The Initiate Brother Duology (24 page)

He lowered himself to the ground, his heart pounding in a most un-Botahist-like manner, and continued down the path attempting to appear composed.

Brother Satake, the monk thought, the renowned Brother Satake. It could have been no one else. But why? Shonto’s former advisor had been almost legendary, a man held in the highest regard by the most senior members of his Order. A man Shuyun had tried to emulate in his own learning.

The monk walked on, his head spinning. What shall I do? he thought, this is unimaginable! By the Nine Names of Botahara,
we have been betrayed!

W
ALLS, SISTER MORIMA thought, they are the “Significant Pattern” of our Empire, and the fact that no one notices them speaks of their complete acceptance by the entire culture. Here we draw the stylus and there is division—the Son of Heaven on that side and all of Wa on the other. We draw the stylus again and Lords of the First Rank make their position clear, they on one side and all of society on the other, and so on down to the paper screens of the poorest street vendor. Last of all we have the beggars and they can erect no walls at all.

Walls: they were everywhere and everywhere they went unnoticed—not that they weren’t respected, that was not the case—they were simply not considered for what they were; the Significant Pattern.

But it had always been so. Even a thousand years before, the Lord Botahara had spoken of walls: “Between themselves and the weak the strong build walls, fearing that the weak will learn of their own strength. So it is that the poor are shut out into the wide world with all of its uncertainty but also with all of its purity and beauty. Whose palace garden compares to the wild perfection of the mountain meadows? So, thinking to shut out the poor and the weak, the strong succeed only in walling themselves in. Such is the nature of illusion.”

Sister Morima walked stiffly up the graveled roadway that led along the base of the wall surrounding the Priory of the First Awakening—the Seat of her Order. Shielding her eyes, she looked up at the white stone rampart and wondered what the Enlightened One would think of a religious Order,
based on his teachings, that hid itself behind walls. The Significant Pattern, she thought again, it was a Sister who had first spoken of the concept, another Sister who had written the definitive work on the idea.

I grow cynical, she thought. The Sisterhood needs the walls to protect itself from those who have not yet developed their spirit sufficiently. She looked around her at the pilgrims who crowded the roadway. Tired, covered in dust, poor for the most part, some with the eyes that looked beyond the world—yet all of them seemed to exude a certain air of barely controlled passion, of deep unrest. “May the Lord Botahara bring you peace,” she muttered under her breath.

Yes, it felt good to be returning. Her time among the Brothers had left her feeling…tainted. She shuddered involuntarily. I have much to tell you, Sister Saeja, she thought, much that I don’t understand.

She walked on, staring at the road before her feet, listening to the sounds of the pilgrims walking, to their mumbled prayers, the coughing of the desperately ill. The morning air was fresh, still retaining a trace of the night’s chill, but the sun was warm. The autumn seemed to have attained a point of balance; like a gull on a current of wind, it seemed to hang in the air for an impossibly long time. Each night you expected the balance to have been lost, but each morning the sun would rise, as warm as the day before, and the smells of autumn would return with the heat. It was as though time had slowed—leaves floated down without hurry, flowers blossomed beyond their season. It was uncanny and very beautiful.

The gate to the Priory of the First Awakening loomed up as she rounded a corner and the usual horde of Seekers surrounded the Sisters of the Gate. Sister Morima could see the desire on their faces, each of them hoping to be allowed entry, to be housed for a few evenings, to attend services or vespers, perhaps to hear a few words from the Prioress, Sister Saeja, who, they all knew, was coming close to her time of Completion.

Slowly Sister Morima moved through the throng, the pilgrims making way for her.

“Allow the honored Sister to pass.”

“Make way, brother, a Sister comes.”

“Intercede for us, Honored Sister, we have come all the way from Chou to hear a few words from the Prioress. All the way from Chou…Honored Sister?”

The Sisters of the Gate greeted her warmly, their eyes full of questions
for they knew from where she returned. She passed through into the outer courtyard of the Priory, into the company of the privileged Seekers, those allowed through the main gate, their way eased by an introduction from a Sister in their home province, or by a donation to the worthy causes of the Sisterhood—or in some cases, simply because the pilgrim would not go away. The press of the crowd was gone here, the privileged few moving about in blissful silence.

Sister Morima prostrated herself on the cobbles in front of the statue of Botahara before she entered the second gate that led to the inner courtyard. Only robed Sisters and young Acolytes passed her here and the noise of the crowd outside was completely muffled by the high walls. She breathed a sigh of relief. I do not bear my burden well, she thought, but soon I shall share it. This did not gladden her as she hoped, for what she had to share was disturbing indeed.

The Acolytes who accompanied Sister Morima were anxious to be released, to bathe and to rest, but she said nothing and they continued obediently in her wake. They must learn, she thought, our way never becomes easier, there is no reward of respite, not in this life.

A senior Sister came toward her across the cobbles, obviously intending to meet her. The face was not familiar immediately, but then she realized—
Gatsa
, Sister Gatsa. So, the vultures gathered. The representatives of each faction would be here, then, waiting, plotting. A surge of fear passed through her. No, she told herself, she knew the Sisters on duty at the gate, if Saeja-sum had arrived at the point of Completion they would have warned her. But still the vultures circled, and this one was about to land.

“Go and assist with the pilgrims’ meal,” she said, turning to the Acolytes who attended her, and watched the disappointment and resentment flare in their eyes. Then it was gone.

“Immediately, Sister Morima, thank you for this opportunity.” And they hurried off, burdens in hand.

Sister Morima nodded, satisfied; they understood, they would do well.

“Sister Morima, how pleased I am to see you. I did not know you were expected,” and Sister Gatsa bowed to her.

Letting the lie pass, Sister Morima returned the bow and walked on, letting her fatigue show. Gatsa fell into step beside her. She was a tall woman, Sister Gatsa, somewhat regal in her bearing and in her speech, an odd manner to find in a humble servant of the Perfect Master. She was square jawed,
but this harshness was relieved by a lovely mouth and eyes that seemed to dance with the pleasures of being alive—no staring into the great-beyond for this Sister. Her eyes were focused on the world around her, and they missed very little.

“I trust your journey has been productive?” Sister Gatsa said.

“Most pleasant. You honor me to enquire,” Morima answered in her most formal tones. They turned inside an arch and continued down a wide portico.

“Then you actually
saw
the scrolls of the Enlightened One?” She turned and examined Sister Morima’s face, awe apparent in her voice.

Sister Morima did not answer immediately and then looked away as she spoke. “I saw the Brothers’ scrolls.”

“And?”

“And what, Sister?” Morima asked.

“You saw the scrolls of the Lord Botahara and this is all you can say?” The tall Sister sounded annoyed.

Again Sister Morima hesitated, then released a long sigh. “It is not an experience words can convey, Sister.” She paused and reached out to steady herself on a post. Sister Gatsa regarded the large nun who looked as if she would burst into tears, but then Morima regained control. “You must excuse me, but I…I must meditate upon the experience. Perhaps then I will be able to explain my reaction.”

Sister Gatsa took Morima’s arm and continued along the walk. “I understand, Sister, it must be very moving to look upon the hand of Botahara. I do understand.”

Nuns nodded to them as they walked, and, as the two passed, eyes followed. This is the Sister who was
chosen
, they thought. She has attended the ceremony of Divine Renewal. Whispers passed through the Priory like quiet breezes.

“She is back! Sister Kiko has seen her.”

“And?”

“She is transformed, Sister! Morima-sum glows with inner knowledge. Yet she seems disturbed also.”

“Who would not be—to look upon His words. Remember, too, that she has spent many days in the company of the Brothers. Would you not find this disturbing?”

“Your words are wisdom, Sister.”

The two nuns came at last to the door Sister Morima sought. The door that would lead to her quarters. But Gatsa was not ready to release her yet, and Morima felt the tall nun’s grip tighten on her arm.

“Much has happened in your absence, Sister Morima,” Gatsa said, lowering her voice. “The Prioress has become weaker. I tell you this to prepare you, I know how close you are to her. There will be a Cloister before the year’s end, I fear. We both know how large a part you will play in the Selection. The Empire changes, Sister, we must not be the victims of the change. The work of Botahara is all-important. You must feel that more than ever after what you have just seen. I know we have opposed each other in the past, Morima-sum, but I believe there may be a way to resolve our differences. This would be good for the Sisterhood and good for us also. Please consider my words. We can discuss this when you are rested.” She let go of Morima’s arm and stood facing her, eyes searching. “But don’t wait too long, Sister.” She bowed and swept off down the long portico, bearing herself, as always, like a Lady of the Emperor’s Court.

A young Acolyte attendant met Morima as she mounted the stairs to her quarters.

“I have run your bath, honored Sister,” the girl said bowing to her superior. “I am to tell you that the Prioress will see you when you are refreshed.” She fell into step behind Sister Morima who nodded as she passed.

Yes, Morima thought, the Prioress will see me, but what am I to tell her? She rubbed her brow with a hand covered in dust. The question was one she had asked herself repeatedly since leaving the Brotherhood’s Island Monastery. Still she had no answer. What do I know that is in any way certain? the nun asked herself again. Nothing, was the answer and she knew it, yet the feeling would not go away. There was something wrong in Jinjoh Monastery; all of her instincts told her so.

The bath the Acolyte had drawn was like a healing potion. Sister Morima sank into the steaming waters like a marine mammal returning to its element. She closed her eyes and allowed her shoulders and forehead to be massaged. To compose herself for the coming interview, she began to meditate. A calm began to flow through her body, the turmoil in her mind was pushed back and partially silenced.

Later, as she dressed, she pushed the screen aside and stood looking out from her small balcony across the plain. In the distance the Imperial Capital shimmered in the rising waves of heat. The palace of the Emperor wavered
in the unstill air, white walls seeming to change their shape before the eye, one surface joining another then separating itself again. The harder she looked, the more difficult it became to be sure of the palace’s true shape.

An endless line of Seekers moved along the road that meandered up the mountain to the Priory. Dust seemed to enclose them like a skein of silk—red-brown and drifting slowly to the north. The pilgrims, too, were caught in the rising waves of heat, their bodies distorted, billowing, insubstantial.

I am in the Priory of the First Awakening, Sister Morima told herself. I am a senior of the Botahist Order. Beyond the rice fields lies the Emperor’s city. Its walls are white and quite solid. Down there are the Seekers—poor, hungry, and often quite foolish. That man among them in the blue rags is a cripple, and it is only the effect of the warm air that seems every so often to straighten his limbs.

Pulling the screen closed, she turned and went out to meet the head of her Order.

The nun who was the Prioress’ secretary smiled with real warmth when she saw Sister Morima. “How glad I am that you have returned, Sister,” she said. “Our prayers have been with you.”

“And my prayers have been with you, Sister Sutso. Your concern honors me.” She bowed. “Tell me quickly, how is our beloved Prioress?”

The secretary lowered her gaze and shook her head. “She is an inspiration, Sister, but she is not well.”

Morima reached out and touched her Sister’s shoulder. “She can go only to a better life, Sutso-sum. Is she able to see me now?”

The secretary nodded her head. “But you mustn’t tire her, Sister. She needs constant rest.” She shook her head again sadly. “May Botahara smile upon her, she is so old and has served Him so well.”