The Initiate Brother Duology (39 page)

The ship swayed in the darkness, buffeted by the winds that deflected off the high granite walls. Somewhere, near at hand, the cliffs lay hidden by darkness, and the ship sailed blindly toward them. Lookouts in the bow whispered anxiously among themselves, but their voices were carried off into the night. At least the Hajiwara soldiers would hear nothing over the voice of the Wind God.

The ship pitched, causing Shuyun to hug the rigging to him with all his strength. Below him, in the blackness, Lord Komawara waited, no doubt suffering the same discomfort, the same misgivings. Rain, Shuyun thought, will it rain? It was the only thing that would, with certainty, destroy their plans, leaving Lord Shonto trapped by the feuding houses. A blast of wind seemed to fall on them from directly above, shaking the ship as though it were but a floating leaf. And then it was gone, soaring over the wave tops.

Shuyun peered into the night, willing his eyes not to play tricks. Was that something there, off the starboard bow? The wind howled off the rock, like an evil spirit screaming into his ear. That sound…we must be close. Yes! There! He reached down with his foot until he felt Komawara’s cold
hand. The young lord understood—the monk felt him move up another step.

Shuyun remembered the resistance this plan had provoked among Shonto’s generals and he wondered now if he had been wrong to recommend it.

The wall of stone seemed to draw closer, though in the dark it was difficult to judge—dark against dark.

Shuyun moved up the rope steps one by one, careful not to lose his grip. The pitching of the ship was amplified more with each step. When he reached the top of the mast, he knew it would be describing a long, quick arc. The ship altered to port now, the sailors hoping to ease alongside the wall—without becoming its victim. The sculling oar pushed them on, rags silencing its inevitable creaking. Shuyun moved up again as he felt Lord Komawara stop at his feet. He is strong, the monk thought, but he is not Botahist trained. He did not scale cliffs as a child to learn to control fear, to learn focus.

The walls were there now, solidly unmistakable, yet the distance to them was still not clear. Shuyun began searching for signs of the sculpture above him. His examination of the Lovers had revealed that there was a ledge, or so it appeared, at the bottom of the stone relief. How wide it was could not be seen, but it was there that they must begin the climb. In the darkness below, Shuyun could sense the presence of the sailors ready to carry out their orders.

A gust of wind seemed to counter the motion of the ship, and Shuyun used the few seconds of reduced pitching to move up to the top of the mast. He was high above the waters now, ten times the height of a man at least, and the motion was terrible. Encircling the mast with his arms, Shuyun held tightly to it; the wood was cold against his face. All the while he tried to feel rain in the force of the wind.

They were parallel to the cliff face now and the helmsman, the best in Shonto’s fleet, edged them closer. The swell running in the lake was not large, but the winds coming from all directions defied any attempt to compensate for their effects.

Shuyun tried to penetrate the darkness, looking for the ledge he knew must be there.

“The gunnel of the ship almost scrapes the stone, Brother.” Komawara’s voice came to him—a whisper out of the darkness, out of the wind.

Yes, Shuyun thought, now is the time. And, as though his thoughts had
been heard, the men below began to ease the lines they had set to the masthead. The spar, steadied by many guy lines, leaned toward the cliff face. It will work, Shuyun told himself, if we are not dashed against the rock.

He braced his foot on the mast and turned toward the cliff as best he could. He felt along the coil of rope over his head and shoulder to be sure that it would not snag as he jumped.

But still the cliff face seemed blank, featureless. The pitching of the boat threw the mast toward the rock and Shuyun braced himself for the impact—but it did not come, not this time.

There! A change in the blank stone, a shape that he could not be sure of—a curve, an area of gray. There was nothing else it could be. The sculpture was the only feature that broke the uniformity of the granite. The ledge should be directly below, Shuyun thought, and he prepared to leap, using every sense his teachers had trained, trusting them, for it was a leap of faith he would make, he had no doubt. He contolled his breathing, stretching his time sense, and felt the motion of the boat slow. The mast heaved toward the rock again and Shuyun focused all of his consciousness on its path.

There will be a split second when it stops, he thought. Then I must jump without hesitation or it will return and my jump will become a fall.

The huge spar seemed to attain an even greater speed, careening toward the granite wall, and then, just as quickly, it stopped. Shuyun leapt, crouching like a cat tossed by a child.

His feet and hands hit the shattered rock of the ledge and he was thrown, shoulder first, into the cliff face. I am not injured, he told himself, and was up, feeling his way along the ledge in the direction the ship moved. He could hear nothing above the howl of the wind, the crash of the waves.

His hands groped before him, feeling the way. Thank Botahara, the ledge is wide, he thought as he went, and indeed it was, as wide as a man’s shoulders, But it was broken and sloped and littered with moss and fallen stone. He scrambled on as quickly as he dared. Where was Komawara?

Suddenly his senses warned him, and he dropped flat to the stone as a body crashed into the rock above him. He made a desperate grab as the figure fell past and caught Komawara by his robe. The young lord lay half off the ledge now, dangling out over the dark waters, but he made no move to save himself.

Dazed,
the monk thought. He felt himself slipping over the stone, Komawara’s weight pulling him toward the edge. His hand scrabbled along the
back of the ledge for a hold to pull against. His fingers curled around the stem of some stunted brush and he heaved against the dead weight of the young warrior.

Let it hold,
Shuyun prayed. Komawara stirred, trying to pull free, but then he came to his senses and his hand grasped the monk by the back of his neck. He made a feeble effort to pull himself up. The bark of the bush began to slough off, letting go of its own stem like the skin of a shedding snake. Shuyun gripped it tighter, trying to bend it back on itself. Slowly Komawara came up over the edge, using the monk as a ladder. And then he lay on top of him for a long moment, gasping for breath.

“Are you injured, Lord?”

“No…I don’t know, I’m….” Komawara shook his head. He moved his left arm. “I am unhurt, Brother.” He pushed himself off the monk and into a sitting position against the wall, the sword strapped to his back digging into his muscles.

“We must continue,” Komawara said.

Shuyun sat also, concerned, afraid that the young lord was not telling the truth about his injuries. Knowing also that Komawara was right.

The wind screamed at them for a long moment and neither of them moved or tried to speak. When it abated, Shuyun stood, running his hands along the rock face. “We must determine our position,” he whispered. Moving to his left, he continued, testing the ledge with his feet, running his hands along the stone wall. Komawara followed him as he went, though the lord did not rise to his feet, preferring to keep himself close to the rock.

After a moment of exploration, Shuyun felt the granite swelling out toward him, reducing the width of the ledge. It is the foot of Botahara’s Bride, Shuyun realized. So it was still a good distance to the cracks he had seen in the stone that would, he hoped, offer them purchase on the sheer face.

Shuyun reached as far as he could around the smooth projection. Wide, it was wide. Here, on the rock itself, he began to get a sense of the true scale of the carvings. The foot was probably three times the height of a man, and all else was in proportion to that.

He knelt down then and leaning out precariously, he explored the narrowing ledge, testing the stone, brushing it clean of debris. It was then that the Wind God struck, attacking the poorly balanced monk without warning. Shuyun’s supporting hand came off the ledge and he pitched forward,
but then he felt a pull on his sash, and he was safe. A voice close to his ear said, “My debt is repaid, Brother.” And Komawara let the monk go.

Pushing the coil of rope over his head, Shuyun passed it to his companion before tying the end around his waist. This time he felt the tautness of the rope Komawara held as he leaned out to run his hand along the ledge.

Narrow, it became very narrow—no wider than a man’s hand was long. He came back onto the ledge, another gust of cold wind tearing at them.

“We must not hesitate, Brother. There is the smell of rain in this air.”

Shuyun nodded to the darkness. “If I slip, you must not fall with me. Let me go if you must.”

“I understand,” Komawara answered.

On his feet again, Shuyun moved to the narrowing of the ledge. He paused for a moment to push himself farther into chi ten; a blast of wind struck the ledge, but Shuyun seemed to have so much time to counter it.

Komawara’s voice came to him, as though from the bottom of a pit. “Are you ready, Brother?”

“Yes,” Shuyun answered, and stepped out onto the narrow edge. Against his hands the rock was smooth, featureless. He felt with his feet, edging along the shelf, testing each step. He faced the rock, careful to keep his body out, balanced over his feet. The sound of the waves echoed up from below, reminding him of what lay beneath, wrapped in darkness.

Shuyun came to the widest point of the giant foot and the ledge disappeared. He stopped and balanced himself. Reaching up with his left hand, he searched the stone for any irregularity, any break in the granite. There was nothing. He could hear Komawara shifting impatiently. I must be bold, Shuyun thought. He stretched to the limit of his balance and found a tiny edge—half the width of his fingertip, but an edge. Bracing himself, he tested it. It held. He risked a little more weight on it.

Yes, Shuyun decided, it will do. He pulled some rope from Komawara so he would have no resistance to work against, and then swung out into space. His left foot scrabbled on the hard stone, desperately searching. It was only then that he realized he could not return—there was no way to pull himself back to the ledge!

I am in the hands of Botahara, he told himself, and let his right foot slide off the safety of the ledge. He hung there by one hand, trying to reach around the swelling in the stone with his foot.

“The ledge must go on,” he told himself, and brought his right hand up to
the tiny edge to which he clung. There was only room for two fingers, but that would do. He called chi into his hands and took his weight on the two-fingered hold. In a smooth easy motion, his left hand moved in an arc out to his side. Yes! There, a vertical crack that took his fingers to the first knuckle. He pulled himself left, searching with his foot until he found flat stone. In one quick motion he pulled himself onto it, his breathing still even, unlabored.

“Praise to my teachers,” he whispered, as he began exploring the rock with his hands. Following the crack up, he found it formed a cleft in the rock. He ran the rope through this natural groove, and began to draw it in. When he had taken in all the slack, he signaled his companion with two light tugs.

It was impossible to tell Komawara how he had found his way around, but with the rope positioned as it was, Shuyun felt confident that he could hold the young lord in case of a fall.

Shuyun tried to guess Komawara’s movements by what happened to the rope. It slackened slightly, and Shuyun pulled it taut, taking it around his waist, sure that his companion was out on the narrowing ledge now. More rope came free and he gathered it in. He will come to the end of the ledge in another step, Shuyun thought. The rope stopped. The monk kept a light but positive pressure on it, reading Komawara’s progress as though the line were a nerve connecting them.

He cannot find the way, Shuyun realized. He waited, willing the lord to reach out, to push himself. But there was no change in the tension on the rope. If he stays too long he will grow tired, his focus will waver, and he will lose his nerve.

Another moment passed, and Shuyun decided he could wait no longer. Slowly, but with great strength, he began to take in the rope. It will pull him up and to his left, the monk thought. Will he understand?

The wind continued its shrill chorus, whipping dust up from the ledge and shaking the monk’s robe like an untended sail. There was only the same resistance on the rope, no sign that Komawara moved on. Then there was a sharp tug, then another. Shuyun answered it. He braced himself, and felt the increase of weight as the rope bit into his muscles. There was another tug and Shuyun realized that the warrior had not found the handhold, but instead was using the rope—climbing it hand over hand. Shuyun wrapped the rough fibers of the line tighter around him and waited. A second later,
Komawara swung smoothly onto the ledge. Even above the sound of the wind, Shuyun could hear his ragged breathing.

Fear, the monk realized, and its odor was carried to him on the air before it was swept off into the night.

“Can you continue, Lord?” Shuyun asked.

Komawara fought to control himself. “Yes…don’t be concerned. We must go on.” He rose to his knees and began to coil the rope.

Shuyun waited a moment and then, tugging at Komawara’s sleeve, he led on. The ledge did not change for several paces, but then they found some loose blocks of stone that the elements, ice and wind and sun, had pried from the solid cliff. Shuyun rocked the first block and decided it would hold. The others were much the same, though several small pieces had fallen away and others of similar size were ready to go. The two men picked their way across the rubble, realizing that even the storm would not hide the sound of sliding rock.

Again they came to a place where the stone seemed to swell out from the face of the cliff, though not as dramatically this time. The hip of the Bride, Shuyun thought, and the image on the wall seemed almost to taunt him. Shuyun felt along the walls here, looking for the cracks that he had seen running up the length of the relief.