The Initiate Brother Duology (52 page)

Traditional methods of forming alliances would not be applicable in a province that was so insular, especially when it was clear that Shonto’s stay there would be brief. A marriage between the Shonto and the Taiki was not feasible, not only because of their difference in position, but Lord Taiki’s only son and heir had just recently celebrated his fourth birthday. Of course, such an arrangement was not unheard of, but Shonto would never subject
Lady Nishima to such an indignity: he adored her far too much for the good of his family, he realized.

When Shonto took leave of Komawara and Lord Akima, the two men stood on the dock saying nothing, yet neither made a move to leave, as though there was something to be said but neither could grasp it.

Finally Lord Akima ended the silence. “Perhaps, Lord Komawara, if you stand close enough, you will one day be mistaken for a governor yourself.” He bowed and walked down the quay to the place where his guards waited with his sampan.

Komawara felt like a man caught thieving: there was no denial possible—it
was
what he secretly hoped for, so secretly that he barely admitted it to himself. Yet old Akima had seen it easily. Seh, the young lord told himself, the welfare of my province is my true concern.

Akima, Komawara thought, is an old man, well past his prime, unable to see even the most obvious things: like the change in the pattern of barbarian raids. Yet was it not true that virtually all the lords of Seh agreed with Akima in this matter? Was the old man right? Was the lure of the Governor’s Palace really what attracted him?

Komawara stepped into his sampan and seated himself without even a nod to his guard or boatmen, so lost in thought was he. The old lord’s remark had stung him more than he would ever have expected.

*   *   *

“I find this an interesting habit, Lord Shonto, perhaps one that is native only to my own province.” Lord Taiki said. “I cannot understand how anyone can take a position on an entire dynasty. Certainly I can weigh the accomplishments of a past dynasty and decide if, on balance, they were good or bad. But this desire to take a position on an Imperial Family that has existed only eight years and has placed only two Emperors upon the Throne— I can only judge one Emperor at a time, myself. The Yamaku may well produce a second Jenni the Serene, but I have no way of knowing.”

Lord Shonto and Lord Taiki walked in the garden of the Governor’s Palace. They were followed by General Hojo and Shuyun, while Lord Taiki’s young son Jima ran around them in circles, imitating the motions of a man on a horse and occasionally charging Shuyun with a shout and then veering off after he had run the monk through with an imaginary sword.

A path of raked gravel led them through the trees of late autumn, almost bare of leaves; those few that were left were the most beautifully colored.
Wind cedars that had been shaped into living sculptures were placed where they would create the most striking effect, here among large gray rocks that suggested a cliff, and there beside a small carp pond. The palace walls blocked most of the wind, so the sunlight seemed to have more warmth than would have been expected.

“The present Emperor has allowed the thoroughfares of our Empire to fall into the hands of bandits. He has forced all trade beyond the Empire to take place through only one port, a port that is not close to Seh. This means that we must bring our ships into Yankura, instead of into our own province, pay exorbitant taxes and warehousing costs, then we must ship our goods a thousand rih on a canal that is infested with criminals.” Lord Taiki gestured with his hands as if to say, “And you ask me my opinion of this dynasty?”

Shonto shook his head. He was sympathetic to the problem, and he would even state, in the right circumstances, that he felt this was unjust, but there was little he could do about it.

Lord Taiki had turned out to be an immensely likable man, not that “likability” was a quality that Shonto felt was terribly important, but all the same this northern lord radiated common sense and fairness and concern for others in a way that one almost never saw in the aristocrats of Wa.

“Lord Taiki, your logic is undeniable, and I must say that I wish others would cease this prejudging of entire Imperial lines—leave that to history and the historians—we need to be concerned with today. If the barbarians are truly diminished and represent no threat, I for one would be relieved. But these persistent raids have caused concern at court. If the barbarians are no threat, then why do we not stop the raids? That is the question continually asked.”

“Certainly, Lord Shonto, you know the reason. A handful of barbarians in a large desert are very hard to find. We cannot fortify our entire border, it is not possible. And besides, these raids are little more than an annoyance; we of Seh are used to them. People often drown in the canals of the capital; you do not fill them all in with sand. It is true that occasionally the barbarians kill people of my province, but very few of them lately, and there is little we can do. You do not send an army to fight gnats; you learn to defend yourself and live with the occasional bite, that is all.”

Shonto smiled. “I understand what you say, Lord Taiki, it is only that I would like more evidence that the barbarians are so small a threat. Because you have only seen one tiger in a forest, it may not be wise to assume that
there is only one. I will not write to my Emperor that the tribes are diminished until I can clearly see that it is the truth. I agree that these few raids would seem to indicate that the tribes are small, but perhaps it indicates other things though I confess I do not know what. I would only stress that we do not truly know what the desert is hiding from us.”

Lord Taiki stopped suddenly. “Jima-sum? What are you playing at?”

The young child knelt at the edge of the gravel, staring fixedly into the base of a wisteria vine that climbed the nearby wall.

“Jima-sum?” the lord said and started forward.

Shonto gripped his arm suddenly. “Do not move.”

Hojo reached out and took the lord’s other arm. “Lord Shonto is right. No one must move.”

There, within reach of the child, the head of a sand-viper seemed to hover above the bush. It stood erect, ready to strike. The three men held their breath for an instant.

“Let me go,” Lord Taiki said. “I must draw its anger to me.”

“Lord Taiki, if you move, it will strike your son and then you. It is that fast.” Shuyun said.

“Shuyun, can you save him?” Lord Shonto asked.

Shuyun did not speak for a second and when he did his voice seemed to come from farther away. “I cannot reach the boy before the viper, Lord Shonto.” The monk paused and Shonto could hear his breathing change rhythm. “I may be able to save his life, though at a cost.”

“What cost, Brother?” Taiki asked.

“He will suffer the fate of Kamu.”

Lord Taiki let out a long, ragged breath. “Is there no other way, Brother?”

“I cannot stop it. You know what will happen when he is bitten.”

The lord went silent and then Shonto felt the muscles relax somewhat in the arm he still held.

“Jima-sum, do not be afraid, my son. You must do everything Brother Shuyun tells you to do. Do you hear me? Everything.”

Shuyun began to slowly shift his weight and turn his body.

“Lord Shonto, please take your hand, slowly, from your sword hilt. Very slowly.

“Jima-sum, you must close your eyes and then extend the hand closest to me toward the snake,” Shuyun said quietly and Shonto felt the father’s arm, which he still held, go tense again.

The child hesitated. He shifted as though he would bolt, and the snake swayed toward his face but stopped as the child froze.

“Jima-sum! You must do as Shuyun-sum has said. You must be brave. Close your eyes, now.”

Tears welled out of closed eyes, but the boy raised a small clenched hand toward the snake—a hand that trembled.

The viper struck. Lord Shonto felt the sword leave his scabbard though Shuyun was as much of a blur as the snake. Everything then seemed to occur simultaneously: the snake seemed to disappear toward the child; Jima screamed and pulled back his hand, but his hand was no longer there. Shonto saw the snake’s body writhing on the ground, the head, jaws twitching, beside it. Shuyun has swung the sword twice, Shonto found himself thinking: twice and Shonto had not been able to focus on either movement. Shonto’s sword lay on the ground and he realized that Shuyun was holding an unconscious child and staunching the flow of blood from the stub of his wrist.

Lord Taiki was moving now toward his son.

“Does he live?”

“Yes, Lord, and I will not let him die. We must carry him into the palace. Lord Hojo, could you please find a servant to bring my trunk?”

*   *   *

Shonto sat reading by the light of a lamp. He read the letter twice and then refolded it carefully and placed it on his small writing table. It was from Lord Taiki.

Shonto touched his fingertips together at his chin as though he were praying, but those who knew him well would recognize this action as one of his several poses of thought.

The snake in the garden did not find its way there unaided, that was certain, and the snake’s intended victim was not a small boy, who would now live his life without the benefit of two hands. Shonto shook his head. The letter had been infused, understandably, with an air of deep sadness. And Shonto found some passages quite unsettling.

Yes, Shonto thought, we must.

I
T WAS A three-decked Imperial barge ornately carved with dragons and cranes and painted crimson and gold. The Emperor’s pennant was displayed
high on the stern, and on carved staffs to either side of it the black pennant of the Commander of the Imperial Guard and the deep blue pennant bearing the Choka Hawk granted to the Jaku family waved in the gentle wind of the boat’s passing.

Oarsmen pulled and the barge swept through the capital at first light, scattering all other craft before it. Along the quays people of all classes bowed low, wondering which Imperial Prince or Major Counselor hurried by to do the Emperor’s bidding. Many of those watching offered a prayer to Botahara asking long life for the esteemed occupant of the barge, whoever it might be.

On the upper deck, inside the house, the two brothers Jaku—Tadamoto and Katta—sat on silk cushions and drank hot plum wine which the elder brother ladled from a heated cauldron. Servants set trays on stands beside the small table that sat between the two brothers. Once the trays were settled Jaku waved the servants out, for this was the traditional meal of farewell and the occasion required that there be no servants.

The meal itself consisted of the simplest foods, but each course represented the participant’s hopes for the journey.

Tadamoto raised his wine bowl. “May you encounter the finest of companions on your journey, brother.”

Jaku raised his bowl in return. “You honor me with your concern, Tadamoto-sum. May your companions be many and light of heart, as I’m sure they will be.” They both drank, raised their glasses to each other again, and then set them back on the table.

“The Emperor does you great honor, brother, to send you off in one of the Imperial Family’s own barges,” Tadamoto said in his scholar’s voice. As he spoke, he began to serve the first course, a broth soup made with a rare spicy mushroom.