The Initiate Brother Duology (50 page)

Seated among those of the Third Rank of the Left, Jaku Katta assumed the attitude of the other courtiers—respectful anticipation—but he watched the Emperor’s every move, searching for a sign of his intentions. Yet he saw nothing, and there among the many, Jaku did not draw a nod from his Emperor.

It is as though I have ceased to exist, Jaku thought, as though I am already dead. He caught the eye of a young woman who smiled demurely and then hid her face with a fan, yet this hardly registered in his mind at all. What shall I do? Jaku asked himself. Everything I have planned falls around me.

The subdued excitement of the crowd was almost tangible and seemed to flow like chi along all the meridian of the whole. A love of ceremony that was almost an obsession had long been a prominent feature of Waian court life. All waited for the signal from the Emperor.

Being semi-divine, the Emperor was expected to intercede for the people of Wa with his ancestors and the gods. Even the advent of Botahara a thousand years earlier had affected these rites in only the smallest ways—a thin veneer of Botahist doctrine layered over the rites of the ancient pantheism.

The story of the Gray Horses originated at the time of the establishment of the Seven Kingdoms which later became the central provinces of the Empire of Wa. It was said that Po Wu, the father of the gods, gave the Gray Horses to his sons, the Seven Princes, who then drove the barbarians out of the lands of Cho-Wa and planted the seeds of civilization.

The gray steeds were imbued with magical powers by Po Wu and could not be injured or die in battle. From their running hooves came a thunder
which shook the earth and split the hills, scattering their enemies before them like gulls before a storm.

The Gray Horses of the ceremony were said to be descendants of Po Wu’s steeds, bred generation after generation and carefully guarded by the Emperor’s staff.

At a nod from the Emperor, the ceremony began with the beating of drums like the sound of thunder and then the airy voice of a thirteen pipe flute. From the Gate of the Inner Spirit the clatter of unshod hooves striking stone seemed to blend with the rhythm of the music and then the horses appeared—seven pale gray mounts, groomed until they glinted in the sunlight.

The riders were the best in the province; two Imperial Guards, the sons of three lords, a Minor Counselor and a hunt master—all dressed in Imperial crimson and seated on saddles of gold and deep green. The horses were arrayed in headdresses of gold and black and the contrast of these strong colors with the pale tones of the audience had an almost startling effect.

The riders moved their horses through carefully coordinated exercises of great intricacy, and all with commands so subtle that none could see them. A story grew out of these exercises, the story of the Seven Princes and their magical horses. Dancers joined in dressed as foot soldiers and barbarians, yet there was never a confusion nor loss of focus to the movement.

After sweeping the barbarians from the field, the seven equestrians wheeled and paraded slowly before the Emperor, and as the living descendant of Po Wu he rewarded them for their valor with generous gifts.

The riders all bowed their thanks and led their horses from the courtyard to the buzzing of the courtiers’ praise. A silence settled over the audience then as they waited for the Emperor and the Imperial Family to rise and depart—but instead a Senior Assistant to the Minister of the Left struck a small gong to gain everyone’s attention. Moving with a grace surprising for his age the assistant took up a position in front of the dais, bowed twice, and removed a scroll from his sleeve. His voice was soft, yet it carried well to all of his audience.

“On behalf of the Minister of the Left, I have been charged to read these, the words of the most revered Son of Heaven.

“Today we have witnessed not only an ancient ceremony of lasting significance but also a metaphor which is descriptive of our own time. The northern border of Wa is again pressed by the barbarians and we have, as is
our duty, turned our eyes there. Yet this is not the only place where the spirit of the primitive peoples has been manifested. Within the borders of our own provinces those who are barbarians in spirit make many of our roads and waterways unsafe and, to our lasting disappointment, the lords of the provinces have been unable to curtail this activity. It is our pledge that we will not allow barbarism to threaten our Empire, either from within or without.

“Therefore, it is the will of the Throne that this situation shall end. To accomplish this, forces of Imperial Guards and Functionaries of the judiciary shall be sent throughout the Empire for the purpose of making all our routes of travel and commerce safe for even the most humble citizen of our Empire.

“Due to recent circumstances on the Grand Canal we realize that this, the cord that binds our great Empire together, is in peril and therefore will be our first concern. To deal with this situation we have chosen to send the Commander of the Imperial Guard, General Jaku Katta, as representative of the Throne and Sole Arbiter on the Grand Canal. He will be charged with returning the waterway to its former state of peace and efficiency.

“Others will be sent out with the same orders to effect the same changes on all the arteries of our Empire.

“By order of Akantsu II, Emperor, and the Great Council of the Empire.”

The bureaucrat bowed as he finished his reading and the assembled guests bowed in turn to the Emperor and his family. A sound went through the crowd, an indescribable sound that everyone recognized as the sound of mass approval. The Emperor smiled as he rose and stepped into his waiting sedan chair.

Among those bowing as the Emperor made his exit was one general in Imperial Guard uniform who did not share this sense of approval. Jaku Katta sat waiting for those of higher rank to leave, accepting congratulations and good wishes with what appeared to be a stoic nod but was, in fact, perfectly contained fury.

What had been done to Shonto at Jaku’s urging had now been done to Jaku. The Black Tiger took long slow breaths and tried to calm his mind, but his anger seemed to dart everywhere, now aimed at the Son of Heaven, now aimed at Lord Shonto, now at the foolish courtiers who congratulated him while having no notion of what was happening. He was like a bow drawn near its breaking point with an arrow notched and ready—and he looked everywhere in his mind for the appropriate target.

The members of the First and Second Ranks had risen and made their way leisurely from the square. Jaku rose with the people remaining, those of the Third Rank, and began to make his way through the crowd. Around him people laughed and commented on the beauty of the ceremony and the perfection of the equestrians, but Jaku walked under a cloud as dark as his black uniform. It was all he could do not to push these fools out of his way, but he held himself in check—it was important to know when to release an arrow.

Coming finally to the edge of the square, he mounted a set of steps that few others would use and there he broke free of the crowds and the foolish prattle. On the top step he turned to survey the square out of habit; he was, after all, in charge of security in the palace. And there among the throng that passed the foot of his steps he saw his brother, Tadamoto, walking in the company of Osha, the Emperor’s Sonsa—and they were laughing. Jaku could almost hear them. They laughed a shared laugh and their faces glowed as only lovers could.

My own blood, Jaku thought.

T
HE AFTERNOON SUN broke through the storm clouds here and there, sending long shafts of light down to the earth; shafts that moved as the clouds moved, in swift, erratic formations.

The crests of waves tumbled into foam which was blown into white streaks across the dark waters. Crests mounted again, rushed on, and dashed themselves against the base of the stone wall.

Standing at the parapet, Lord Shonto looked down at the chaos below. Five days had passed since his arrival in Seh and Shonto had only that morning been able to free himself from the formal demands made upon a new governor. He had been frustrated by all the ceremony and was more than ready to begin the work that had brought him to Seh: the military work. He
began with what was close at hand and launched an inspection of the capital’s fortifications followed by an assessment of the state of the garrison.

The new governor walked along the wall with a stride that caused his companions to rush in a most undignified manner if they were not to be left behind. They weren’t used to such exertions; governors were expected to travel by canal or sedan chair, perhaps, on rare occasion, by horseback. But this!—a walking tour was unheard of.

The men rushing along in the governor’s wake were a disparate group, many in long formal robes which the wind attacked with a certain glee. They naturally arrayed themselves by rank: the Major Chancellor Lord Gitoyo, and his son, a Middle Captain of the Third Rank followed the governor; the Minister of War, Lord Akima, a very old man who kept pace without sign of discomfort; two Ministers of the Second Rank wearing their formal blue robes and sweating profusely; General Hojo and Lord Komawara were next and then a lieutenant colonel of the garrison. A dozen attendants of varying rank followed by an appropriate number of guards completed the retinue.

A certain General Toshaki’s military rank placed him officially in the Third Rank, but as a member of one of Seh’s most important Houses he walked beside Lord Shonto though deferring to him as was appropriate.

“As I said earlier, Lord Shonto,” Toshaki said, not using the new governor’s official title, “we do everything necessary to keep the city strong and the defenses in good repair.” General Toshaki said this between deep gasps as he trotted along beside Shonto. It was the last set of stairs that had reduced him to this state and Shonto’s pace was not allowing him to recover. The inspection had caught the men of Seh off guard though Shonto’s own staff were not in the least surprised. They had learned the futility of trying to predict the action of their lord—it was better to keep abreast of all one’s duties and let inspections come as they would.

Shonto said nothing in response to the general’s statement which unsettled the soldier more than he would have expected. Stopping again, Shonto looked over the edge, down at the booming waves. The wall was indeed in good repair, that was clear even to his critical eye, but here and there at its base a dark shelf of rock extended out into the waves. Lack of rainfall that autumn had lowered the water level and exposed rock that was normally many feet under water. It caused Shonto concern. This shelf compromised the integrity of the defenses quite considerably, and worse than that, General Toshaki did not seem to realize it.

“Sire, you can see that Rhojo-ma is secure—her walls unbreachable. Perhaps we could…”

“There are no walls that cannot be breached, General,” Shonto said as he stopped again and stared over the side.

“Of course you are right, Sire. On the land that is true, but here with a natural moat of three miles…”

“General Hojo.” Shonto stopped and addressed his senior military advisor.

“Sire?”

Shonto nodded toward an exposed outcropping of smooth granite.

Hojo leaned out over the stone parapet. “I agree, Sire, this is a danger. A staging area is just what’s needed to attempt these walls.”

“Could you breach them, General?”

“From what I have seen I would say yes—if I could be sure of the element of surprise. The guards have too much confidence in the defenses and this is not good.”

“General Toshaki?”

The tall soldier pulled himself even more erect. His words came out in a clipped mockery of politeness. “Sire; the general’s observations are astute, but there are other factors to consider. A fleet large enough to attack Rhojo-ma could hardly be constructed in secret. There would always be some warning of such an attack. Any small scale excursion against the city, even if it was successful in passing beyond our first wall, would be isolated by our secondary walls. We would soon force them back into the waves, you can be sure. These rocks will be under water after only a few days of rain, and that rain will not be long in coming. The autumn storms are as reliable as the patience of Botahara, Sire.”

Shonto and General Hojo glanced at each other but said nothing. Turning away from the parapet, Shonto continued on his tour.

It was a strange company of professional soldiers, bureaucrats, and peers of the realm who could be seen atop the outer walls, flapping in the wind like rag-guards in a peasant’s garden. But it was not just the wind that controlled their movements: this new governor, this outsider, held sway over their futures in the hierarchy of Seh. It was a fact widely resented, and it showed.