The Initiate Brother Duology (85 page)

N
ISHIMA UNFOLDED the letter for the second time and read the single poem.

Nishima’s thoughts whirled as though the Nagana blew through her mind, swirling everything into a tangle. Jaku had lied to her. She was more sure of this than she was of her own name, and far more sure than she was of her feelings. Although she would not have evidence until letters arrived from Kitsura’s family, there was no doubt. Jaku Katta was no longer in favor at court. It was all a pose. She wondered again if her father truly relied on the guardsman to gain the Emperor’s support—for in reality, Jaku’s efforts would almost certainly insure the Emperor’s refusal.

And Jaku had been involved in the plot to bring down her House. No doubt he hoped to raise the other Great Houses against the Emperor who had brought down the Shonto, or perhaps it would just be a quiet murder in the Imperial Apartments, and then place Nishima Fanisan Shonto on the Dragon Throne…destroying her life in every way.

And yet, and yet. Nishima had pulled away at Jaku’s touch…not because this brought her no pleasure. A single touch of his hand caused her body to betray her entirely. She found herself wanting to believe him, or worse yet, knowing what Jaku was and not caring. No, she could never allow him close to her again. He was worse than an opportunist, he was without honor. To bring down those she loved and pose as her savior! She pulled his letter from her sleeve and tore it deliberately into shreds. Childish but satisfying.

A bell sounded far off, muffled by the few inches of snow that covered Rhojo-ma. It was almost morning and she had not slept, still wore formal robes under the lined over-robe she had donned against the cold. She plunged a poker into the charcoal burner and rearranged the coals to let the air flow through. A wave of warmth reached out and Nishima pulled the fine silks of her robes close, pushing her hands into the sleeves.

Nishima lay down on the cushions and closed her eyes, but sleep was not near. She examined the room she had been given. A pleasant place, almost bare but for her writing table, a small stand bearing an arrangement of winter flora, and a three-section painted screen displaying scenes of a spring party under the plum blossoms. A thick rug made by the tribes was set squarely in the middle of the straw-matted floor and on this her cushions were arranged. Three lamps washed the room in warm light, reflecting off the lacquered beams and posts.

A simple place, without the clutter some people preferred. When very young Nishima’s true father had once taken her to the home of the Shonto vassal-merchant, Tanaka. A lifetime of trading had burdened him with the most unbelievable collection of furnishings. Cabinets and trunks, chests with drawers, and, most surprising to her, Tanaka owned
chairs.
She had never sat in a chair before. Nishima had a clear memory of climbing up into one of these elaborate oddities to perch, swinging her feet, pretending she was a princess. The idea of being a princess had not seemed frightening then.

Nishima closed her eyes again. Her thoughts became lost in other images; Jaku Katta’s animal eyes, a dark wooden box of tiny drawers each containing a child’s treasure, the view from Lady Okara’s terrace, the sound of spring rain on tile, the touch of a man’s hand on her breast. Nothing that could be remembered when she awoke to early morning light.

She was
cold
! The charcoal had long since given up its heat. She sat up
awkwardly, not allowing her hands out into the frigid air. A servant peered in through a crack in the screens.

“There is a warm bath waiting, Lady Nishima.”

“May Botahara chant your name,” Nishima said and her servant bowed.

She felt like ice as she slipped into the steaming water and expected to bob to the surface as she had once seen a block of ice do as it slipped from the shore into the moving river.

I will never be warm again, she thought, or at least not until spring.

Nishima came back to the question that she had asked herself most of the night: should she tell her father about Jaku’s situation at court? And if so, how would she present this information so that it would not seem she doubted his abilities. It was a delicate situation. Her uncle indulged her terribly, she knew, but his knowledge of the intrigues of the Empire was vast and his ability to gather and sift information was legendary. Nishima wondered at her own temerity venturing to advise the gii master.

He has so much to consider, she told herself, and Jaku has an interest in me that I have been able to use to my father’s advantage. I wish only to help. I am only another source of information and what I have to say he can weigh as he does every other report he receives. Presented as information only I’m sure he will not take offense.

By the time feeling had began to come back into her body, Nishima had decided to wait a few more days and hope that Kitsura would receive a message from her family. It was slim evidence, but it would strengthen her argument at least somewhat. She could also fall back on a ploy of her youth: go see her father and test his mood before proceeding.

*   *   *

Shuyun waited with his usual ease. It was early morning, just barely light, but it often seemed to the monk that Lord Shonto slept as little as the Botahist trained. He had been summoned to his lord’s chambers by a half-awake servant—the First Moon Festival of the previous night had taken its toll on the palace staff.

Despite the calm that he displayed, Shuyun was anxious to complete his meeting with his liege-lord so that he would be free to attend to another matter: Lord Komawara had not been seen since the incident with the young Toshaki lord the night before.

A guard entered the room and bowed to Shuyun. Lord Shonto would speak with him.

The Imperial Governor of the Province of Seh sat upon a cushion this morning, not a dais, and he seemed absorbed in peeling a piece of fruit. He nodded in return to Shuyun’s bow and bobbed his head toward a second cushion.

To Shonto’s left a second table stood, a lacquered chopstick embedded vertically in the top.

“I begin to wonder if this is an odd dislike of tables, Brother Shuyun,” Shonto said as he worked at his fruit. The lord turned his head to regard his Spiritual Advisor and raised an eyebrow before returning to his task.

Shuyun gave a half bow. “I was concerned that Lord Komawara would injure or perhaps kill the son of a man you would hope for an ally, Lord Shonto.”

“Huh.” Shonto nodded. “Lord Komawara should not need to be restrained in such circumstances. Toshaki was very insulting?”

“According to my understanding of the ways of Seh he could hardly have offered more offense, Sire.”

Shonto finished peeling and began to break the fruit into pieces. “It is not likely that Yoshihira would have behaved so if he had thought his father was planning to come to us.” He popped a piece into his mouth and chewed with some concentration, eyes closed. “It is hard to know which of the two was more foolish.” He opened his eyes and smiled. “Ah, well, youth will find foolishness in the house of wisdom. Perhaps, in the future, it might be possible to find some less conspicuous way to deal with such a situation?”

Shuyun bowed. “I apologize for acting in this manner.”

Shonto waved his hand. “I regret not witnessing it more than I am concerned for the effects on young Toshaki’s reputation.”

“I could demonstrate this as we speak, Sire, if you wish.”

Shonto held up his hands. “We will let the furnishings live in peace for while, Shuyun-sum, I thank you.”

The monk nodded.

“Lord Komawara has not been seen this morning, I understand?” Shonto began eating a second piece of fruit.

“I was told the same thing, Sire.”

Shonto did not answer immediately. “I will have him found if he does not appear by midday. We need his knowledge of the desert. As Lord Komawara
suggested, I will send parties into the wastes to poison the nearest springs. This is an arrow that will have to be aimed perfectly. We must send out men before the Khan’s army moves but not too soon or the springs will run themselves clean before the barbarian army comes to use them.

“Tactics of delay,” Shonto said popping another section of fruit into his mouth. “Not to be mistaken for tactics of desperation.”

L
ORD KOMAWARA SAMYAMU turned his horse off the road into a narrow path through snow-covered trees. The day was gray, windless, cast over with snowclouds that stretched from horizon to horizon with monotonous uniformity.

So still was the day that the horse’s breath appeared in the cold air and floated there as unmoving as the clouds overhead. Cries of birds and the creaking of trees penetrated by frost were muted by the snow so that they seemed to come from far off. It was early morning: the first day of First Moon.

Hunched down over his saddle, Komawara was glad he had not been so foolish as to ride out without dressing for the season. He had slipped out of Rhojo-ma in the darkness, eluding his own guards who still would not forgive themselves for becoming separated from their lord in the Jai Lung Hills. They would not be pleased.

Breaking out of the cover of the trees, Komawara pulled his mount up. His destination: the crest of a low hill north of Seh’s Capital which afforded a view of the city and surrounding countryside.

In the middle of a lake skimmed with ice and snow, Rhojo-ma clung to its island—a complex geometry of white walls and sloping roofs stacked into a structure of labyrinthine beauty. Tears appeared in the covering of white where the snow could not retain its hold, and here tile of celestial blue showed through. The single bridge to the shore spanned the distance in a series of delicate arches, too fine, it almost seemed, to win a struggle against gravity.

Beyond the city, the countryside of Seh rolled away to the south where it disappeared into the clouds. Komawara’s vantage was not high enough to give him the view he would have preferred, but even so the land was beautiful under its cover of snow. Stands of trees huddled along ridges and hilltops, forming patches of gray in a landscape of white. In a distant draw he could see the signs of a village, feathers of smoke pulled up toward the cloud.

Komawara dismounted and dropped his reins to the ground. Walking further up the crest, he stopped and steadied himself against the bole of a tree. The wound in his side made itself felt at this motion, but he ignored it.

So soon, so soon…it will all be ruins, the lord thought. My home, my people. And I will be retreating down the Grand Canal, trying to defend other provinces and the throne of a traitor and criminal.

The sun tried to break through a weakness in the cloud, throwing part of the countryside into sudden relief as shadows appeared. A few snowflakes drifted down from the branches above, and Komawara was reminded of the robe Nishima had worn at the celebration—snow falling on the Mountain of the Pure Spirit. But more than that he remembered her tall, perfect form as she stood in the shadow of a column whispering to Jaku Katta. There was no doubt, she had looked directly at Komawara and did not even realize who he was. I am not worthy of her notice, he thought bitterly. Her attentions to me indicate good manners, nothing more.

He looked down at his snow-covered boots. In Seh they were the proper thing to wear: unadorned and well worn. They seemed shabby to him now, the footwear of a country lord.

“It is what I am,” he said aloud. “I can be nothing else.” He looked out across the familiar vista. “A country lord—and not even that, for soon I will lose everything.” He hit the tree twice with the heel of his gloved hand as though testing for soundness, and the sound echoed through the still woods.

His encounter with Toshaki Yoshihira the previous evening came back to him. It would have been somewhat satisfying, he realized, to take a sword to that one. It would be the last thing Komawara would lose—his ability with a sword. Perhaps all he could hope for now was an opportunity to prove his worth in battle. It might not impress a lady from the capital, but it was within his grasp.

Komawara began to search under the snow with his feet. He would make a fire and sit a while before returning to Rhojo-ma. He could not bear to give up Seh just yet.