The Initiate Brother Duology (94 page)

Running his long fingers across the sheet covering the bed, he had a clear recollection of touching Osha’s breast for the first time, here, on a warm autumn night.

For some weeks now they had been avoiding each other, but seeing Osha among the courtiers by the Dragon Pond that afternoon had affected him in a way that he could not explain. Suddenly he was desperate to see her—would not eat or sleep until he spoke with her.

So he sat wondering if he was making a fool of himself—wondering if Osha was lost in pleasure in the Emperor’s arms even as Tadamoto sat pining for her. And yet he could not make himself leave.

An impulse to do something took hold of the young colonel and he went to the screens opening onto the balcony and pulled them aside. He was not concerned with being seen this high up in an unfrequented section of the palace, for even if someone did notice him the reputation of the Hanama chambers being inhabited by ghosts would be all the explanation anyone would require.

Tadamoto stood looking out over the impossibly complex curves and planes of the palace’s roofs lit by a waning crescent moon. It seemed so tranquil. It was difficult to imagine that Wa was about to be shaken by war, for Tadamoto was certain that was about to happen. A civil war with the Shonto against the Yamaku or the barbarian war Shonto and Katta warned of: but war either way. Less than a decade since the Yamaku ascendancy and already war seemed to be flickering to life, like a fire that had only disappeared temporarily into the earth.

Pacing the perimeter of the room made Tadamoto realize how little control he felt and he forced himself to sit and be calm.

The screen leading to the room slid aside a few inches and Tadamoto started. Osha! He could not really see her in the dark, but he was so familiar with her size he knew this could be no one else. She slipped in through the crack and pushed the screen closed behind her. Leaning against the wall she stood regarding him. In the darkness Tadamoto could not see her eyes and this unsettled him. He felt he needed to look into her eyes to know what whispered in her heart.

Osha favored him with a nod and then crossed to the open screens, her
movements slow and deliberate as though her life force had been reduced to a flicker.

She does not glide, Tadamoto found himself thinking.

Silhouetted against the night Osha seemed very beautiful to him—perfect, in fact. Small and extraordinarily delicate. He could almost feel the warmth and softness of her skin. Beyond Osha the sky was not black but the deepest possible blue. Banners of cloud so distant they seemed to be in the heavens reflected a hint of moonlight. And the stars lacked definition, as though seen as reflections in dark water.

Osha turned and leaned her back against the frame of the opening, her hands clasped behind her. “This room…” she began, her voice flat, “it brings me deep sadness to come here.”

Tadamoto sat, suddenly awkward, his hands on his thighs. “Yes,” he said, “I thought it would be different.”

Osha took a deep breath as if she would speak but then let it out slowly. She turned and looked out at the night, not seeming to care that the air was cool. “My heart…” she began, “my heart is in ruins, Tado-sum, and I do not know if anything can survive the wreckage.” She almost seemed to fall back into her former position.

There was a long silence and then Tadamoto braved the question that tormented him. “Do you love the Emperor, then?”

Osha looked down at her feet, shaking her head slowly. When she raised her face Tadamoto could see her cheeks shining with tears in the starlight. “I do not love him.”

Tadamoto nodded; it was a gentle motion, heavy with resignation. He seemed so weighed down with sadness that it stopped him from moving—and so he sat on the bed, slumped as though something inside him had collapsed. The sound of Osha crying pained him even more, but he could not rise to go to her. Even when she sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands, he did not move.

A
YOUNG OFFICER GAVE the orders which were carried out by stone-faced soldiers and dismayed peasants. Everything that had been planted in the early spring was destroyed. Winter’s remaining hay was piled in the yard and set to the torch, going up in a blast of heat. The blaze was fed stores of seed and grains and the farmers’ carefully nurtured seedlings. The soldiers were determined to leave nothing for the barbarians. And nothing for the villagers and peasants either.

Shimeko could see it written in each peasant’s face:
but we will starve. Is it better to be murdered by your own people ?
The sight of this had been more than she could bear, so she had set off, avoiding the road used by the fleeing peasants. I am a servant of the family that turns them from their homes, she had said to herself, and it was not a thought that brought her comfort.

Shimeko had been forced to walk some distance up the canal to find a place where she could be alone and not be an unwilling witness to the destruction.
Part of the fleet had stopped in this valley to “create the desert” as she had heard one soldier say, and Lady Nishima’s boat had been unable to pass.

Under the branches of a willow that hung over the canal, Shimeko set out a grass mat and made herself comfortable. The fine curtain of willow branches was covered with delicate green buds and would be in leaf in mere days. Boats from the flotilla had been moored against the opposite shore, and she could see them busily taking aboard cargo from the surrounding farms.
Leave nothing for the barbarians.

A family sailed past in a small river boat, the sail filled by a soft breeze from the east—the Plum Blossom Wind it was called, and it was eagerly awaited by the people of Wa. And though it invariably meant warmer days and planting and the blossoming of cherry and plum and apple, this year it was not being celebrated. At least not in the wake of Shonto’s army.

Shimeko could see the looks of anxiety on the faces of the man and woman in the river boat. He looked up at the sail and then off to the east. Her years in the monastery told her that he was praying for the wind to hold. All boats had been ordered to pass ahead of the flotilla or be destroyed.

A kingfisher dived into the boat’s wake and came out of the water in a flash of iridescent green. It darted off with its prize, disappearing into the branches of a willow.

In the privacy of the bower she tried to meditate, but after several minutes she gave this up. It seemed even that comfort was lost to her. Taking a comb from her sleeve, she ran it through her still very short hair. Lady Nishima had told her that in little more than a year she would be able to put her hair up in such a manner that it would be impossible to tell how long it was. This is foolish vanity, she told herself, but continued to comb as though the action would hurry the course of nature.

Shimeko found herself wondering again about Lady Nishima. It was difficult to dislike her, Shimeko found, though she had been prepared to. And certainly the rest of Lady Nishima’s staff adored her. Even so, it seemed odd to Shimeko. Lady Nishima was so young and had not spent the years of discipline and denial senior Sisters had—and yet she was renowned throughout the Empire for her accomplishments.

Shimeko shook her head. Certainly Lady Nishima was a harp player of great skill and her hand was one of the finest she had ever seen. No doubt her social discourse was charming and witty, but they were only social conversations.
Shimeko tossed a pebble out into the water. In her former world, Lady Nishima would have been a senior Acolyte, no matter what her accomplishments, and many years away from becoming a senior Sister. Yet in the world of Wa, Nishima was something of a sensation though barely more than a girl.

Shimeko tossed a second pebble after the first, gaining the brief interest of a kingfisher that hovered over the rings where the pebble had disappeared.

This interest that the Lady Nishima showed in Brother Shuyun…Shimeko was beginning to wonder if it was entirely proper. The former nun was aware that she had little experience of the world, but even so—the way Lady Nishima brightened when Brother Shuyun appeared, it was difficult to mistake. If Brother Shuyun is the Teacher who was foretold, then this situation with the Shonto daughter was most unseemly.

Shimeko remembered searching the archives for Lady Nishima and this brought to mind the sculpture of the Two Lovers—an image she found most disturbing. Though, if truth were told, it was an image she had had difficulty taking her eyes from when they had waited in Denji Gorge. She had found herself drawn to it more than she would ever admit.

Is Brother Shuyun the Teacher who was spoken of? she asked herself again. If there was only some test she could perform…but she knew of no such thing.

The day wore on until she felt it must be time to return. She had been given leave only to stretch her legs, not to disappear for an extended period.

Rising, she rolled the mat and found her way through the curtain of willow wands. A few steps brought her back to the path which ran along the top of the raised bank. Plum trees were planted here and she could see that only a few days would bring them into bloom—an event awaited with great anticipation by everyone in Wa. An image of lines of refugees passing through the plum tree orchards came like a sharp pain.

Some distance off, coming toward her, Shimeko could see a large peasant woman wrapped in cotton robes and shawls. And she had so hoped to avoid the refugees who had been turned from their homes. But then her head snapped up again. It could not be! That walk, Shimeko was sure she could not mistake it.

The woman came closer and raised her covered head. “Sister Morima?” Shimeko said.

The senior nun nodded, her face contorting in a brief, forced smile.
Before she realized what she did Shimeko bowed as Acolyte to senior Sister. But then she rose slowly and forced herself to look the older woman in the eye.

“This is a pleasant surprise, Sister,” Shimeko said.

Morima nodded again. She waved her hand to the side of the track and they turned and took a few steps among the plum trees. “Do not be surprised, Tesseko-sum, the Sisterhood releases few entirely.”

Realizing that Morima labored as though from great exercise, Shimeko laid her mat on the grass and helped the nun sit. She knelt on the mat facing her, fighting an impulse to take on the posture of humility.

“Thank you,” Morima wheezed. “A moment.” She sat regaining her breath and then she tried another smile—marginally more successful.

“The Sisters will not release even me, and I have lost the Way almost entirely.” She stared at Shimeko who finally had to look away.

“Is the path you follow easier, child?” she said in a voice full of concern.

Shimeko shrugged. “I do not yet know, Sister.”

Morima nodded as though she understood. “You appear well enough.” A genuine smile this time. “And you will have a proper head of hair very soon.”

Shimeko colored at the mention of this. “I must be getting back, Sister Morima, I have duties.”

“Do you, indeed?” Morima said. “May I speak briefly, Tesseko-sum?”

The younger woman nodded. “I am Shimeko now, Sister—Shimeko.”

Morima tried to smile again but failed. “The Sisterhood has sent me to speak with you. They advised me to come dressed as a peasant and to claim that I had left the Order also. They want information about Lord Shonto’s Spiritual Advisor and anything they can learn about the barbarian war and the intrigues within the Empire.”

The senior Sister looked up at her former charge and shrugged, apparently embarrassed. “It is the worst foolishness. You might think they would become tired of lies and intrigues, but that does not seem to be so.” She reached down and tightened her sandals. “I must be getting back myself, now that I have fulfilled my duty.” She rose with some effort and stood looking down at Shimeko.

Shimeko could not hide her look of confusion. “That is all you have to say, Sister?”

“Yes, child.” The older woman wiped her forehead with the tail of her shawl.

Shimeko nodded though she was not sure why. They remained as they were for a moment—an echo of their former lives: the younger woman kneeling, the elder standing.

“Morima-sum?” Shimeko said suddenly. “You have met Brother Shuyun. Do you think it is possible that he is the Teacher?”

Morima thought for a moment. “I cannot say, child.”

Shimeko pulled up a blade of new grass and twirled it slowly. “Brother Shuyun claims he is not. Is it possible he could be the Teacher and not be aware of it?”

Morima shook her head. “I don’t know, Shimeko-sum. When did Lord Botahara know that he would become the Perfect Master? It seems possible that Brother Shuyun may not know.”

Shimeko nodded. “I am concerned…”

Morima cut her off with a gesture. “Take care in what you say, Shimeko-sum, I do not know what I may yet repeat to my Sisters.”