The Initiate Brother Duology (44 page)

The young initiate monk, Shuyun, had been his charge; there to compete in the Emperor’s kick boxing tournament. On that journey Sotura had come as a teacher—to remind the people of Wa of the power of the Botahist monks. He had come as a teacher but had learned more than he taught.

Shuyun had been the perfect instrument for the lesson the Brotherhood needed to teach. In an Empire that was still unstable from the years of plague and the Interim Wars, respect for the Botahist monks was restored—again
they could travel the roadways of the Empire without interference, though the same could be said of no others, except the heavily armed.

The second lesson they had hoped to teach had not been so successful. Shuyun had humiliated the Emperor’s favorite, the arrogant Jaku Katta, but this only served to make the Emperor more wary of the Brotherhood, when the monks had hoped the Son of Heaven would see the value of taking a monk into his service.

So much for lessons taught.

The lesson Sotura had learned was more difficult to describe, for he had not been directly involved. In truth, he learned it only with the assistance of Jaku Katta. In the midst of the fight Sotura had seen Jaku lose all focus and, for an instant, entirely let down his guard. What Sotura had read in the kick boxer’s reaction was
awe!
And yet nothing had occurred that Sotura had noted, and Sotura missed very little.

It was a strange and incomplete lesson. The chi quan instructor had watched Shuyun carefully after that. Had even sparred with him on more than one occasion, and though Shuyun was skilled far beyond his years, Sotura could detect nothing that would cause a kick boxer of Jaku’s skill to stop in awe.

Perhaps Jaku had reinforced the Emperor’s fear of the Botahist Brotherhood, it was impossible to say. The entire incident had been a sad miscalculation and a serious one.

The problem with the present Emperor was that the Brotherhood knew so little of him. No monk was allowed near the Son of Heaven and so he remained a mystery which no amount of analysis seemed to unravel.

Of course, he was a highly unpredictable man, the Emperor, but even so, Brother Sotura was surprised at how unsuccessful the Brotherhood was at anticipating the Emperor’s plans. It was most unsettling—sometimes Sotura found himself wondering if his Order had somehow earned the anger of heaven, such was their lack of good fortune—but, of course, this could not be.

The chi quan instructor finished his finger exercises and began a stillness meditation. Several hours later daylight found him standing on the prow of the ship; a strange figurehead dressed in a ragged robe that the wind could not leave alone.

*   *   *

The Jade Temple was the most ancient of the buildings that stood in the old section of the Floating City. Over the seven hundred years the temple had
stood, its position on a rocky island had saved it from the not infrequent flooding that Yankura experienced. Botahara, it was said, protected it from fire.

Inside the walls that surrounded the temple grounds clustered other buildings constructed in the style of the early Botahist period, all arranged around courtyards and gardens of meditation. The Jade Temple was the destination of many of the pilgrims who traveled the roads and waterways of Wa, so beyond the walls of the temple there were large buildings to house the many Seekers who arrived without bedding or coins, all having taken a vow of poverty.

Brother Sotura lay on a wooden bench in the darkness in one of these dormitories, ignoring the cold that seemed to seep into his body like spring-water. Around him he could hear the sounds that men made in their sleep—not all of them healthy sounds—and the noises of men too troubled to find the peace of unconsciousness. Voices whispered in the darkness, and beyond the thin shutters Sotura could hear that familiar mumbling of someone in the garden intoning a long Bahitra; a prayer for forgiveness.

For the hundredth time an old man coughed harshly and then sighed in despair or relief—it was impossible to tell which.

Brother Sotura lay on his side pretending to be asleep, avoiding the constant trap of conversation—seeking the truth of Botahara did not seem to do away with many men’s loneliness and they looked always for their own kind.

A temple bell sounded the hour of the owl and the sound was answered a dozen times throughout the crowded city. Waiting a moment, Brother Sotura rose noiselessly. It was a skill of the Botahist monks to be able to move without sound and now Sotura brought his training into play, stepping among the sleeping pilgrims with care. At the end of the dormitory he slid a screen aside.

A sliver of moon cast shadows at the foot of buildings and trees and shimmered off the surface of a small pond. Avoiding a path of gravel, Brother Sotura crossed an opening between buildings and stepped onto a low stone wall.

At the end he found the higher wall of the temple itself. Here the monk stopped and examined his surroundings, searching the shadows for any sign of movement, stretching his mind, searching for presence, for a sense of chi that would mark someone hiding in the dark.

Finally satisfied that no one watched, Brother Sotura stepped down onto a cobbled walkway and took three steps to a door half-hidden by a Tenti bush. In the darkness he ran his hands over the metal sheathed wood looking for a handle. When he found it, he pulled toward him and the door moved silently—but then came to an abrupt halt.

A deep voice whispered from the darkness beyond the door. “What is it you wish?”

“I have come to consult with your Master about the Master’s words.” Brother Sotura answered quietly. He heard the sound of a chain being released and then the door swung out toward him.

“Please enter,” came the deep voice again and Sotura stepped through the opening into the inner grounds of the ancient temple.

The door closed silently behind him. “Please, Brother, follow me.” And with a quick bow the dark form of a Botahist monk turned and stepped into the shadows of a nearby wall. Sotura was quick to follow and before they had gone twenty steps the monk opened a lamp slightly and Sotura could see a hint of the man’s appearance.

“Brother Shinsha?”

The monk turned to him and Sotura sensed more than saw the smile.

“Brother Shinsha, and honored to be your servant, though excuse me for not speaking your name.” The voice was as deep and resonant as the darkness itself.

“The night hears all things,” Sotura muttered and saw the lamp jiggle as his guide chuckled silently.

They mounted a stone staircase that led to a covered veranda at the rear of a residence. Inside the walls, the sounds of the busiest city in the Empire could not be heard and Brother Sotura found this oddly comforting. His guide slid a screen open and stepped into a wide hallway. A few paces farther, they again mounted stairs which took them up four levels to another long hall. Two Brothers standing guard outside carved double doors bowed with deference to the older monk and the unkempt Seeker. Without knocking, Brother Shinsha pulled the doors open. Bowing to the chi quan master as though he were an honored stranger, Brother Shinsha stepped aside.

Sotura entered the room and there, in its center, sat Brother Hutto, Primate of Wa, hunched over his famous double-sized writing table, scroll in hand.

“Ah, Brother Sotura.” The old monk said, looking at the other monk’s dress. “You
should not be such a follower of fashion, Brother, it will endanger your spirit.”

The Primate did not smile at his own joke—a habit that Sotura had once found disconcerting. That was before he had realized Brother Hutto enjoyed watching people decide whether it was appropriate to laugh. It was also a display of Brother Hutto’s considerable intelligence and, once understood, not a small part of his charm.

“I shall heed your kind advice in this matter, Brother, though that is not what I have come to hear.”

Hutto nodded and stroked his chin. He seemed to be staring into Brother Sotura who showed no signs of discomfort at this examination.

The Primate was a tiny man with a face that could appear either very old or surprisingly young depending on his mood. He had large features, like a peasant, yet his eyes were small and almost inky dark.

Brother Hutto stopped stroking his chin. “Words have never satisfied you, Brother Sotura. Please sit with me.” He gestured to another cushion and as he did so he pushed the writing table away. One of the monks who had been guarding the door entered with a cha service on a lacquered stand. Setting this between the two men, he checked the fire in the iron kettle before leaving.

“You have word from our Supreme Master?” Brother Hutto asked. He had a way of stressing long vowels, stretching them out almost musically as though they had slipped out of a chant and into his conversation.

“He sends you his deepest regards but did not include a written message for fear that it would be discovered. I have many things to discuss with you, though, in his name.”

“And what is it the Supreme Master thinks I am not telling him?”

“I am not aware of anything, Brother Hutto,” the chi quan master said evenly.

“Ah. Then you have come only for the pleasure of the Jade Temple’s bells?”

“No, Brother,” Sotura said, and then hesitated before going on. “I have come to discuss the sacred scrolls of Botahara.”

Brother Hutto made a sign to Botahara. “Then speak quietly. My hearing is not yet old.”

The chi quan instructor looked down, rubbing his fingertips in a circle on the grass mats. “We received your report. The Supreme Master praised your
forethought at having the Shonto merchant watched. Yet what was observed in the dark has raised many questions.” Sotura let the statement hang in the air, waiting to see what the other would do with it.

After a prolonged silence, Brother Hutto spoke. “I assume you are asking if I know more?”

“Not at all, Brother; the Supreme Master is interested in your opinion of this matter.”

The Primate adjusted the flame on a lamp. “And I am interested in Brother Nodaku’s own thoughts. If what was being so secretly spirited away were the scrolls that you—that we both seek, then I would think the Supreme Master might tell me. Where else would the scrolls be taken by sea except to Jinjoh Monastery?” Brother Hutto fixed his dark liquid gaze on the larger monk.

“The whereabouts of the scrolls is still a mystery, though it pains me to say this.”

“Huh. I almost wish you had told me it had all been done behind the sleeve and the scrolls were back where they belong.” Brother Hutto paused to serve cha. “I fear I must disappoint you. I do not know what it was the Imperial Guards were transporting. A box the size of a small traveling trunk. It was apparently very heavy. I say apparently. Could it have been the treasure we seek?” He shook his head sadly and offered his guest a bowl of cha. “I do not believe so. To think that they are gone…!” he exclaimed and then recovered his control immediately.

Somewhere below them, deep voices began a long melodic chant and the two monks made signs to Botahara. A gong sounded four times, then echoed through a long pause—sounded thrice more and was still. Into the stillness a single voice poured like liquid into an empty bowl. It was a beautiful, clear voice and the melody was lyrical, haunting. Slowly the other voices returned, soft and powerful.

Sotura took a long breath and offered a silent prayer.

“Forgive me, Brother, but I have little time.” At a nod from the Primate, Sotura continued. “The Initiate who witnessed this incident—did he not hear anything the vassal-merchant said?”

The monk shook his head. “Tanaka and the old guard watched in silence and, I am told, fear. They did not speak. I know nothing that was not included in my letter to the Supreme Master.”

“I hesitate to speculate, but it does seem obvious that what was being
done so secretly was of great importance to someone of consequence. The presence of Shonto’s vassal-merchant suggests that this occurrence was also of interest to the Great Lord. Perhaps it is dangerous to carry the thought too far?”

“I have observed the merchant Tanaka for many years and have learned much that surprised me. Perhaps it is most telling to say that, in private, Lord Shonto will share a table with his merchant and calls him
sum.
This man is one of Shonto’s most valued advisors, not just in the area of trade. To risk himself on a dark night, with only an old man for a guard? Whatever was in the trunk was of great concern to the Shonto House.

“But who arranged for this trunk to be moved? Jaku Katta? The Emperor? Or perhaps one of the younger Jaku brothers? And where was it sent?” The old monk shook his head.

“It is most curious that Tanaka was interested in this affair, most curious. So where could this valuable trunk be going that it would be of interest to the Lord of the Shonto? The obvious possibility is that it went where the lord himself has gone.” Brother Hutto closed his eyes and sipped his cha and his face became the face of a delighted youth. “As to the contents of the trunk. Gold. Silver. Jade. A payment to Shonto’s enemies…” He opened his dark eyes: “Or those who would become his enemies. All possibilities you have discussed with the Supreme Master, I am sure.”

“It is good to hear your words, Brother Hutto. We are so isolated in the monastery that we have grown concerned that we have not explored all possibilities. But I am still concerned that it was the treasure we seek that was being moved, or perhaps even delivered to our enemies.”

“It seems that you assume the Son of Heaven is the thief?”

“He is the obvious choice and he has in his service Katta, a cunning man who has his own reasons to hate the Brotherhood.” Sotura tasted his cha, breathing in its rich perfume.

Brother Hutto laughed bitterly, surprising his companion. “Is it not ironic that we speculate in the dark like men who have lost their faith?” He turned his dark eyes on his ragged companion. “Look at you. Do you not laugh when you see yourself? A Botahist Master reduced to running around in costume like a courtier at a party.” He laughed again and leaned forward, whispering, “I feel panic in you, Brother. Though you hide it well, still I feel it. And it is not just you, it is in all of us who know. Soon it will be felt by others in our ranks—an unknown, unnamed panic—and then the speculation will begin.
Do you realize what that will mean?” The old man took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And I, too, panic. Please, excuse me.”