The Initiate Brother Duology (2 page)
Read The Initiate Brother Duology Online
Authors: Sean Russell
Initiate
Brother
This book is dedicated to my grandfather, Stan Russell, in his ninety-fourth year, and to the memory of my father who loved books.
I would like to thank my family and friends who supported my efforts tirelessly and more selflessly than anyone could have a right to expect.
As one reads the history of our Empire, it becomes apparent that we have always had a preoccupation with our past. For two thousand years we have written the chronicles of our dynasties, histories that reach back into the distances of time to the Kingdoms of the Seven Princes. It is interesting to note that we are taught to value all of these works equally. Yet, as we read back through them, each successive chronicle seems less factual and more storylike. When one has studied the writings of antiquity, it can be seen that history and fantasy become indistinguishable.
The Spring Analects;
Hakata.
T
HE PRACTICE OF condemning messengers, the Supreme Master thought, had not developed without reason. The old man looked down at the scroll he had received from the Floating City that very morning and he shook his head. A lifetime of dedication and effort and still he received messages like this. It seemed a great injustice.
Brother Hutto, the Primate of the Floating City, wrote that Botahist Brothers were being accosted on their travels by criminals and ruffians: accosted by the people of the Empire!
The Supreme Master slowly began to roll the mulberry paper scroll. The attacks were not the true problem—one would have to search a lifetime to find someone more able to defend himself than a Brother of the Faith—it was what these attacks said about the situation in the Empire and the attitude of the new Emperor. This was the Supreme Master’s real concern.
He set the scroll on the corner of his writing table. Brother Hutto had written that several of these robbers had been injured recently, but this did not seem to be a deterrent. If anything, the attacks were increasing. The old monk reached for the scroll as if to read it again, but stopped himself. There could be no doubt of what it said.
If only the Emperor would turn his attention to the roads! That would be an indication that this new dynasty was capable of something more than ambition.
The Supreme Master took a deep calming breath. Emperors, he reminded himself, come and go; the Faith is eternal. It was important to keep the proper perspective.
Of course, Brother Hutto had recommended that a
display
might be appropriate. It was an old solution but one that had not been employed for many years. The Supreme Master lifted the scroll again and hefted it as though it were Brother Hutto’s suggestion he weighed. Perhaps a Brother of the Faith
should
enter the Emperor’s kick boxing tournament during the River Festival.
Yes, the Supreme Master thought, he would allow a monk to enter, but not a senior Brother; no, that would not have the desired affect. He would allow a junior Initiate to compete—the smallest, youngest looking Initiate that could be found. That would be a message neither Emperor nor subjects could mistake, a message to spread down all the roads of the Empire!
Fortunately, it appeared that finding the boy would not be difficult. The Supreme Master felt satisfied with this idea. Not only would it fit his purpose, but there was historical precedent for such an act. The Lord Botahara himself had first been a warrior and, in his time, had entered the Emperor’s tournament—though the other fighters would not compete against him.
Lord Botahara had crossed the cobbled courtyard to the fighting ring and the cobbles had
broken
under his feet. The story was no longer believed by the population at large, such was their lack of faith, but the old monk knew it to be true. The Supreme Master himself could…. Well, it was wrong to be proud of one’s accomplishments—after all, what were they compared to the Enlightened One’s and he had overcome pride altogether.
Addressing the problem in Brother Hutto’s letter had been the first difficulty of the day. Difficulty two had just disembarked at the monastery’s wharf. Sister Morima; Botahist nun, acquaintance of forty years (could it be that many?), would grace him with her presence as soon as she finished her bath. Days like this were sent to try him! The Supreme Master had always hated surprise visits. That was one of the many beauties of the monastery on the island. There were almost no visitors at all, let alone any coming unannounced.
His mind drifted back to the report from Brother Hutto. What was that ass of an “Emperor” up to now? The old fool had lived on past all predictions. It happened sometimes, and not always to everyone’s advantage. The only benefit of this Emperor’s long life was that he did not leave a mere child to follow him, which invariably meant succession struggles. But then, the heir was no prize either, and not friendly to the Botahist Order. Well, the Brotherhood had plans and plans could be adapted to changing situations, just as
one adapted one’s strategy at the gii board. Botahara taught patience as a principal virtue and the Supreme Master adhered to the principal virtues whenever possible.
The old monk let his eyes drift over the design set into the opposite wall in polished woods. Such a perfect pattern—abstracted from the blossom of the Septfoil, one of the ninety-four healing herbs. Seven petals within a septilateral, within a circle, the design intersected by the seven lines of power. So simple. So complete. The work of Botahara was a constant source of joy to him.
I am a fortunate man, he thought, and then realized that someone was approaching down the hallway. Sister Morima.
There came a tap on the frame of the shoji.
“Please enter,” the Master said, his voice the model of quiet dignity.
The shoji slid aside, revealing the great bulk of the Botahist nun. She was dressed in a long, unpatterned kimono, in a most unbecoming shade of yellow, gathered at the waist with the purple sash of the Botahist Orders. Her hair was cut short like a boy’s, offering no softness to relieve the square line of her jaw. She was, the Supreme Master noted, tanned like a peasant.
“Sister Morima. We are honored that you would come so far out of your way to visit us.” He rose from his cushion and bowed formally. The nun returned the bow, though only equally.
“The honor is mine, Brother Nodaku. To visit the monastery of your
sect
is a privilege granted to so few…” She stopped, as if at a loss for words.
As he had planned earlier, the Supreme Master moved his writing table aside, but the nun did not apologize for interrupting. He offered her his cushion and took a second one from a wall closet.
“I bring you greetings and wishes of long health from Sister Saeja,” Sister Morima said as the Supreme Master seated himself opposite her.
“And how is Sister Saeja? Well, no doubt?” Brother Hutto’s report had mentioned that the head of the nun’s Order had recently returned from her annual pilgrimage to Monarta, the place of Lord Botahara’s birth, and the old nun was slowing down noticeably.
“She is as constant as the river and as supple as the willow wand, Brother Nodaku, a continual inspiration to us all.”
He always found this ploy of hers—using his common name—disconcerting, as though the Initiate Nodaku had suddenly been caught impersonating the head of the Order.
“That is good news, Sister. Do you have other news you can share? We are so isolated here!”
She flashed an amused smile. “I’ve just returned from the island of the barbarian, Brother. I’m sure your news is more recent than mine.” The Supreme Master remained silent, but the nun offered nothing more.
Lifting an ivory hammer that sat before a polished bronze gong, the monk asked, “Cha?”
“Thank you, yes, Brother, and some food, if it is not too much of an imposition.” She bit off the last words.
The Supreme Master almost laughed as he tapped the gong. He knew the nun’s weakness.
Brother Nodaku
, indeed! Footsteps sounded in the hall and then, as a knock was heard on the screen, a second set of footsteps joined them.
“Please enter,” the Supreme Master said with understated authority. The face of Shuyun, the senior Neophyte who was causing all the fuss, appeared and before the Supreme Master realized what was happening, the face of the Neophyte servant came into view also. The two boys were startled by the unexpected presence of the Botahist nun. For an instant they stood in awkward silence and then they both bowed, bumping each other in the half opened doorway.
“Do you need me to serve you, Supreme Master?” the second Neophyte asked.
“That is why I sound this gong,” the old monk said evenly. “Please, bring cha for Sister Morima and me. And some food. The Sister has not yet eaten due to an unforgivable lapse in our manners!”
“Immediately, Supreme Master.” The boy bowed and hurried off.
“Shuyun-sum?”
“Excuse me for interrupting, Supreme Master. I was told to come here at this time to discuss my Seclusion.”
The Supreme Master had forgotten.
“Have you completed your term, Initiate?” Sister Morima asked suddenly.
Shuyun bowed to the nun, while watching his master out of the corner of his eye. He decided it would be impolite not to answer.
“I’m only a senior Neophyte, honored Sister, but yes, I have just finished my Seclusion.”
“Good for you, senior Neophyte. Did you stop the sand?” She smiled as she asked this question.
“No, honored Sister,” the boy said, his tone serious, “I failed to stop the hour glass from measuring time. I can count the grains and name each one as it falls, but that is all.”