper so low it could almost have been a sigh escaped the young woman.
Nishima raised an eyebrow at the monk.
“She says she is not worthy, Empress,” Shuyun said his face showing the tiny signs of strain that Nishima had come to recognize.
“Excuse me, Brother, Empress,” Shokan said, “I had no reason to expect anything like this. I apologize.”
Shuyun spoke again in the woman’s tongue, a bit more forcefully this time, and very slowly she rose to a kneeling position where she sat with her eyes cast down.
“Will Quinta-la not explain this?” Nishima asked the monk.
Shuyun spoke a few words in the mountain language but the young woman only closed her eyes and remained silent.
“Quinta-la,” Shokan said. “The Empress would like you to answer Brother Shuyun’s question. Will you not?”
The young woman from the mountains opened her mouth as if to speak but no words came forth. After several seconds of effort she managed, “Cah Shu-yung.”
Nishima looked up at Shuyun, but it was Shokan who translated. “The bearer.”
The monk nodded.
“Do you understand this, Shuyun-sum?” Nishima asked. The young woman’s reaction disturbed her deeply, though she was not sure why. Nishima realized she felt an inexplicable anger toward Quinta-la.
“I do not, my lady, I apologize. The bearer: that is my name, taken from the mountain tongue, as you know. What it means to Quinta-la or why she has reacted in this way, I cannot say.”
“When I traveled in the mountains, Brother,” Shokan said, “I met a woman—an elder of Quinta-la’s village, perhaps of her people. It was my impression at the time that this woman was considered a seer among her people. They were somewhat afraid of her, though in awe would perhaps be a better description. I sensed no animosity toward her. It was very unusual. As I do not speak their tongue nor understand their ways, I did not know what to think of this woman. Alinka-sa, for that was her name, questioned me about the situation in the Empire. She also asked about you, Brother Shuyun. She knew you by name.”
Shuyun sat for a moment, his face unreadable even to Nishima who believed she was learning the tiny signs that betrayed what he truly felt. “Alinka-sa,” he said quietly. “Sa is an honorific: a sign of the greatest possible respect. There is no equivalent in our language.
“Alinka means ginkyo, more specifically, the leaf of the ginkyo. This tree, though common to us, does not grow in the mountains and is thought to be almost a legend to the mountain people. Alinka is also the word for fan. I remember our fortunes being cast in your garden, my lady,” Shuyun said to Nishima. “The coins of Kowan-sing have descended to us from the same race that Quinta-la’s people call their ancestors. The meaning of Alinka is somewhat similar to the prime Kowan, the fan: that which is hidden. In our world it also means temptation or desire. To know the future is one of our greatest desires.” Shuyun turned to Shokan. “This woman, Lord Shonto, did she speak of what was to come?”
Shokan shook his head. “No, Brother. If she saw the future, she did not tell me of her vision.” The lord fell silent, lost in thought. Finally he looked up at Nishima. “If she knew of our father’s fall, she said nothing to me though now I am left to wonder. She released me from my debt—the debt I owed her people for rescuing me in the snows—but I do not know why.”
Cha had grown cold in everyone’s bowls and Nishima suddenly remembered the servant kneeling nearby. She gestured to the maid to leave.
Shokan looked up, slight embarrassment showing. “Excuse me, I was lost in my thoughts.” He glanced over at Quinta-la. “Perhaps it would be wise for me to take Quinta-la back to her rooms for now. Alone she may speak of this.”
Nishima gave a slight nod and Shokan bowed accordingly, touching Quinta-la’s sleeve. She prostrated herself before Shuyun once again and backed to the door at Shokan’s urging, forgetting to bow to the Empress entirely.
Nishima looked over at Shuyun. She wanted to speak of what had happened with Quinta-la, but she could not.
What she might learn frightened her.
“Must everything change?” she asked quietly instead.
“Botahara taught that change was inevitable and to resist it….” He did not complete the quotation. “Sadly, it appears to be so, Nishima-sum. You are an Empress now. A great empire is dependent upon your wisdom.”
She almost asked the question that grew in her mind but could not. I have become an Empress, Shuyun-sum, and what of you? What have you become?
She reached out and took his hands in hers. I cannot bear it she thought. Let us not speak of it. Warm arms encircled her and she pushed her cheek up against Shuyun’s own. Nishima closed her eyes and the image of Quinta-la, prostrated on the floor, came to mind.
That young woman was for more in awe of Shuyun than of the Empress of Wa, Nishima thought. She had been worshipful.
Sixty-three
SISTER SUTSO WALKED slowly beside the sedan chair bearing the Prioress. The scale of the halls that led through the Imperial Palace was more impressive than the largest temple she had seen and the materials and design infinitely richer.
Palace officials, Imperial Guards, lords and ladies, and soldiers in blue passed the Sisters or stood aside to let the party by, though it was hardly necessary, the halls were so wide. Looking into the faces of the people she saw, Sutso realized there was a mood in the palace that she could not quite describe. Elation and sadness seemed to dwell under the same roof and the people who inhabited the palace appeared to be caught up in both at once.
She glanced back and found Sister Gatsa watching the passage of two ladies of high birth. Gatsa-sum looks no less regal than they, Sutso thought, perhaps more: would they look as regal dressed in the plain robes of the Botahist nuns? Of all the nuns in the party Gatsa certainly looked the least out of place here.
Morima, on the other hand, looked terribly lost and at odds with all around her. Sutso cast a look at the large nun who brought up the rear of their party. Morima’s appearance may not have been due entirely to her present situation, however—the nun’s crisis had not yet passed and Sutso had begun to wonder if it ever would. It was a surprise to Sutso that Morima-sum had been invited at all.
The Initiate Brother Duology Page 100
