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--------------------------------------------

Book Information:

Genre: Fantasy

Author: Sean Russell

Name: Gatherer of Clouds

Series: Book two of a Duology

======================



Gatherer of Clouds



BY Sean Russell

One

The wind known as the Nagana blew in its season, turning the
capital of the province of Seh into a city of whispers and sighs. The
near empty avenues succumbed to the Nagana’s invasion as it
wound its way among the uninhabited residences, wrenching at
shutters and filling the streets with the echoes of the city’s former
life—before the plague had swept the north. Rhojo-ma was a city
half full of vibrant northerners and half full of the ghosts of the
plague dead; only a decade gone, they walked in living memory
still.

In the late afternoon the Nagana came out of the north to haunt the
city with the voices of its past, and the people in the streets hurried
on their way, attempting to ignore the sounds. No family had been
untouched by the plague and the whispering of ghosts spoke to
everyone.

By the curb of a lesser avenue, on the low wall of a bridge that
arced over the canal, sat a Neophyte Botahist monk. Apparently
oblivious to the life of the city, he chanted—a low, barely melodic
sound that mingled with the wind echoing down an empty stone
stairwell and off a nearby wall.

If he was unaware of the city around him, it could be said that the
city, or at least those who walked its streets, were barely more
aware of him. Their only acknowledgment, the reflex action of a
sign to Botahara as they passed, but few turned their gaze to look
for the source of the chant. A monk sitting by his alms cup was as
common a sight as a river man at his oar.

A coin rattled dully into the monk’s leather cup and he gave a quick
double bow, not interrupting his chant or looking up to see who his
benefactor might be.

Without warning the already cool air turned colder and the wind
died to a calm. The whispering of ghosts fell

to a hush. It seemed only the chanting of the young monk moved
the air, and the pedestrians hesitated as though they’d suddenly
forgotten the purpose of their outings.

There was a long moment of this eerie stillness, and then a deep
roll of thunder shook the walls of Rhojo-ma, seeming for all the
world to have originated in the depths of the earth, so substantial
did it feel.

The air took on form and turned to white as hail palted down in a
sudden torrent. The staccato of ice stones drumming on tile
drowned out all other sounds, but in moments it reduced its volume
to a mere drizzle, then turned to rain.

At the first crash of thunder the residents of Rhojo-ma hurried to
cover, leaving the monk alone on his wall, still chanting, apparently
oblivious to the pelting hail despite the thinness of his robe.

The monk’s recent benefactor stood under the bridge, hoping the
downpour would not last and contemplating the timing of his
offering with the bursting of the clouds. It was not the blessing he
had hoped Botahara would bestow. He shook the hailstones from
his robe, brushing the white pebbles off the shinta blossom and
flying horse emblems embroidered over his heart.

Several of Seh’s more humble residents shared the man’s refuge,
but they stood apart from him and had bowed deeply before
stepping into the shelter, waiting for his invitation. Though still a
very young man, Corporal Rohku was a member of Governor
Shonto’s personal guard and, as such, a person of some
importance despite his lack of years and low rank.

The corporal’s father was the Captain of Lord Shonto’s personal
guard and it was the young man’s secret hope to bear this rank
himself in his time. Even more, it was his dream that the Rohku
name would be bound to that of the Shonto over generations of
important service—as the Shigotu of old had attained fame for their
service as elite guards to seven generations of Mori Emperors.
For the time being he would have to accept a more humble
position, for he was not sure that Lord Shonto even knew his name.

Beyond the shelter of the bridge, hailstones flowed down tiny rivers
that ran between cobbles, disappearing before they made their
circuitous way to the canal. Cor-

poral Rohku found himself following their progress, trying to decide
where the stones ceased to be ice and became part of the water.
A second rumble of thunder shook the earth and, as though this
were a signal, an ornate barge took form in the mist that hung over
the canal. Before Rohku truly registered this, the barge faded
again, reappeared, and then disappeared wholly into the clouds as
though it had been only a specter of mist shaped by an errant eddy
of wind.

Rain and hail forgotten, the Shonto guard mounted the stairs back
to the avenue three at a time and ran out onto the bridge. So
absorbed was he in trying to part the clouds with an act of will that
he failed to notice the Neophyte monk was now standing at the
bridge’s far end staring into the fog with equal focus.

They did not have long to wait, for the barge appeared again, this
time in more substantial form. It was intricately carved, painted
crimson and gold, with banners hanging limp in the teeming rain.

One pennant did not need to stretch itself in the wind to be
recognized for it was Imperial Crimson. A five-clawed Imperial
Dragon would circle the sun within those folds of silk. The other
pennants were unrecognizable.

Corporal Rohku waited with all the patience his young spirit could
summon. A second barge, a typical river craft, appeared in the
wake of the Imperial Barge, for that is no doubt what it was. Just
when the young guard thought he could bear it no more, a hint of a
breeze, a mere sigh, tugged at the pennants. Against a dark field, a
Choka hawk spread its wings, appeared to take a single beat, and
then collapsed as the fickle breeze died.

The guard was off at a run toward the Governor’s Palace. As he
crossed the bridge, a young Botahist monk hurried past in the
opposite direction though the young soldier did not notice, let
alone return, the monk’s half bow. There was no time to be polite to
strangers. Jaku Katta had arrived—and several days before he was
expected.

Corporal Rohku pushed on, keeping up his pace until reaching his
destination, whereupon he spent several moments regaining his
breath before he could give his report with any show of dignity.

r

General Hojo Masakado, Lord Shonto Motoru’s senior military
advisor, knelt so that he was between his liege-lord and the two
openings to the room—screens leading to an outer room and the
balcony. It was an old habit, one which he had developed in
service to Shonto’s father during the Interim Wars. Having served
two generations of Shonto was a source of great pride to Hojo and
he often found himself comparing the two lords. Physically they
were obviously father and son, the high, broad Shonto forehead
seemed to miss few generations, and both lords were exactly the
same height and weight-slightly more than average in both.
Personalities differed, however. The father had been more
reserved and formal, a biographer and historian of some note; his
humor was dry and intellectual. Motoru was far less formal, more
inclined to a social life, enjoying the company of those much older
and noticeably younger than himself. He had the ability of great
leaders to make everyone comfortable in his presence.

Lord Shonto sat before a low table across from Hojo and the
Shonto family Spiritual Advisor, Initiate Brother Shuyun, each of
whom bent over the table in turn and examined three small coins
that lay on the fine-grained wood—square gold coins with round
holes in their centers.

“There is no question, Sire,” General Hojo said, “they are
identical.”

Shonto turned to the Botahist Brother, raising an eyebrow in
characteristic fashion. Shuyun held the coin in the palm of his small
hand, staring with the ageless eyes remarked upon by everyone
who met him. Hojo reminded himself that this small monk, no
larger, and barely older than Lady Nishima, had once defeated the
most famed kick boxer in all of Wa. Despite his appearance and
quiet manner, he was as formidable a warrior as General
Hojo—perhaps more so.

“I agree entirely, Lord Shonto,” Shuyun said. “They have even
been struck by the same die. A small irregularity can be felt along
the inner edge.” He turned the coin over and ran the ball of his
index finger around the central hole. Both Hojo and Shonto did the
same, with some concentration. Shonto looked at his general and
Hojo shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“I do not doubt that you are right, Shuyun-sum,” Shonto said,
“though it is beyond my senses to feel this.” The lord turned the
disk over in his hand and realized he held the coin that had been
taken from the raiding barbarian warrior. The strange dragon
etched into its lustrous surface seemed to look at him with some
suspicion. “Lord Kintari’s dissolute son, a barbarian warrior, and
now the coins Lady Nishima brings from Tanaka: ‘from a trunk the
Imperial Guard spirited onto a ship,’ Tanaka tells us. A ship bound
north. That is all we know.”

They fell silent and a sudden cloudburst unleashed a torrent of hail
which battered the tile roof with a clatter that would not allow quiet
conversation—private conversation. Shonto reached over and
opened the screen a crack that they might watch the spectacle.

Hail turned to rain and Shuyun broke the silence. ‘ ’It is one of the
lessons of the Botahist-trained that there are times when
speculation serves little purpose, Lord Shonto, General Hojo, if
you will excuse me for saying so. If we have considered all
possibilities, then we must accept that we do not yet know enough.
Coins come from Yankura and make their way into the desert: that
is truly all we know. There are, however, other concerns which we
can act upon. My teachers taught that we should begin where we
may and practice patience where we must.“

“Your teachers were wise, Shuyun-sum,” Shonto said, surprising
Hojo. He had never heard anyone but their former Spiritual Advisor,
Brother Satake, come so close to criticizing his liege-lord. It was a
measure of how much Lord Shonto had come to trust this monk in
the short time he had been in the Shonto house. The lord turned
the coin over in his hand one last time and then returned it to the
table.

An almost imperceptible knock sounded on the inner screen and
Hojo moved to open it a crack. He listened to a voice neither
Shuyun nor Lord Shonto could hear, nodded, and pushed the shoji
closed.

Lord Shonto raised an eyebrow, a gesture his staff did not need
explained.

“Jaku Katta has arrived in Rhojo-ma, Sire.”

Shonto reached unconsciously for the coins again but stopped
himself. “Huh.” He turned his gaze back to the opening in the
shojis. “It would be interesting to know what the Emperor’s Guard
Commander could tell us of these coins.”

Hojo nodded.

“Please arrange a meeting with General Jaku as soon as
convenience allows. We shall see if it is true—in the dark tigers
see more than men.”

Even by Botanist standards the Prefect of Seh was a very old man
and his age inhabited his body in manner uncommon among the
Botahist trained. Monks typically remained lithe and youthful far
past the age when the untrained had slipped into infirmity if they
remained alive at all.

Brother Nyodo, Master of the Botahist faith and Prefect of Seh,
moved so slowly that he seemed always to be progressing toward
an early closure of the Form.

He set a tightly rolled scroll on his writing table and very slowly
turned back to his guest; Senior Brother So-tura, the chi quan
Master of Jinjoh Monastery.

“There is no brother by that name in our registry; Hitari, yes but no
Hitara. Was Brother Shuyun certain?”

“Prefect, I do not think it is possible for him to make such a
mistake.”

“You think highly of this young Initiate, Brother So-tura. I begin to
wish to make his acquaintance.”

“Perhaps that will become possible at some future time, Prefect. It
is the Supreme Master’s wish, for the time being, that we keep our
meetings with Brother Shuyun infrequent. It is important that Lord
Shonto feel that his Spiritual Advisor is truly his.”

“I only hope this will not lead to…” the monk searched for a word,
“… to the willfulness we experienced with Brother Satake.”

“That is my hope also, Prefect.”

“Hitara… ?” the Prefect said slowly. “It is not possible that he was
an imposter.” It did not seem to be a question, so Sotura did not
respond. “Is there not a Hitara in the Book of Illusion, Sotura-sum?
I seem to remember…” He trailed off, a look of confusion and then
dismay at his failure of memory.

“In the description of the Divine Vale.” Sotura picked up the thread.
“I had forgotten. Hitara—he who died and was reborn. The servant
who served the Perfect Master faithfully when all others left for fear
of the Emperor. Hitara rose from the flames of his funeral pyre: It
was as though he stepped from the mist, and though the smoke
and flames threatened to consume him, Hitara was untouched by
them. He was like one arising from a dreamless sleep. When told
of the seven days he had lain dead while his family mourned, he
fell to his knees and offered up his prayers. And his funeral
became the celebration of his rebirth and the celebration of his
birth became the celebration of his life to be, for no other man had
known such a miracle.‘ ”

Both monks fell silent at this. Rain fell on the tiles in the courtyard,
washing away the hail that had collected earlier. A knock rattled the
inner shoji.

“Please enter,” the Prefect said, surprised that his words came out
in a near whisper.

The shoji slid aside, revealing an Initiate of the faith, head bowed
to the mat.

“Initiate?” the old man said, regaining his voice somewhat.

The young monk moved forward and placed a small stand bearing
a neatly folded letter within reach of his superior, then retreated
and waited in silence.

“Please excuse me, Brother Sotura, I must attend to this.” He
unfolded the crisp paper and read quickly. The Prefect nodded as
though acknowledging spoken words and turned back to the
attending Initiate. “He must be observed whenever possible. I will
receive daily reports.”

The messenger nodded, bowed and retreated from the room, the
screen closing behind him.

The Prefect turned to the chi quan Master. “General Jaku Katta has
entered Rhojo-ma. He comes in an Imperial Barge, making one
wonder at Brother Hutto’s recent news.”

Sotura paused for a moment, reflecting. “The Son of Heaven has
made no public gesture that would indicate that Katta does not
stand in the light of the Throne. But I have found that one ignores
Brother Hutto’s information at great risk.”

The older man nodded. “I agree, Brother. Appearances mean little
in the world of the Emperor. He treats Lord Shonto as a great
favorite, but only a fool would accept this as the truth.”

“Jaku Katta in Seh… this is a cause for concern. I find this too
much like the opening of a game of gü. There are too many pieces
for one to see clearly. It is complicated even more with tales of
alleged barbarian armies. It is as though another entire set of
pieces waited to sweep onto the board at any second.” Sotura met
the Prefect’s eyes. “We must inform the Supreme Master of these
developments immediately.”

“Oh, certainly, Brother Sctura. There is no question. I have only
hesitated so that I may decide how much credence to give your
young protegees report.”

“Brother Shuyun did not see the number of warriors that the
encampment indicates, I agree, but I do not think this was a
barbarian ruse. As Shuyun-sum has said, riders from Seh were
unexpected there. I fear his information is horribly true, Prefect. I
propose that we send word to Brother Hutto and to the Supreme
Master immediately, and under both our signatures.”

“I am not certain, Brother Sotura.” The older man seemed to return
to his former state of confusion. “It is so difficult to believe. An
army of that size? How is that possible? Even the barbarians are
not bred from the sand. We would appear to be alarmists at the
very least if this army does not exist. I hesitate to sign my name to
a report that is based on so little information.”

“Excuse me, Prefect, but may I remind you that Lord Shonto does
not question what Shuyun-sum reported.”

The old man shook his head. “One can never know the true
meaning of anything Lord Shonto says or does, Brother. He is
engaged in a struggle for his life and the future of his House. If the
Son of Heaven sent an army to Seh to save his Empire from the
barbarians and Lord Shonto could control that army…
consider—the balance in the Empire could be altered.” The
Prefect gestured slowly toward the walls as though they
encompassed all of Wa.

“I do not profess to know the secrets of this Shonto’s mind,
Prefect, but I take nothing he does or says at

its apparent value. We do have a Brother in the Shonto House,
however—a trusted advisor to the lord himself.“

The Prefect’s motion suddenly lost its flow and became almost
stiff. “We have had a trusted advisor in Shonto’s House before,
excuse me for reminding you, Brother, and he was more loyal to
his lord than to his Order. We do not have verifiable evidence of
the size of the army in the desert. I should tell you that this is not
the first report of barbarian hordes I have heard.”

Sotura considered this for some time. “If I send a warning to our
superiors under my own signature, what will the Prefect do?”

‘ ’I will feel obliged to report that I am not convinced by Brother
Shuyun’s evidence.“

“Conflicting reports will certainly ensure that no action is taken. If
Shuyun’s information is correct, there is little time for hesitation.
Little time to seek more information.”

“Excuse me for saying so, Brother Sotura, but Lord Shonto’s
Spiritual Advisor, for all his abilities, is a young man and new to the
north. No experience from all my years in Seh would indicate that
such an army could exist in the wastes. I do not feel I would be
acting as my position requires to give credence to Shuyun-sum’s
report.”

The old man seemed to slump a little as though this rebuttal had
taken all the energy of his ancient spirit.

“I fear I have tired you, Prefect. Please excuse me if I have
destroyed your harmony.” The chi quan master bowed. He rocked
slowly back on his heels, a look of concern registering on his face.
I’m sorry, old man, Sotura thought, but I cannot allow your fears to
stop what must be done. There is more at stake than your
comfortable position. May Botahara forgive me.

Lady Nishima sat before a low table looking at the design for a
robe which her servants would embroider. Only moments before,
as was often the case, she had a melody in her mind, a folk tune
that a talented court composer had borrowed to create a
composition for the Imperial Sonsa troupe. But her visitor had
disturbed her harmony and the music faded away as

r

though the musicians in her mind traveled off into the distance.

“It is of no consequence to me, cousin,” Lady Nish-ima said, trying
to keep her voice even. “Jaku Katta could arrive at my door and I
would not interrupt my painting.”

The mere mention of Jaku’s name brought back memories she
would rather have left undisturbed. She feared she colored with
embarrassment, perhaps even shame, at the thought of what had
happened between her and Jaku when they last met. / went to his
rooms, she whispered to herself.

Lady Kitsura Omawara nodded in response. “I did not mean to
suggest that you would be… pleased by the news, cousin, I am
merely the messenger.” She smiled the smile that disarmed the
coldest hearts.

“I did not mean to be abrupt, Kitsu-sum. Please excuse me. I am
thankful for your consideration in this matter.” She tried a smile in
return. Kitsura had not intended to cause her discomfort, after all;
Kitsura was entirely unaware of what had happened between Jaku
and herself. Deciding it would be best to change the subject,
Nishima observed, “You seem to be very well informed, Lady
Kitsura. Does Lord Shonto have this information? Or does he rely
upon you?”

“I’m quite certain your esteemed father has all the information that I
possess, ten times over.” She looked down at her hands folded in
her lap and began to turn a delicate gold ring until the design had
gone full circle. When Kitsura did not look Nishima in the eye, it
was a sign that she had been engaging in certain activities that she
believed her cousin disapproved of. “I simply wish to keep us both
informed. I have befriended certain members of your father’s staff
and often act as a confidante to them. After all, whom could they
talk to who would be more concerned for their lord’s welfare,
except perhaps the Lady Nishima?”

“I am not entirely convinced that their lord would view these
breaches of security quite so benignly.” Nishima said this with
feigned disapproval while she fought the feelings of confusion that
set her heart whirling. Despite

all efforts, she was afraid that these feelings must show on her
face. She tried to cover this with words. “However, it is important to
know as much as we can.”

“I agree entirely, cousin. So much is hidden and yet everything that
is important to us is in danger of being lost.” She moved to the next
ring, turning it a little more urgently. “Do you think it’s possible that
Lord Shonto could be wrong? Could the Emperor’s general really
be in disfavor at court?”

Nishima took a last look at the design and began to clean her
brush. This would not be a brief interruption. “I do not know Lord
Shonto’s source of information at court, Kitsu-sum, so I cannot
judge. But my father has an uncanny ability to weigh information on
the scale of truth. It is worth noting that he does not speak of
Jaku’s present situation in absolute terms.”

“This is what worries me, cousin. If Lord Shonto is right, then Jaku
Katta’s fall from favor and banishment are but a ploy to place the
Guard Commander within our circle of trust. But if Jaku has truly
fallen, and one with so many ambitions could certainly do so, then
Lord Shonto cannot hope to win the Emperor’s support to battle
the barbarians through Jaku. This situation is of great concern. It is
as you have said; so much depends on so little knowledge.”

“If Jaku Katta engineered the attempt on my father at Denji Gorge
without the Emperor’s approval, as Lord Shonto suspects, then it is
possible that our handsome general is not in favor.” Nishima
pushed her table aside. “It is all very confusing. Being sent north to
restore order to the canal is hardly a sign of disfavor.”

“Being sent to Seh as its governor would not seem to indicate
disfavor either, Nishi-sum.” Kitsura held her ring up to the light,
examining it carefully. “It is as Brother Shuyun says; at the gü board
an opponent’s design does not need to be strong if you are unable
to see it.”

“I did not realize you discussed gü with Brother Shuyun,” Nishima
said, her tone registering something close to disapproval.

“Shuyun-sum has been kind enough to instruct me in the intricacies
of the board… and to discuss matters of the spirit, also.”

The two women fell silent. A distant thunder rumbled, like a far-off
dragon. Rain beat on the gravel border of the garden outside.

“Nishima-sum?” Kitsura said quietly. “We must be absolutely
certain of Jaku Katta’s situation at court.”

Lady Nishima nodded. Yes, she thought, and I must know what this
man expects of me. She remembered the last thing she had said
to Jaku the night she had gone to his quarters—they would speak
in Seh. Now she did not know what they would say.

“I think I know how this can be done,” Kitsura said quietly, “though I
fear you will not approve.”

Sister Yasuko held the paper up and blew gently on the ink, careful
not to spread it. The dampness of the evening invaded her rooms
and she huddled close to the charcoal burner and her single lamp.
She blew again, careful not to spoil the fine brush work.

“There,” she whispered and held the paper up to the lamp. It was a
letter to her superior, Prioress Saeja.

Honored Sister:

In this time of great doubt, I wish I had better news. Our dear
Sister, Morima-sum, shows little sign of improvement since I last
put brush to paper. She has times when her crises seems to be
passing, but the scrolls of the Brothers haunt her dreams still. We
do not give up hope, Sister. We do not give up hope.

The young Acolyte who accompanied Morima-sum has not fared
well. It pains me to report that she left us three days ago. This was
a tragedy, certainly, but nothing compared to the loss of a Sister
ofMorima’s abilities. Our young Acolyte had her own faith shaken
by the crises of Morima-sum and as she said to me; ‘ ’If the way is
too difficult for one such as Senior Sister Morima, how do I
presume to walk such a path?“ Perhaps she will return to us yet. I
pray that this will be so.

The rumor that Lord Shonto’s Spiritual Advisor went into the desert
in the company of Lord

Komawara seems, incredibly, to be true. Our friend in the
Governor’s Palace tells us that Shonto is convinced a large
barbarian army will attack Seh in the spring. We can neither prove
nor disprove the theory at this time, but if Governor Shonto and his
staff believe this, it is my opinion that our Order should act as
though there were no doubt.

When I think of the suffering that a war would bring and how it
would affect our own efforts, my heart grows heavy. We always
hope calamity will not overtake us in this lifetime, rather like children
trying to avoid difficult lessons. But they must be learned: if not
now, later.

Jaku Katta arrived today. It will be difficult to place someone close
to him, but be assured our efforts will be tireless. We have a
trusted friend close to the Lady Nishima, however, and will certainly
know if she continues to correspond with the Emperor’s guard
commander.

At this time Lord Shonto’s daughter seeks her companionship with
the Ladies Kitsura Omawara and Okara Haroshu, although the
Shonto Spiritual Advisor is also one of her regular
visitors—occasionally staying in her rooms later than could be
considered strictly proper: I know no more at this time.

There have been no cases of plague reported in Seh for several
months now, for which we may thank the Botahist Brothers even if
they have done little else worthy of praise. Chiba has not been so
fortunate, I am told. The many followers of Tomso in that province
have suffered terribly.

The rumor that the Uduntbara blossomed (Botahara be praised,
Sister!), is not given credence in Seh—it is a rumor all have heard
many times before—and, as you predicted, the Brotherhood have
denied it. I find nothing in all the Brotherhood’s treacherous history
as disconcerting as this denial. If an Enlightened Master walks
among us, why do they deny it? I am cold with fear over this.

Work on the Priory goes well and at less expense than we dared
hope: Botahara watches over us. I would inquire of your well-being,
Prioress, but I know the polite response. I, too, am well enough to
serve His Purpose.

May Botahara chant your name, Sister Yasuko

I

Two

Distant hills rise up Through an ocean of Wind tattered cloud

Peaks become islands

In a chaos of pale crested seas

The erratic spatter of snow-melt on the undergrowth seemed to
grow progressively louder. Lord Koma-wara tugged at the reins
and moved his mare another twenty paces into the mist, stopped,
and listened for the hundredth time.

Deep in the mist that had hung for days in the Jai Lung Hills it was
impossible to determine the origin of sounds. They echoed and
distorted and seemed to emanate from everywhere at once.

Komawara turned in a complete circle, a motion almost as slow as
Brother Shuyun practicing his meditations of movement. Nothing…
only the suggestion of mysterious forms: to his right a twisted,
pointing limb perhaps belonging to an ancient pine; behind him, an
outcropping of rock suggesting the face of a disapproving
Mountain God.

Shifting the horse-bow to his right hand Komawara worked the
fingers, cramped from holding a notched arrow for far too long. He
returned the bow to the ready position and moved forward ten
paces more, listening.

Years had passed since Komawara had last hunted the Jai Lung
Hills—in company with his father then, when the old man still had
strength to ride. Much had changed, more than he ever expected.

There were bandits in the hills now. Holdings had seen

their gates battered down in the night and only armed parties would
chance the roads.

The lord stopped again, listening as Shuyun had taught when they
traveled in the desert. Armor bit into Koma-wara’s shoulder blade
where the leather shirt had worn through, his left hand cramped
again, his boots oozed when he walked, and his horse favored her
right forefoot. If that was not enough, he was also hopelessly
separated from his companions and had only the vaguest notion of
where he was. A soft drizzle fell, slowly soaking into the lacings of
his light armor. He listened.

Snow, heavy with rain, slipped from a tree branch and fell in a
sodden pile at the lord’s feet, causing his horse to shy. That,
Komawara realized, was a true indication of the turmoil of his
spirit—his mare had sensed it, had caught it in fact. Every few
seconds the same soft thudding could be heard somewhere out in
the fog.

He moved forward, then paused, straining to hear. Was that the
sound of a horse, far off? The creaking of a tree distorted by the
distance, by the imagination?

Komawara tried to stretch the tension out of his back and
shoulders. In a fog there could be more to fear than brigands: his
own men he trusted, but the local men who had joined the hunt for
bandits suffered in a silence of poorly hidden fear. Men quickly lost
their inner calm in fog such as this. It was as Shuyun had said,
robbed of sight, every sound became a threat—even a falling lump
of snow would be in danger from an arrow quickly loosed. The
arrow from an ally ended more lives in battle than men would speak
of.

Ten paces forward. Stop. Listen.

And then, among all the thousand imagined sounds, unmistakably,
the thud of hooves on stone. His own mount pricked up her ears.
Komawara jigged at the bit and pulled her nose up to his cheek.

“Shh,” he whispered as though she understood. Three paces put
them among a stand of long-needled pines. The lord pulled the
reins over the mare’s head and made her lie down, saddle and
bags still in place. Automatically testing his sword in its scabbard,
he crouched down, intent on becoming part of his surroundings.

Horses moving, the scrape of loose rock shifting, the creaking of
leather. Komawara drew the arrow back by

half. A horse stumbled and a man’s voice could be heard making
comforting sounds, but the words were not clear.

Where? Komawara turned his head from side to side, certain at
first that the sound came from uphill, then equally sure its source
was to his right.

He listened for a voice he might know. Be still, he told himself, let
them pass, they would be easy to track in this snow. They’ll make
camp at dusk and it will be easy to find out who they are. But even
as he gave himself this advice, he saw a movement in the mist not
twenty paces away. A dark form in the blinding white. Moving
toward him? Away? He tried to catch any hint of color, a familiar
silhouette. A man on foot, walking slowly. Komawara almost stood
for a better view, so surprised was he by the sight: dark beard on a
face tanned to leather by relentless wind and sun, a vest of
doeskin over light mail. A barbarian! A barbarian warrior leading a
horse through the Jai Lung Hills.

Komawara sank lower as the man picked his way up the slope
toward him. Behind the walker came others, their size amplified by
the fog. Knowing that a man could look directly at him in this fog
and see nothing, Komawara held himself utterly still. His mare
shifted, he could almost feel her quiver. Do not move, he willed
her, make no sound. Concentrating on stillness, he found himself
controlling his breathing, forcing his muscles to relax.

The barbarians turned to Komawara’s right and made their way
across the slope, led by the man on foot who searched out the
path between the trees and rock. Sixteen armed men and they did
not have the look of the hunted.

Is it possible they do not know we pursue them? And then he felt
reality waver for an instant. Cold awareness. No, there were no
wounded, no riderless mounts. It was impossible that they could
have escaped a meeting with Komawara’s guard unscathed, of that
he was certain.

The last man of the party disappeared into the fog less than a
stone’s throw away and Komawara let out a long held breath.
Barbarians in the Jai Lung Hills! Bandits suddenly seemed an
insignificant threat—a mere annoyance. Barbarians in the Jai Lung
Hills!

The lord waited, listening as the creak of leather and the clatter of
hooves faded. Looking around at the sha-dowless light he
wondered how long it would be until

darkness fell. He thought often of his companions, twenty of his
guard and half as many local men, wandering somewhere in the
mist. They were well enough armed, as one would expect of men
of Seh, but they were not fully armored.

Komawara had made a careful assessment of the men who had
passed into the fog—they traveled light—little armor in evidence
and only short bows and swords. They would carry skinning knives
also, they always did. Weapons well chosen for fighting in the hills.
He wished Shu-yun was with him for there was no telling what his
powers of observation might have added.

Komawara took up the reins and coaxed his mount to her feet. He
began to follow. The footing in the melting snow was treacherous
to leather soles, but the young lord chose to walk all the same. The
mare would carry him, she had heart enough for that, but he
preferred to give her a chance to recover—and walking allowed
him to examine at first hand the barbarians’ tracks in what appeared
to be fading light.

The occasional distorted echo of horses passing came out of the
fog and Komawara soon found the trail led out onto a narrow road
that wound its way around the shoulder of the hill. Although this
seemed vaguely familiar to him, Komawara was still not sure where
he was.

Here and there hoofprints remained clear in the snow and a closer
examination stopped Komawara abruptly. He’d watched the
barbarians pass and not even marked that they rode horses, and
fine ones, too. They rode horses like men of Seh—like bandits or
barbarian chieftains! The horse was not adapted to life in the
steppe and desert and was replaced there by the barbarian’s hardy
pony.

“Barbarians,” Komawara whispered. And here he was, an advisor
to the Imperial Governor, separated from his companions and lost
in the hills. That would be a prize for a barbarian chieftain! If they
had any idea that a man with intimate knowledge of the governor’s
plans wandered the hills alone, they would be searching the very
clouds for him even now.

The Komawara who advised a governor knew that he acted rashly,
but the young lord who was bora and raised to the ways of the
north could not ignore a threat to his

province. It was opportunities like this that men of Seh prayed
for—poems were made of such exploits, songs sung in the
Governor’s Palace and in the court of the Emperor.

The sound of falling water echoed out of the mist, how near, it was
impossible to know. The barbarians’ trail suddenly broke out of the
trees and ran onto a wider path between the tall pines and cedars,
their shapes barely suggested in the fog.

Walking in the clouds, Komawara thought, and then he found
himself stepping onto a wooden bridge over a narrow stream. A
small pool formed upstream and feeding that a twisting ribbon of
white, falling water appeared like mist that had acquired density
and weight.

A breeze stirred his horse’s mane and began to move the
surrounding fog in chaotic patterns. Out of the mist a granite wall
formed above him and the smell of horses seemed to mingle with
the odors of rotting vegetation and the indescribable smell of
snow-melt.

The young lord brought his mount up sharp before her hooves
drummed on the wooden planks. Would they make camp by the
water? He backed her up five paces and dropped the reins to the
ground. The faint breeze pushed holes in the mist—holes that
opened like pupils for mere seconds and then swirled closed. It
was like looking through a blowing curtain: a glimpse of something,
then gone.

Komawara moved back to the bridge, straining to hear above the
sound of falling water. The tracks of the barbarians became
confused here and Komawara realized they had stopped to water
.horses at the pool. He crossed the bridge as silently as he could
and discovered the trail leading on: there was no place to make
camp.

Komawara followed the barbarians’ lead and watered his mount,
drinking himself and filling his water skin. It was growing noticeably
darker now and despite the breeze moving through the mist,
visibility would soon be left to one’s imagination alone. There would
no longer be a trail to follow. Komawara realized he would have to
close the gap with his quarry or lose them in the darkness.

I have to give up this hope that my companions will overtake me,
he told himself, it slows me and fosters

indecision. He pressed on, leading his mount at a faster pace. The
bow went back to the saddle and he kept his right hand free for his
sword; at the pace he traveled now he would be upon someone in
this mist before realizing it.

The young lord found himself wishing Brother Shuyun was with
him, as he had been at Denji Gorge and in the desert. The Botahist
monk did not seem to need his sight in the darkness and
Komawara was sure this cloud would offer no greater challenge
than the desert night. As well as possessing uncanny hearing,
Komawara suspected that Shuyun could sense other living beings,
could feel their presence. He senses chi, the young lord thought,
whatever that might mean.

Despite his imminent danger Komawara found his focus slipping.
He found himself wondering about the Lady Nishima and her
cousin, Lady Kitsura Omawara. Since their arrival in Seh he had
spoken with them only once, but he was left with a strong
impression. Compared to the ladies of the Capital, even the most
sought after women of Seh seemed like the unaccomplished
daughters of peasant farmers. Komawara feared that, having seen
women of true culture and great beauty, he would have little hope
of a happy life with the match he would likely make.

Another clump of falling snow brought him back to matters at hand.
He could no longer see the barbarian tracks. Darkness had
become complete. Bending close to the ground and feeling lightly
with his hand, he discovered that the trail had not merely been
hidden by darkness—it was gone.

An owl hooted somewhere in the mist. A dark-wing rattled its bill.
They must have left the trail not far behind, he thought. By
Botahara! the young lord found himself almost whispering, what if I
have passed close to them in the mist? He whirled around and half
drew his sword without intending to, convinced that barbarian
warriors stalked him. Calming his heart with an effort, Komawara
listened for what he feared most: the small sounds of armored
men attempting to move in silence.

Waiting without the tiniest movement until his muscles ached,
Komawara decided finally that the barbarians remained unaware of
him. He began to retrace his steps,

counting them consciously. Five paces, then stop; listen. He
searched the ground as best he could, his hands beginning to
ache from the cold of the wet snow and melt water. Five paces
more.

The tracks reappeared. Komawara could feel the depressions
made by many hooves in the soft mud. Following them carefully,
he found a path branching off down the slope into the black curling
mist.

He searched about in the darkness until his hand encountered a
sapling to which he tethered his horse, hoping she would not
spook when he left her. As a precaution he took his saddlebags
from her back and set them out of reach of her hooves, praying
that he would be able to find them again. Opening one bag he
found some bread that was not yet soaked and ate, crouched in
the darkness and light rain. The barbarians would be forced to
make a camp nearby, he thought, they are as blind as I in this
darkness and fog.

He listened. The sounds of the Jai Lung Hills surrounded him:
creaking trees, meltwater running into streams. An owl called again
and the lord wondered if it truly was an owl. But nothing seemed
amiss; there were no sounds that rang untrue to this place nor was
there an unnatural silence. The tribesmen are part of their world,
even here, he thought.

Finishing his bread Komawara set off to follow the track, now
crouching, now on all fours—fighting an absurd fear that he would
come upon a sleeping man in the darkness, discovering too late
that he had blundered into the barbarian encampment. But this was
not to be. The sounds of voices came to him and then,
unmistakably, the smell of smoke.

Komawara stopped again. What would he do now? If the fog lifted
in the morning, he could go looking for his guard, but the
barbarians might well disappear while he searched. The lord was
not confident that they could track the tribesmen, especially if they
did not wish to be followed. Bandits, he thought, and snorted.
Bandits indeed.

He moved toward the voices. I will watch them for now, he told
himself, and make decisions when I know what they will do at
sunrise.

The barbarians made their camp in an opening amidst the pines, a
rock outcropping on one side giving protec-

tion from prevailing winds. Even before he could see the light, he
could hear the hissing of wet wood as it steamed and smoked on
the fire. Komawara felt his hunger waken as the smell of cooking
came to him. They poach the Emperor’s deer, he found himself
thinking, and almost smiled at his reaction.

Hiding himself behind fractured rocks, the lord lowered himself to
the wet ground, prepared for a long vigil but not sitting in a manner
that would prevent him from rising quickly. He could see the
barbarian encampment now. There were two fires burning, and
men cooked at each. Crude shelters had been made of what
appeared to be the roofs of the tents the wandering tribesmen
called homes. Komawara knew this material—tough and, when
treated with the boiled sap of the tekko root, virtually waterproof.

The men drank something which steamed in their bowls and
though they were subdued, the lord realized they were all at least
slightly intoxicated.

No one stood watch, not yet, not while the entire party was still
awake. Later, no doubt, they would place sentries, but at this point
it was clear that these were men who did not realize they were
hunted.

The hunter looked on, unnoticed in the darkness; more than a little
envious of the men who drank warm liquor and would soon be
eating.

I must remain still, Komawara told himself, or I will quickly become
the hunted. He made himself follow a simple breathing exercise
that Brother Shuyun had taught him, but his heart would not slow to
a resting pace and he realized his muscles remained knotted.

A hard, cold point pushed into the back of his neck and a voice,
heavy with the accent of the desert, whispered close to his ear;
“Be very still, Lord. Be also quiet.”

The scene before Komawara seemed to disappear and all that
remained was a dark man-shape on the periphery of his vision. The
fire flared briefly and Komawara felt sweat break out on his brow.
They use fire to question their captives, Komawara thought, before
letting them die.

Suddenly the pressure of the knife disappeared. “Brother Shuyun
sends the Kalam with message.

Friend,“ the voice whispered again. And then Brother Shuyun’s
servant, the tribesman who had become their guide in the desert,
slipped down beside the astonished lord.

Komawara let out a long breath and then found himself almost
immediately hot with anger. “Why… ?” He reached back, feeling
for blood.

The tribesman shrugged. “You see desert man in darkness, how
can you know it is the Kalam? You take your sword and I die and
these,” he gestured toward the men clustered around the fire,
“hear and make hunt Lord Komawara.” He shrugged, then turned
his attention to the tribesmen and said nothing more for some time.

“How did you find me?”

“My guard are lost,” he said, waving a hand at the darkness. Then,
pointing at the barbarians, “I find them. Find you.”

“Who?” Komawara whispered. “What do they do here?”

The Kalam seemed about to answer, but then he shook his head
and Komawara could see him struggling with the
language—missing his translator, Brother Shuyun.

“In desert… dragon bones… ”He shook his head again, showing
frustration.

“Ama-Haji?” Komawara offered.

The tribesman nodded: he seemed surprised Komawara
remembered, as though the separation caused by language
somehow isolated their experiences as well. “Ama-Haji, yes. Men
of the Dragon.” He fell silent again, searching.

“The followers of the Khan,” Komawara said.

The young barbarian shook his head in frustration. “No, no. The
men of the dragon… these men,” he said pointing. “They come to
find… to look. The eyes of the dragon,” he said and pointed again.

“Ah,” Komawara heard himself say, though he was not sure he
grasped what his companion meant.

They fell silent then, turning their attention back to the barbarians
who had begun to eat and continued to drink. The conversation had
not grown louder and though it was punctuated by occasional
laughter, it was subdued laughter.

r

Komawara

whispered, “from

“The message, Shuyun-sum?”

The Kalam nodded. “Yes.” He paused as if remembering. “A
warrior… great warrior comes—Daku Kaita.”

“Jaku Katta.” Komawara corrected. “General Jaku Katta.”

“Yes,” the tribesman nodded. “General means great warrior?”

“Yes,” Komawara agreed, “very great. Is he here now? In Seh
now?”

An outburst of laughter brought their attention back to the men
before them.

“In Seh,” the Kalam said, “yes.”

“Ah.” Komawara whispered, but if he meant to say more it was lost.

There was a wild cry and armored men burst out of the trees,
falling on the barbarians with drawn swords. Komawara jumped to
his feet and drew his own blade but then stopped and grabbed his
companion. “You must stay here!” He shouted into the Kalam’s
face. “My men will not know you!”

The young tribesman nodded, but Komawara saw him draw his
sword all the same.

There was no more time. The battle before him was pitched and
though they had the element of surprise it was quickly apparent that
the men of Seh were few in number. Komawara dashed the ten
steps to the struggle and cut down a barbarian who was about to
finish a man who had fallen. Not waiting to see if the man would
rise, he leapt at another. They crossed swords briefly and then this
man also fell.

A soldier in full cavalry armor, green-laced, turned on Komawara
and the lord had to parry a blow before his opponent realized he
was not a barbarian.

But before Komawara could find another opponent, his head
seemed to explode and he found himself on his knees, fumbling
with his sword, slashing his hand on the blade. The green-laced
warrior jumped past him and Komawara watched him engage a
man swinging a staif. Komawara struggled to his feet in time to
deflect a stroke from an enormous tribesman.

The lord found himself being driven back now, his

famed reflexes and tactics dulled by the blow to his head. A
second barbarian joined in, close on his right, forcing Komawara to
parry. The larger of his opponents lunged at this opening and he
tensed, waiting for the point to find him. But the pain did not come.
Instead, the barbarian seemed to freeze and then his knees
buckled as he was run through on the sword of another tribesman.

Komawara saw the Kalam pull his blade free, but that glance
almost cost the lord his arm. The man he battled now sensed his
present state and was intent on taking the weakened lord’s life
before he could recover.

Komawara found his vision blurring and kept shaking his head,
hoping to clear it. The firelight did not seem to be helping. One
second it would catch his opponent’s blade, but as the sword
moved and offered a different plane to the light it would appear
and disappear, causing Komawara great confusion. “Watch his
hands,” Komawara said aloud, reminding himself of lessons he
had received from his father. In failing light watch the hands, they
will tell you what the sword does.

Digging deep into his experience, the young lord searched for
something that would save him, for he could not last long as things
were. The man would soon find a hole in his defense.

He overreaches, Komawara thought and changed the movement
of his retreat so he stepped back first with his left leg. The man
parried and lunged, point first at Ko-mawara’s chest. The lord
swayed and turned away but not quickly enough, and he felt the
point slip into his side through the gap in the armor under his left
arm. But even as he felt the barbarian’s steel, Komawara’s own
sword caught the man under the chin and it was over. The point
wrenched free of the lord’s side as the man collapsed at his feet.

Komawara was barely able to keep his feet, and his vision
narrowed to a dark tunnel.

Only a few men stood, scattered about the encampment—but they
were all men of Seh, green-laced like the one who had saved him.
They seemed to be staring at him, but Komawara did not know
why. Slowly Komawara became aware of a ringing of swords to his
left and he turned that way in horror. The Kalam fought two men in
green and a third was coming to their aid.

“No,” Komawara said, but the shout came out as a whisper. He
turned to intervene and almost fell. “No,” he whispered again.
Blood appeared on the Kalam’s shoulder and quickly turned his
arm red.

Komawara lifted his own sword and his vision blurred. With all his
remaining strength he swung and took a sword out of one man’s
hands. Parrying now, he put himself between the men of Seh and
his former guide.

“No,” he said weakly, “he is mine.”

The men before him hesitated, but none lowered their swords.
They stared at him and Komawara could not read the questions in
their eyes.

“And who are you that you claim this murderer as your own?‘’

Komawara looked at these warriors now and realized that the blow
to his head had affected his judgment. These were not the locals
who had joined his guard. They wore armor of good quality, well
used, and laced in green. There was no family nearby that wore
this color. The Kalam reached out and gripped his shoulder.

“I am Komawara Samyamu and this man is my servant.”

Other men gathered before him and Komawara realized that there
was no escape into the trees now. He was barely able to stand as it
was.

The men in their green lacing looked from one to the other and
there were protests and harsh words in low voices. Komawara
heard someone curse.

“Lord Komawara, you keep unusual company,” the man before him
spoke. He pulled back his face mask and gave a half bow,
removing his helmet. A man behind him stepped forward.

“Lieutenant, I saw a barbarian cut down one of his own kind—a
barbarian who was attacking Lord Komawara. It surely was this
man.”

The one addressed as a lieutenant nodded his head. “Excuse my
manners, Lord Komawara, I am Narihira Chisato, late of Lord
Hajiwara Harita’s cavalry.”

By Botahara, Komawara thought, the green lacing-yes! The
Hajiwara. The house I helped bring down at Denji Gorge. Against
his will Komawara lowered his sword as he felt his arms were
about to start shaking.

Blood soaked his side now and a glance told him that the Kalam
was faring no better than he.

Komawara returned the man’s bow with a nod. “Lieutenant. I do not
know your purpose, but my own men are nearby. We search these
hills for brigands. Yet the hills, it seems, are full of surprises. I wish
to thank you for your assistance in bringing down our enemy.”

“Even as you assisted in the fall of our lord’s house?” another man
said bitterly. The lieutenant raised his hand and silence returned.

“Lord Komawara, as you might imagine, the fall of the Hajiwara
House has left us feeling… some resentment to those who
brought about our misfortune. And though Lord Shonto and… his
allies were instrumental in this, we realize that it was a betrayal by
others that led to our lord’s fall. We honor his memory.

“It is the opinion of those with experience in such matters that our
liege-lord did not make the wisest decision when he agreed to
oppose Lord Shonto. Please realize that our anger in this matter is
reserved for others. Lord Shonto could not have acted other than
he did. Nor could you as his loyal ally. You are injured, Sire, and
though we do not understand the service of this man it is obviously
your prerogative.” He bowed again, lower this time.

“We will put up our swords and see to our wounded. I would look
to your own injuries myself, Lord Komawara. I have some skill in
this.”

Although there were dark looks among some of the Hajiwara men,
swords were sheathed and men turned back to the fires.
Komawara and the Kalam sheathed their own weapons and then
supported each other over the few steps to the fireside. The lord
collapsed close to the warmth, glad of it, for he found himself
deeply cold. His ears still rang from the blow to his head and he
was dizzy and weak.

Beside him he heard the tribesman dry heave. He has lost blood,
Komawara thought, and he felt hands begin to remove his laced
mail and then cut away the side of his leather shirt. He felt removed
from his surroundings, as though everything he heard and felt
came from far away. Vaguely he heard a report of two deaths and
found himself hoping they were not his own guard.

Sleep. Komawara desperately wanted to sleep. He tried to shake
his head, but his muscles did not seem to. respond. Beside him
the Kalam seemed so distant Komawara wondered how he had
done that when, only a moment before, they had been within an
arm’s length. And then there was darkness.

When Komawara awoke, he did not know where he was or how
long he’d been sleeping. The bed he lay in was soft and smelled
of the forest. Pine boughs, he realized, and pulled the covering of
deerskin closer about him. The fires still burned and men sat close
to the warmth, faces out to the darkness, swords in hand.

Hajiwara, he remembered, Hajiwara’s men. On the run now, without
a House. Marked by the Butto and their feud. He shook his head.
Probing his side, he found it wrapped in silk and damp from a small
bloodstain. Not serious, he thought, but his head still rang and the
men sitting at the fire kept blurring and doubling. Bandits, he
thought, brigands in the Jai Lung Hills. He fell into a troubled sleep.

The mist was as thick when Komawara awoke as it had been when
he followed the barbarians. Men stirred in the camp and Komawara
smelled both cha and food. The ringing in his ears had largely
disappeared to be replaced by a deep throbbing throughout one
side of his head, extending down as far as his shoulder. He lay still
for some time and then stirred himself to sit up. This caused his
vision to tunnel but he braced himself and it passed. Someone
crossed to him, bending to help him rise. The Kalam looked greatly
relieved as he took Komawara’s arm. The tribesman helped the
lord with his soft riding boots and Komawara had to shake him off
so he could walk the four paces to the fire himself.

“You are good, yeh? Good?” the Kalam kept asking and smiling.

Komawara nodded and lowered himself onto a rock set near the
flames. Sitting alone with the Hajiwara men had obviously not been
a comfortable situation and even now men cast unfriendly glances
at the barbarian. The lieutenant bent over one of the wounded, but
when he saw Komawara he rose and crossed the clearing toward
him.

“Lord Komawara,” the lieutenant bowed and offered a cup of cha
which Komawara received gratefully. “We hope you are somewhat
recovered. The wound in your side does not appear to be serious,
but I am concerned about the blow you took to the side of your
head. Is your vision clear? Do you feel unsteady or ill?” The man
stared at the lord with a look of concern and Komawara noticed the
man’s glance stray up to Komawara’s short hair—the mark of his
time as Brother Shuyun’s Botahist companion. Whatever questions
the man had in his mind he kept to himself.

“I’m sure I will be well shortly, lieutenant. Thank you for the care
and for the attention you have shown to my guide.” Bandits,
Komawara thought again. Brigands.

The lieutenant waved at one of his men and food came the lord’s
way. He ate quietly and when he had finished and was sipping cha
the lieutenant returned.

“We have been wondering, lord, what you might know of these
barbarians—of their purpose.”

Komawara nodded but said nothing. What goes on here, he asked
himself. What were these tribesmen doing in the Jai Lung Hills?
Eyes of the Dragon, the Kalam had said. Eyes of the Dragon?

“These barbarians are of a sect, I believe, a sect that venerates
the Dragon.” Komawara offered no more, waiting, hoping the
lieutenant would say something that would help him understand
what transpired. But the Hajiwara man offered nothing.

Komawara tried again. “You will find on their persons a gold
impression of the dragon embossed…” He stopped as the
lieutenant held out a small gold figure on a chain.

“This?” the lieutenant asked.

The Kalam made a warding sign and drew away.

“Yes,” Komawara said. He took the figure in his hand against the
protests of his guide. It was not the embossed coin he had seen
before but a tiny figure of ornate beauty. The same dragon to be
sure, the dragon of Ama-Haji, but not the primitive depiction the
barbarian raider had carried.

The Hajiwara lieutenant cleared his throat. “Lord Komawara, you
must realize that we have come to Seh to escape the Butto. We
have not done this from fear but

because we have an oath to fullfil. Please do not ask its nature for I
may not speak of it.

“There were eleven of us when we crossed the border… now we
are nine.” He looked around at his companions who began to draw
nearer. “We have lived in these hills for some weeks now and, as
you have no doubt guessed, our actions here have not always
followed the most honorable course. Of this we are not proud.” He
paused then as if to gauge Komawara’s reaction. The lord of Seh
said nothing. The lieutenant went on.

“We happened upon the barbarians some days ago,” he began,
but a moan from one of the wounded drew his attention. A man
rose immediately and went to see to this companion. “We
happened upon them by accident and we have watched their camp
since.

“We did not pursue the barbarians for any personal gain but only
because they are the ancient enemy of our people and because
there are rumors that they grow in strength again. Yet now we find
ourselves in a most difficult position, Sire.” He nodded to his men
who had gathered around them and two stepped forward bearing a
leather saddlebag between them. They set it down at Komawara’s
feet and pulled open the flap.

Coins glinted in the pale light as only gold could do. An entire
saddlebag brimming with gold coins!

Komawara reached forward and took up one of the coins—square,
finely minted with the round hole in its center.

“Here is more money than, together, we could have dreamed of
seeing in a lifetime. It is most unfortunate, however, that we should
find this now, for we are men who have lost our honor. Men who
are hunted, not just by the family that murdered our lord…”He
shrugged and shook his head, started to speak, then stopped
again. He shook his head once more and went on.

“This gold can never profit us, Lord Komawara. There is nowhere
we could go that this past we have made will not finally pursue us.
Nor is there a way to escape our own knowledge of our recent
errors. Karma…” He shrugged. “No, this gold will only tempt us
from our chosen path.

“What we wish to ask you, Lord Komawara, is that you take this
gold and compensate those we have

wronged.“ He looked down at the saddlebag. ”If that is not too
much to ask.‘’

Such a plain bag, Komawara found himself thinking.

“And you will do what?” Komawara asked, not taking his eye from
the gold—more gold than his entire holdings were worth—many
times more.

“As you slept, Sire, we spoke. It is clear that under any other
circumstances what we did yesterday would have been considered
a service to our Empire. I believe it is true to surmise that,
considering this great treasure we have found, we would have
been richly rewarded. But in our present situation this cannot be.
There is a certain irony in this. Rather like the plight of Shubuta
when he was tricked by the Goddess of Greed.” He gave half a
laugh.

“So all that is left to us is an oath that we swore when our House
fell. It will guide us now.”

Komawara thought for some time, staring into the fire.

“I do not know the exact nature of this oath, though it is obvious
what it must be. Do you wish to revenge yourself upon my ally,
Lord Shonto, or members of his staff?”

“No, Lord Komawara.”

“Who would offer you service, lieutenant, if this oath would
endanger their own House?”

“A House with the same enemies, Sire.”

“Huh.”

Komawara tossed the coins back into the bag. “It is not within my
power to release those who have broken the laws of our Empire,
but as you say, you have performed a service and it should not go
unrewarded. Can you swear that carrying out this oath will not
endanger the purpose of my House or my allies?”

The lieutenant looked around the group. “We are patient, Lord
Komawara. We can wait until such a time as we would not
endanger the Komawara House.”

The lord nodded and returned his attention to the fire. His head
throbbed. Forcing himself to sit, not slump, Komawara met the
lieutenant’s eye. “Then will you exchange your green for the colors
of the Komawara house?”

There was a low murmur among the Hajiwara men and they
gathered about the lord and their lieutenant.

“You would offer this knowing that we are hunted by the Butto and
aware of our recent actions?”

“Lieutenant Narihira, I saw men fight the enemy of our Empire
knowing that it would profit them not at all. You could have easily
ridden by—what do you owe the Emperor? Men who would act so
are men of honor, of this I have no doubt.”

The lieutenant withdrew to confer with his men, leaving the Kalam
and Lord Komawara to share food.

The Hajiwara men were not gone long.

“Lord Komawara,” the lieutenant began, “we have weighed your
words and we know that this offer is more than any of us had ever
dared hope for. We were resigned to living without House or
honor. Yet there is the matter of the Butto. They have sworn an
oath to hunt down all of my lord’s followers, sparing none. You
would be standing between the Butto and ourselves and we cannot
allow this.”

Komawara smiled. “Lieutenant, the Butto believe they owe the
Komawara a debt that they cannot repay in one hundred lifetimes. I
think I can trade part of this debt for your lives… in return for your
sworn service, of course.”

“If this is as you say, Lord Komawara, then I may speak for all of
us. We would be honored to wear the colors of the House of
Komawara.”

The Hajiwara men knelt before him and, one by one, laid their
swords at his feet.

After this was done, Lord Komawara stood with difficulty. “It is
good that you have proven that you can fight our enemies, for there
is war awaiting us. Of this, have no doubt. In this war we must stand
shoulder to shoulder with those we would consider enemies… or
we will fall. And more than Seh will fall with us.” Komawara looked
at the men standing before him. Do they believe what I say? he
wondered. It hardly mattered. They would believe soon enough.

“What has happened in this glade must never be spoken of. You
have seen no barbarians in these hills. You must never say
differently. I have rewarded you with service to the Komawara for
dispatching the bandits who have threatened us, and also for
saving my life. No one will question this. But the graves must be
hidden so that

no one can ever suspect otherwise. Likewise, you must say
nothing of this gold. I do not claim it for my own but will give it to the
Imperial Governor, for it was carried by these barbarians for
purposes that I cannot speak of. When we arrive at my lands, you
will be honored for vanquishing the bandits in these hills, and in a
way this is the truth.“ He smiled.

“We must go down out of the hills now. There is much that we must
do.”

Three

The ships set off in driving rain, heeled to a cold west wind, their
sails reefed so small it seemed impossible that they would weather
the headland. Yet they made way, if not quickly at least steadily.

Lord Shonto Shokan sat his horse on a high cliff and watched the
ships pass. He raised his arm once, not at all sure he could be
seen, and waved slowly. Turning his mount, he picked his way
down the track that ran along the cliff edge. He didn’t wish to keep
Tanaka out on deck in this terrible weather, for the old man must
stay at the rail until the son of his liege-lord was unquestionably lost
to sight—anything less would be an unforgivable insult. After all,
Shokan had ridden to the headland to see the older man on his
way, paying him a great honor. Honor, Tanaka
deserved—protracted suffering, he did not.

If Shokan had known, he would have been less anxious to leave,
for Tanaka stood at the rail staring up at the distant rider and the
streaks on his face were not all from the rain and salt spray. He
looks much like his father did at that age, the merchant was
thinking. And he is as dear to me.

Tanaka watched as the figure in Shonto blue waved and then
turned back along the cliff, followed by three guards. So few,
Tanaka thought, it’s almost as if there were no danger.

The young Lord Shonto worked his way down to a stretch where
the cliff path turned flat and broad and pressed his mount into a
canter. He was delighted, as always, by the stallion’s motion. He
had brought the animal back with him from Seh, and it had survived
the voyage, first by river and then by sea, without apparent harm to
body or spirit.

Seh… It was that province and his father’s situation

to which his thoughts constantly returned. Tanaka’s visit had been
most unsettling, adding fuel to the slow kindling of fear that had
been smoldering since his father’s most recent letter.

As he had feared all along, there was more hidden in the
wastelands than the proud men of Seh would admit possible. And
now this news from Tanaka.

He spurred his horse up a steeper rise, hooves throwing clods of
soft turf as they went. Reining in, he turned back to the sea and
took longer than he expected to catch sight of the small fleet
disappearing into the sheets of rain that shrouded the entire Bay of
Mists. There would be no more ships setting out across those
waters now until spring returned; these were tempting the Storm
Gods quite enough.

Late, late in the season for such folly. Shokan turned his mount
toward the Shonto Palace. Folly, he thought, there has been
entirely too much folly. Sensing his mood, his guard hung back as
far as duty would allow, leaving their young lord alone with his
thoughts.

Reaching down a heavily gloved hand, Shokan patted the stallion’s
shoulder as a sudden gust whipped its un-plaited mane into a
tangle. His father did not believe that Seh could be held. He
shuddered though he was not cold.

Did the Emperor know that all that stood between his Imperial
person and the loss of his throne to a barbarian chieftain was
Shonto Motoru? Shokan supposed that he did not.

If Shonto abandoned the north and fell back to the south, how long
could he keep control of the army he was raising? Surely the Son
of Heaven would order him to step down from his command in
shame the moment he crossed the border of Seh. Shokan had not
liked the tone of his father’s last letter. Staying in control of the
army long enough to defeat the invaders had seemed to be his
father’s only concern.

Wa is in danger as never before. We cannot be swayed by desires
for revenge upon those who have allowed this to come about. It is
not a question of losing our fief or Shonto honor—we are in danger
of losing the entire Empire.

So his father had written and Shokan did not doubt it for a moment.
.

There would be no support from the Emperor, and the men of Seh
seemed equally blind to their plight and might well remain so until it
was too late. My father needs an army, Shokan thought, he needs
the largest force the Empire can raise, yet that is impossible. He
fought off the bitterness and anger that had been growing since his
visit from Tanaka.

He tried to replace this bitterness with the feelings of affection he
felt for their vassal-merchant. Tanaka sailed into more danger than
winter storms. If Lord Shonto was removed from command of his
army, all of the Shonto House would fall with him. Tanaka, who
controlled the family’s vast trading interests, would be the third
Shonto retainer the Imperial Guard would seek out, after Shokan
and Lady Nishima.

Tanaka was convinced that the Emperor would invite the young
Shonto heir to come to the Capital for the winter social season and
Shokan was certain he was right. He had been expecting the
Imperial summons for days.

Of course he would stall as long as possible, but that would not be
forever—the Emperor was not a patient man.

At least Lady Nishima was no longer within the Emperor’s reach.
This brought a smile to replace the anxious look on the young
lord’s face. He wondered how the Emperor would react to that!
Nishima gone, and in the company of the woman the Emperor had
himself appointed to be her instructor in the arts. Although he
stood somewhat in awe of his adopted sister’s charm, Shokan
could not imagine how Nishi-sum had tempted the Lady Okara
from her island sanctuary.

Shokan would like to see the Emperor’s response to that news.
The Yamaku Emperor was not patient nor did he like to appear a
fool. The young lord laughed aloud. There were at least small
victories to be enjoyed. Oh, Nishi-sum, how did you manage such
a thing? He laughed again and spurred his horse in a wild gallop
along the cliff top. Below him the sea battered the ancient cliff,
endlessly: soft water against hard stone in an unequal contest.

Four

I aku Tadamoto tried to sit calmly, without betraying J any sign of
the fear he felt. It was a difficult exercise. The Emperor was known
to fly into rages, but in Tada-moto’s experience the sovereign
could be at his deadliest when he was silent—trying to contain his
infamous temper. The Emperor stood, apparently examining a
figure in a three-panel painting of the battle of Kyo. He held his
sword of office in its scabbard before him in both hands and
Tadamoto could see the Emperor’s right hand flexing like an
involuntary seizure on the sword’s grip.

Jaku Tadamoto’s sense of tranquillity was further eroded by the
knowledge that the object of the Emperor’s rage was his own
brother, Katta. He was not certain what caused him more
apprehension: the thought that the Emperor’s legendary distrust
would now be focused on him because of his brother’s latest
betrayal, or whether he feared for Katta. Certainly Katta had gone
off to the north, turning his back on Tadamoto, but even so, Katta
was still his brother.

The Emperor turned suddenly and glared down at the kneeling
guardsman.

“So, Shonto’s daughter is in league with my former Guard
Commander, damn his arrogance!” He gazed back at the figure in
the painting again as though it calmed him. The figure, Tadamoto
could not help but notice, was impaled upon a lance.

Very quietly, Tadamoto ventured to speak. “It is difficult to say,
Sire, it is just as possible that their meeting was merely
coincidence.”

“I am not a believer in coincidence, not when your brother is
concerned.” The Emperor paced back to his dais, paused to
consider, then kicked a silk-covered pil-

low across the audience chamber. “And it was the Lady Okara?
You are certain?”

Tadamoto looked at the floor directly in front of him. “It would
appear so, Sire. Her staff report that she is ill and cannot receive
visitors, the same explanation we are given at the Shonto House.
The description I have received would seem to leave little doubt.”

The Emperor dropped back to his cushions and stared at the mats
as intently as did Tadamoto. “And you still do not believe he has
secretly joined the Shonto?”

Tadamoto shook his head slowly. “It would be most
uncharacteristic, Sire. My brother is ambitious, I will not deny it, but
he believes that Shonto’s famed loyalty is a sham. He thinks the
great lord is loyal only to his own ambitions, all other alliances
merely serve his purpose. I think Katta-sum’s distrust of Lord
Shonto is unwavering.”

The Emperor shook his head. “He is your brother, Colonel, it is
natural that you trust his motives more than others might.‘’ He
looked up at the young officer in front of him. ”You, however, must
decide where your loyalties lie. You cannot serve two masters,
Tadamoto-sum, be very clear on that.‘’

Tadamoto bowed his head to the mat and returned slowly to his
kneeling position. “My brother and I have had a parting of ways,
Sire. Katta went north on the great canal, while I remained… I am
my Emperor’s ser-* vant. It is my hope that my opinions regarding
my brother are not dictated by family loyalties but come only from
careful thought and concern for duty to my Emperor. If this is not
the case, Sire, please dismiss me from my position and allow me
to serve in some other way.‘’ He bowed again.

The Emperor stroked his chin, and though his eyes were fixed on
the young Jaku, his focus was elsewhere. When he spoke again,
his voice was quieter, softer. “No, Tadamoto-sum, I trust you. I am
well aware that your brother’s actions cause you great pain and that
you still hope there is an explanation that will indicate his continued
loyalty to the throne. I hold the same hope, for Katta is dear to me.”
He paused. “But I cannot let my affection blind me entirely. If your
brother does not soon act in a manner that proves our hopes are
justified…”

The Emperor let the threat hang in the air. He began examining his
scabbard.

After a moment he turned back to the young man who knelt before
him. “Is there more to this report, Colonel, or is that all the bad
news for the day?”

Tadamoto hesitated, offering a silent prayer to Bota-hara. “There is
one other thing, Sire.” He tried to work some moisture into a dry
mouth. “It seems that Lady Nishima and Lady Okara have one
other companion.”

“Oh.”

Tadamoto almost whispered. “It is possible they are accompanied
by the Lady Kitsura Omawara, Sire.”

The Emperor did not take his eyes from his sword.

“That will be all, Colonel.”

“Yes, Emperor.” Jaku Tadamoto touched his head to the floor and,
without rising, backed from the room as quickly as concern for the
Emperor’s dignity would allow.

Akantsu II sat for a long time, staring at his sword of office. Insults
such as this were not paid to Emperors. No doubt Lord Omawara
believed his name and failing health would protect him. The
Emperor pulled his sword halfway from its scabbard and then
rammed it home savagely. Oh, there was nothing the Emperor
could do openly—Omawara was correct in that assumption. But
that would not protect the old man. Nor would it protect the rest of
his House.

The Emperor thought suddenly of the Lady Kitsura,* and her
legendary beauty seemed an affront to him now. Such arrogance!
The Emperor tightened his grip on the sword. The old families
would never accept the Yamaku. This proved it beyond all doubt.
There could be no other course of action if he was to preserve the
Yamaku ascendancy. Once the Shonto were gone, the old families
would realize their mistake… their many mistakes.

He turned and set his sword in its stand with exaggerated care,
controlling his shaking hands with an act of will. He took a long
deep breath and let it out slowly. The insult would not receive the
slightest recognition, of course. In fact, he would send a letter
inquiring after Lord Omawara’s health that very day. He would also
ask if Lady Kitsura’s journey went well. A solicitous letter. Let the
dying old man know what he had wrought upon

his fannry. But the Emperor’s mood was not so easily broken. Even
the thought of what could be done to the Omawara brought him no
comfort.

The Emperor took another long breath. He clapped his hands
softly and a servant appeared.

“Send for Osha-sum,” he said, “her Emperor desires her
presence.”

Destroying her lover’s letters crossed Osha’s mind when she
received the summons to attend the Emperor. It will not matter,
she thought. If he knows, the letters will not make a difference.
Selecting robes to wear into the royal presence, an activity that
could take many women several days, was comparatively easy.
Calming her spirit, however, was not possible.

If the Emperor knew about her meetings with Tadamoto-sum, it
would not matter that the Son of Heaven had lost interest in her…
had not called for her in weeks. He would quickly forget that he had
cast her aside without a word. That anyone would presume to pay
her court would drive him to a fury, of that she was certain.

And they had been so careful! She sat down as a wave of fear
weakened her limbs. What of Tadamoto-sum? Had the Emperor…
? She did not want to think of it. Hanging her head in her hands for
a second, she tried to control herself.

No doubt this is not what I fear. It is more likely merely a good-
bye—your presence in the Imperial Palace is no longer necessary.
Here is a gift from the Son of Heaven who is an admirer of your
talents. It is said that Chou has need of dancers, and the air there
is so healthful and pure.

But would she be called into the presence of the Emperor for such
a message? No, she thought, that is not likely. Perhaps, then, the
Emperor would truly give her a gift! Perhaps he would allow her to
continue to dance with the Imperial Sonsa troupe!

She thought warmly of Tadamoto. He had been so certain that he
could sway the Emperor to allow her to stay in the Capital. She
smiled as she rose and examined her appearance in a bronze
mirror. But as she left her apart-

ments to walk to the Emperor’s audience hall, her confidence
seemed to waver a little with each step.

By the time Osha arrived at the guarded double doors, she was
shaking and pale. Only her years of Sonsa training forced her
knees to support her.

Osha barely noticed the two Imperial Guards who opened the
doors. She knelt in the doorway, casting her gaze down, even
when she had returned to a kneeling position. She sat thus, in the
grip of more terror than she had ever known.

“Please, Osha-sum, enter,” came the familiar voice. “Be at your
ease.”

She closed her eyes and bowed again. What could she read in that
voice? He did not hide his anger well, but she had seen it done…
had seen him toy with someone until they believed they were safe.
Then he had exploded in one of his fits of anger. Osha rose and
moved forward on her knees until she was a respectful distance
from the dais. Folding her hands carefully in her lap, she tried to
force herself into a calm but still did not meet his eyes.

“Your dancing goes well?”

“The Emperor is kind to inquire. My dancing goes most well.”

“I am glad to hear this, though Colonel Jaku Tadamoto has said as
much.”

She closed her eyes and fought tears. Even without looking, she
knew that the Emperor sat with his sword across his knees. An
urge to prostrate herself and beg for forgiveness began to pull at
the edges of her rising fears.

“I value the young Jaku brother’s judgment,” he said as though to
someone else. “It pleases me that your dancing goes well. It is a
demanding path that you pursue, I understand why you have so
little time for mere social occasions. Demands are something an
Emperor understands only too well. Though the demands made
upon an Emperor do not give us the time we would wish to pursue
the things that are close to our hearts. I do not think this is so with
the Sonsa?”

Osha could hear the pounding of blood in her ears—a steady
rhythm of fear.

“Please excuse me,” she said with difficulty, “I am not sure what
the Emperor means.”

r

“Is-rt not dancing that is closest to a Sonsa’s heart?”

“Ah.” Osha smiled as if he had said something clever.

“I understand this passion that controls you, Osha-sum. I am
sometimes jealous, but an Emperor must never give in to such
things.” He paused. “You must dance and I must spend my days
listening to ministers and counselors, though it is not pursuing what
is closest to my heart. Do you become jealous when the Empire
takes so much of my time?‘’

“I… the Empire, Sire, cannot be compared to dance. Dance is but
a trivial thing when set beside affairs of state.”

“So many would say, though I am not sure I would agree. Let us
say that we both are governed by things of importance. It does not
matter.” She knew he stared at her, and she tried to remain calm.
“It warms my heart to see you, Osha-sum. You have grown even
more beautiful these last months.”

“I am honored that you would say so, Sire.”

“We must learn to live with the demands of our lives, Osha-sum,
and take pleasure in the moments that are truly our own.”

His outstretched hand appeared before her.

Her heart sank entirely now. He did not know about Tadamoto! That
was not why she had been summoned. He desired her! After
ignoring her entirely and subjecting her to the greatest humiliation,
he wanted her!

She closed her eyes and fought back tears. The Emperor wanted
her again. Was she not pleased? She thought of Tadamoto and
realized that she was completely terrified of arousing the
Emperor’s suspicions. She dared not refuse.

“Are these tears, Osha-sum?” the Emperor asked. “Is there
something wrong?”

Shaking her head, she tried to smile. “Tears do not always indicate
sadness, Sire.”

With effort she reached out her hand and the Emperor grasped it.
She had forgotten how strong he was. As she moved forward the
Emperor pulled her, almost roughly, onto the dais so that her*knee
struck the frame, but he did not seem to notice.

A kiss that would have seemed passionate before felt coarse to
her now. His hands touched her without con-

cern for her pleasure, failing to arouse as they once had. The
Emperor fumbled at her sash, for it was not a Lover’s Knot and
easily undone. She had to untie it for him, helping unwind the yards
of brocade.

Pushing her down into the deep silk cushions, the Emperor
opened her robes. There were no words of love, no whispers
close to her ear. Osha felt nothing but revulsion. With all her heart
she wanted to run. Until that moment she had not known what it was
she felt for Tadamoto-sum. The Emperor lowered his weight onto
her, his face close to hers, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

Five

There were few people as skilled at waiting as Brother Sotura. He
could truthfully say that he had only known impatience twice,
perhaps three times, in his life, and on each of those occasions he
had mastered this emotion almost immediately. The chamber in
which he practiced waiting contained a small shrine to Botahara on
one wall and an austere, but very skillful arrangement of cedar
boughs and autumn slip maple on a small stand against another.
These two things in themselves would have provided the
necessary focus for many days of meditation, even if Brother
Sotura didn’t have other things to consider. And he could barely
remember a time when he did not have other things demanding his
attention.

He was more than concerned that Lord Shonto had not allowed this
second meeting with Brother Shuyun to take place in the Temple
of the Pure Wind. The lord had insisted that the meeting should be
held in the Governor’s Palace so Shonto “would not be deprived of
his Advisor’s counsel at this crucial time.” Of course, Brother
Sotura had agreed immediately—one didn’t argue with an Imperial
Governor, especially one whose family name was Shonto—but
still, he was concerned.

Lord Shonto was known to be a very convincing man and Sotura
feared the lord’s influence on his former student. Shuyun was too
important to Botahist interests to go the way of Shonto’s former
Spiritual Advisor. The Brotherhood could not afford another
renegade. He smiled at the term he’d chosen. Perhaps “renegade”
was too strong, but Brother Satake had certainly pursued a course
of independence. And independence was not something the
Brotherhood either encouraged or admired.

Private discussion with Brother Shuyun was what the

chi quan Master required, and he was not convinced that it would
be possible inside the Governor’s Palace. Sotura turned his gaze
to the paper-thin walls. Lord Shonto was certainly not above having
the conversations of his Spiritual Advisor listened to; of that he was
certain. Of course Sotura did not plan to make a request of Shuyun
that the young monk could not fulfill in good conscience, so that
was not the reason he was concerned with being overheard. It was
what Shonto might learn of the Botahist Order that concerned
Sotura. Knowledge of the schisms within the Brotherhood could
prove most useful to some parties in the Empire.

So the conversation with Shuyun must be private, that was certain.
The young monk had seen the evidence of armies in the desert
with his own eyes, and that was a crucial factor. Sotura had to have
Shuyun’s support in what he was about to do, although Shuyun
could be spared the details and reasons. The Initiate would
undoubtedly be distressed to know that his information would be
used to destroy the credibility of a senior member of their faith.

Brother Sotura turned his gaze back to the statue of Botahara in its
shrine with its arrangement of leaves and branches. He felt a
second of confusion as though the statue gazed back at him and
the look was not entirely benign. Sotura shook himself out of this
state immediately.

Footsteps could be heard approaching down one of the labryinth
of halls that wove through the fabric of the palace. Shuyun. The chi
quan Master recognized the sound of the footsteps as easily as he
would the boy’s signature or his style of chi quan. The older man
smiled until the shoji was pushed aside and then the smile was
replaced by the unreadable countenance of a Botahist Master.

Shuyun bowed low to the Senior Brother as he entered the room.
There were few people he respected more, and though the
Botahist Brothers neither showed nor felt much emotion, Shuyun
felt something close to affection for his former instructor.

“My lord’s House is honored by your presence, Brother Sotura.”

“As I am honored by Lord Shonto’s consideration.”

The two monks knelt a few feet apart on thin cushions set on the
straw-matted floor. There was a short silence while Shuyun, as the
junior monk, waited for Brother Sotura to speak. His patience
seemed every bit as developed as his former teacher’s.

“I have many things to discuss with you, Brother Shuyun, but I have
spent so much time indoors of late that I wonder—is it possible for
us to speak outside without inconveniencing your lord should he
have need of your counsel?”

Shuyun thought for a second. “I will send a message to Kamu-sum
saying that we are to be found on the Sunrise Viewing Terrace.
The terrace will be most pleasant at this time of day. Will that suit
your needs, Brother?”

“Perfectly, Shuyun-sum. I thank you for your consideration.”

A servant was sent running with the message and the two Botahist
Monks set out for the terrace. As they walked, the conversation
stayed within the strict bounds of polite discourse between teacher
and student. Sotura asked questions and Shuyun responded with
short answers; they even laughed at a joke. To anyone listening,
there would have been no hint of tension in their discourse.

The Sunrise Viewing Terrace was an excellent choice, for it was
well situated to make the most of the sun while still offering some
protection from the wind. The cold north wind typical of the season
had relented that morning to be replaced by a sea wind that
suggested spring more than the true season. The conversation,
however, had a certain chill in it.

Lady Kitsura was followed by a maid and by the daughter of one of
Seh’s more senior military men— Kitsura could not remember the
man’s name or rank. His daughter was playing at the role of lady-in-
waiting and though Lady Kitsura had been annoyed by this farce to
begin with she admitted to herself now that the young girl had
charmed her. There was something about the girl’s naivete“ that
the woman from the Imperial Capital found very attractive, perhaps
especially so during this time when everything seemed so
complex, when there were so many suspected lies. The fact that
the young

woman admired Kitsura almost to the point of worship might have
had some effect as well.

Now it seemed that the young woman was beside herself with
excitement at the prospect of meeting Lady Nishima Fanisan
Shonto. Much to her surprise, Kitsura found herself telling her
companions that Lady Nishima was only human, after all. The tone
of mild annoyance that accompanied these words was a bit of a
surprise to the sophisticated lady from the Capital.

Lady Kitsura walked as quickly as decorum would allow. She did
not want to seem to be rushing, after all, but in her mind she ran.
Her cousin, Lady Nishima, must be told the most recent news
immediately.

The three women came to a doorway leading outside. Kitsura had
insisted they venture out to appreciate this fine day and though this
suggestion had met with some small resistance her companions
had not wanted to disagree. The truth was that the route outside
would save them several minutes. Stepping out into the bright
sunlight Kitsura’s two companions broke into smiles. Not only did
the sun shine, but the day was almost warm. A gentle sea wind
tugged at their elaborate robes and attempted to improve upon the
studied arrangement of their hair.

Kitsura had to shepherd her companions along or they would have
stopped to play the Cloud Game, looking for forms in the sky,
perhaps hoping that the famous lady from the Capital would
compose a poem—excited, though somewhat apprehensive, that
she might expect them to do the same.

For her part, the great lady from the Capital felt a slight tugging of
regret that she could not stop and play the Cloud Game or just walk
in the sun and discuss nothing of importance. It was more than that
though; it was a regret that, in some inexplicable way, these
pleasures were no longer accessible to her. And this made her
sad.

Bearing news to Nishima-sum was far too important to delay with
such selfish concerns, so, to the disappointment of the two young
women of Seh, Kitsura marshaled them along the covered portico.

All three of the women showed great surprise at finding two men
deep in conversation on a terrace. If they had not been Brothers of
the True Faith, the women

would have been deeply embarrassed. How would such a situation
be looked upon? Three young women meeting men alone outside
on a winter day? Most unseemly!

It was rumored that the ladies of the Capital did such things, but the
women from Seh had certainly seen no evidence that either the
Lady Nishima or the Lady Kit-sura acted in such a manner. They
hadn’t actually believed the rumors anyway, they told each other,
trying to cover their disappointment.

The monks gave their short double bow and the ladies bowed in
return, except Lady Kitsura who favored the Brothers with an
elegant, though modest, nod of her beautiful head.

The young lady of Seh found herself committing this gesture to
memory and stopped herself as she began to imitate it.

A few polite inquiries were made before Lady Kitsura suggested
that they continue on their errand, assuring the Brothers that their
destination had not been the Sunrise Viewing Terrace and though
they were very kind to offer, there was no need for the honored
Brothers to leave. The ladies must be on their way.

And so they left, though the officer’s daughter could not help but
notice that Lady Kitsura looked back over her shoulder as she left
and caught the young monk’s eye in a manner that could only be
described as flirtatious. The young woman looked away, trying not
to notice. But she had noticed and she was more than a little
disconcerted. She found it a bit difficult to catch her breath for a
few seconds. Walking more quickly now, she hoped the blush on
her cheeks would be attributed to the wind.

The apartments of Lady Nishima were not as elegant as those she
was used to, but she laughingly told Kitsura that they were a great
improvement over their cabins on the river barge. In truth, they
were quite pleasant surroundings, though both Kitsura and Lady
Nishima found all the rooms in the Governor’s Palace somewhat
colder than they were accustomed to. When her visitors arrived,
Lady Nishima was practising her harp so Kitsura and her two
follower* were treated to an ancient melody which wafted through
the thin screens as though it echoed out of the past. The officer’s
daughter seemed close to tears, though whether this was due to
the effect of the music or

to finding herself in a social situation she had long dreamed of,
Kitsura could not tell.

Informed that she had guests, Nishima put aside her instrument
and rearranged her robe so that the pattern was arrayed to its best
effect. The young women from Seh seemed almost to glow, for
here they were in the company of two of the most celebrated
women of their generation. Their friends would be envious beyond
anyone’s power to describe!

It was with some disappointment that they found themselves
drinking cha, alone, while the ladies from the Imperial Capital
retired to the balcony. They could just make out the two peers
sitting on the wide railing engaged in a conversation that seemed
much too serious for women who, it was said, were courted by
every young man of worthy family in the entire Capital—including
the sons of the Emperor! How could one be anything but
constantly gay when one’s life was perfection itself?

“We can hardly barge into an audience with the Imperial Governor,
Kitsu-sum, we must think of something else,” Lady Nishima was
saying. She let her gaze wander out over the tiled roofs of the city.

“Considering what is at risk, cousin, I fear you may be paying too
much heed to propriety. We will barge in on the Imperial Governor
by accident,” Kitsura explained.

“I’m not utterly confident that this type of intrigue is your greatest
area of skill, cousin. We must have some reason. I do not want my
father to believe I am trying to see the Imperial Guardsmen. That
would be unacceptable.”

Kitsura turned away so her frustration would not be seen. Not to
seem rude, she leaned over and made a show of checking her
companions. The two women were trying not to appear too
disappointed as they drank their cha and carried on a stilted
conversation.

“I fear my lady-in-waiting is quite disappointed not to have been
invited into our company.

Nishima shrugged. “It is the life of those who wait. Did she think it
was otherwise?”

“Perhaps. You know all those terrible romances young girls read,
the ones where the Princess’ true friend is her youngest, least well-
born, lady-in-waiting.”

“Ah, like my Lady Kento,” Nishima offered.

“Exactly!” Kitsura laughed. “Of course you would conform to the
conventions of the romance, cousin, it is why you are so adored.”
Kitsura laughed again and squeezed her cousin’s hand.

Nishima, however, did not catch her cousin’s mood. She remained
pensive, withdrawn. Her gaze kept straying over Kitsura’s shoulder,
and finally the young woman turned to see what it was that had
caught the artist’s eye. The view was lovely, there was no
doubt—tile roofs of celestial blue, plumes of smoke lofting up from
among the buildings, and beyond this, all of Seh stretching her
green-blue hills off to the west. Beautiful, indeed, but Kitsura was
looking for some unusual composition or play of light that stood out
among all of the day-to-day beauty, something unique enough to
keep demanding Nishima’s attention. Kitsura was about to ask
when she caught sight of the two monks still engaged in their
conversation on the Sunrise Viewing Terrace. She turned back to
Nishima who looked away, a faint blush blossoming on her neck
and cheek.

“We should not disappoint them, Kitsu-sum, your young ladies-in-
waiting. After all, when winter has worn on they may indeed
become our truest friends.” Lady Nishima tried to force a smile. ‘ ’I
will play my harp for them and you will charm them over plum wine
with a scandalous tale from the Capital.“

“Which scandalous tale do you suggest?” Kitsura clapped her
hands suddenly with joy. “How foolish I am! It is all too obvious!
Tonight, over dinner, when Lord Shonto makes his customary offer
to take me as a concubine, or maid, I shall tell him that I will prove I
am worthy of consideration as a wife if for no other reason than my
musical skills. You, of course, will have to accompany me. We will
claim a need to rehearse, which will give our Governor several
opportunities to comment on the questionable skills of musicians
who, of all things, need to practice.

“Tomorrow we will arrive at the audience hall with our instruments.
What gentleman could refuse two young ladies in such
circumstances? Of course they will be honored that we have come
to play. And Jaku Katta, I guarantee, will swoon.” Kitsura broke into
a smile,

enormously pleased with herself. “Well?” she said when she
received no response.

“It is not entirely impossible, though it will put you and me, not to
mention my uncle, in a somewhat embarrassing situation.”

‘ ’Embarrassment may have to be suffered to defeat the barbarian
hordes, cousin.“

Nishima laughed this time. “For the Empire of Wa I will dare to
suffer it, then,” Nishima said and then she thought for a second.
“Perhaps there is a less obvious method of accomplishing the
same end.”

“Nonsense. My plan will work perfectly well. Come, cousin, if you
play your harp for my young companions, I will overlook your
suggestion that intrigue is not one of my many skills. No, no, come
along.”

One’s ear for the truth, Shuyun knew, was not infallible, and after
all, he was only a senior Initiate. The monk rubbed his head as
though it had been mysteriously bruised.

It had been an innocent question, almost polite conversation,
really. There was a widespread rumor in Seh that the Udumbara
had blossomed, fulfilling a prophecy of the Perfect Master—the
flowering trees of Monarta would not blossom again until a Teacher
walked among men. Sotura had shrugged, saying it was a rumor
that surfaced every decade. And though the senior Brother had
been careful in his choice of words, Shuyun’s sense for truth had
wakened immediately—he lies, it whispered.

But even a senior Brother did not have an infallible ear for truth, so
Shuyun tried to push this incident aside though it resisted this
treatment strongly.

Then there had been Brother Sotura’s request for a written account
of Shuyun’s journey into the desert—and this, too, had seemed
strange. Not the request, which was hardly out of the ordinary, but
the senior monk’s tone—he felt some guilt over this. Shuyun found
the meeting with Sotura-sum most disconcerting.

A certain sadness had come over him as he walked. Sotura-sum
had always been the man Shuyun admired most, the Brother he
sought to emulate—Sotura of the butterfly-punch. And now he
found himself doubting his

former mentor—was, in fact, considering speaking to Lord Shonto
about this meeting. This was also disturbing, Shuyun realized, as
though a subtle shifting of his loyalties had taken place without him
realizing. Had Brother Satake undergone this same change? It
made Shuyun feel a pang of apprehension. Would he find himself
following the path of his predecessor? Satake, it was said, had
gone so far as to request his final ceremonies be carried out by
the family he served—not by the Botanist Brothers! Such a thing
was unheard of. I must keep my awareness of what transpires in
my soul, Shuyun told himself.

He lies. The words came back to him like a whisper. Perhaps he
should speak with Lord Shonto? The monk pushed this idea from
his mind. But what was it about Shonto that made Shuyun consider
going to him rather than to a senior of his own Order? He realized
he did not know—not yet anyway.

The young monk mounted a set of wide stone stairs that led up
from the gates. Slowing his pace only slightly, he admired the flying
horse sculptures that flanked the first landing and then he was at
the enormous main doors to the Palace. The Palace Guard bowed
as he passed— solid men of Seh who would never think to
question the Imperial Governor’s Spiritual Advisor.

Shuyun’s destination was his own apartment and his writing desk.
The account Brother Sotura had requested was required almost
immediately as the older monk planned to include it in documents
he was sending to Brother Hutto in Yankura. But having written of
his journey into the wastelands in detail for Lord Shonto, Shuyun
felt this would take little time.

Several turns into the maze that was the Imperial Governor’s
Palace, Shuyun entered a narrow hallway that substantially
shortened the route to his rooms. At a door that led into another
corridor he stopped abruptly. Voices from the other side confirmed
what his chi sense had already told him—Lady Kitsura and two
others had just arrived at the same door. He opened it for them,
stepping aside to allow the women clear passage through the
narrow opening.

“Ah, Brother,” Kitsura said, “our karma keeps bringing us into your
delightful company. Obviously this must

be good karma.“ She smiled at her maid and lady-in-waiting who
nodded agreement.

“My teachers told me always to turn a deaf ear to flattery, Lady
Kitsura, but they did not warn me of its true power. I am, therefore,
flattered.” He bowed.

Kitsura motioned to her companions, who passed through the door
ahead of her, and then she followed, tripping as she did so and
falling lightly against Shuyun who reached out to steady her. She
recovered almost immediately and before Shuyun could apologize
she had passed on, her hand lingering on his own until the last
second.

The monk stood holding the door open for no one and then
realized how foolish he must look and moved on, missing the
corridor to his rooms and stopping, for a second, lost. Shuyun had
never had a woman so close to him, had never touched a woman
who was not being treated for illness, and part of his shock was
caused by his own reaction.

Flattery as a temptation, he realized, was hardly worthy of
consideration compared to the softness of a woman’s body. With
great effort, he pushed the memory from his mind, but the thing
that kept echoing back was the knowledge that this fall had not
been an accident. There was no doubt of this.

Shuyun found this realization as disturbing as his meeting with his
former teacher.

Six

The sculpture garden in the Imperial Governor’s Palace had not
been created by an artist of great note, but it hardly mattered. The
raw material was so superior in nature that it had almost worked
itself.

Shuyun crossed the lotus pattern terrace at the garden’s edge and
then paused to admire the late afternoon light that slanted low into
the garden. It created shadows that gave texture to even the most
featureless surfaces. Already Shuyun could feel the stones
releasing their warmth to the cooling air. The sea wind fell to a
breath, then gusted, then fell again in a pattern that no man could
determine. It would not be long before the clear northern night
began to tug at the edge of the eastern sky.

Shuyun came to the garden to meditate on the sculptures and to
purge himself of certain feelings. Stopping before the Mountain
Dragon, he let his eye run over the fluted sandstone. He felt a
certain awe at nature’s work, thinking about the several lifetimes
that the elements had scoured and carved this stone. Working
patiently, waiting for the day when an artist would find it.

The artist, a lady-in-waiting of a retired Mori Empress, had set the
three stones together in a fashion that, when seen from the north,
suggested an animal poised to strike; when seen from the south,
however, it appeared to be sleeping. The low light made the effect
far more dramatic than at any other time of day and Shuyun found
he was able to bask in the artist’s skill as though seeing it for the
first time.

The voice of the waterfall drew him and he wound down the narrow
path and across the foot stones toward the sound. Shuyun had
been in the garden many times and knew the illusion of the cataract
twisting down a mountainside was nearly perfect. The stone was
cracked

and sculpted in scale to an enormous cliff face and the effect was
enhanced by carefully stunted trees, many the work of thirty years
and more, let into ledges and cracks.

Shuyun stepped through the final copse before the waterfall and
there he found the Lady Okara, paper stretched onto a drawing
board on her lap, a brush held idly in one hand. She started as the
monk appeared.

“Please excuse me, Lady Okara, I did not realize you were here.
Please, I did not mean to interrupt your work.” The painter was
dressed in the plainest cotton robes and Shuyun was certain she
must be deeply embarrassed to be seen so. He bowed quickly
and turned to

go.

“Brother Shuyun, do not apologize. I am hardly working at all. In
truth, I have been sitting here weaving memories for some time.”
She smiled her warm smile. “Please join me, the light is changing
color by the second. Have you seen?”

“Pardon me, Lady Okara—have I seen?”

“Ah, you haven’t! Come, sit down, if you have the time. This will be
worth the short wait.”

Shuyun found a second sitting stone at Lady Okara’s side and took
his place dutifully. Lady Okara was not someone he knew well, but
he liked her immeasurably. He often imagined that the ease he felt
in her company was the way he would have felt with his own mother
had he known her.

The evening sun lit the face of the miniature cliff, throwing every
crevice into clear relief, the shadows stretching as the sun fell. The
spray from the falls caught the light and a rainbow appeared.

“Watch the deep rose begin to change now,” Lady Okara said.

Shuyun stretched his time sense in an attempt to see what the
artist’s eye would see. The waterfall slowed, each drop of spray
catching the sun in a different way, with a different color. Indeed
the rock was faintly rose hued; he had not realized this before.

“Rose to deep purple, but watch how many shades it passes
through, Brother. It is a daily miracle, I should think.”

“I had never seen this before, though I come here often.”

Wind rustled the needles of the small pines and the light played
among the greens and cast oddly elongated shadows.

“For many, the skills of brush and pigment are more easily learned
than the skill of seeing, truly seeing. I came to Seh largely for this.
Oh, not to see this garden, as lovely as it is, but to learn to see
again.”

“Lady Okara,” Shuyun said, nodding toward her half-finished
painting, “excuse me for saying so, but I find it difficult to believe
that you have forgotten how to see.”

“Ah, Brother Shuyun, it is kind of you to say so, but a good painter,
an artist, does not see only with the eye. A skilled journeyman
could learn to capture this scene, light and all. That, I have not lost.
What an artist must seek and try to capture is the part of this setting
that occurs within. What does this beauty evoke in my heart? In my
spirit? A painter asks that question. The true skill, the skill that
separates an artist from a journeyman, is the ability to find and
express that—the part of this scene that exists within.” She fell
silent, as though she had begun to search within even as they
spoke.

“You see, Brother, until Nishi-sum came to my home, I did not even
know that I had lost that skill. Until I encountered her lovely, open
spirit, I had thought the skill intact. But it was gone. I had lost it by
forming habits of seeing and habits of feeling, as well. It is easily
done. One can form habits in one’s heart as easily as in one’s day-
to-day existence. Cha at dawn, a walk alone at sunset, meditation
on the full moon… nostalgia, loss, bitterness, comfort. All of these
habits shield us from the other parts of life. The journey to a new
place, encountering people, considering new ideas, different
landscapes, risks, excitement, joy… disappointment… grief.

“From the great palate that life offers I had chosen my
colors—good colors, certainly, but few in number—and I had lived
with them for many, many years. My spirit withered slowly in its
habits. When Nishima-sum came to my house, I could see what
this had done to my art.

“It is an odd choice to make, to dedicate one’s life to a single
pursuit, but if one has made that choice it would be terrible folly to
limit what one can accomplish simply because of habit.” She
gestured with her brush. “Watch

this rainbow fade. Isn’t that wonderful? As though it had never
been.“

She reached down and for several seconds held the tip of her
brush in the running water. “So I have come to Seh, hoping to find
a way to open my heart and my spirit to the world again—hoping to
revive my art. I do not know if this is possible: I am not the age of
Lady Nish-ima, after all. But if there is a way, I must try to find it.”

They fell silent again, watching the last light illuminate the miniature
mountainside. Listening to the sound of the water as it fell into the
pool and then ran among the stepping stones.

Lady Okara rose suddenly. “Please, Brother, you have come here
for your own purpose. I grow cold easily and must go inside. But
please, I insist. I can make my way indoors without an escort.”

Despite her words, Shuyun rose and handed her across the
stepping stones before giving way to her protests and allowing her
to continue on her own, disappearing down the path, her plain
robes in contrast to her great natural dignity.

Shuyun returned to the falls and seated himself where Lady Okara
had been. It was almost dark now, the first stars appeared. He
mulled over the painter’s words. The touch of Lady Kitsura came
back to him and hovered at the edge of Lady Okara’s words as
though speaking to him in some other language. He thought of
Lady Nishima and how he dreamed of her in the desert, dreamed
that he was in her embrace as the Perfect Master had been in the
embrace of his bride on the cliff sculpture in Denji Gorge.

All of these spoke to him in their own way.

Words came back to him. It is an odd choice to make, to dedicate
one’s life to a single pursuit, but if one has made that choice it
would be terrible folly to limit what one can accomplish simply
because of habit.

The illusion of the mountain waterfall was hidden in darkness now,
but the voice of the cataract still spoke, reminding him that Lady
Okara had opened her spirit to this wonder.

She explores the nature of the illusion, Shuyun told himself, that is
her purpose. Whereas it is my purpose

to deny the illusion: yet what is the nature of this thing I deny? Lady
Okara opens her spirit to the world, while I close mine. Who can
say who will learn more in this process? Lord Botahara did not
attain Enlightenment from denial but from exploration—as Lady
Okara has said—both within and without.

This thought unsettled him and all of the voices in his head added
to his confusion. He began a breathing exercise, chanting quietly,
then sank himself into contemplation, driving out all the voices and
focusing all of his mind on the words of his teachers.

It was the habit of a lifetime.

Seven

The servant had drowned in the canal the morning before and not
been discovered for almost a day. The small sampan he’d
borrowed was later found floating upside-down among the flotsam
in a small eddy beneath a seldom used bridge. No one was sure
how the accident had occurred, but it was well known that the boy
couldn’t swim.

General Jaku Katta, the servant’s master, was surprised by the
effect this death had upon him. The servant boy, one Inaga, had
not held a special position in his master’s house—a personal
servant—a good one, yes, but no better than one would expect in
the house of so powerful a man. And yet the death was felt
throughout the household.

Jaku sat alone in his cabin on the Imperial Barge and considered
his reaction to the loss. The river flowed quietly by, lapping at the
barge, a reminder of every poem that had ever been written with a
river as an image of life. The calls and shouts of the passing
rivermen broke the calm and this seemed a great offense to the
general’s state of mourning. Of course he was not officially in
mourning—one did not mourn servants—but in his soul Jaku Katta
mourned and this unsettled him, for he was a soldier and not
unused to death.

Inaga had been young, that alone explained some of Jaku’s
reaction, but this was more than the common response to the
death of a child. Inaga had possessed qualities that were rare and,
though Jaku hadn’t known this, they were qualities he valued highly.

Attempting to alter his gray mood, the guardsman dipped a brush
in ink and poised the tip over the report he was supposed to be
writing, but no words flowed. He realized he had lost focus entirely
when ink dripped onto

the rice paper, spoiling it completely. Rinsing the brush, he set it on
its rest to dry and gave up the pretense of work altogether.

Though he told himself he had no time for melancholy, Jaku could
not force his thoughts elsewhere. Inaga had qualities that Jaku had
seen too infrequently. It was not common to find someone who
was entirely loyal and there was no doubt in Jaku’s mind that the
boy had been. There had never been any doubt, not from the very
first day Inaga had come to service. That was another point about
Inaga—he concealed nothing—was somehow incapable of hiding
anything and it seemed everyone knew that instinctively.

Katta touched the paper on which he had been writing to a lamp,
letting it burn, slowly turning it to avoid the flame. He waited until he
dared hold it no longer and then dropped it onto his inkstone and
let it burn itself out.

It was not the boy’s death, Jaku realized, it was something more.
The intrigue of the Imperial Palace and in the Empire was
something he had always found exhilarating, like the kick boxing
ring or a duel—one was truly tested—and failing the test meant
more than losing a game of gü. Failing could mean loss of
everything. But somehow the death of the servant had affected
Jaku’s love of the game. It had been such a senseless death, in
aid of nothing.

Suddenly the game of court intrigue seemed as senseless as…
Jaku was not sure what. And it was this game that had brought him
here—to Seh where the Emperor plotted against the Shonto
House.

Does the Emperor intend this as a lesson or is it his intention that I
fall with Lord Shonto? Jaku asked himself again. Certainly the Son
of Heaven knew that Shonto would not accept Jaku as an ally—and
Jaku was not about to join forces with a man who was about to
fall—not just fall from favor.

The last flame from the burning paper flickered and disappeared,
leaving a pile of smoking ashes on the ink-stone. The report would
have been meaningless anyway, Jaku thought, just another
arrangement of words on paper in a bureaucracy weighted down
with words on paper.

In a few hours he would meet Lord Shonto. He could expect no
honesty there either, and certainly no loyalty. Jaku touched his
fingertips together as though he would meditate. There were so
many lies now that even Jaku was beginning to lose his way among
them.

He had spent hours searching among all the past lies, assuring
himself that he knew his path so well that Shonto could never
cause him to stumble. He thought of Lady Nishima, from whom he
had not received word since his arrival in Rhojo-ma. She walked
the path of lies also, though he felt somehow that she found
herself there by accident, not by choice.

There was no one he could think of now whom he could rely on to
be honest at all times. He thought of Tadamoto-sum and the usual
anger he felt was replaced by a deep sadness.

A riverman called out to another and they both laughed. Jaku rose
fluidly from his cushion and began to pace the cabin, six paces,
side to side. A tap sounded on the screen and Jaku gave
permission to enter.

“Your audience with Lord Shonto, General,” a servant whispered.

Jaku nodded. He mustn’t keep the Imperial Governor waiting. No.
Every act of the farce must be carried out, without exception. An
audience with a governor who would soon be a ghost seemed
particularly appropriate to such a play. And Jaku had no doubt that
a ghost was what Shonto would soon be. There would be no rest
for the lord, nor for his retainers, nor for his son. Jaku was certain
of that.

And now the architect of Shonto’s downfall had arrived to
participate in the lord’s fate. The guardsman shook his head. It had
been a beautiful stroke, Jaku had to admit. He had not thought the
Emperor capable of such a pure act. He wondered if the Son of
Heaven thought Jaku should feel honored to be in such esteemed
company. An audience with a corpse. He must dress for the
occasion.

His most finely made light duty armor, the suit with the Choka hawk
worked into the black lacings along the shoulder covering. A purple
border with tiny silver hawks. Jaku thought it quite possible that
there had been no finer armor made in his generation. Certainly,
Shonto

had his garden, but Jaku was not a man without means as this work
of the armorer’s art would attest. And Shonto would recognize the
work of an artist—Jaku was counting on that.

The Commander of the Imperial Guard took more time than usual
with his preparations—almost as though he made ready for a duel.
Shonto was undoubtedly an adversary deserving of such
treatment. Perhaps it was this thought that made Jaku choose his
Mitsushito from among the several swords he traveled with. He
opened the rosewood case with great respect and examined the
weapon most conscientiously before lacing it into his sash. It was
very old, almost an artifact, yet the name of its maker alone would
unnerve most opponents. Jaku, of course, was too much of a
pragmatist to rely on another’s reputation—the sword was a
beautiful weapon, not an ornament.

So like a journey to a duel did this feel that Jaku had an urge to
look over at his Second as he took his place in the sampan. He
even felt that strange sense of unreality; “floating on the surface of
illusion,” his teachers had called it.

The boatmen pushed off and began to scull rhythmically. Denji
Gorge, Jaku thought. Shonto had found a way out of Denji Gorge.
Bribery was the only possibility. Jaku felt himself begin to float
higher and resisted with an act of will. To have men so well placed
in Hajiwara’s army spoke of long preparation. Unreality tugged at
him again. Just how long, Jaku wondered, had Shonto known that
he would be sent to Seh?

Jaku rubbed the palms of his hands on the padded armrest. What
did Shonto know? Whose game was being played here? Perhaps
it would not be an audience with a ghost but the ghost that traveled
to the audience. Jaku looked down at his hands as though
reassuring himself of their substance.

Even if Shonto was not aware of his situation, certainly he was
aware of Jaku’s part in the debacle in Itsa Province. Using the
control of the kick boxer, Jaku forced a calm over himself. Shonto
would not act openly, after all, the lord was a gü Master of some
fame. No, this meeting might serve no purpose other than to make
Jaku aware that Shonto had no doubts about who stood behind

the attempt at Denji Gorge. That would be more worthy of him.

The Imperial Guard Commander realized that the irony of the
Emperor’s plan was quite complete. No doubt the Son of Heaven
had divined Jaku’s plans for Lady Nish-ima, or perhaps it was truer
to say that the art of divination had not been required… Tadamoto
had seen to that. What was it the Emperor feared? That Jaku Katta
would join forces with the Shonto. And now the Son of Heaven had
sent Jaku into Shonto’s palace knowing full well that the Imperial
Governor would never join forces with the man who had arranged
for him to be trapped in Denji Gorge.

Jaku realized that, for the first time in many years, he had very few
options. He had become a traveler on a path without branches, a
path that narrowed with each step. So it was that he played out
each act of the farce as though it had meaning. What choice was
there? He had even done exemplary work ridding the Grand Canal
of its parasites. Jaku laughed softly. If nothing else, he was still
Wa’s finest soldier.

“He is in disfavor or he has been sent north to oversee your fall,
Lord Shonto. If he is in disfavor, our attempts to convince the
Emperor of the true threat will not be successful. If General Jaku
has been sent north to be sure there are no mistakes made and
that my Governor is truly brought down, then there is a slim chance
that he could be made to see the true danger… a very slim
chance.” General Hojo bowed.

Shonto nodded. He shifted his armrest unconsciously, considering
what Hojo said. It was not that the general’s words had not been
said before, but Shonto believed that ideas, even bad ideas, in
some mysterious way generated other ideas and one of those
might be the truth or the beginning of wisdom. His former Spiritual
Advisor had a saying that he used often: search for the truth inside
a lie. So he searched, not that Hojo had lied, of course, but it was
the same principle.

They sat in a plain room: General Hojo; Lord Koma-wara; Shonto’s
Steward, Kamu; Lord Taiki; and Brother Shuyun.

The wall paintings drew the governor’s attention for a

moment—on one side of the hall a scene of the great war with the
barbarians in which his own ancestor had played a significant
part—on the other a scene among the plum trees in spring in which
Genjo, the great poet of Seh, chanted to a rapt audience. Shonto
turned back to his advisors.

“We will proceed as we have discussed,” Shonto said, finally.
“Perhaps the guardsman will tell us more than he means to. Lord
Komawara, you are prepared for your part?”

Komawara nodded, half a bow. His hair had still not grown back
from his travels as an itinerant Botahist monk, and he welcomed
the dressing on his head wound and wore it larger than necessary
in an attempt to cover as much of his scalp as possible. His efforts
to pretend this did not shame him were sometimes difficult to
watch.

“Then we can do no more.”

A guard opened the screen a crack, as though on cue, and a hand
signal was given to Kamu.

“He is at our gate,” the steward reported, and all present
composed themselves to wait.

Jaku arrived with two of his black-clad Imperial Guards who
stationed themselves, with Shonto’s own guard, outside the
entrance to the room. He knelt on a cushion that had been set for
him and bowed deeply.

Shonto nodded and then smiled. “Does the chaku bush fare well,
General Jaku?”

Jaku nodded. “I am convinced that my gardener never tended his
own children so well. The chaku fares well and is without question
the centerpiece of my garden. I remain in the Governor’s debt for
such a gift.‘’

“There is no debt between friends, or so Hakata said and I believe
he spoke the truth.

“It is my honor to introduce you to my guests.” Introductions were
made and Shonto watched carefully the guardsman’s reactions but
even when introduced to Shu-yun he gave no sign of what he might
think or feel. Well played, Katta, Shonto thought, gracious even to
the man who defeated you in the kick boxing ring.

“May we offer you refreshment, Katta-sum?”

Before the guardsman could answer, they were interrupted by
screens sliding open to Shonto’s right and then the rustle of silk
and female voices. All eyes turned to

find Lady Kitsura and Lady Nishima, followed by their ladies-in-
waiting and servants who carried a harp and a flute.

The women bowed to Shonto and his guests. “Our apologies,
Uncle,” Nishima colored as she spoke, “It was not our intention to
interrupt. Kitsura had promised a concert… Please excuse us.”
She turned to go.

“Nishima-sum, please do not apologize.” He smiled to reassure
her. Certainly he would never think to embarrass his daughter and
Lady Kitsura by sending them away. “I’m sure music would be
welcomed by our guests. Especially music provided by players of
such note. Please, join us.” Shonto waved to the servants.

The ladies bowed and cushions were set for them before the dais.
They were less formally dressed than the occasion demanded, as
they were in the presence of guests, but even so their robes were
of fine materials and matched to the layers of inner robes with the
greatest care. Nishima’s kimono was a pattern of snow-laden plum
blossoms on a field of blue and Kitsura wore a robe of deep red
bearing a flight of autumn cranes.

Although Nishima’s hair was worn in a traditional arrangement,
Kitsura’s was most informal—worn in long cascades that flowed
down her back. The ladies-in-waiting took a moment to arrange
Kitsura’s tresses for her hair all but reached the floor when she
stood. It was not common for women to wear their hair this way
except in the privacy of their own rooms or with members of their
families or occasionally with trusted family friends. The effect this
had on the gentlemen present was visible.

“You have met General Jaku, I believe?” Shonto asked. “Lady
Kitsura Omawara, and my daughter, Lady Nishima.” Servants
arrived with wine and tables. The ladies’ instruments were set
nearby.

“Did your efforts on the canal go well, General Jaku?” Nishima
asked. Shonto admired how quickly her poise returned.

“It is kind of you to ask, Lady Nishima. I believe the Grand Canal
can now be traversed by unescorted women and children in
complete safety.‘’

A typically modest warrior, Shonto thought.

“That is welcome news indeed.” Nishima said, her smile a bit
forced. She turned immediately to Komawara

who had been slowly sinking into himself since the women arrived.
“And Lord Komawara, I understand that you also have been
making the Empire safe from brigands?”

“A small altercation in the hills, Lady Nishima. Of little
consequence.” Shonto noted that Lord Komawara only met his
daughter’s eye for the briefest second.

“You are far too modest, Lord Komawara.” She turned to Jaku.
“Lord Komawara’s men were twice outnumbered, and yet they did
not hesitate. At some loss, and with many wounded, including our
brave lord, they made the Jai Lung Hills safe for passage again.”
She rewarded Komawara with a smile mat seemed to speak great
admiration.

“Nishima-sum,” Kitsura said, “shall we play and then allow Lord
Shonto and his guests to return to their conversation?”

Nishima agreed and they took up their instruments. The melody
they had chosen for the occasion was not in the modern style that
they usually preferred but was of an ancient form known as “Poem
Song.” Autumn on the Mountain of the Pure Spirit was a melody
that conjured up the sounds of the world and was thought to be
one of the most evocative songs ever written. The flute led the
harp through the first movement which captured the mood of the
leaves beginning to fall.

It was not impolite to watch musicians as they played, which meant
that the gathered gentlemen could regard the two women in a
manner that would otherwise have been unacceptable. In the warm
lamplight Kitsura and Nishima appeared to be two figures from the
wall painting come back to a time where things were more real and
mundane. With her eyes closed and her face covered in a blush
from winding the flute, Kitsura seemed even more the ideal of
feminine beauty. Shonto turned his gaze away with difficulty and
found that both Jaku Katta and Lord Komawara appeared
enraptured. At the same time Shu-yun sat with his eyes closed as
though he meditated— whether it was upon the music or
something else Shonto could not know.

The melody followed the falling leaves down to a small waterfall
that became a stream winding down the mountainside among the
pines. The sound of temple bells

echoed in the strings of the harp as the stream passed one of the
many fanes among the mountain groves.

It was not a long piece, and when it was over everyone sat in
silence for several moments. As though on cue, Kitsura and Lady
Nishima rose and their servants collected up their instruments.

“Please excuse our interruption,” Kitsura almost whispered. And
before the men could protest, the women had retreated the way
they had come.

The room seemed as empty as a bell after it has been rung. The
men sat quietly, each lost in his own thoughts and the feelings the
music and the presence of the women had stirred. Shonto finally
broke the silence.

“All official business should have such interruptions. It provides the
proper perspective from which to proceed.” He looked at each
member of the group in turn, holding each of their gazes for just an
instant, and then he nodded. The audience began.

“General Jaku, may I begin by expressing the thanks of the
government of Seh for what you have so recently accomplished on
the Grand Canal. We are all in your debt and owe much to the Son
of Heaven who sent you on such a worthy enterprise.” He nodded
to Jaku again.

“Do you plan to stay long in Seh, General? We could plan some
fine hunting and other entertainments, which your officers may also
enjoy.”

Jaku paused before answering. “I have completed my work on the
canal sooner than anticipated, Lord Shonto. As I have no orders as
of yet, I had hoped to offer some small service in your military
efforts. It would be an honor to serve with such a renowned
general.”

“This is better news than I had expected, General. It would be an
honor to have your counsel.” Shonto smiled broadly. “If this is
indeed your intention, Katta-sum, then I would happily share what
little I have learned of our situation here.”

Jaku said nothing but composed himself to listen.

“Only this morning I have finished a long report to our Emperor
detailing the situation we have found in Seh. Although this is a
report for the eyes of our ruler I feel that, as you command the
Emperor’s Guard, I may speak to you with complete confidence.

“As you no doubt are aware, there is a disagreement

among the lords of Seh regarding the barbarians and their
intentions and also about their numbers. On both sides of this
debate stand men with many years of experience and proven
wisdom. As you might imagine, this made deciding between the
two arguments difficult. I have always believed that the direct
approach is best whenever possible. We decided to send men
into the desert to find out what we could.

“The only people of the Empire who can travel north of the border
of Seh are the healing Brothers, so Brother Shuyun, accompanied
by Lord Komawara disguised as a Botahist Brother, went into the
desert.” Shonto turned to Komawara. “Perhaps, Lord Komawara,
you should tell this tale.”

The young lord nodded and, as agreed, told an abridged version
of his journey into the desert, saying nothing of the Kalam, or the
cult of the Dragon and its shrine. Shonto watched the Imperial
Guard Commander’s face throughout, but Jaku betrayed nothing.
When Komawara finished, he bowed to Lord Shonto.

“Please, General,” Shonto said, “I’m sure both Shuyun-sum and
Lord Komawara would answer any questions you might have.‘’

“I must have time to consider this information further, Lord Shonto.
Please, continue, it is a most intriguing tale.”

Shonto took a long drink of his wine as though the talk of the desert
had caused him thirst. “As you see, General, I am much more
concerned with the situation in the north than I was when I set out
on the Grand Canal.” He shook his head and then looked up and
caught the guardsman’s eye. “Do you know anything of the
barbarian Dragon Cult, General Jaku?”

It was a minute reaction, but Shonto was sure Jaku hesitated as
though surprised.

“I have not heard of it, though dragon worship is not uncommon
even within our Empire, Sire.”

“Huh.” Shonto looked thoughtful for a moment. “Perhaps that
explains it.” He was silent for a moment. “I believe that we are
about to encounter a threat the likes of which we have not seen
since the day of Emperor Jirri. And this will not be a threat that
confines itself to Seh, for though the men of Seh are brave and
skilled in

the arts of war, they are few in number as the plague destroyed
most of a generation here.

“The situation is complicated by other factors. It is my belief that
barbarian raids on Seh fit into someone’s design, someone within
our Empire. Their purpose I leave to your imagination. For this
reason the true threat will not be understood until it is perhaps too
late.”

Shonto stopped and looked at Jaku expectantly.

“Lord Shonto, I am not sure what you suggest, but certainly no one
within the Empire would be foolish enough to betray us to the
barbarian. Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“I was hoping, General, that you might tell me.”

Jaku drew himself up to his full sitting height. “Lord Shonto,” his
voice showed signs of an effort toward control, “you come close to
suggesting that I am party to a treason.”

Careful, General, the lord thought, you speak to the lord of the
Shonto. I will accuse whom I please. He nodded to Kamu who
signaled an unseen attendant. A screen slid open and two of the
Hajiwara men, now in Komawara livery, entered carrying a black,
ironbound trunk on a pole. They set this on the mat before the dais
and at a nod from Komawara they opened the lid and spilled the
contents onto the floor before the Emperor’s Guard Commander.
A cascade of gold spread like a landslide across the floor and
came to rest, glittering in the lamplight. An Emperor’s ransom in
gold coins!

The two Komawara guards retreated, and as they did so a third
man entered. The Kalam, dressed in his barbarian clothing, came
and sat between Lord Komawara and Shuyun.

When Jaku raised his eyes from the fortune that had been spread
before him, his face seemed utterly changed. Perhaps it was the
light reflected from the coins, but his skin had grown pale and
appeared to be drawn taught over rigid muscles. The sight of the
barbarian caused him to stop as he began to speak.

Lord Shonto caught the Tiger’s eye again. Now you wonder what I
truly know, Shonto thought. You even wonder if I know your part in
our beloved Emperor’s plot. “By the middle of the summer,”
Shonto said, his voice hard, “the Empire of Wa will have been
overrun

by an army the size of which has not been seen in a hundred years.
Everything we strive toward will be destroyed utterly. Anything that
gives meaning to the life of General Jaku Katta will have been
rendered meaningless… Everything you value—family, your
command, lovers, estates—will all become the prerogative of a
Khan who will sit upon the throne of our Empire. And he will
distribute what is left of your life among his lieutenants and
chieftains.“ Shonto stopped to let his words have their effect.

“Akantsu,” Shonto said, using no title or honorific, “does not
understand what he has done. In his mad attempt to bring down the
Shonto House, he will bring down his Empire and blacken the
name of Yamaku for all of history.

“I am prepared to mount a force to take you into the desert,
General Jaku, so you may see with your own eyes the things that
Lord Komawara and Brother Shuyun have seen. I will spare no
effort to convince you that the barbarian threat is real, for if we do
not gain Imperial support before spring we cannot stand against
the force that will come out of the desert. Without your influence at
court, General Jaku, the Empire of Wa will fall.”

Jaku reached out and took up a handful of coins, but he did this
without sign of desire or awe, as though it was a fist full of sand he
held. He let the coins run through his fingers, ringing as they fell
back into the pile, the sound echoing in the silent room.

Picking up a single coin, Jaku turned it over, examining it as though
the meaning of gold had just become clear to him, and its meaning
did not bring him comfort.

He turned his gaze on the Governor’s Spiritual Advisor. “Brother
Shuyun, on the soul of Botahara, do you swear that this story of
what was seen in the desert is true?”

Komawara almost rose from his cushion. “You cannot ask him to
commit a blasphemy! It is against his…”

Shuyun reached out and grasped the young lord’s arm and he
stopped in mid-sentence.

“I cannot speak as you ask, General Jaku, but may my own soul be
bound eternally to the wheel if what Lord Komawara has said is not
truth. There is little doubt in my mind that the picture Lord Shonto
has painted will

come to be if the Empire does not rise to the defense of Seh. The
army we saw in the desert was as real as the coins you see before
you and the warriors more numerous.“

Jaku gave a nodding bow to the monk and looked back to the coin
in his hand, turning it slowly over and over. “I cannot guarantee that
the Son of Heaven will heed my words, Lord Shonto. In certain
endeavors our Emperor does not listen to the sound of reason. I
will, however, do what I can. Certainly the Emperor will believe that
this is only a ploy to gain control of a large force and that I have
fallen victim to your cunning. Or the fact that I am convinced by
your words may suggest treachery more than it will suggest an
accurate military assessment.” He placed the coin carefully back in
the pile. “A way that we could strengthen our case would be to
convince a certain lord in Seh of the danger to the Empire.” He
hesitated. “But I am concerned that revealing his name might bring
about his own demise, and that would certainly put assistance from
the Son of Heaven out of reach forever.”

Shonto shifted his armrest again. “If I were to invite this lord to the
palace and display the contents of this trunk to him, do you think
you could assist us in convincing him of the true danger to Seh?”

Jaku nodded. “I believe I could help make the argument
convincing. Again I stress that if I reveal his name, revenge must
not be sought against him. This could damage our cause beyond
any hope of repair.”

“General Jaku,” Shonto said, “the Empire has been brought into
great danger through the rivalry of its Houses. If we are to save
Wa, all such pettiness must be put aside.” He turned to his
Steward. “Kamu-sum, invite Lord Kintari and his two oldest sons to
come and hear the Ladies of the Capital play.” He turned back to
Jaku and raised an eyebrow. The Black Tiger nodded.

Each rhythmic sweep of the oarsmen sent the fine craft gliding
along the silent canal. The speed of his boat often brought Jaku
great pleasure; when he discovered an empty stretch of water he
would exhort his boatmen to greater and greater speed for the
pure joy of it. This

evening, however, he seemed unaware of his crew’s efforts.

Jaku Katta had absolutely no doubt that the Supreme Master of the
Botahist Order could look him in the eye and lie as easily as he
chanted the name of Botahara. He was equally convinced that
Brother Shuyun was as incapable of this as his former servant had
been.

Despite all that he felt about the Botahist Brotherhood and its
meddling, he knew that this boy-monk had somehow remained
pure, untouched by the hypocrisy of his Order. How else could one
explain the feat that Jaku had witnessed in the kick boxing ring?
The boy had deflected a blow without actual physical contact! Jaku
had felt it.

Even though Jaku had long worn the humiliation of that defeat and
the years of anger that it had caused, he knew that Initiate Brother
Shuyun was not another Botahist hypocrite… What the boy was
Jaku could not be certain, but his suspicion caused him both awe
and fear. Shuyun, he sometimes believed, was a child touched by
Botahara himself.

Jaku considered what he had heard in his audience with the
governor. The barbarians were no longer pawns in the Emperor’s
plot. The tribes had plans of their own, it seemed—were under no
one’s control except perhaps this Golden Khan. Should he tell
Shonto what he knew about this one? Perhaps. He would see.

Jaku looked out at the thoroughfare that edged the canal. Like
most of the streets of Rhojo-ma, it was almost without traffic. By
the Gods, if he joined Shonto he would come to war with the
Emperor. Akantsu would never be convinced that his barbarian
chieftain had escaped his control. Never, never, never.

Jaku rubbed his temple. To join Shonto was probably a decision to
commit suicide, there was no doubt of that. Yet only Shonto could
save the Empire. That was also beyond doubt. And if the Empire
was saved? What then?

Jaku thought of the Lady Nishima, sitting before her harp. Was it
possible that there was another solution? What if he truly became
worthy of Shonto’s daughter? If Shonto won the coming war, the
Yamaku would fall. Who would Shonto put on the throne?

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps… Perhaps Shonto could escape the
Emperor’s trap. Shonto, Jaku was beginning

to believe, was capable of anything. He thought of the trunk of gold
and this brought him back to the question he had considered
earlier. How long had Shonto known?

The canal slipped by and before Jaku realized it he had arrived at
the Emperor’s Barge. Absorbed in thought, the Commander of the
Imperial Guard sat in his sampan. His boatmen waited without sign
of impatience.

The path has grown too narrow, Jaku thought, I have no choices
left. If Wa falls to a barbarian chieftain, it will be as Shonto
says—the Jaku will lose everything. He shook his head. When
there are no choices, one should not be frozen in indecision. The
Empire must be defended. One cannot play gü without a gü board.

Jaku almost bounded onto the deck of the barge. Bowing guards
fell back in surprise. Their commander laughed at their reaction. He
mounted the steps to the upper deck as he tackled the question of
how to raise an army. He considered any number of lies he could
tell the Emperor, all of them far more plausible than the truth. But
some part of him balked at this course, and he found this reaction
somewhat strange as though it belonged to someone else and
appeared in his personality entirely by accident.

Eight

Osha knelt before a low table and, in the soft light of a lamp, went
through the ritual of choosing between two perfumes. As each
bottle was unstopped, she would take great care not to breathe
while a dab was placed on her forearm. This would be allowed to
evaporate appropriately before the delicate fragrance was inhaled.
Although the entire ritual was enacted with eyes closed in apparent
concentration, in truth, it was a sham. Osha could not truly focus
her attention on the scents and she let her arms fall to her sides
with a sigh—an act of resignation or despair.

Before she had opened the perfume, Osha had sent all her maids
away so that they would not distract her, but the truth was she
wanted to be alone to tie her sash. She looked at the gold brocade
but could not bring herself to take it up.

The women had left with some reluctance, running a last comb
through her long hair, rearranging the hem of a third under-kimono
so it would be properly displayed. Although Osha was very careful
not to reveal her feelings to her servants, it still made her sad that
they were so unaware of her situation. Osha shook her head sadly.
They were excited to see the Emperor’s renewed interest in their
mistress, believing that this would make her happy.

Finally settling on a scent of ground conch shell, musk, and
summer tulip, the Sonsa dancer carefully washed the other scent
from her arm before dabbing tiny droplets behind her ears and on
her wrists. Osha was circumspect in her use of perfume, unlike
many of the women in the court. As a Sonsa dancer she believed
that beauty resided in movement—all else was unimportant.

The ritual completed, Osha took the long brocade sash

that she had chosen to offset the pale green of her robes and laid
it across her lap. Until this moment she had done so well, but
suddenly her spirit sank like a stone through water. Taking deep
breaths she mastered this moment of weakness. Sonsa dancers
were trained to such control. Slowly winding the yards of fabric
around her waist, Osha imagined that she bound her emotions
inside with each turn.

A shoji slid aside somewhere down the hall and several sets of
footsteps could be heard through the rice paper screens. The
voices of Osha’s maids were quiet but, all the same, projected a
note of urgency. Osha stopped the winding of her sash and
cocked her beautiful head to listen. It was not urgency that she
heard, it was protest and the footsteps were those of a man or
men.

Immediately the dancer imagined the worst. It was an enraged
Emperor coming to confront her with her infidelity. The shoji to her
chamber banged open and Osha started as though struck.
Tadamoto stood in the opening, tall among the protesting servants.

Collecting her wits, Osha waved the servants out and Tadamoto
entered, dropping to his knees a few feet before her. The resolve
he had shown forcing his way to her rooms disappeared and he
slumped, staring down at the floor. He raised his eyes to hers as
though he would speak, but no words came and his gaze returned
to the floor.

Nor could Osha find words for the turmoil that Tadamoto’s arrival
had sparked. They sat in silence for several minutes before Osha
managed to form a few words.

“Tadamoto-sum,” she whispered, “you must not, you… you place
us in the gravest danger.”

Tadamoto shook his head. The pain he felt was brushed in broad
strokes across the features of his scholar’s face. Yet he did not
speak.

“Tado-sum,” Osha whispered again, “I could not tell you.” She
reached out to take his fine-boned hands, but he pulled them away
and left her, half reaching out to him. She covered her face then
and silent tears glistened on delicate fingers. “I thought he was
finished with me. It was my dream that, in time, he would… not care
about us.” She pushed small fists against her eyes. “We have
been so loyal!”

Tadamoto reached out as though he would comfort her but
stopped.

“I wanted to tell you, Tadamoto-sum, but there are no words to
describe the confusion in my heart.”

“How?” Tadamoto said at last. “How could you let this happen?”

Osha emerged from behind her hands now, tears still shining in her
eyes. “Tado-sum,” she said so quietly he almost did not hear.
“What did you imagine? Did you imagine that I could make a
choice? That we have a choice?”

The young officer said nothing and she reached out to take his
hands again, and again he pulled away.

“You could have chosen to refuse,” he said, his voice colder than
he intended; it was almost a hiss.

When Osha answered, her voice sounded calm, with a touch of
distance in it. “And what would have happened then?” When he did
not answer she continued. “Could a member of the Jaku family visit
me secretly in a monastery in Chou or Itsa Province? What would
the Emperor say to that? I would have lost everything, Tadamoto-
sum, my dance, my life here in the Capital, and I would have lost
you also. Do not deceive yourself. If I am sent to the outer
provinces, it would be the end for us. There is no place where we
could run, Tado-sum. You know this to be true.”

She reached out and took his hands now and he did not resist.
“What other choice is there?” She tugged his hands gently, but still
he would not meet her eyes. “Speak to me.”

“Osha, Osha-sum. You cannot… You cannot.” He was unable to
finish.

“Our only choice is to never see each other again. Tado-sum my
love, I cannot make that choice. Can you?” When he did not speak,
she went on. “He will tire of me soon. There is no doubt of that. As
soon as he has recovered from this slight by the Omawara girl, he
will have no more need of me. If you want to truly help, find a girl of
high birth who is ambitious for her family and a great beauty as
well. I am nothing to him, truly.” She paused. “And he is even less
to me. Tado-sum?”

He looked up at her now.

“I know this is terrible, but… Please, I would not do this thing if it
were not for us.”

Osha pressed herself into his arms and he responded, pulling her
close against him. He could feel the struggle as she tried not to
sob. Life was so unfair to her, this tiny girl trapped by talent and
beauty, and yes, by ambition, too. Tadamoto buried his face in her
hair. The delicate scent of her perfume was the greatest blow of
all.

When he had gone, Osha sat staring at the lamp on her perfume
table, watching the flame sway and dance to the will of
imperceptible currents within the room. Taking the brocade in her
hands she finished winding it and tied the Lover’s Knot with barely
a second’s hesitation.

Later, in the chambers of the Emperor, Osha tried to focus on an
image of Tadamoto. The Emperor was lost in his passion and held
her tightly to him as he moved. To her horror, Osha felt her breath
begin to come in short gasps. She heard a moan of pleasure, and
the voice that uttered it was her own!

No, she thought, Jenna, Jenna, please… let me be. But the voice
cried out again, uncaring in its own pleasure.

“No, Jenna,” Osha whispered under her breath. “Oh, no. Oh…” But
the protest was lost in a cry of passion that heeded no voice but its
own.

Nine

Narrowing

High above Screaming Monkey Gorge

The footpath jags up

Into the Sacred Mountains

When one walks among clouds The way becomes as insubstantial
As a strand of moonlight

“Verses From a Pilgrimage” Initiate Brother Shinsha

Shuyun came easily to the Fifth Closure and altered his pattern. He
had been practicing this same exercise now for several weeks
though he had yet to achieve the results he desired. Jaku had tried
to strike him thus: Shuyun moved through the complex pattern of
punches and deflections as though the Black Tiger had returned to
fight their bout again. Shuyun closed his eyes and concentrated on
his memory, trying to find the same reaction in himself, trying to
achieve the identical state.

Again he felt close, but yet it eluded him. Without hesitation he
began the Fifth Closure and continued, practicing the broadening
of his focus that would eventually include his entire musculature,
the flow and precision of his movements, breath, and his
meditative state. Far off, a rapping entered his realm of
consciousness. A pause and then it came again. Three punctures
of his meditative state that echoed endlessly through his altered
time sense.

He interrupted his exercise and stood calmly for a moment,
adjusting his sense of time. The tapping came again, though they
seemed short quiet raps now.

“Please enter.”

The shoji slid open to reveal a Shonto guard kneeling in the
opening.

“Corporal?” Shuyun crossed toward the open screen so that any
interchange would be as quiet as possible. The Governor’s Palace
had too many ears by far.

“Excuse this interruption, Brother but you left instructions for this
situation and Kamu-sum confirmed them.”

Shuyun waved this aside. “Please, Corporal, do not apologize.”

The guard gave a nodding bow. “On the Grand Canal you were
visited by a young Botahist nun—Sister Tes-seko?”

Shuyun nodded.

“A young woman is at our gate claiming to be this woman, though
she is not dressed in the robes of her Order. She has requested a
meeting with you, Brother Shuyun. Kamu-sum confirmed that you
had left orders to interrupt you were this young woman to come
again. She is waiting in the Spring Audience Hall. I hope we have
acted correctly, Brother.”

Shuyun hid his surprise. “You have, thank you, Corporal. Please
inform Sister Tesseko that I will join her in moments.‘’

There was not enough time to bathe, so Shuyun settled for
washing in cold water and changing his robes. Acolyte Tesseko…
He remembered her well—young, tall, the bearer of unsettling
news. He had often wondered what had become of her charge,
Sister Morima. Had she survived her crisis of the spirit? There was
more than concern for the nun’s spiritual well-being at issue here;
there was self-interest also and Shuyun knew it.

He finished dressing and left his chambers, passing down the halls
quickly though somehow without seeming to hurry. The Spring
Audience Hall was a small, simple room with a low dais, painted
screens depicting spring in the mountains, and a simple shrine to
Botahara set into a tiny alcove in the wall. The shrine was no doubt
what had led the guard, or perhaps Kamu, to choose this hall for
their meeting—that and the fact that the room was so seldom used.

Guards knelt on either side of the double wooden doors to the
chamber. They bowed as Shuyun approached, and

with a quiet knock of warning they pushed open the doors.

Sister Tesseko looked up as Shuyun entered and her face
seemed to register terrible grief. If not for a lifetime of training, the
strength and immediacy of the woman’s pain would have drawn all
of his attention, but as a follower of Botahara he was more affected
by the fact that she sat with her back to the Shrine of the Perfect
Master.

Shuyun stopped and gave the short double bow of the Botahist
trained. “Acolyte Tesseko, your visit honors me, as it does the
House of my Lord.” He knelt a polite distance away.

The nun bowed. “I am no longer called Sister Tesseko, Brother. I
am Shimeko, now.” She bowed again. “I thank you for your kind
words, though I realize that, in truth, I have broken all convention
and exhibit the worst possible manners coming here
unannounced.”

“Shimeko-sum, I am honored that you would trust me enough to
come without sending word, as I asked you to do when we traveled
together on the Grand Canal. Please, be at your ease.” Shuyun
paused to gauge her reaction, but she did not meet his eyes. “May
I ask, how fares our Sister, Morima-sum?”

The young woman shrugged. “She has shown some improvement,
Brother, though not as much as the Sisters had hoped.” She
shrugged again.

There was a silence then, and Shuyun had an opportunity to study
Shimeko while she stared down at the grass mats. She was
dressed in the plainest cotton robes, like the wife of a poor
merchant, and she covered her head with a rough woolen shawl.
Her face was careworn and Shuyun thought she looked older than
she had when they last met. There were other signs of great strain,
for she was thin and her skin was mottled and lifeless as though
her diet had been very poor for some time. Shuyun was
concerned.

“Are you well, Sister?” he asked quietly.

She seemed to consider this for a second, a sad smile almost
coming to her lips. “I am no longer a Sister, Brother Shuyun. I… I
find I must keep reminding myself of this.” She fell silent again,
then looked up and held his eyes for an instant. “The Way,” she
said, re-

turning her gaze to the floor, “is difficult. I-I had not the strength.”

Shuyun nodded slowly. “Ahh,” he said almost under his breath. “Is
there some way that I may serve you, Shimeko-sum? Please do
not hesitate to ask.”

The conversation was punctuated by a long silence then.
“Brother… Brother Shuyun, I have come to beg that I may be
allowed to take service with you.” She put her hand to her mouth as
though she would stop it from causing her more embarrassment.

Shuyun put the tips of his fingers together as in meditation.
“Shimeko-sum, what you ask is not possible, I am sorry. This is not
my decision to make. And certainly it would not be proper for a
young woman to serve me. It is out of the question.” Shuyun
watched her as he spoke but could not be sure of her reaction, for
her face was partly hidden by her shawl. “Shimeko-sum? Why do
you ask this?”

She shrugged, tugging with one hand at a strand of grass from the
floor mat. “I believe, Brother Shuyun, that you are a pure spirit,
untainted by the… present state of the Botahist Orders.”

“You believe the Sisterhood is tainted, Shimeko-sum?”

She stopped playing with the strand of straw, covering it with her
palm as though this would somehow repair the damage. Her voice
dropped to a near whisper. “I believe both of our Orders are
corrupt, Brother Shuyun. Excuse me for saying so.”

“I see. Is this belief related to Sister Morima’s crisis, Shimeko-
sum?”

Lifting her hands she found that magic had not occurred. The straw
remained as it had been. She nodded. “Yes, Brother. That and
other things.”

“I do not wish to pry, Shimeko-sum, but, in truth, I wonder what has
occurred that caused you to turn your back on Botahara.”

She shrugged. “I…1 have not truly turned my back, Brother.” She
seemed to struggle for words. “I am no longer sure how to serve
the Perfect Master. I feel that those things which I learned from my
teachers have been… tainted, debased in some way. To worship
the Perfect Master in such a way…” She shivered visibly.

“This must be wrong, Brother,” she said, her voice suddenly
gaining clarity. “It must be.”

“You make strong statements, Shimeko-sum. Did Sister Morima
speak of her concerns specifically? Again, I hesitate to pry.‘’

“As you know, Brother, Morima-sum suffered a crisis of the spirit.
She is

inced that the scrolls she saw at the Ceremony of Divine Renewal
were not the scrolls of Botahara. I am not sure what evidence
convinced her of this, but Morima-sum is a scholar of great repute,
Brother. I do not doubt her assessment.“ She folded her hands in
her lap now and closed her eyes as if searching her memory.

“Because of Sister Morima’s crisis, she has spoken to me of
things that I should otherwise never have heard. She did not seem
to care, Brother. It is my understanding that the Sisters have
methods of collecting information, even from within your own
Order. They seem to believe that the Sacred Scrolls have
disappeared. That the Brotherhood searches for them secretly.”
She opened her eyes and met Shuyun’s own. “Though Sister
Morima believes the scrolls have not been in their possession for a
long time, perhaps hundreds of years.”

“I see,” Shuyun whispered. “The Scrolls of Botahara are guarded
night and day by the Sacred Guard of Jinjoh Monastery. It is
inconceivable that they could be stolen, Sister.”

“Shimeko, Brother, Shimeko. The Sisters seem to agree, Brother
Shuyun. Some do not believe they were removed by men. They
believe it was divine intervention.”

“Shimeko-sum. This can hardly be the belief of the Senior Sisters.”

She shrugged. “It appears to be, Brother, Morima-sum reported
this to me as though it were commonplace. And there is more.”
She began to worry the loose straw again. “No doubt you have
heard the rumor that the Udumbara has blossomed?” The straw
broke free of the mat and she began to weave it through her
fingers. “It is not a mere rumor, Brother Shuyun. Sisters witnessed
the blossoming before your Order closed the grounds of Monarta.
It is beyond all doubt, Brother, the Teacher who was spoken of is
among us.”

“I have discussed this rumor with a senior menroer o£? my own
Order,” Shuyun said quietly. “He assures me that this is not the
case, Shimeko-sum. Why would he lie to me? Why would my own
Order deny the rumor?‘’

“The Sisters ask this same question, Brother. It is an issue of
grave concern to them. It is thought that the Teacher is as yet
unknown to the Brotherhood, and they cannot proclaim him. If they
admit the Udumbara has blossomed, as the prophecy was written,
and they cannot bring forth the Teacher… As you see, Brother
Shuyun, the activities of the Botahist Orders seem to reflect a self-
interest that I find repugnant. I apologize for the insult that is
implied, but I cannot help but speak the truth, Brother, please
excuse me.”

“I value the truth, Shimeko-sum, but it is not always easy to discern
or to accept.” Shuyun fell into a long silence and was finally brought
back to awareness when Shimeko cleared her throat.

“Please excuse me, your words have given me much to consider.”
He tried to smile. “I come back to the question of how I may serve
you, Shimeko-sum.”

“But it is I who have come to serve you, Brother Shuyun.” Suddenly
she prostrated herself before him. “I ask this most humbly,
Brother.”

“Please, Shimeko-sum, sit as you were. Do not do this.” He looked
around in acute embarrassment as though afraid someone would
come in and see them. “This is most unseemly. Why are you doing
this?”

Shimeko spoke from her position, prostrate on the mats. “Brother
Shuyun, there are some in the Sisterhood who believe that you
may be the Teacher who was spoken of. I wish to serve you.”

Shuyun rocked back on his heels. What could possibly make the
Sisters believe such a thing? “Shimeko-sum, I assure you, if I were
the Teacher I would not keep such a thing secret.”

“Awareness is often preceded by accomplishment, Brother.”

“In truth, Shimeko-sum, my own faith is not unassailable by
questions and doubts. Shimeko-sum, rise up,” he ordered and the
young woman complied. She rose to a kneeling position, the
texture of the straw mat marking an intricate relief on her forehead.

She obeys her Teacher, Shuyun realized, and this unsettled him
more than her words. You stopped a blow without it touching you. It
was like a whisper in his mind. Brother Sotura was not even aware
that such a thing was possible. Senior Brother Sotura! It cannot be
true, he told himself, my faith is so easily shaken, doubts grow in
me like weeds. I cannot be the Teacher—I may never be a senior
Brother if I continue as I am now.

“Brother,” Shimeko said flatly, bringing him back to the world. “I
have nothing, no coins, no roof, no walls, no skills, no family. If you
send me away, I shall live in the street, and though I have no
compunctions about begging, I have no experience of this life. I
will live outside your gates, Brother, until I am given some task or
until I am driven away. I do not know what else I can do.”

Shuyun sighed. He believed she would do exactly as she said.
Botahara have mercy on her; a lost one. “Your calligraphy is
presentable?”

“I am told it is sufficient, Brother. I acted as Morima-sum’s
secretary often.”

“Would you object to serving a highborn lady in the same
capacity?”

“If she is within your household, Brother, I would accept gratefully.”

“I serve within her household, Shimeko-sum.” He paused, thinking.
“I can promise nothing, Shimeko-sum, but I will inquire.” He shook
his head. “And please, we can have no more displays of… this
kind. I am not the Teacher, I assure you.”

“If that is your wish, Brother Shuyun.”

“Come, I will find a maid who will take you to the kitchens for now.
You have not eaten in some time?”

“Three days only, Brother.” She tried to favor him with a smile. “I—I
thank you, Brother Shuyun.”

“Yes, but no more of this. You must promise.”

She started to bow but turned it into a nod.

Ten

Lord Shonto’s steward, Kamu, wove his way unsteadily down the
hallway. He held a lantern ahead of him in his only hand and
occasionally used his elbow against a post to regain his balance.
Guards bowed smartly as the old man passed. Despite his
appearance—gray hair in a tangle, robes obviously thrown on and
belted in the most haphazard manner—Kamu had once been a
famed swordsman and the young men among Shonto’s guard
treated him like a legend who had descended from some Great
Beyond to walk briefly among them.

The old steward careened down the hallway like a ship with a
broken rudder, bow lantern swinging. Four of Shonto’s Personal
Guard watched the doors to their lord’s chambers—solid doors,
not screens. The four bowed as Kamu approached and hands
went to sword hilts.

After speaking the password, Kamu was forced to set the lantern
down to give the accompanying hand signal. The force with which
the lantern made contact with the floor indicated the steward’s level
of annoyance.

The senior guard tapped on the door and a viewport slid open.
Quiet words were exchanged and the night guard, one of the few
allowed into the lord’s chamber while he slept, slid the port closed.

Kamu left the lantern on the floor as he waited. The viewport slid
aside again and the senior guard nodded, stepping aside as the
door opened.

Passing through the small entrance hall that acted as a guard
room, Kamu entered an inner chamber. A lamp flickered on a small
table, casting a weak light in the almost empty room. Kamu had
barely knelt when Shonto entered the room, looking only slightly
less disheveled than his steward.

The lord nodded in return to his retainer’s bow but did

not take the second cushion. Instead he placed his back against
one of the deep lacquered posts and crossed his arms, waiting.

“Excuse this…”

Shonto held up his hand and the steward stopped in mid-sentence.
“Despite our apparent youth, Kamu-sum, I believe we are too old
for such formalities, under the circumstances. Please, speak
directly.”

Without a hint of a smile, Kamu began. “The Kintari, Sire… They
have fled.”

“Huh.” Shonto rubbed his chin.

“I have taken the liberty to awaken and inform your advisors, Sire.
I’ve tripled the guard around the palace.”

Shonto started to speak, but the night guard appeared in the
doorway.

“General Hojo and Lord Komawara, Sire.”

Shonto gestured to allow them entrance.

The sounds of doors and rustling clothing. By their dress, both
Hojo and Komawara had also been caught unaware. They bowed
to Kamu and their liege-lord.

Shonto said, “The Kintari have refused our hospitality, General
Hojo.”

Hojo nodded.

“Most unfortunate. All of them, I suppose?”

“It appears so, Sire,” Kamu answered. “We will know in a few
hours.‘’

“We should take precautions, but I don’t believe this means the
Emperor is about to move against us,” Shonto pulled his robe
closer. “His plan is more subtle than that.”

Kamu waved his arm in a sweeping gesture that seemed to take in
all of Seh. “I believe, Sire, that the Kintari are less important than
what this incident tells us. They were warned, there can be no
doubt.”

Shonto paced across to the opposite post, then back again. He
looked up at Hojo.

“I agree, Sire. They must have had knowledge from within the
Governor’s Palace. Unless it was a sudden loss of nerve, and I
consider that unlikely. Even the Emperor does not choose the
fainthearted to carry out his treachery.”

“I have also had word from those who watch our new ally. A
messenger came to Jaku’s barge about the same

time as we received word of the Kintari. Apparently this caused
quite a stir aboard the Guard Commander’s barge. Jaku is on his
way to the palace as we speak.“

Shonto nodded. “Lord Komawara, if you were Lord Kintari, where
would you go?”

Komawara pressed the bridge of his long, thin nose. “The quickest
escape would be down the river, but once the sea is reached they
will find few ships willing to risk the winter storms: it seems unlikely
that they would make such a choice unless utterly desperate. The
Grand Canal is the most easily searched, despite the numbers of
craft that would be involved.” He looked around the room, meeting
each set of eyes in a manner he would never have done a few
months before. “If everything we believe about Lord Kintari is true,
I would seek them in the desert, Sire.”

“Ah.” Shonto gave half a laugh.“”How far ahead of us do we think
they are?“

Kamu and Hojo exchanged glances. “We are not yet certain, Lord
Shonto,” Kamu said. “Their servants may have been keeping up a
pretense for several days, though no more than three or, perhaps,
four.”

“Excuse me, Sire,” Hojo said quietly, “we should also consider
what this may say about our friend in the Imperial Guard. Jaku was
well aware of our intentions; he received a message just as we did.
Could he be the ear in our midst?”

“Jaku’s loyalty will always be in question. It is only comforting to
remind oneself that the Emperor must be haunted by the same
question.” Shonto stretched his arms high. “Morning is too near for
a return to sleep. Please, join me for my meal.” Shonto clapped
and a servant appeared. He gave quick orders and then began to
pace again, an activity his retainers had seldom seen him indulge
in.

Before servants arrived with the meal, the night guard again
interrupted, whispering to Kamu.

“Brother Shuyun and General Jaku have both arrived, Sire.”

“Ah,” Shonto said to those around him. “As in all good tales:
mention the spirit by name and he appears.” Shonto crossed to the
small dais upon which his sword

sat in its stand and took up a place on the cushion, pulling an
armrest closer in a familiar gesture.

Shuyun appeared, his tonsured scalp and simple manner of dress
allowing him to arrive looking as he always did. Oddly, Jaku, who
had the farthest to travel, was impeccable in his black uniform.

The monk and the general bowed as their stations required.

“I set out as soon as the news reached me, Lord Shonto.” Jaku
seemed very calm, Shonto thought, despite the fact that he
certainly knew he would be under suspicion—someone warned the
Kintari.

Shonto looked around the group. “I trust, General Jaku, that you
learned of this independently?”

Jaku nodded. “I do not, however, know where the Kintari have fled
or when they first disappeared. It would seem, Lord Shonto, that
the Kintari must have learned of this from someone within the
Palace or within my guard. I have very tight security among my own
officers, Sire.”

“I do not doubt it, General. More blows through the walls of this
ancient maze than winter winds. Such things are inevitable in this
situation.”

Servants brought a light meal and tables were arranged for Shonto
and his guests. As though no matters of greater weight had been
discussed, polite conversation flowed seamlessly until the
servants had left and Shonto gave his guard orders to secure the
chamber. The discussion went from the best time of year to hunt
various game birds back to the issues at hand without a sentence
of transition.

Shonto sipped his cha, then set the cup back on his table, turning it
slowly. “It appears that the palace is not about to be stormed by
forces loyal to our enemies. The suggestion that the Kintari were
warned is no doubt true. Perhaps our hopes that the Kintari would
become allies in our attempt to gain the Emperor’s support were
vain.”

Shuyun gave a half bow before speaking. “If the Kintari could have
been convinced of our intentions, they may well have become the
support we hoped. We will not likely know this now. We must find
support without them. The men of Seh and the Emperor both need
to be convinced of the truth of our discoveries in the desert. It

is a pity that we did not return with evidence other than words.“

“As Brother Shuyun says,” Jaku added, “I have been convinced by
words and the belief of the witnesses. Not everyone will think as I
do. I have composed my letters to the Emperor and certain of his
counselors. As you are aware, the court functions according to an
elaborate, unwritten system of debt and payment—the coinage is
favor. If one understands the workings of the court and has given
credit to many, one can collect accordingly. In the Palace they say:
it is improper to ask the Great Council of the Empire to add a wing
to your home, but it is quite possible to have the Great Council
oifer to build such a wing.

‘ ’I am not a great lord nor do I hold high position, but I will call in
what credit I may have given. We shall see.“ Jaku tugged at the
corner of his mustache. ”If there is no support forthcoming from
the Emperor or the men of Seh—what will we do?“

Hojo nodded. “It is the very thing we have debated these past
months, General Jaku.”

A gong sounded and somewhere in the darkness the guard
changed. The night guard appeared in the doorway and signaled
Kamu. All was well.

“It has been our hope to convince others of the true threat, General
Jaku,” Shonto began, “but as you have said—this may not be
possible. When the barbarians cross our border in the spring, the
men of Seh will rally to our support… too late, unfortunately.” The
lord rearranged several objects on his table as he gathered his
thoughts. “We will make these final attempts to gain the support of
the men of Seh and the Emperor, but we cannot plan as if these
attempts will succeed. It must also be realized that to gain the
support of the Emperor but not the men of Seh, or the reverse, will
not be adequate. Our needs are great.

“If we have not gained the support we need, our concern will no
longer be the defense of Seh but the defense of Wa. We will
attempt to raise an army as we move south. It will become a
question of how many men of Seh will be willing to follow, for they
will form the heart of our army.”

“Sire!” Komawara blurted out, “you will abandon

Seh…“ Suddenly aware of the naivete of this statement, Komawara
reddened noticeably, adding to his embarrassment.

Shonto’s tone remained calm as he answered. “I do not wish to
abandon Seh, Lord Komawara, but to throw a tiny force at a vast
barbarian army will accomplish nothing. If our tactics are prudent
and our courage does not falter, we may slow the barbarian
advance long enough to allow an army to be raised in the south. I
am the Governor of Seh, Lord Komawara, and would not consider
such a course if it were not for the grave danger to our entire
Empire. If the men of Seh and the Emperor will not act to secure
the borders or to protect the Empire, then we must act in their
place.

“I believe, Lord Komawara, that the people of Seh will be largely
safe from the barbarian threat due to our retreat. This Khan cannot
have an army large enough to hold Seh and pursue us south to the
inner provinces. If Botahara smiles upon us, the barbarian army will
pass through Seh like a wind, pulling only a few leaves from their
branches.”

In the long silence that followed, no one met the young lord’s eye.
“Excuse my outburst,” Komawara said evenly. “I bring shame to
the Komawara House. Please excuse me.” He shifted his sword in
his sash. “There is one other question that I must ask at risk of
again appearing naive. What will happen if the barbarians wish only
to conquer the province of Seh, and we allow them to take it
without a fight?”

Shonto nodded. “It is as we have often asked, Lord Komawara.
This would probably fit the designs of some. Then Shonto and all
who support him will be brought down. We still believe that if the
barbarians only desired Seh they would have taken it in the autumn
when surprise was assured. We all will gamble our lives on this
assumption… be certain you believe it.”

Komawara nodded. “I will risk my life to save Wa, though I would
rather it were Seh I hoped to save. Still, for me mere can be no
choice.”

“Truly, Lord Komawara,” General Hojo offered, “there can be no
choice for any of us.”

“Kamu-sum,” Shonto said, “we must begin to gather the craft
needed to take us south and make preparations

to destroy all others. Leave no boats for the barbarians. Begin an
inventory of river boats at once.“

The steward nodded.

“We must consider ways to raise an army as we pass south. Who
can be won to our side? Once we cross the border of Seh, the
Son of Heaven will try to remove me from command of the army.
Who will be sent to do this? General Jaku, perhaps your
knowledge and contacts at court could answer this?”

Jaku nodded.

“Much to do. We will make our last attempt to win over the lords of
Seh at the Celebration of the First Moon. Lord Komawara, I will
have to prevail upon you to describe your journey into the
barbarian, lands again.”

The cool, first light of a northern morning glowed through the
unshuttered paper screen and cast the shadow of Jaku Katta’s
large hand across the paper. The brush hovered in the air, as it had
often in the last hours. The soft bristles seemed to contain only ink
and no words.

Again he dipped his brush.

My dear brother:

It is with some difficulty that I write to you, not only because of the
nature of our parting, which I regret deeply, but I have arrived in
Seh to discover things that neither of us had ever expected. I do
not know how to convince you that the words I write are true but I
must find a way, Tadamoto-sum. On the souls of our father and
mother I swear that every word is true. The fate of Wa depends on
your ability to recognize the truth—seldom has so much depended
on the heart of one man.

Eleven

It was a small entertainment arranged for the high-ranking residents
of the Governor’s Palace and for those who frequented Seh’s
court—perhaps seventy people in all.

The evening’s entertainment was provided by a wrinkled, elderly
man who moved with the stooped carriage of someone who’d
spent his life toiling in a rice paddy. His threadbare robes, sewn in
the country style, did nothing to deny this impression, though in
truth this man had once been a respected scholar, holding
appointments at the Hanama court where he was renowned for the
quality of his verse. Long ago he had retired to seclusion in the far
north and only the promise of a concert by the Ladies Nishima and
Kitsura had lured him out this night—that and a suggestion that
Lord Shonto might provide him with a cask of a certain rare wine.

The old man, one Suzuku, sat on a raised platform built to
resemble a balcony and behind this a silk hanging bore a sunset
and far off, a V of geese winging south among crimson clouds.
Skillful arrangements of dried leaves and cedar boughs
symbolized the autumn, just as the flying geese were the common
symbol for letters or messages.

The old man’s voice had no doubt lost much of its power and
timbre to the years, but his great refinement of speech and the
beauty and richness of the language he used more than made up
for it.

He would speak softly, the meter of the verse as subtle as the
rhythms of rain, and then he would break into a chant, strong
cadences driving the images like drumming drove dance.

Earlier in the evening Lady Kitsura had played without the
accompaniment of her cousin, who was not in atten-

dance, but if this had initially been a disappointment it was soon
forgotten. Kitsura Omawara could hold the attention of the most
critical audience without assistance. She had taken her place
among those listening, now, and seemed hardly less the center of
attention there. In contrast, the gathered peers of Seh, guard
officers, ladies-in-waiting, and members of the administration
seemed like a gathering of the dull and the gray. It was not just the
refinement of her dress and manner that set Lady Kitsura apart, it
was as though life flowed more strongly in her veins and gave her
the ability to find pleasure and delight where it escaped others.
She easily stole the hearts of all men present and gained the
grudging admiration of the women.

Among those in attendance, General Jaku Katta had the most
difficulty concentrating on the verse. He hoped to speak with a
certain lady, and carried a poem in his sleeve that he thought might
melt some of the coolness of her manner. Although he realized it
was absurd, he felt like a suitor scorned to find that Lady Nishima
was not present. He tried to turn his thoughts elsewhere and
redoubled his efforts to focus as Suzuku began a new poem.

Autumn in Tu’s brocade hills Leaves find a death of such beauty A
man’s sad end pales

Poems seek out the unsteady hand

Words dropping from the brush

Like leaves.

Still awake at first light

Eyes red as the sunrise

Letting no leaf escape

Ink falls, drop by drop

Yellow of weeping birch

Crimson of blood-leaf .

I send poems south with passing geese

But who is left to receive them?

So many leaves adrift

On this chill wind

Up here it is better to forget early days It is enough to ache from
damp mornings To ache from memories too Is more than a man
can bear

Outside my open room

A small cloud

Tangles in the ginkyo’s branches

So white against the endless blue.

Searching among a lifetime’s clutter

I find my worn inkstone

What words will come now? What wisdom will I speak To
frightened trees ?

The evening’s last poem read, the gathering broke into small,
informal groups and plum wine flowed as smoothly as gossip. Jaku
found himself in the company of several of Seh’s most well-born
young ladies.

“It is a shame,” said the youngest of the women, “that Lady
Nishima was not present also. I had so looked forward to hearing
her harp and had hoped she might trade a poem-sequence with
Suzuku-sum.”

Jaku could not have agreed more, though he said nothing.

“General Jaku,” said another, “you must have heard Lady Nishima
play at court?” She tried to hold the general’s gaze as he answered
and was disappointed that he looked away so quickly.

“Oh, many times. Not four days ago I heard Lady Nishima and
Lady Kitsura play here in the palace. They complement each other
perfectly, as you might imagine. ‘’ He was immediately
embarrassed—a short time in the north and he was already playing
the fool’s game of trying to impress the provincials.

As he spoke, Jaku’s eye was drawn by Kitsura as she broke away
from a disappointed group of young men and made her way
across the hall. There is no doubt, Jaku thought, the rumor that she
spurned the Emperor had made her even more desirable. Despite
the fact that he had come hoping to meet another, Jaku could not
help but feel excitement at Kitsura’s presence.

Lady Kitsura stopped briefly to speak to Lord Koma-wara and Jaku
shook his head. Komawara, he remembered, had made a fool of
himself in Shonto’s chambers the morning before. It was bad
enough he had not realized that Shonto might be forced to
abandon Seh but to reveal his ignorance so blatantly exhibited the
poorest judgment. Jaku was surprised that Shonto allowed the boy
into his councils. Strange.

Jaku’s attention was drawn back into the conversation as he was
asked to comment on the most current fashions in the Capital. He
was forced to disappoint them, explaining that Lady Kitsura
dressed in a more timeless style and was not a follower of the
latest fad. The conversation then drifted into a discussion of the
relative merits of silks from Oe and Nitashi. Lady Kitsura again
caught the general’s eye. She had finished her conversation with
Lord Komawara, and as Jaku looked up she motioned to him with
her fan.

Waiting for an appropriate break in the conversation, Jaku excused
himself, inflicting a second disappointment upon the young women
from Seh. Lady Kitsura had retreated to a quieter corner and stood
fanning herself slowly, though the room was not overly warm.

The guardsman bowed as he approached and she nodded from
behind a ginkyo leaf shaped fan, jade and silver combs catching
the light as her head bobbed.

“I hope you have come away inspired by Suzuku-sum’s verse,
General. Were his poems not exquisite?”

“Certainly, Lady Kitsura, but not less so than your playing. I feel
doubly inspired.”

She nodded at his flattery, and lowered her fan enough that he
caught a glimpse of her famous smile. “I am sorry Nishi-sum could
not be present. My poor description will not do justice to the
evening.”

“Lady Nishima is well, I trust?” Jaku said as matter-of-factly as he
could.

“I am certain we need not be overly concerned, it is kind of you to
inquire.”

She did not offer to convey his concern to the lady herself, as Jaku
had hoped she would.

A gong marked the hour of the heron and the crowd seemed to
thin noticeably in response.

“The evening has flown, I must make my good nights.

If it is not too much to ask, General,“ she reached a small hand out
from behind her fan and he found a tiny fold of paper in his palm,
”would you read this before leaving? I would be in your debt.“ Her
eyes seemed to plead with him over the edge of her ginkyo leaf.

“I am your servant, Lady Kitsura.”

‘’ You are so kind, General.“ A brief touch of her hand on his wrist
and she was gone, leaving the guardsman to catch his breath.

It was several minutes before Jaku could find a moment alone. He
opened the intricately folded letter with great anticipation—she had
not been able to erase him from her mind after all! The disastrous
meeting on the Grand Canal came back to him and caused him a
second’s discomfort, but he made his fingers continue. Why would
Lady Nishima put her fine hand to paper if she was not still
intrigued?

He read:

My Dear General Jaku:

I find myself in the awkward position of having to ask a favor. Is it
too much to ask that you meet me this evening ? My servant will
await you until the hour of the owl at the door to the Great Hall. If
this is not possible, please, no explanation is preferred.

Lady Kitsura Omawara

Lady Kitsura! Jaku pushed hard against the post that hid him. The
depth of his disappointment shocked him. He had so expected to
find a poem from Nishima-sum. Lady Kitsura? He could not
imagine what favor the Omawara daughter could need of him. No
doubt he would soon find out. At the very least, he could now easily
ask that Kitsura deliver his own letter. She could hardly refuse.

Jaku said his polite good nights as soon as he could.

As Kitsura had written, a servant awaited him at the Great Hall—an
older woman whose accent, even in the few words she uttered,
was noticeably from the Imperial Capital. Jaku knew—it was an
accent he’s spent some

time acquiring. The servant took a route through seldom used halls
until they came to a door like many others.

A soft knock was answered by a woman’s voice and for a brief
second Jaku found himself hoping this had all been an elaborate
ruse arranged by Lady Nishima so that they might meet secretly.

It was not to be so. The opened door revealed Lady Kitsura sitting
in the light of a single lamp, its golden light heightening her
complexion.

“General, I am honored that you would come.” She smiled, no fan
now to hide her beautiful face.

“Lady Kitsura, it is I who am honored.” He knelt upon the second
cushion that had been set, closer to hers than he expected.

“May I pour you plum wine, General?”

“Thank you, Lady Kitsura. If I am not being too presumptuous,
please call me Katta-sum.”

Kitsura held back her long sleeve as she poured wine into the
small cups. “I would be honored.” She passed him his wine cup.
“Please, call me Kitsura-sum, whenever the situation allows.”

Jaku gave a half bow. Polite conversation followed. Discussion of
the night’s poetry, the customs and manners of the people of Seh,
and even a little gossip. More than once they found cause for
laughter. Such formalities completed, Jaku broached the true
subject of their meeting, hoping to save the lady embarrassment.

“If you will excuse my boldness, Lady Kitsura, is there some
service I might perform for you? I would deem it an honor to do
so.”

Kitsura took a small sip of wine. “You are kind to inquire, Katta-
sum.” She set her wine cup back into the small table and turned it
as though examining the quality of porcelain.

“As you are no doubt aware, I left a most awkward situation in the
Capital. Unlike many families, my own would not argue my
decision…” She looked up at him, her face suddenly troubled. “Yet
now I fear the repercussions of that decision—not for myself,
General— but I fear for my family. My own decision was perhaps
too selfish.”

“You acted according to the dictates of your heart, Kitsura-sum, a
woman of integrity could do nothing less.

Is there some task I could perform that would relieve some of this
apprehension you feel?“

“Truly, you are kind,” she said warmly, a sense of relief apparent in
her tone. “I am concerned that my family could be in a delicate
position. I am not sure…” Her voice became so small that words
ceased to come.

“Perhaps I could draw upon my friends in the Capital, particularly in
the court, to find out if there is reason for worry, Kitsura-sum.
Would this be of service to you?”

“Oh, yes, Katta-sum, very much so!” She reached out and
squeezed his large hand. “But please, enough risk has been taken
for me. Do nothing that would jeopardize your position. I could not
bear it. Wul you promise me this?”

“Lady Kitsura, it would be an honor to take any risk on your behalf
but, truly, what you ask is no cause for concern, let me assure you.”

“You are kind, but you must be careful. I would not forgive myself if
anything untoward-should result.”

“Your spirit is burdened with enough concerns, Kitsura-sum,” he
laid his fingers gently on her arm, “do not add this to what you
carry.” He removed his hand and took a sip of his wine. “Is there
anything more I may do?”

She hesitated for a time before looking up, a slight blush apparent
on her beautiful face. “I wish to send a message to my family, but I
fear that it might be intercepted. I’m certain Lord Shonto would do
this, but…”

“Lady Kitsura, say nothing more. I can send a message to your
family in complete secrecy. Tomorrow, if you wish it.”

“Katta-sum,” she said, a tiny tremor of emotion in her voice. “I am
in your debt for this kindness. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“There can be no debt in such matters. Please do not concern
yourself with such things.”

“Katta-sum,” she took his hand in both of hers now, “there is debt
and I will not forget it. Is there nothing that I might do in return?”

He felt a soft tug on his hand, so soft he wondered if his
imagination toyed with him. And she did not release his hand.

“If I may ask such a favor, Kitsura-sum,” Jaku said, with obvious
difficulty, “would you convey a letter to your cousin, Lady Nishima?”

As though all of her features had frozen, Kitsura paused but then,
almost immediately, she recovered. Sitting up, she reached for her
wine cup though she did not drink from it but only held it with both
hands as though she suddenly did not know what else to do with
them. “Certainly… General, though it seems a small thing indeed.”

‘’It may seem so, but it is I who am in your debt now.‘’ Jaku
produced the letter from his sleeve, slightly misshapen from the
hours of neglect.

Slipping it into her sleeve Kitsura reached again to pour wine.

“Please, Kitsura-sum, I have duty awaiting me.”

“Excuse me, General, I did not mean to detain you.”

With a bow and a promise to send a trusted guard for her letter,
Jaku Katta slipped away as quietly as the cat he was named for.

Kitsura sat for some time without moving. Never had she been so
thoroughly rebuffed. She had expected him to fail this test, had
wanted him to. And he had asked her to convey a letter to her
cousin!

“Uncouth, common soldier!” Kitsura whispered.

For a second she felt anger toward her cousin but then realized
how absurd this was. By Botahara, she thought, Jaku must be truly
smitten with Nishi-sum. What a disaster that could mean.

* * *

Canal’s end,

We have traversed uncertainty

A maid interrupted as Lady Nishima contemplated the poem’s next
line.

“Excuse me, Lady Nishima, Brother Shuyun inquires of your well-
being.‘’

“Ah, how thoughtful,” Nishima dipped her brush in water. “Please
offer him cha.”

Pushing aside her table Nishima quickly straightened her robes.

The maid appeared again. “Brother Shuyun, Lady Nishima. Cha will
be served immediately.”

The servant bowed as Shuyun entered and in turn he bowed,
Botahist style, to the daughter of his liege-lord. Though she knew
full well that Shuyun was small of stature, hardly taller than she was
herself, Nishima was always surprised when she saw him. In her
mind his presence was larger.

“Brother Shuyun, please be at your ease. It is a pleasure to have
your company.” Nishima smiled.

“I came to inquire after your well-being, Lady Nishima, not to
interrupt.” He nodded to her work table.

“Notes to myself. I was filling time, Brother, nothing more.”

Shuyun knelt on the cushion set for him. For a second he met
Nishima’s eyes and she wondered, as she often did, if it was great
wisdom or great naiVete“ that dwelt in those large, dark eyes. She
often wondered if it was this ambiguity that touched her.

“You are well, Lady Nishima?” Shuyun said in his soft voice. A
voice that always seemed to suggest intimacy to her. “I grew
concerned when the poetess did not attend Suzuku-sum’s
reading.”

“I am well. Despite Suzuku-sum’s reputation, one does not always
feel the desire for the company of many.” In truth she thought
Suzuku’s reputation was somewhat greater than his talent.

Shuyun nodded. Servants arrived with a cha service and laid out
the utensils with some care. Their mistress was very conscious of
detail and they did not like to disappoint her.

“And how fares the Shonto Spiritual Advisor?” Nishima asked and
smiled.

“He fares well enough, my lady. In my Order we say; well enough
to serve His purpose. The Botahist trained do not ask for more
than that.”

Nishima nodded and checked the heat of the charcoal burner that
warmed the cha cauldron. “Perhaps we should all learn to ask less
for ourselves and more for others, Brother. In my Order we say; I
fare well, thank you—meaning, / am well enough to enjoy all of the
pursuits that I hold dear, whatever they may be.” She kept her eyes
cast down, fussing with the cha preparations.

Shuyun seemed to consider this for a moment. “Excuse me for
saying so, Lady Nishima, but there is a ded-

ication to duty among many of your Order that is worthy of
recognition and praise. The Shonto are renowned for this.“

Nishima nodded. “It is true among fewer than one would hope,
Brother, though certainly in reference to my uncle it cannot be
denied.”

With great care she ladled cha into bowls and offered the first to
her guest.

“This bowl must be for you, Brother,” she said, as etiquette
demanded.

“I could not, Lady Nishima. Please, this bowl must be yours.”

Though this was the proper response, the sincerity of his words
stopped Nishima and she found herself staring into his eyes again,
trying to read what lay behind the words. The monk looked away
and she collected her wits.

“Your presence honors me. Please, Brother Shuyun.” She held out
the bowl and he took it from her hand with surprising gentleness.

As though there had been a lapse, a moment of too much
familiarity, Shuyun’s tone became formal. “A matter has recently
arisen, Lady Nishima, about which I require advice.” He sipped his
cha, looking away.

“Brother, if it is possible to repay some of the debt I feel to our
Spiritual Advisor, I would not hesitate to do so. Please, what is this
matter?”

Nishima watched him take a calming breath before speaking.
“While I traveled with Lord Shonto on the Grand Canal, a young
Botahist nun approached me for advice. A Sister with whom she
traveled was unwell and there were no others of her Order to refer
to. I shared what knowledge I could and told her she might ask for
me at any time. I have often wondered since if the Sister
recovered but have had no way of knowing. Earlier today this same
young Acolyte came to our gate, asking to speak with me. As I had
given orders to allow this woman access, and Kamu-sum
remembered this, she was not sent away.”

He paused to sip his cha.

“This all seems most irregular, Shuyun-sum. Please go on.”

“This young woman has left the Order of the Botahist Sisters—it
seems she has suffered a confusion regarding

her faith. It is my hope that she will return to the Sisters but until
such time needs some way to live. She is Bo-tahist educated, Lady
Nishima, and has been a secretary to a senior member of that
Order. It occurred to me that there might be a place for her in the
Shonto household. Even more specifically, I wondered if you or
Lady Kit-sura, or perhaps Lady Okara might have use for someone
of such talents?“

Nishima stopped to ladle more cha, obviously considering this.

“It is difficult for me to say, Shuyun-sum. There is no question that
our flight to Seh has left us with a very small staff, and no
secretary. This girl, is she intelligent?”

“I would say yes, Lady Nishima.”

“Huh. Is it not unusual that she would seek you out, Brother? What
explanation could there be for this?”

“Perhaps what she considered to be an act of generosity—my
assistance to her on the canal—stayed in her memory, Lady
Nishima. It seems entirely likely that, outside of the Botahist
Sisters, she knows no one else.”

“The Sisters take an interest in the events of our Empire, Shuyun-
sum, do they not?”

“They do, my Lady.”

“Is it not possible that this young woman has been sent to us to
that end, Brother? The Shonto are often the objects of such
scrutiny.”

“I believe, in this case, Lady Nishima, that this girl is truly what she
claims.”

Nishima sipped her cha and regarded Shuyun, who sat looking
down, as politeness dictated. “You have an ear for truth, Brother
Shuyun?”

“So my teachers believed, Lady Nishima. Though it should be
remembered that this ability is never infallible.”

“How unfortunate.” Nishima swirled her cha leaves as though she
would change the message written there. “I would be pleased to
assist a seeker who has lost her way, if I can. Please have her sent
to me and I will see what she seems suited for.‘’

“I thank you, Lady Nishima. I do not think she will disappoint you.”

Nishima smiled. There was an awkward silence. Shu-

yun finished his cha, but before he could excuse himself Lady
Nishima spoke again.

“How do you recognize truth, Shuyun-sum, what is it that informs
you? More cha?” As she said this, she poured cha into his bowl.

“Well, perha… certainly. Thank you.” He took up the full vessel and
sipped.

“I am unable to explain, Lady Nishima, I apologize. I simply know.”

“It is a feeling, then?”

“Perhaps. It cannot be described but only named.”

“It is most intriguing, Brother. But do those who are raised to the
Botahist Way know feelings, Shuyun-sum? Are feelings not part of
the Illusion?” Nishima found a small crease in her robe that she
smoothed.

Shuyun considered for a few seconds. “Botahara taught that
feelings were illusory, yes. It is written that our desires trap us in
the world of Illusion.”

“Then you are not troubled by feelings, Brother Shuyun?”

“I am not so enlightened, Lady Nishima.” He gave a small, almost
embarrassed, smile. “Even the Botahist trained have
feelings—one does not allow them to rule one’s actions, however.”

Before he could protest, Nishima ladled more cha into his bowl.

“You resist them, then?”

“I’m not certain that resist is the proper description, Lady Nishima.”

“You do not resist them?”

“Followers of the Way order their lives according to the principal
virtues, not according to their desires.”

“But Brother, when a follower of the Way feels desire, or any other
emotion, do they resist it? Did not Botahara teach that resistance
was folly? I find this concept difficult.”

Shuyun set his cup on the table and placed his palms together,
touching his fingers to his chin in thought. “When one has traveled
far enough down the Sevenfold Path, one does not feel desire,
Lady Nishima. Until such time we practice meditation, we chant,
and we learn focus. Certainly duty and desire are not always
compatible,

Lady Nishima, but, as you have said, the Shonto choose duty.“

Nishima nodded slowly. “Though I often wonder at what cost,
Shuyun-sum,‘’ she said softly.

Shuyun looked away as though some detail in the room begged his
attention and what Nishima said had not been heard. “I have not
seen Lady Okara for several days,” Shuyun said evenly. “Does she
fare well?”

Nishima smiled at the sudden change of subject. “Well enough to
serve art’s purpose, Brother. I often wish I could say the same.”

“I have heard Lady Okara speak 9/ your art in the most flattering
terms, Lady Nishima,” he said, his voice losing its edge of
formality. “She speaks also of your artist’s soul. It is my impression
that she is somewhat envious.”

“Oh, certainly she is not!” Nishima felt her face flush with pleasure
at Shuyun’s words—even a fan would not hide this.

“Recently she spoke of her quest to learn to see again. It seems
Lady Okara believes that over the years she has developed habits
of being and feeling that act as a wall to the world and prevent her
from seeing. But she does not seem to mean seeing the world,
she means seeing within. ‘The part of the scene that exists within,’
were the words she used.

“It is Okara-sum’s belief that you have the open spirit of the true
artist, Lady Nishima, and she traveled to Seh with you in an attempt
to recapture this. Perhaps you are her teacher, Lady Nishima.”

“Lady Okara is my teacher, Shuyun-sum, make no mistake. I have
been blessed with brilliant teachers.”

“It is said that a child learns wisdom from the parent, but the truly
wise parent learns joy from the child. Do not be confused by
appearances; a wise teacher learns from the student, always.”

“And what have the esteemed Brothers learned from Initiate
Brother Shuyun?” Nishima asked suddenly and watched his
reaction closely.

Shuyun shrugged. “I do not know, Nishima-sum, I do not know.‘’ He
opened his hands in a gesture that seemed to indicate emptiness.

“We know only those things which we allow ourselves to know, ”
Nishima said.

A troubled smile appeared on the monk’s face. “That is Botahist
teaching, Nishima-sum.”

Nishima gestured with her hand as though she encompassed her
entire life, and her long sleeve swept gracefully through the air. “I
have been blessed with brilliant teachers.”

“Brother Satake?”

Nishima nodded. There was an awkward silence while Lady
Nishima prodded the coals in the burner, causing them to spark to
life.

“My Order guards its teachings with a certain jealousy, Nishima-
sum,” Shuyun said at last.

She nodded again, poking distractedly at the coals. “Give me your
hand, Shuyun-sum,” she said suddenly, and she reached out and
took his hand and placed it palm out against her own. Regulating
her breathing with some skill, she pushed. Shuyun resisted for the
merest fraction of a second and then pulled laway slightly. When
he pushed against her own hand there was almost no resistance.
Shuyun could feel the chi flow. Chi in an uninitiated woman—a peer
of the Empire of Wa!

Lady Nishima took his hand in her own. “As impossible as it may
seem, there is much in common in our experiences, in our lives,
Shuyun-sum.”

“Brother Satake broke his sacred oath,” Shuyun said. He felt his
focus wander as he said this. Even though he had suspected
Brother Satake had broken his oath, the shock of proof was great.

“He lived by his own oath, Shuyun-sum. His teachers could have
learned much from Brother Satake, but they were mired in their
own ways, their own habits.”

Gently Shuyun removed his hand from her own. “Please… excuse
me… I must go.” Without further ceremony Shuyun rose and
walked out like a man in a daze.

For a long time Nishima sat staring at the door where Shuyun had
disappeared. Then she shook her head as if to clear it. Reaching
for her writing table, she prepared her brush with exaggerated
care. She read the lines she had already committed to paper and
then continued.

Canal’s end,

We have traversed uncertainty

To arrive here,

Purity and desire

Tangled

She could find no words to complete her thought.

Shimeko sat with her eyes cast down while Lady Nish-ima
examined her brushwork in the dim morning light that filtered
through the screens of her chambers. The former Botahist nun sat
without movement as she had been trained to do and nothing in her
appearance betrayed the confusion she felt. Was she truly going
from serving a respected senior Sister to the service of this
pampered aristocrat, barely older than she was herself?

“It is a fine hand, Shimeko-sum, strong without being plain.”
Nishima nodded toward her, half a bow. Setting the paper aside,
she smiled warmly at the young woman who sat before her.
Shimeko sat with her shawl pulled tightly around her face, hiding
her cropped hair.

“You will excuse my curiosity, Shimeko-sum, I can’t help but
wonder why you would seek service with the Shonto. I do not wish
to pry into your reasons for leaving the Sisterhood, but life in the
Shonto House will be very different.”

Shimeko spoke without raising her head. “Do you wish to hear the
truth, my lady?”

“Always,” Nishima said, the word coming out clipped and
controlled.

“I did not come to your gate to seek service with the Shonto. I
came to offer my service to Brother Shuyun.” She sat looking
down, her expression unchanging, her tone even.

“I see. May I ask why?”

“I believe Brother Shuyun is a pure spirit, Lady Nishima, untainted
by the machinations of his Order.”

“Huh. Then you take service with me against your will?”

“No, my Lady, I will gladly serve the household that Brother Shuyun
serves.”

“I see. Will you be able to make the adjustments necessary,
Shimeko-sum? You do not have to treat me with

this level of deference, I am not a senior Sister who demands utter
humility from others.“

“Please excuse me, Lady Nishima.” She raised her eyes and met
Nishima’s for the briefest second. An attempted smile showed
some potential. “If someone will instruct me, I’m certain I will
learn.”

“We could find you a teacher, Shimeko-sum.” Nishima glanced at
the page of brushwork again. “You are a scholar?”

“I was only an Acolyte, my Lady. An Acolyte cannot call herself a
proper scholar. My accomplishments were modest compared to
the Sisters I served.”

“I see. Could you go to the Palace Archives and find information
for me?”

“If the information is there and somewhat ordered, I am confident I
could, Lady Nishima.”

“Good. This is what I want to know. On the canal did you see the
fane of the vanquished Brothers? The one called the Lovers?”

“My Lady, it endangers the spirit to look at such things,” the young
woman said, casting her gaze down again.

“You did not look, then?”

The former nun struggled for a moment and then she shrugged,
her cheeks coloring a little.

“Well, it is not necessary to look. I want to know what the scholars
have written about the sect that inhabited that fane. Scholars, mind
you, not members of any Botahist Order. Certainly the Imperial
historians could not have allowed such a thing to pass without
comment. Are you able to do this without compromising your
beliefs?”

“My beliefs, Lady Nishima?” She traced a circle on the floor. “Yes,
I think so.”

“Excellent. I would like this information as soon as possible, thank
you.”

Shimeko sat, her posture and expression unchanged.

“You may go, Shimeko,” Nishima said.

“Thank you, my lady.” She bowed in the Botahist manner and
backed toward the door without rising.

“Shimeko?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“You know that servants are seldom addressed as sum?”

The former Sister paused in her retreat. “Brother Shu-yun calls me
Shimeko-sum, my lady,” she said simply.

Nishima considered this. “Then I will call you Shimeko-sum also.”

Twelve

Sister Sutso hurried down what seemed an endless hallway until
she found the door she had been looking for. Pulling her robe
closed at the throat, she pushed open the door that led out into an
unlit courtyard. A cold wind swirled about her, pulling wildly at her
robes and whistling among the pillars. An occasional drop of rain
was smeared across her forehead, though due to the wind they did
not seem to fall from the sky. Almost running, the secretary to the
Prioress found the door she was looking for, despite the complete
darkness, and pushed into a second hall.

Pulling up the hem of her robe, she ran up several flights of stairs,
surprising a group of Acolytes who had never seen such
undignified behavior in a senior Sister.

Another long hallway, then a shortcut through the Archives of
Divine Inspiration, another hall and then the great stairway. There,
one flight down, went the Prioress, Sister Saeja, her sedan chair
carried by four Acolytes.

Sutso descended the stairs and only slowed her pace as she
came up beside the chair. She controlled her breathing with great
discipline so that it seemed she had not hurried at all, perhaps had
come upon the Prioress by accident.

“Prioress,” Sutso said, bowing as low as the situation would allow.

The old woman’s eyes seemed to appear out of the wrinkled folds
that were her eyelids. She nodded and closed her eyes again as
though conserving her strength.

“Is there anything I can do, Prioress?” Sutso asked, pitching her
voice in tones the old woman could still hear.

“There will be no change of plan,” came a soft whis-

per. “Continue with our preparations. There is so little time.”

“Do you have commitments I am unaware of?” Sutso asked.

“No, child,” the ancient head moved from side to side, “but this is
not unexpected. Since Morima-sum’s time of testing, they have
been gathering like the carrion eaters they have become. I remain
this still only to draw their attention from things of importance.” Her
face creased in a smile and her eyes flickered open, eyes full of
humor.

“Why do they call a council now?”

“They hope to tire me, child, that is their true purpose.” She smiled
again. “Sister Yasuko’s letter. They have learned that there are
events outside of their narrow world that could adversely effect
their dearest ambitions. Seh is on everyone’s lips suddenly,
replacing talk of Monarta.‘’

The chair wobbled slightly and then the bearers recovered. The
Prioress held out a thin hand. “Give me your hand, child. I do not
want to slide down the grand stairway alone.”

Sutso took the frail hand in her own. Botahara protect her, she
prayed silently. So much is dependent on this woman, so much.

At last they came to the bottom of the stairs, to the relief of Sister
Sutso, and then to the Chambers of Council. A gong was rung as
the Prioress approached and the large doors swung open, the
Door Wardens carved into their panels seeming to gesture
entrance. A last squeeze of the Prioress’ hand and Sutso stopped
short of the Chambers. The bearers returned almost immediately
and the doors were closed, no one to enter until the Council was
over. She stood a moment, staring at the doors, and then hurried
off. There was so much to be done.

Lamps suspended by gold chains hung from the lacquered beams
and flamed impressively, casting shadows into the deepest
corners of the room and the highest reaches of the ceiling. The
floor of polished woods reflected the light like a bronze mirror and
the twelve Senior Sisters who knelt there seemed almost like
some

mysterious part of the structure, positioned in two straight lines as
they were.

The Prioress sat, propped on pillows in her sedan chair, facing her
Council. The lines were not drawn clearly in this arrangement: of
the twelve Sisters four, including their leader, were of the Sister
Gatsa faction; five, including the Sister who sat in Morima’s place,
supported the Prioress; and the remaining three were called, when
they were not present, the Wind Chimes—those who swayed this
way and that, making sounds according to the direction of the wind.
As one would expect, the Wind Chimes were both courted and
despised.

The Sisters bowed their heads to the floor and rose, waiting
impassively.

“Who called this Council?” The Prioress asked the ritual question.

Sister Gatsa spoke in her refined aristocratic voice. “This Council
was called by the collective will of the Twelve, Prioress.”

“Then let the will of our Lord, Botahara, be done through word and
deed.”

Signs to Botahara were made and silence reigned as each woman
present prayed to the Perfect Master for guidance. A gong
sounded softly and the Council began.

“Who will speak for the Twelve?” the Prioress whispered.

“Sister Gatsa,” the women answered together.

The Prioress nodded to Sister Gatsa, conceding the floor.

Sister Gatsa drew herself up to her considerable sitting height
before beginning. “Prioress, honored Sisters, there is news from
the Province of Seh that is of grave concern to our Order. There
are reports that a large barbarian army makes ready to assault the
Empire’s northern borders. Does our Order have information about
this situation?”

A silence ensued. The Prioress sat looking at her Council who, as
was proper, did not meet her gaze. Only Gatsa would dare to do
that. It occurred to the Prioress to wonder who in the Priory in Seh
had managed to find a copy of Sister Yasuko’s letter. Most
annoying.

“I have received information from Seh that would indicate this is
true, Sister Gatsa,” the Prioress said at last.

There was a minute shifting of position as though in discomfort
among some of the council.

“Excuse my presumption, Prioress, but should not the Council
have been informed of this?‘’

“In time of war,” the Prioress said so quietly that she forced the
others to lean forward to hear, “the Prioress has authority to act
without the Council. It has always been so.”

Gatsa nodded, her face not quite masking her pleasure. She had
sprung her trap. “In time of war, Prioress, this is true. But war has
not yet come and there is much that should be done in case a
calamity should befall us. There is much that we all should do.”

“A fine point, Sister,” the Prioress said. “Shall we put it to a vote?”

Sister Gatsa hesitated noticeably. She had expected to request
this herself. “If the Council so desires, Prioress.”

The Prioress smiled her beatific smile, unsettling Senior Sister
Gatsa even further. Of course, the Prioress knew she would
lose—she could read her Council that well. But after the Wind
Chimes had gone against their Prioress once, they would be less
willing to do so on each subsequent issue, especially when the
true nature of the situation was made clear to them. Today they
would ring to the words of Prioress Saeja, the old woman was
certain of that.

“Let the proceedings begin,” the Prioress whispered. Yes, let them
begin. In three hours she would have approval of everything she
had already begun. Let the vultures gnaw on that. She smiled again
and closed her eyes to wait.

Thirteen

The Great Audience Hall of the Empire of Wa was the largest
chamber in the known world and considered to be a marvel of both
art and engineering. The rows of pillars that lined the central hall
were each carved from a single iroko tree and lacquered to a deep
sheen. Rafters soared in elongated curves up into the tiered roof
structures and light filtered down from on high without an
identifiable source. So polished was the marble floor that it
reflected images and light as faithfully as clear, still water.

At the farthest end of the hall the dais seemed to float on this
unrippled surface. Three steps of the finest jade led up onto the
dais, the blocks joined so seamlessly that the steps appeared to
have been carved of a single, massive block of green-blue stone.
Behind the dais, seven painted panels showed the Great Dragon in
flight among stylized clouds above a landscape of rugged beauty-
ancient Cho-Wa of the Seven Princes. The Princes themselves sat
their gray steeds at the foot of the Mountain of the Pure Spirit about
to create the Seven Kingdoms that would one day become the
Empire of Wa.

Below the center panel sat the Dragon Throne of Wa carved from
a single block of flawless green jade.

Upon the Dragon Throne sat Akantsu II, Emperor of Wa. His
voluminous ceremonial robes flowed over the carved stone,
reaching almost to the floor, where a small cushioned stool
protected his feet from contact with the earth. His sword of office
stood in a silver stand to one side, and it was apparent to any who
knew him that he missed its feel and hardly knew what to do with
his hands without it.

The Ministers of the Left and Right sat in their appropriate places,
before the dais to either side, while down

the length of the Audience Hall the Great Council of State was
arrayed: Reminders, Major and Minor Counselors, and the senior
Officials of various ministries. They sat in rigidly defined rows,
dressed in their state robes that created a most pleasing pattern of
color and form, each man a tiny island on the unbroken, liquid
surface.

Behind the senior officials sat functionaries of high rank, scribes,
and bureaucrats, and behind them stood the ceremonial
guards—generally younger sons of favored peers—dressed in
ornate armor.

On the first step of the dais knelt the Major Chancellor who
governed all proceedings, listening carefully to the whispered
comments of the Son of Heaven and proclaiming these to the
Great Council.

At the moment all sat listening to a senior Counselor who spoke in
glowing terms of the recent efforts to rid the canals and roads of
brigands. Several minor decrees, that had been issued almost
after the fact, were singled out as showing great foresight and the
senior Counselor bowed in the direction of the officials responsible
for these—members of his own faction, as everyone present
knew.

While the great statesmen of the Empire involved themselves in
this activity, the man who had convinced the Emperor to embark on
this program sat quietly in the ranks of the minor functionaries. It
would be out of the question that Colonel Jaku Tadamoto would
ever speak on such an occasion or to such an august assembly,
yet in his sleeve rested a summons to the Emperor’s private
chambers. He would meet alone with the Son of Heaven later that
same day—something many of the senior officials present had
never done.

The Council carried on, largely ceremony, for, in truth, real
government took place elsewhere, in less impressive chambers
with far fewer involved. Jaku Tadamoto waited patiently, trying to
keep his mind focused on the conversation, not for the content but
for what it told him of the shifting alliances within the council. Even
so his gaze shifted and he found himself contemplating the Dragon
Throne, remembering the history, or perhaps myth of the ancient
seat of power. He turned away before the Emperor might notice
his gaze, but the image stayed in Tadamoto’s mind.

It was said the artist Fujimi had cleansed his soul through fasting
and prayer for seven days before locking himself in his studio with
the untouched stone.

Fujimi’s apprentices gathered outside the doors while the Master
toiled. The sounds of stone being worked would go far into the
night and whenever they stopped the apprentices could hear the
Master chanting in a language none had heard before. In the early
morning of the twelfth day all noise ceased—no sound of stone
being polished, no chanting… stillness. By midday the apprentices’
concerns were such that they appointed their most senior member
to knock on the door and call out the Master’s name. Three times
this was done, but there was no answer and still no sounds came
from within. They waited.

By sunset it was decided to break down the doors to the studio.
With some effort this was done. The shattered doors swung open
and the setting sun illuminated the throne shining as though it had
its own light within. A dragon flowed around the seat and back of
the throne, a dragon so real, so alive it seemed to have turned to
stone in mid-flight.

The apprentices stood in awe until the light of sunset faded and
then, remembering their purpose, lit lanterns and began searching
the building. The Master could not be found. All the doors were
securely locked from within, yet Fujimi was gone, never to be
heard of again.

Taken to dwell among the gods, some said. Murdered by the Great
Dragon for stealing her soul and encasing it in stone, said others.

When the final ceremonies were completed and the Emperor and
senior officials had left, Tadamoto rose and returned to his
chambers without retinue or fanfare. In the privacy of his own
rooms he removed a letter from a locked box and held it a moment
as though the thought of opening it caused him pain. With some
care he unfolded the paper on which he had written a deciphered
version—the letter in his own hand noticeably more elegant than
his brother’s original.

Moving to a nearby screen, Tadamoto opened it a crack to catch
the gray winter sunlight that a covering of cloud did its best to
obscure.

My dear brother:

It is with some difficulty that I write to you, not only because of the
nature of our parting, which I regret deeply, but I have arrived in
Seh to discover things that neither of us had ever expected. I do
not know how to convince you that what I have learned is true, but I
must find a way. Tadamoto-sum, on the souls of our father and
mother I swear that every word I write is true. The fate of Wa
depends on your ability to recognize the truth—seldom has so
much depended on the heart of one man.

There is no doubt that beyond the border of Seh a barbarian army
of unprecedented size waits to invade in the spring. I realize that
this defies the common wisdom that says the tribes are
diminished, but the common wisdom is false, have no doubt. Seh
is not prepared for such an attack and will fall within days.

The chieftain who has gathered the tribes and will lead them
across our border is a formidable man, familiar with the situation in
Seh and not unaware of the plots within our own court. You realize,
I am sure, that the Emperor will not send troops to support Shonto.
The barbarian chieftain knows this also, I am convinced.

The barbarians will not stop once they have swallowed Seh. They
have a force that will allow them to push into Wa. If we begin to
gather an army now, it is possible that the barbarian advance could
be stopped in Itsa Province or perhaps Chiba. If the Son of
Heaven cannot be convinced of this, the Emperor will lose his
throne to a barbarian chieftain, and this will be one of the lesser
evils of such a defeat.

It is difficult to be here in the north knowing my own part in all of
this. If the men of Seh realized what destruction this feud will bring,
I would certainly not be allowed to live. Yet the men of Seh do not
even realize that the enemy sits on their border and such is their
arrogance that they will not listen to Lord Shonto Motoru. You would

think that the Shonto House had not once made great sacrifice to
rescue Seh from the barbarians.

I realize the Emperor will think I have sided with the Shonto, but a
way must be found to convince him. Above all, you must not lose
your place close to the Son of Heaven or there will be no voice of
reason in the entire court.

Tadamoto-sum, it is a task of enormous weight I charge you with,
and I confess I do not know how it can be accomplished, but the
future of our Empire depends on you now. All we can hope to do in
the north is slow the invasion—there are not enough men in all of
Seh to do more.

I remain your Servant, Katta

Tadamoto let the letter fall to the mat where he knelt. It was so
impossible! If what Katta said was true, and he had trouble
convincing himself that it was so, then the Empire was almost
certainly lost. Tadamoto knew Ak-antsu II as well as any man and
he did not believe for a second that the Emperor could be
convinced that Katta had done anything but joined the Shonto. That
Fanisan daughter and Katta’s interference with her… that was the
seal on his fate. It was all so impossible.

Tadamoto reached for the letter, read a few lines, then let it drop
again. He shook his head. Katta, he thought, knew what words to
use, it had always been one of his gifts. Tadamoto had never
heard his brother swear by the memory of their parents, no matter
how desperate, he had never done that. Somehow Katta had
known that this was the one thing he could do that would shake his
brother’s certainty. Could he be telling the truth?

He slumped against the frame of the opening and looked out into a
fine curling mist, letting the cold air wash across his face. Wasn’t it
just like Katta to get himself into an impossible situation and then
expect Tadamoto to get him out of it! Botahara save him—save us
all. He was an impossible man. But was it true? If it was and he
refused to believe, then Tadamoto would bear some responsibility
for the calamity that would ensue— because he could not believe
in his own brother. He

rolled his head against the cool wood of the frame. Katta, Katta,
Katta. Why do you always demand so much of me? How can I be
loyal to you and loyal to my sworn duties?

A gong sounded the changing of guards. He must make himself
ready for his audience with the Emperor. As Tad-amoto began his
preparations, his mind went back to Osha. Osha in the Emperor’s
embrace. Both of their lives were terribly at risk now, Osha was
correct in this. Still the question echoed over and over again: what
kind of man was he that he could continue to advise this Emperor?
Advise him, comfort him, knowing that he allowed the woman he
loved to act as a common street harlot with this same man? What
kind of man was he?

Tadamoto never wore armor into the presence of the Emperor, not
even his lightest duty armor. He felt it was a ridiculous affectation
and the fact that Katta had done it often had always bothered
him—embarrassed him, perhaps, would be closer to the truth.
Tadamoto wore his black uniform with its dragon insignia and the
marks of his rank but no more. Even this was less ornate than it
easily could have been.

It was the courtiers’ obsession with signs of rank and favor that
drove the young Jaku wild. What pettiness! Could functionaries of
the third rank wear a gold sash ? Could officials in the Ministry of
Ceremony wear the peaked cap? It was obvious to Tadamoto that
the honorable officials who governed the Empire of Wa were far
more concerned with the hierarchy in the palace and signs of rank
than with the governing of the land.

Realizing how angry he had become, Tadamoto tried to calm
himself. It was this situation with Osha and the Emperor that was
affecting him so. He was an advisor to the Emperor—it was
important that he put emotion aside.

As acting Commander of the Imperial Guard he was whisked
through to see the Emperor with less formality than even the most
senior officials. After his morning in the Great Council, he took
some satisfaction from this. He knelt before the entrance to the
Emperor’s chamber and waited to be announced.

Bowing his head to the mat, Tadamoto waited until the Emperor
deigned to acknowledge him.

“Colonel Jaku,” the Emperor said, “be at your ease.”

Jaku rose to a kneeling position and moved forward to within a
respectful distance of the low dais.

“Thank you, Sire.”

The Emperor nodded. He was studying a scroll and seemed
barely aware of Tadamoto. “You have received a letter from your
brother, Colonel?”

“I have, Emperor.”

“But not from Lord Shonto?”

“No, Sire.”

The Emperor looked up from his scroll and picked up a letter from
a small table. He set this before the dais, nodded at it, and went
back to his reading.

Stretching as far as he was able, Tadamoto got two fingers on the
letter and retrieved it. So, he thought as he began to read, this is
the hand of the famed lord. It was a strong hand of the older style.

Sire:

As I have recently written, the transition of governments in Seh is
complete and I have been able to devote myself to the problem of
the barbarian raids. This situation has been found more complex
than one could ever have suspected.

As there seemed to be no agreement among the Lords of Seh
regarding the extent of this problem and due to the consistent
rumors that a new Khan had risen to power among the tribal
peoples, it seemed the best course to gather my own information
directly. To this end I sent highly reliable men into the wastes,
secretly. After journeying as far as the desert they came upon a
recently abandoned encampment that had contained seventy
thousand warriors. The men sent into the desert were experienced
in such matters and I do not doubt their estimate is true. This army
had since decamped, but one branch of it was observed and
consisted of forty thousand armed men, many on horseback.

It is clear that there will be an invasion as soon as the spring rains
have ended. I believe that

more than Seh is in danger from this attack. At this time I am sure
that in all of Seh there are not twenty thousand men of fighting age
and only half of these are trained in the arts of war. It is possible
that all of Wa could be under threat.

I believe, Sire, that the Empire has not faced such a threat since
the time of Emperor Jirri. If we do not raise an army by spring, Seh
will fall and a barbarian army will come down the path of the great
canal.

I have spoken to General Jaku Katta concerning this issue and I
believe he concurs with my assessment. I cannot stress enough
the peril the Empire is in.

I remain your servant, Shonto Motoru

Tadamoto looked up at his Emperor who continued to read.

“What is your response to this, Colonel?” the Emperor asked, still
not looking up.

“It is similar to the letter I received from Katta-sum, Sire, though a
less emotional appeal.” Tadamoto weighted his words carefully. ‘
’It is difficult to know from this distance precisely what is occurring
at the other end of the Empire. For that reason I hesitate to dismiss
this information entirely.“

The Emperor looked up from his scroll. “What would you advise,
Colonel?”

“It seems most prudent that we seek outside corrob-oration of this
information. We should send someone whose loyalty is beyond
question to Seh, Sire.”

“I had such people in Seh, Colonel Jaku.”

“Excuse me, Sire?”

“They disappeared at almost the same time your brother arrived in
the north. Gone.”

Tadamoto swallowed hard.

“Coincidence seems to follow your brother, Colonel, it does not fill
me with confidence.”

Tadamoto said nothing. The Emperor stared at him for

some seconds and though he did not wish to do it, Tadamoto
looked away.

“Write to your brother. Tell him that we will make him the Interim
Governor in Seh when Shonto falls. But if he sides with Shonto…
he cannot be saved. Tell Katta-sum that my anger has passed, he
may return once the task is complete. But above all find out what
truly transpires in the north—your brother certainly will know.‘’ The
Emperor set his scroll aside and shifted to face Tadamoto. ”We
will answer Governor Shonto’s request for support. I will send my
son, Prince Wakaro, north to Seh before the spring in company
with a force of Imperial Guards—an honor guard only, but that
need not be stated. We will charge him with assisting Lord Shonto
in his task.“

The Emperor played with a stack of Imperial reports. “It causes me
grief to do this, Colonel, my own son but… he is not fit to rule.” The
Emperor shook his head, a slow gesture. He glanced up at
Tadamoto for the briefest second and left the younger man to
wonder if it was truly anguish he had seen written there. “He is not
fit… so few are.” The Emperor’s head sank down and he stayed
like that, face hidden for many minutes. “It is a difficult role that I
play, Tadamoto-sum, sometimes… very difficult.”

Tadamoto nodded. “Hakata said that Emperors are always alone,
Sire. When difficult decisions are made, it is sadly true.”

The Emperor nodded. “Yes,” he almost whispered. “That will be
all, Colonel, thank you.”

Tadamoto bowed and began to back away, but as he reached the
door the Emperor spoke again.

“Tadamoto-sum?‘’

“Sire?”

“Please, have Osha sent to me. Thank you.”

Jaku nodded and backed out. Once outside he rose and walked
with great calm down the hallway.

Why do I feel nothing? his thoughts echoed. Why nothing? He
seemed to walk suspended in a place where the emotions did not
dwell, a place of pure intellect where all thought was cold,
disinterested. It would have been frightening, if he could have felt
fear.

There is no hope for my brother—governor indeed. If he returned
to the Capital while Akantsu lived, Katta would die. And Osha…
The Emperor was destroying everything they felt for each other as
surely as he would see Katta dead. And Jaku Tadamoto was his
most loyal advisor. He heard himself laugh, high-pitched, half
strangled. He could not feel fear at that either.

Fourteen

The archivist who bore responsibility for administering the records
of the Province of Seh was surprised to find a young woman
requesting access to his domain—a secretary to the governor’s
daughter, no less. He was even more surprised to find that this
young woman, Shimeko-sum, was not only educated but a great
admirer of the order he maintained in Seh’s archives. He had
seldom felt so appreciated and found himself wondering why his
own daughters did not have such inquiring minds.

Shimeko applied herself to her task with practiced discipline,
determined to make a good impression on her new mistress but
also because it was work she was familiar with, and in such alien
surroundings there was some comfort in that. It was fortunate, for
she found little comfort in the history of the Sect of the Eightfold
Path.

The story told by the Imperial Historians was very different from
what she had been taught in her own studies. As objective as she
tried to remain, still, she had found it distressing. And now this well-
bred young lady wanted Shimeko to relate all that she had learned
to her. How was she to do that?

Carefully gathering her scrolls and papers together, Shimeko set
out for Lady Nishima’s chambers. The halls of the Imperial Palace
were an astonishing maze, but to Shimeko’s Botahist-trained
memory they were barely a challenge. Several of the Priories in
which she had lived were at least as complicated.

As she made her way toward Lady Nishima’s apartment, she was
aware that people often turned and watched her pass. She
supposed that failed Botahist Sis-

ters seldom took service with Great Houses though she really did
not know and, in truth, it seemed unimportant to her.

To gain admittance to the wing that contained Lady Nishima’s
rooms Shimeko had to give a password and a hand sign, which
reminded her that she had once memorized a Shonto hand signal
on the Grand Canal. It seemed so long ago.

A servant went off to announce Shimeko to her mistress, and she
worked to control her nerves as she waited.

Lady Nishima was still haunted by her conversation with Kitsura.
Jaku Katta had readily agreed to use his sources within the
Imperial court to find out if Kitsura’s family were in danger. To
Nishima’s surprise he had even agreed to have a letter delivered
secretly to the Omawara family—both acts that the Emperor would
find deeply suspicious if he were to know of them, and there was
every chance that the Emperor would know.

Did this mean that Jaku had truly fallen out of favor at court? If so,
then her uncle’s belief that Jaku could help secure the support of
the Emperor was entirely wrong and most dangerous.

All of this she found disturbing news. She touched the folded letter
Kitsura had delivered from Jaku and tried to control her anger.
Such presumption! To have made advances to Kitsura and then to
ask her to deliver a letter to Nishima! One expected more, even of
an Imperial Guardsman. She shuddered. How close she had come
to making a fool of herself. How very close.

There was no doubt that Jaku Katta was an opportunist of the worst
order. And now there was a great possibility that he was no longer
in the Emperor’s favor. All that remained was to hear from Kitsura’s
family to see if indeed Jaku had risked delivering the message.
Did he really believe that Kitsura Omawara had no way of sending
letters secretly to her own family?

He expects so little of us, Nishima thought, not for the first time.
With some effort she pushed Jaku from her thoughts.

It had been three days since Nishima had asked the former
Botahist nun, Shimeko, to research the cult that

had dwelt in Denji Gorge, and she had been consumed with
curiosity the entire time. Shimeko was on her way with the results
of her efforts even now. Nishima found it difficult to maintain her
tranquillity.

Fortunately, she did not have to wait long. A servant tapped on her
door and announced Shimeko.

“Ah, yes. Please, bring her to me.”

The young woman was shown in and knelt, bowing, Nishima noted,
in the plain fashion rather than in the style of her Order.

“Shimeko-sum, I trust you have been given quarters and some
instruction as I requested?”

“I have, Lady Nishima, thank you.”

“Is it more difficult than you imagined? Life beyond the priory?”

Shimeko shrugged. “It is not as different as one would expect, my
lady. It is a small world contained within its own walls, seldom
encountering the world beyond. In this way it is much the same. In
other ways,” she shrugged again, “it is not so similar.”

Nishima nodded. “How went your search of our archive?”

“It is a small archive, Lady Nishima, as one would expect of an
outer province. References to the Sect of the Eightfold Path were,
therefore, few.” She began to arrange her documents on the mats
in front of her.

“Most of the written works of the Sect of the Eightfold Path were
destroyed during what the historians refer to as the Inter-temple
Wars. Much of what is now believed is undoubtedly conjecture. As
you suggested, the Imperial Historians of the time—the reign of
Emperor Chonso-sa—made their dutiful records.

“The fanes beside the Lake of the Seven Masters were built after
the time of our Lord, Botahara. References in the travel journals of
Lord Bashu indicate that followers of Botahara had made their
dwellings there as early as one hundred and sixty years after the
Passing. It may be true that originally the sculptures were not
meant to be dwellings but were only adapted to this function when
the Botahist Sects began to war. Excuse me, Lady Nishima, do I
speak only of things already known to you?”

“I confess to a poor memory for history, Shimeko-sum. Please,
continue.”

Shimeko looked back at her papers. “After the Passing, several
different branches of Botahist teaching developed and these
flourished according to the support of different Houses or even the
Emperor. Large grants of land were often made to the temples and
these, it is said, became the source of considerable wealth. This
wealth was coveted by different Houses and by rival branches of
Botahist doctrine—by the Emperor himself in some cases. This
led to the Botahist fascination with the arts of war. They defended
their possessions ruthlessly.”

“At this time Botahist monks went about armed and some of the
temples supported large armies. They rivaled the Emperor for
power and often were able to make demands of the Great Council
of State that the government dared not refuse. But the temples
warred among themselves, and during this period many Botahist
sects were destroyed, including the Sect of the Eightfold Path.”

She looked up. “This differs from my own teaching, Lady Nishima.
I was taught that the sects were destroyed by overzealous
followers of the rival temples and also by the Emperor.” Having
said this, she returned to her papers.

“According to the histories, the Botahist temples weakened
themselves during the Inter-temple Wars and finally the Emperor
Chonso-sa, recognizing the opportunity, crushed the remaining
sects. He limited the size of the Botahist estates and forbade the
Botahist monks to carry arms.”

Pausing for a moment, she pointed to three rolled scrolls. “These
histories are written here, Lady Nishima, if you would care to read
them yourself.‘’

“I may look at them later, Shimeko-sum. I am curious, what did
these Brothers believe? What was their doctrine?”

The former nun looked back down at her papers.

From what Nishima knew of the Sisters’ training, this reference to
written material was entirely unnecessary— the Acolyte’s memory
should have been close to flawless. Most curious.

“They believed in the Seven Paths to enlightenment, Lady
Nishima.” She hesitated. “They believed also that the act of
physical love was the Eighth Path… you call

them Brothers, Lady Nishima, but it seems there were Sisters
also.“

“How very strange. Do we know the nature of their beliefs,
Shimeko-sum?” Nishima said with studied cas-ualness.

“The scholars do not agree on this, Lady Nishima. It seems likely
that the sect’s doctrine was akin to the ancient Shodo Hermits’
belief that the path through the Illusion lay in overcoming the
senses. Unlike the Sect of the Eightfold Path, however, the Shodo
Hermits did this through the experience of pain.” Shimeko took a
long, involuntary breath. “It is said they achieved levels of focus
through meditation while undergoing what could only be described
as torture. They would never cry out or show the slightest signs of
pain no matter what was done to them. Indeed, it is believed that
the Shodo Masters could turn the agony into any feeling they
desired, and it would be of equal intensity. The followers of the
Eightfold Path may have believed something similar, though they
substituted pleasure for pain.”

Lady Nishima suppressed a shudder.

“It is all written here, my lady,” Shimeko said, looking down at her
gathered scrolls.

“Yes. You said the scholars did not agree?”

Shimeko nodded. “There are other thoughts. One school believes
there is evidence that the sect believed the soul was divided into
halves that could only be united through the act of physical love.
Another thought the Sect of the Eightfold Path believed that denial
of the Illusion was futile, one found one’s way through it like a
person groping through fog. They wrote that the followers believed
one must experience the falseness of the Illusion to see beyond it
and desire is the essence of Illusion. There are other scholars with
other thoughts, but these represent the main schools of belief,
Lady Nishima.”

“I see.” Lady Nishima sat, lost in thought and then she met her
secretary’s gaze. “And what were you taught in the priory,
Shimeko-sum?”

Shimeko looked down. “Only that the Eightfold Path was a heresy,
my lady. Acolytes needed to know nothing more than that.”

Nishima nodded. No doubt this was true.

“Will that be all, Lady Nishima?” Shimeko asked flatly.

Nishima smiled. “I thank you for your efforts, Shimeko-sum.” She
straightened a fold in her robe. “There is something else… Before
I left the Capital, it came to my attention that a senior Sister of your
Order… your former Order, had taken an interest in one of my
maids. Before this was known, the Sister had managed to learn
some few things about myself and my House. Why would they
have this interest in me, Shimeko-sum?”

Shimeko opened her hands. “You are Shonto, Lady Nishima.”

“That would be all?”

“I do not know, Lady Nishima, but it is certainly enough.”

“You know nothing of the Sisterhood’s effort to spy on the
Shonto?”

Shimeko sat in silence for several seconds. “I know, my lady, that
senior Sister Morima, with whom I traveled to Seh, had come to
observe your Spiritual Advisor.”

“Brother Shuyun.” Nishima said unnecessarily.

“Yes, my lady.”

“Why?”

Shimeko sat staring at the floor for some time. “Within the
Sisterhood it is the belief of some,” she said in a whisper, “that
Brother Shuyun is the Teacher who was spoken of. The Udumbara
has blossomed in Monarta. I know it is said to be a rumor but it is
not. Sisters have seen it.”

“I see,” Nishima said, surprised by the flatness of her voice. She
looked at the young woman who sat before her, staring at the floor,
almost huddled into herself, unable even to look up. She is in the
grip of some terrible inner battle, Nishima realized. “Do you believe
Shuyun is the Teacher, Shimeko-sum?”

The woman seemed to draw into herself even more. “Brother
Shuyun says he is not, Lady Nishima.” She shrugged, tried to
speak, then her shoulders moved again like a weak convulsion.
“Perhaps… perhaps he is not. I do not know.”

The two women sat for some time, the distance between them a
vast gulf of experience, belief, and desire.

“That will be all, Shimeko-sum,” Nishima said at last, “I thank you.”

Fifteen

Snow fell on the night of the Celebration of the First Moon—the
substance of clouds floating to earth, layering Seh with white, like
the Plum Blossom Winds of spring. Snows were neither frequent
nor extreme in the Province of Seh and for that reason were
greeted as pleasant novelties, relief from the winter rains. The First
Moon Festival proceeded without pause for the weather.

The people of Seh gathered in the villages and the Manor Houses
of their liege-lords where the rites and festivities took place. By far
the most elaborate, if not the largest, gathering was held in the
center courtyard of the Imperial Governor’s Palace. Many of the
peers of the northern province had accepted invitations and the
fact that several of these lords represented the military power of
Seh was not incidental.

The governor watched the celebrations from the top of the
covered stairs that led from the Great Hall down into the courtyard.
Shifting about occasionally in his unfamiliar state robes, Lord
Shonto sat in the place of honor and managed to appear
captivated by the scene. Below him on the stairs sat the Ladies
Nishima and Kitsura, senior officials of the Council of Seh, several
lords of high rank, and various guests of note, Lady Okara among
them. Those who did not sit with Lord Shonto in comparative
comfort, stood under parasols in throngs about the courtyard.
Above them, strings of lanterns cast a pleasing light on the long
silk robes and illuminated the slowly falling snow.

Dressed in costumes of fox and bear and owl, children performed
a dance to the music of flute and drum. It was a more complex
dance than one would have expected of their age, very stylized
and rigid in its movements, yet

it was not marred by a single misstep. The performers approached
their roles with the utmost gravity, apparently unaware that this was
certainly the least serious part of the ceremony.

Earlier in the evening Botahist monks had performed ancient rites
in observance of the First Moon and to ensure a bountiful and
harmonious year—burning incense to the four winds and chanting
the prayer for spring rains. Once that had been done, however, the
celebration took on a more festive air. Many-colored silk banners
stirred in response to the occasional breath of wind as did the fine
robes of the men and women present. Perfume mingled with the
scent of burning oils and the pungent odor of charcoal, stirring
themselves together as though the courtyard were a giant
perfumer’s bowl.

The children’s dance ended and Lord Shonto, in his official
capacity, congratulated the performers as though they were the
finest Sonsa in all of Wa. Gifts were distributed, and the dancers
bowed their thanks in great style.

Servants hurried about with cauldrons of steaming rice wine, for no
one could be without rice wine for the first glimpse of the moon.
Anxious eyes kept looking skyward, hoping that one of the breaks
that appeared occasionally in the clouds would position itself
propitiously, but their attention could not remain there.

A sudden burst of flame signaled the entrance of the dragon, as
one of Seh’s finest dancers appeared in the elaborate costume.
Lady Okara had taken a hand in the design and her efforts,
coupled with the skills of the dancer, created a stunning effect.
Long of tail, the blue-scaled monster slithered most convincingly
from shadow to shadow to the delight of man, woman, and child.
After several attempts the dragon captured the moon, a silvered
disk illuminated by lantern light. Attendants snuffed many of the
lights then, casting the courtyard into partial shadow.

Far off, a conch sounded a long, lonely note muted by the falling
snow. The dragon slithered on, gloating over its prize. Again the
note, closer this time. The dragon pricked up its ears but then went
back to its exploration of the courtyard, darting suddenly at a group
of children who fled, screaming.

A long, sustained note came from over a nearby wall. The dragon
stopped in its tracks, turning dramatically. Fire licked from a
strategically placed pot as though it were the breath of the dragon.

Backlit under a great arch, Yoshinaga, the Seventh Prince,
appeared, leading his gray war horse. The dragon began to thrash
its tail and sway back and forth.

Leaving his mount behind, the second dancer drew his sword and
entered the courtyard. Battle ensued—dragon cunning and claw
against courage and steel. The dance itself was ancient of form
though visitors from the Capital were surprised to see that, in Seh,
some liberties were taken.

Wooden drums beat out an ominous time. The climax of the battle
took place as Yoshinaga, wrapped in the dragon’s tail, drove his
sword into the dragon’s soft breast. The dragon fell upon him and
with his last strength the Prince tossed the disk of the moon out
into the darkness.

Everyone turned now, for if all had been timed correctly the
crescent moon should rise over the wall in that instant. A soft glow
in the cloud began to grow and then, through a small tear, the
moon appeared to sighs of relief and raised cups of rice wine.
Eyes returned to earth in time to see the spirit of Yoshinaga, now
clad in a flowing white robe, mount his gray steed and ride off into
the night. The dragon was gone.

The performance at an end, the gathering began to move inside
except for those few who remained on vigil hoping to sight a falling
star—said to be Yoshinaga riding across the heavens—a sign of
good fortune for those who witnessed it.

The celebration broke into many groups and spread through three
halls. Music and dance and poetry and endless talk were the
evening’s fare and there was no one to complain of too rich a diet.

Lady Nishima planned all her activities so that she might avoid
contact with General Jaku Katta, and so practiced at this skill was
she that the General was beginning to realize that, as a tactician,
the lady showed more subtlety than he had ever aspired to. Once,
when he had been close to speaking to her, Nishima had drawn

him into a discussion with several of Seh’s least interesting
conversationalists and then abandoned him there, without the skills
to make a polite escape as she had done.

With her practiced eye, Lady Nishima noticed that a number of
prominent lords had disappeared, as had most of Lord Shonto’s
senior advisors. She turned toward the governor’s dais and found
her father slipping out through an open screen followed by
personal guards and Initiate Brother Shuyun. She offered a silent
prayer to Botahara.

There were perhaps a dozen and a half men gathered in the room,
dressed in their finest robes and seated on silk cushions. Shonto
sat before them on a low dais and to his right and left knelt the
Major Chancellor, Lord Gitoyo, and the aging Lord Akima, Minister
of War. Kamu, General Hojo, and Brother Shuyun, as the lord’s
senior advisors, sat nearby, while General Jaku and Lord
Komawara were barely farther away.

Facing the dais were the lords of Seh’s most important Houses,
each sitting with the kinsmen and senior members of their staff.
Prominent among them was the Lord of the Toshaki House
accompanied by his eldest son and Toshaki Shinga, general of
Seh’s standing garrison. Shonto knew of Lord Toshaki by
reputation only and was surprised by the man’s apparent youth.
Toshaki had seen at least seventy First Moon Festivals in his time,
yet he seemed like a man whose gray hair and beard had turned
long before their time. Lord Toshaki was aware of his status in
Seh, and though there was no greater distance between him and
the others, he sat apart all the same. If Shonto was any judge of
such things, Lord Toshaki would allow his kinsman, Toshaki
Shinga, to speak for him.

Of the province’s other major Houses, Lord Taiki Ki-yorama came
accompanied only by his senior officer and he bowed lower than
required to Shuyun and Kamu in recognition of their service to his
son who had come near to losing his life in the palace garden.

Lord Ranan was another matter. The Ranan House had been the
right hand of the Hanama Emperors in Seh for two hundred years
and had enriched themselves accord-

ingly. To say they were resented in the north would be an
understatement of considerable proportion. Nonetheless, they
were wealthy and still held power in the province, if not the favor of
the Emperor that had nominally passed to the Toshaki.

It was this group that Shonto needed to win to his cause if he were
to raise an army. Lord Taiki was already preparing his forces, but
the rivalry between the Toshaki and the Ranan did not bode well for
an alliance.

Shonto nodded to Kamu who turned and bowed to the gathered
lords and officials.

“Lord Shonto Motoru, Imperial Governor of the Province of Seh.”

All present bowed as their rank required and returned to the sitting
position.

Shonto nodded in response and sat quietly for a moment,
surveying the gathering. “The Shonto House is honored by your
presence, Lords of Seh. The ancestor for whom I was named rode
into battle with your grand-sires and great grandsires.” Shonto
reached back and took a sword from its stand. “This is the sword
my grandfather presented to the Emperor Jirri—legends now—yet
this sword rode into battle in an Emperor’s hands, and Seh
retained its borders.” He paused and looked around the group
again.

“My Emperor has charged me to end the barbarian raids across
the border into Seh and to this end I have focused my efforts. It
became apparent that we needed to inform ourselves of the
situation in the wastelands. To accomplish this we chose the most
direct course—we sent men into the desert to look with their own
eyes.”

A small shifting of men in the room, eyes meeting for an instant,
then all attention returned to Shonto.

“What we have learned will be related to you and no doubt you will
find it as disturbing as I have. We enter a time of great decisions
where our actions will affect the course of the history of our
Empire. Let it be said by future generations that at this time we
were filled with the wisdom of Hakata and the spirit of Emperor
Jirri.

“We must speak openly, my lords, for the guarded spirit and the
hidden intentions will bring us down as surely as a barbarian sword.
I would know your thoughts,

Lords of Seh, if you will honor me with them.“ Shonto fell silent for
a moment, but before he could proceed a cousin of the Ranan
Lord bowed to Shonto and spoke.

“In this spirit, Lord Governor, I would ask of rumors that whisper
throughout Seh.” He was an older man, obviously chosen for his
habits of speech, for he sounded like an old scholar though he
looked as hardy as an old peasant. “The people ask; where are the
Kintari? And it is said there is a barbarian in your service.”

They were bold questions put in a manner more direct than should
have been used with an Imperial Governor, not to mention a lord of
such note, yet Shonto could see the approval of the men of Seh.

“Lord Ranan,” Shonto’s voice was low, “I should like to ask the
same question of the Kintari…” He laid his sword across his knees.
“As to the barbarian, we shall speak of him now, if you will consent
to hear of the journey into the desert?”

The lords nodded and Shonto continued.

“As it is difficult for men of Seh to travel in the barbarian lands, it
was with some risk that we did so. The only men of our Empire
who can travel into the desert with any hope of living should they
encounter tribesmen are the healing Brothers. For this reason my
Advisor, Brother Shuyun, traveled across our border. He was
accompanied by Lord Komawara, also dressed as a Bota-hist
monk.

Turning to Komawara, Shonto nodded and the lord bowed. His
wound no longer required binding and all of it but a small purple
mark on his temple was hidden by newly grown hair.

“Brother Shuyun and I traveled into the steppe at the time of the
Field Burning Festival,” Komawara began, his voice stilted but
strong. “Although we saw increasing signs of barbarian patrols the
farther into the wastes we traveled, we met no tribesmen for many
days. At the spring of the Brothers we found signs that barbarian
tribesmen used it as a camp, though they were not there at the
time. One can only surmise where they might have been.

“We traveled farther into the steppe, indeed we approached the
edge of the desert itself. As we did so, we were trapped in a draw
by a band of tribesmen but, due

to the skills of Brother Shuyun, we were able to overcome these
brigands. We questioned one—Brother Shuyun speaks their
tongue—and found that they were of a tribe that hid from the Khan,
refusing to join the chieftain’s armies.

“As we were convinced these men did not raid across our border,
it was agreed that one of their number would guide us in return for
the lives of the others.”

Again the lords exchanged glances but said nothing.

‘ ’This is the tribesman you have heard rumors of, Lord Ranan. Our
understanding of the tribes’ customs was imperfect and we did not
realize that this one barbarian had traded his life and honor for the
lives of his kinsmen. That is why he is with us still. He is honor
bound to serve Brother Shuyun and cannot be released from that
now.“

“Barbarian honor?” General Toshaki smirked. “A spy in your midst
seems more likely, Lord Komawara.”

“I have placed my life in this barbarian’s hands on more than one
occasion, General. I am still alive. He is more than honor bound, as
the barbarians understand it. He is truly frightened by the chieftain
called the Golden Khan, believing this man will bring destruction
down upon the tribes and their way of life.”

“He shows wisdom in this, at least,” General Toshaki said to half-
smiles from the other lords.

Komawara continued his tale, saying nothing of the dragon shrine
or the gold coins. The lords of Seh listened with apparent
politeness until Komawara described the encampment of the army
they had found in the desert.

“Excuse me, Lord Shonto, Lord Komawara,” Akima interrupted.
“But it is difficult to imagine a barbarian army that has more men
than the total population of barbarians has ever been. How can you
explain this?”

“As I am unaware of the last Imperial census of the barbarian
tribes,” Komawara said acidly, “I cannot answer you, Lord Akima.
When were these figures compiled?”

“My lords,” Kamu interrupted, “before we begin to discuss what is
and is not possible, it may be best to hear what Lord Komawara
and Brother Shuyun have seen with their own eyes.”

Both Akima and Komawara gave half bows toward the dais.

“We left the encampment following the trail of the force that made
its way toward our border. We were a day catching them. From a
rise we were able to see a barbarian force of no less than forty
thousand men. It was clear daylight—there could have been no
mistake. This army, turned east, it is believed to winter with the
tribes of the steppe. Having seen this, we returned to Seh as
quickly as our mounts would travel.” Komawara bowed to Lord
Shonto and the gathered lords and then sat rigidly silent.

“I thank you, Lord Komawara. I honor you and Brother Shuyun for
this journey undertaken in our time of need.” Shonto turned to the
gathered lords. “As you see, the situation is one that requires
decisive action. Now is the time for questions and discussion, my
lords.”

No one spoke. Shonto wondered who would be chosen as the
voice of this group and watched the silent selection with interest.
Finally, General Toshaki Shinga bowed to his governor. So, Shonto
thought, the Toshaki will lead here.

“This is a delicate situation, Governor Shonto. We have been
asked to speak our thoughts, but I for one do not wish to offend
anyone present by arguing their beliefs… or calling their judgment
into question.”

“General Toshaki, in Shonto councils we speak our minds
openly—to do otherwise could bring us to the greatest disaster. I
have asked you all to share your years of experience and wisdom.
If this requires that you disagree with me or any of my staff, so be
it. Please, speak as you would in your own council.”

Toshaki bowed. “The estimate of the size of this barbarian army
seems beyond possibility, though I would hesitate to question what
Lord Komawara and Brother Shuyun have seen with their own
eyes,” he added quickly. “Is it possible the barbarians war among
themselves?”

Shonto turned to Shuyun who gave his double bow.

His voice was a surprise in this company, soft and quiet as though
he felt no need to force his opinions on anyone. “It is the opinion of
the tribesman Lord Koma-

wara has spoken of that the Khan has every intention of invading
Seh in the spring. The tribes that oppose him are small in number,
Lord Toshaki, and scattered. They are no threat to this Khan. I can
conceive of no other reason to gather an army of such size except
to war upon our Empire.“

“Excuse me, Brother, if I have difficulty believing one can hear truth
from a barbarian,” General Toshaki said evenly.

Shuyun’s face did not change, though the hue of Ko-mawara’s skin
seemed to darken.

The kinsman of Lord Ranan bowed now and Kamu acknowledged
him.

“Sire,” the younger man said with a note of respect, “there is yet
another question that we would ask.” Reaching into his sleeve, he
removed a small leather pouch which he opened with some care.
Retrieving something from its interior, he passed it to a Ranan
officer who in turn moved forward to give this to Kamu.

The Shonto steward placed the small object on the dais before
Lord Shonto who barely looked down.

“Yes, Lord Ranan?” Shonto said. Many eyes strained to catch a
glimpse of what lay glinting on the dais.

“Coins such as this were taken from a raiding barbarian in my lord’s
western fief. You will see a strange dragon form on its face. What
do these signify, my lord wonders? To our knowledge there has
never been gold found among the barbarians before.”

Shonto reached out and pushed the coin with the tip of his sword.
“Let the others see this,” Shonto said quietly and Kamu retrieved
the coin, handing it to Lord Akima.

“What you see, Lords of Seh, is a talisman of the cult that is linked
to this Khan who has risen among the tribes.”

“You have seen these coins before, Lord Shonto?”

Shonto nodded. “Other raiders have carried them.”

“There seems to be a great depth to your knowledge, Lord
Shonto,” the senior Ranan lord said. His voice was deep and rich
and carried weight among the voices heard so far. “Do the
barbarians mine gold, then? Or shall we

assume it has been stolen from some source we are not aware of?
Some lord’s secret treasure?“

Shonto contemplated this for some seconds. “The gold comes
from Yankura, Lord Ranan, that is all we know. How it makes its
way into the desert is unclear. What purpose it serves is also a
mystery.”

One could almost hear the snow falling in the courtyard. The senior
Ranan Lord looked at his palm as though he would read his next
words there. A lamp sputtered, a drop of condensation finding the
flame.

“Do you suggest that someone in our Empire pays some form of
tribute to the barbarians, Lord Governor?” the Ranan Lord said, his
voice suddenly quiet.

“It is a likely explanation,” Shonto answered calmly, as though what
he said was not an accusation of high treason. Whom the
accusation was aimed at no one needed to ask.

Ranan nodded. The coin had reached General Toshaki now.

“The purpose of this cult,” General Toshaki said, “is it known?”

“It seems to give legitimacy to the Khan, General.”

“How is it that we have learned this, Lord Shonto?” Toshaki asked.

Shonto nodded to Komawara.

Komawara bowed rigidly. “The Kalam, the tribesman who serves
Shuyun-sum, he has spoken of the dragon cult. Also, when we
traveled in the desert, we saw the shrine of the dragon.”

General Toshaki looked at the senior member of his House who
gave the smallest gesture with his hand.

“Lord Komawara,” the general said, taking his cue. “There is
another rumor that has been whispered in Seh.” The edges of his
mouth curled in the slightest smile. “It is said that you saw the
remains of a dragon on your recent journey. Can such a thing be
true?”

Hojo interrupted, ignoring the general and looking directly at his
Toshaki master. “Rumors, Sire, are often smoke without flame.”
And he smiled also.

The senior Toshaki lord held Hojo’s gaze for a few seconds, then
he visibly dismissed him, turning to Komawara. “Lord Komawara,
on the honor of your family,

do you believe you saw the remains of a dragon in the desert?“

Komawara hesitated, darting a glance at Shonto. “I saw the
skeleton of a large beast, Lord Toshaki.”

“A large beast, Lord Komawara?” he asked, as though addressing
a child. “What nature of beast?”

“A beast that resembled the dragon embossed on the coin, Lord
Toshaki.” Komawara kept his voice even.

General Toshaki shook his head, looking down as though he hid a
smile. Then he spoke suddenly. “One dragon, Lord Komawara, or
forty thousand?”

Stifled laughter was heard around the room.

“One beast, Lord Toshaki. One only.” Komawara said too quietly.

Toshaki nodded toward the young lord, almost a mock bow.

The senior Toshaki lord gestured his kinsman to silence.

“This situation we have heard described is of consequence to the
entire Empire. General Jaku, does the Son of Heaven prepare an
army as we speak?”

“That is our hope, Lord Toshaki, though we do not yet know,” Jaku
said fixing the older man with his cold gaze.

“Ahh,” the lord said, looking away. “Lord Shonto, this is a grave
matter. I wish to take council with my kinsmen and advisors.” He
bowed to Lord Shonto.

Lord Taiki spoke without warning. “Lord Toshaki, Lords of Seh. I
tell you in all truthfulness that if we do not begin to prepare an army
now, we make a decision to surrender Seh to our ancient enemy. It
is not the epitaph I would choose for my tomb.”

There was a short silence.

“My lord wishes to consult his advisors, also, Lord Shonto,” the
junior Ranan lord spoke into the silence.

The council was at an end. With great dignity Shonto nodded to
those around him, rose and left, carrying his own sword.

Shortly after the Lords of Seh had gone, Shonto returned to speak
to his staff. Jaku and Lord Akima were not present. Komawara,
Lord Taiki, and the Major Chan-

cellor, Gitoyo, were the only outsiders. Shonto seated himself on
the dais and regarded the men around him. “Blind are the sighted
and deaf the hearing… only those who look within will find truth. ”

Shuyun made a sign to Botahara at this quotation.

Shonto shook his head slowly. “General Hojo?”

“It would appear that the Lords of Seh believe you are to be the
victim of a hired barbarian army, an army paid in gold by our
revered Emperor. No doubt the lords of Seh believe that you try to
raise an army in your defense. They cannot believe the Emperor
would endanger part of his Empire to bring down the Shonto.
There will be no support coming from these men. Lord Toshaki, I
think, will do nothing that has not been ordered by the Emperor.
And Lord Ranan, though he hates the Yamaku, will take no
unnecessary risks to thwart their Imperial ambitions. The minor
houses, even if they could be convinced, would make little
difference.”

Shonto nodded. He gestured to the others and each man in turn
nodded agreement. Shonto clapped his hands loudly.

“And the Emperor’s support? Truthfully?”

“It is entirely dependent on Jaku Katta. But in all honesty, I think it is
unlikely. After Denji Gorge, it seems the Emperor has reason to
distrust his Guard Commander—it takes very little to earn the
Emperor’s distrust. The rumors that Jaku has fallen from favor may
have truth in them. Katta-sum may not even be sure of his own
situation.”

Shonto looked at Kamu.

“I agree, Sire. We may hope for the Emperor’s support, but we
should begin to take the actions we would take if it were not
forthcoming. We dare not wait.”

Shonto sat contemplating this like a man considering a move at
gü—and like a gü Master he showed no sign of being affected by
his situation. It gave his retainers hope.

“Lord Komawara,” Shonto said warmly, “you could do nothing but
tell the truth. It could not be helped. I regret this deeply, but
tomorrow we meet to plan our retreat from Seh.” He pulled the
sword that was the Emperor’s gift partly from its scabbard. “Kamu-
sum, start-

ing now we will have no one but those present in councils unless I
order otherwise. We give up this pretense—the government of
Seh seems to be made up of informers. No guards but our own
around our chambers.“ Shonto slid the blade in and out of its
scabbard.

“We have one other move that we can make in this game before
retreat and cover. Kamu-sum, prepare a tract that says the
Government of the Province of Seh is paying gold for the service
of armed men. They will not come in time, perhaps, but they will
come as we move south.”

The Major Chancellor, Lord Gitoyo, bobbed quickly. “Sire, Lord
Governor… the Emperor demands his taxes. We dare not delay
longer. There is certainly not enough gold to raise an army.”

“Huh.” Shonto examined the flawless metal blade. “We must not
keep the Emperor waiting for his taxes. That would be
unthinkable.‘’ He smiled at those around him. ”Entirely unthinkable.“

Komawara gave a deep bow. “There is one other action we could
consider, Lord Shonto.”

Shonto nodded.

“The springs closest to our border in the steppe—they could be
poisoned as winter ends.”

Komawara returned to the festivities, though his heart wanted to be
gone. An urge to race a horse with a great heart across the hills
took hold of him, as though he could leave what he felt behind. His
own countrymen, northerners, were surrendering Seh to the
barbarians! When the Khan swept across the border with his army,
then these men would be ready to fight—when the only sensible
course of action would be to retreat as Lord Shonto planned. They
would all die so it could be said that they did not abandon Seh,
despite the odds. The bravery of fools…

Pulling his thoughts away from this problem, he searched the
gathering for a glimpse of Lady Nishima. She had spoken to him
earlier and he had alternately felt delight and despair ever since.
Her robe of rich blue with its pattern of snow falling on the Mountain
of the Pure Spirit was nowhere to be seen. Despair.

Lord Toshaki’s eldest son, Toshaki Yoshihira, sur-

rounded by a group of laughing kinsmen, rose from a low table. He
spotted Komawara as he gained his feet and stopped. Breaking
into a grin, he made a sudden extravagant bow and then rose, his
face flushed from drink.

“Lord Komawara,” he enunciated with the care of a man who had
drunk his limit, “it is my hope that in future first Moon Festivals that
Prince Yoshinaga slaying the dragon will be replaced by Lord
Komawara meeting the dragon.”

Toshaki’s cousins showed some concern at this insult and their
laughter was subdued. Komawara had a reputation as a
swordsman that was respected.

“Perhaps it could be replaced by Lord Toshaki discovering
foolhardiness in a wine cup,” Komawara said evenly.

Suddenly Shuyun and Lord Gitoyo’s son were beside him. “There
are more important fights than this, Lord Komawara,” Captain
Gitoyo said quietly.

“Listen to your friend, Lord Komawara,” Toshaki slurred. “You must
save your courage for the barbarian hordes.”

Komawara felt restraining hands on either of his arms. “I would not
have the blood of a fool on my sword,” Gitoyo whispered. “Come
away from this. You of all people do not need to prove bravery.‘’

Komawara gave way to the pressure on his arm and began to turn
away.

Toshaki bent over the nearby table and retrieved a lacquered
chopstick. He brandished this like a sword and stepped into the
guard position. “Lord Komawara, you need a proper weapon to
slay dragons and barbarian hordes. I would be honored if you
would take mine.”

Komawara broke free of his companions and spun back toward the
Toshaki lord but, impossibly, Shuyun stood facing Toshaki, his
back blocking Komawara.

“My lord,” Shuyun said quietly, “that is a dangerous weapon to
wield in the governor’s hall.”

Toshaki stood with his chopstick before him like a sword, suddenly
looking unsure of himself. Botahist monks did not confront peers.

The implement disappeared from Toshaki’s hand as the

monk’s arm became a blur of motion. Toshaki stepped back into
his kinsman.

“Such a weapon should never be drawn in polite company. ‘’

Again Shuyun moved with a speed that was impossible to follow.
There was a crack of wood hitting wood, not loud but strangely
piercing. Shuyun bowed low before Toshaki who stared down at
the chopstick Shuyun had driven into the table.

“May your journey bring you wisdom, Sire,” Shuyun almost
whispered.

Toshaki stood staring at Shuyun for several seconds, his face
contorted and unreadable. Then, realizing that his supporters
retreated, he turned away and disappeared among the crowd.

Shuyun stood watching the young lord’s retreat, then he faced his
companions.

Komawara’s gaze was fixed on the point where Lord Toshaki had
disappeared. He looked at Shuyun suddenly and he shook his
head. “You should not, Brother,” he whispered. “Such things are
beneath you.”

With a nod to Gitoyo, he turned and went off in the opposite
direction Toshaki had taken. The people present became a blur of
colored silk and the sounds a low roar in which nothing could be
distinguished. Komawara trembled with anger.

/ have become the object of ridicule among my own countrymen,
the lord thought. And despite all that I have done, my province will
be put to the sword and the torch.

He stumbled out beyond the row of pillars toward the doors. And
there he saw Lady Nishima in serious conversation with General
Jaku Katta, of the Imperial Guard. She faced toward Komawara as
she spoke, but she did not see him, that was clear.

He stood for a moment looking at this scene and then passed
through the great doors into the courtyard. Like Yoshinaga, he
disappeared into the night.

It had not been easy for Lady Nishima to slip away; she was, after
all, the governor’s daughter, but she was becoming experienced in
such matters. The sounds of music and conversation from the hall
were barely muted by the pillar she stood behind yet it would be
difficult to

leave the hall entirely without passing out into a cold night.

She tapped a closed fan into the palm of her hand in what looked
like impatience but was really a disguise for anxiety. After she had
successfully avoided Jaku Katta all evening, he had sent her a
poem that he knew she could not ignore.

She had struggled to read in the poor light:

Season of cold hearts

No warmth from the white robe,

Snow upon the shinta leaves.

Who knows how deep the frost shall reach?

There is something you must hear

Nishima’s heart raced. Some part of her hoped that Jaku would
prove to be honorable and this hope unsettled her. Surely it was
the worst foolishness. Look how he had acted so recently with
Kitsu-sum! She was about to return to the gathering when a dark
form appeared down the row of columns. Though it required some
effort, Nishima waited with what she hoped would be an
appearance of calm.

Jaku walked toward her, his strong, graceful form appearing and
disappearing as he went from light into shadow into light again.
Finally he stepped into the same shadow that Nishima occupied.
Gray eyes almost seemed to glow in the pale light. Jaku bowed
deeply.

Nishima nodded. “General…” She was about to pursue a polite
course of conversation but caught herself. “What is this matter you
have written of, General Jaku?”

If Jaku felt this was an insult, he did not show it.

“It is something that should be spoken of in more private
surroundings,” Jaku said, his voice low.

“Perhaps it should be spoken of in the presence of my uncle,”
Nishima said curtly.

“This is information for your ears, Lady Nishima. It is to show that
my intentions are honorable, though I fear that they will be
misunderstood as they have been in the past.”

“You wrong me, General—I was not aware that your intentions had
been misunderstood.” Nishima waved her

fan open. “What is this information you speak of? The night grows
cold, General Jaku.”

Jaku nodded, looking over his shoulder quickly. “I am concerned,
Nishima-sum,” he met her eyes for a second, but when she did not
react to him dropping her title he went on quickly. “I fear the
Emperor will not respond to my plea for troops: the intrigues of the
court are beyond imagining and difficult to untangle, even while
living in the palace. The webs spun in the Emperor’s court are such
that I risked much to have written as I did, for myself and my
family.”

“Do you suggest, General, that the Emperor will not respond to
your letters as you hope?”

Jaku hesitated. “It is a possibility, Lady Nishima.”

“Huh.” She waited.

After it was apparent she would say no more, Jaku went on. “The
Emperor’s support is desperately needed, I know, but if it cannot
be obtained, Lady Nishima, I will not return quietly to the Capital.”
Again he searched her eyes. “I will warn my family and remain in
Seh to do what I can. Though it is said by some that Jaku Katta
takes only the course of greatest opportunity, I will fight beside the
Shonto though I will gain the enmity of the Son of Heaven.”

Nishima looked away. A man stepped out from behind a pillar not
far off, hesitated, and then passed through the doors leading to the
courtyard.

“Tell me, Katta-sum,” Nishima almost whispered, “will the Emperor
send troops to us? Is there no hope?”

She watched the guardsman as he considered her question.

“I am not without influence at court, Nishima-sum, but others may
hold sway—while I am here. It is… it is possible that my voice will
not carry, it pains me to say.”

Nishima nodded sadly as she looked down at the floor. “And this
mad design to bring down my father, you took no part in it?”

“Once I had learned of it,” Jaku stepped closer and lowered his
voice, “I took some time to speak, it is true. My loyalties were
tested… until I spoke to you at the Celebration of the Emperor’s
Ascension. My shame that I did not speak sooner.”

Nishima’s fan stopped in the middle of its sweep. A warm hand
touched her cheek and she pulled away. Looking up she met
Jaku’s gray eyes, as impenetrable as cloud. Turning away she
walked back into the bright hall.

Sixteen

N

ishima unfolded the letter for the second time and read the single
poem.

Season of cold hearts

No warmth from this white robe,

Snow upon the shinta leaves.

Who knows how deep the frost shall reach?

There is something you must hear.

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 coldl 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 gü 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 Botanist-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 Ko-mawara 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 chop-stick
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.”

Seventeen

Lord 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. J

Eighteen

The snow that had fallen during the First Moon Festival was only a
memory by the time Second Moon appeared. Winds had blown in
from the sea, bringing comparative warmth and what seemed like
endless rain. The frigid cold had been replaced by a pervasive
dampness, and though the nights were hardly warm they had not
the same raw edge evidenced a few weeks before.

Spring came early to Wa, even in the north. By Third Moon the
rains would moderate and by Forth Moon the Plum Blossom Winds
would sweep in like a sigh.

Nishima sat alone in her rooms, trying to concentrate on the poetry
of Lady Nikko. Though she turned the scroll and her eyes passed
from one character to the next, it seemed they did not penetrate
beyond her eyes.

There had been no response from Lady Kitsura’s family, and this
weighed on her more with each day that passed. Unable to
proceed as she had planned, Nishima found the decision to put off
discussing her suspicions about Jaku Katta with her father was
turning into a decision not to discuss her suspicions at all. She had
been so certain the night she had talked to Jaku, but that certainty
seemed to be fading with each day that passed. What would she
tell her father, that she had suddenly developed truth sense? If a
letter came from Kitsura’s family, indicating that Jaku had sent
Kitsura’s message, perhaps this would strengthen her resolve.

But what if Jaku had not had the letter delivered as he promised? It
was most confusing. Of course there was always the chance that
the letter had been intercepted. If that were the case, and the letter
had fallen into the hands of the Emperor, then Jaku would certainly
be out of favor now, whether he had been previously or not.

I will wait, she told herself, Satake-sum invariably said that
impatience would be my undoing and though I often thought he
teased me, I begin to believe he did not say this entirely in jest. I
will wait.

But she did not wait well and was aware of it. “Tranquillity of
purpose is as for from my nature as Enlightenment is to the toads,”
she said to herself.

Nishima began to reread the poem she had just finished, for not a
word of it had registered. The lamp wick needed trimming, but she
didn’t want to disturb the servants… nor be disturbed by them. The
rain fell with such force that it seemed like gravel clattering
ceaselessly on the tile roof, but rather than find this constant rain
oppressive she welcomed it—as though it somehow insulated her
from the outside world. It was a comfort.

A tap on the screen that led to her room was hardly welcomed, yet
Lady Nishima made some effort to speak in a pleasant tone.
“Please, enter.”

The face of a maid appeared in the opening. “Brother Shuyun
returns a book of poetry, Lady Nishima. Do you wish to speak with
him?”

“Oh, indeed,” Nishima’s tone was suddenly no longer forced.
“Please, invite him in.”

Shuyun entered a moment later, the grace of his Bo-tahist-trained
movements delighting her as much as any dancer’s. There was not
the slightest self-consciousness in his motions, yet she knew there
was total awareness. He knelt on an offered cushion and gave the
Botanist double bow.

“Brother Shuyun,” Nishima favored him with her most disarming
smile, “I hope you have found the works I have given you
enlightening or at least diverting.”

Shuyun nodded. “The poetry of Lady Nikko is enlightening for me,
certainly. My education has consisted largely of Botahist texts,
Lady Nishima. Lady Nikko’s poetry tells me much of the world I
now live in.”

Nishima gestured to the scroll she had been trying to read. “She
wrote so much and all of it equally illuminating, I’m sure.”

They fell into a second’s awkward silence.

He has not come to return scrolls, Nishima thought, and that
realization shattered her natural command of

social situations. Looking up at his ancient, childlike eyes, she
searched for an answer to her confusion, for a reaction to what she
felt. But when he met her eyes, Nishima looked away, afraid of
what her own gaze would reveal.

“Shuyun-sum, I…” She swallowed involuntarily. “I did not
understand what I did when Satake-sum taught me. I was only a
girl… It was not my intention to give offense to the Botahist Order.
When Satake-sum told me they were secret teachings, I thought
they were secret between Satake-sum and me.” She paused. “I
can apologize, Brother, but it is not possible to forget what I have
learned.”

“Lady Nishima, my reaction was not shock at what you had done. I
pass no judgment on your actions. It was Brother Satake’s oath
breaking that affected me so strongly. I am the one to apologize if
it seemed that I blamed you.”

Nishima glanced up again but his eyes appeared as always—filled
with impenetrable calm. She tried to smile. “Satake-sum was a man
of great curiosity, Shuyun-sum. To find out what a woman could
learn… though I began at too advanced an age to ever achieve the
mastery that you display, Brother.”

Another awkward moment. The rain continued, like a frame around
the silence in the room.

“Curiosity, Satake-sum told me, was not encouraged within your
Order,” Nishima said tentatively, as though afraid she breached a
sensitive subject.

But Shuyun only nodded.

Nishima pulled her robe closer. Gathering her nerve, she pressed
on. “I understand, Shuyun-sum, that there have been differing
Botahist teachings in the past? Those who dwelt in the fane on the
Lake of the Seven Masters, for instance.”

“It is so, though the one true Way still guides us, while the others
have disappeared.”

“I wonder—did the sect that dwelt in Denji Gorge not believe they
followed the teachings of the Perfect Master? Were their beliefs
not interpretations of the words of Botahara?”

Shuyun shrugged. “Their beliefs were heretical, Lady Nishima.”

“Ahh,” Nishima looked down at her hands. “It seems difficult to
judge their beliefs when no one is sure what those beliefs were.”

Shuyun took a long breath and let it out slowly. “Others have
judged the doctrine of the Eightfold Path, Lady Nishima. It does
not need to be done every generation.”

Nishima nodded though it hardly seemed like a nod of agreement.
“Do you ever wonder, Brother? Are you entirely sure of your path?
I question my own—often.”

Shuyun touched his fingertips together as though he would
meditate. “My teachers warned that the world beyond the
monastery would test my faith, Lady Nishima.” He paused, deep in
thought. Then, softly, “I did not realize how hard this testing would
be.‘’

Nishima nodded but did not answer immediately. The rain on the
tile seemed to respond to the sadness she felt in the room.
Perhaps all ways were difficult.

A tap on the shoji interrupted Nishima’s thoughts. A kneeling maid
opened the screen a hand’s breadth. “Lady Kitsura calls, my Lady.”

Nishima hid her annoyance with enormous care, well aware of how
sensitive a Botahist Initiate was to tone of voice.

“How kind of her to call. Please, ask Lady Kitsura to join us.”

Nishima smiled as her cousin entered, but Kitsura’s air of
excitement quickly gave way to embarrassment. She was dressed
in an unpatterned silk robe in a shade of peach that was matched
with only a single under-kimono. Her sash was a silk scarf quickly
knotted and her hair was worn long. It was clear she had not
expected to find male company in Nishima’s apartments.

“Excuse me, cousin, Brother Shuyun. I did not realize you were
here, Brother. I apologize.”

“Kitsura-sum,” Nishima smiled, “please do not apologize. Our
discussion of the spirit will only be more interesting with your
participation. Please sit with us.” She gestured to other pillows and
Kitsura took her place though she did not seem at all sure this was
the proper thing for her to do.

“Brother Shuyun and I had just been discussing the development
of Botahist doctrine.” Nishima looked over

at her cousin and realized that with so few robes the shape of
Kitsura’s breast was hardly hidden. Glancing at Shuyun, she
wondered if he noticed this himself. If desire was the nature of
Illusion, how was he so unaffected by it? Nishima looked back at
her cousin. Men were usually all but overcome with desire when in
Kitsura’s presence—Nishima had seen it many times. She was
aware of being somewhat jealous of her cousin’s effect on the
men of the Empire.

“Ah, Lady Nikko,” Kitsura said, bending over to retrieve the scroll.
As she did so her poorly belted robes opened, and Nishima was
sure she had seen Shuyun’s eyes drawn in that direction for an
instant.

Shuyun bowed suddenly, “Lady Nishima, Lady Kitsura, please
excuse me. I have other duties that call me.” He bowed again,
responding politely to the women’s expressions of regret. The
screen closed gently behind him.

Nishima smiled at her cousin, a rather sheepish smile. “Plum
wine?” she asked.

“Now that I have ruined your evening,” Kitsura said, “coming to your
rooms dressed like a street woman.” She pulled her robes closed
at the neck.

Nishima laughed. “You did have a most surprised look on your face
when you saw Brother Shuyun.” She laughed again.

“Well, I was hardly expecting you to be entertaining a gentleman.
Your maid admitted me so readily. Had she said that Brother
Shuyun was here, I would never have come in—dressed like this.
Really, you should speak with that girl.”

“Kitsu-sum, you would be beautiful dressed as a street sweeper.”

“Well…” Kitsura looked embarrassed, “that hardly means one is
allowed to appear socially, half-dressed!”

Nishima laughed again. She seemed rather pleased with Kitsura’s
discomfiture.

“But I have not told you! I have just received letters from my family.
Jaku Katta did have the message delivered!” Kitsura’s eyes shone
with excitement. “It is information your father must have. Certainly
the handsome Guard Commander is no longer in favor at court. He
would never have dared send a message to my family

otherwise—especially as he did not know what my letter contained.
There can be no doubt.“

Nishima nodded her head. “No doubt at all,” she said quietly. “You
are quite right.”

Nineteen

Word reached the acting Commander of the Imperial Guard within
minutes of the discovery. Jaku Tad-amoto hurried down a hall and
turned into the grand corridor that connected the palace proper
with the Palace of Administration. Like much of the Island Palace
this had been built on a scale barely approachable by mere
humans—broad and high-ceilinged with a polished stone floor that
shone in the soft winter light.

In the distance he could see a party of officials moving at a pace
inappropriate to their station. Peaked red caps denoted at least two
Senior Ministers and the robes of the others indicated officials of
high rank. In the midst of this group a sedan chair was being
hurried along, but it appeared to have no occupant. Tadamoto
increased his pace. An Emperor too impatient to ride as his station
required was never a good sign.

Tadamoto attached himself to the rear of this silent party and
matched its pace without a word. The Minister of the Left, puffing
to keep up, gave him a barely perceptible nod. The silence of the
party hung in the air, poised like a sharp blade.

Guards and officials and courtiers knelt with their foreheads to the
floor as the Emperor passed. The Palace would be alive with
rumors within minutes—try to control the flow of gossip when the
Emperor behaved like this!

They entered the Palace of Administration and turned into another
hall. The shuffle of feet on stone, the breathing of the rushing
officials, robes of silk and brocade sweeping along the floor,
conversations dying abruptly as the Emperor came into view.

Another hall, smaller now, some confusion about a door, and then
a large room in the core of the ministry.

Tense, chalky faces turned toward the entering party and then
foreheads were pressed to the floor. A small, iron-bound chest
stood in the center of the room and, with the bowing officials
surrounding it, Tadamoto had the fleeting impression that it was an
object of veneration. He pushed past the sedan chair bearers and
nodded to guards to close the doors.

The Emperor paused, holding his sword in both hands. “This is the
chest?”

Nods from several quarters. Stepping forward, the Emperor lifted
the lid of the chest with the tip of his scabbard so that it slid off“
and fell to the floor with an ominous clatter. He leaned forward to
look in and stepped back as though the contents offended him.
Glancing over his shoulder, the Son of Heaven saw Tadamoto and
nodded.

“Colonel,” the Emperor waved his sword at the chest.

Tadamoto stepped past the frightened officials, staying a
respectful distance from the Emperor. He rounded the chest and
peered in, closed his eyes for a second, then reached down and
removed a small brocade bag—the single object the chest
contained. Untying the cord with trembling fingers Tadamoto
emptied the contents into his palm. A dozen gold coins, square,
with round holes in their centers.

The Emperor spun around looking at the gathered officials, most
of whom stepped back in obvious fright.

“And there was nothing taken from this chest? It came exactly thus
from Seh?”

Heads bobbed. “Exactly as you see it,” a senior official offered,
“though with seals unbroken.” He was an old man whose voice
quavered terribly. “The theft must have taken place on the canal,
though the Imperial Governor’s own troops were the guards.”

The Emperor tapped the edge of the chest with his sword, raised
the scabbard suddenly as if he would strike the edge, then
stopped himself. “Find them,” the Emperor said to no one and,
turning, scattered the officials before him.

Tadamoto stood for a moment, looking down into the empty chest.
His gaze drifted back to the coins. He pushed one with his finger to
uncover another—it bore the mark of a strange dragon.

“Colonel,” the Minister of the Left said, his voice jarring in the silent
room, “these guards were best found quickly.”

Tadamoto thrust the bag and coins into the old man’s hands and
stormed out. In the hall beyond he broke into an undignified trot.
There was no doubt in his mind that there had been no theft. The
chest and its contents were a message from Shonto—a
declaration of war. Tadamoto had not received confirmation yet,
but it was rumored that Shonto had published a tract offering gold
for the service of armed men.

Civil war was all but inevitable. And what of this barbarian army? If
Jaku told the truth, it would be more than civil war; it would be the
war that ended the Empire. He went from a trot to a run.

The Great Audience Hall of the Empire was lit by only a half dozen
lamps, spaced around its great perimeter, and the small light they
provided appeared to be drawn into the hall’s vast darkness. It
gave the chamber an eerie feel and distorted one’s sense of the
space and distance. Tadamoto stood just inside a door to one side
of the dais, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He could hear the sound
of footsteps. They seemed to come toward him, then stop, then
retreat again. Someone muttered—words he could not understand.

Staring into the gloom, Tadamoto was finally able to make out the
silhouette of a man moving before the dais. He was unsure of what
to do. After waiting in the dark for some minutes longer Tadamoto
knelt down where he stood and waited until the footsteps
approached and then stopped again.

“Emperor?” he said quietly.

The unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from its
scabbard.

“Sire? I have come with my report as you wished. It is Colonel
Jaku.”

‘ ’Tadamoto-sum?‘’

“Yes, Sire. Please excuse my intrusion.”

“You are alone?” The voice came out of the dark.

“Yes, Sire.”

“Get up,” the Emperor commanded.

Jaku bowed to the darkness and rose to his feet.

“Come along,” the voice said.

Tadamoto walked toward the sound. The Emperor’s form
materialized in the poor light. Tadamoto could see him returning his
sword to its scabbard.

“Walk with us, Colonel.” At this the Emperor turned and started
down the hall, his pace deliberate if not hurried. Halfway down the
length of the great chamber the Emperor broke the silence.

“The Shonto guards are not to be found?”

“This is so, Emperor. It seems very likely that Shonto’s most senior
retainers have slipped away also, though appearances are being
kept up faithfully at their residences. I have failed…”

“The gods take them!” the Emperor interrupted. “I did not truly
believe they could be found. They did not steal Seh’s taxes—their
lord did.”

Tadamoto nodded. They came abreast of a lamp and he could
see the Emperor’s face, strangely distorted by the half light. The
eyes hidden in dark holes and the forehead standing out like a
deformity. The young guardsman looked away.

This man touches the woman I love.

“I had hoped to avoid civil war,” the Emperor said softly. ‘ ’I had so
hoped to avoid it.

“Of course, Shonto will drive the Empire into this war. I should have
realized.” His voice was sad as though he spoke of an errant child.

She spends her nights in his arms.

“We will have to raise an army now. If Shonto tries to split the
Empire and establish himself in Seh, we will be forced to go north
to fight. If the lord chooses to come south, we will let him come to
us. Either way the Empire will pay a great price.‘’

They strode on until they came to the massive entrance doors
where the Emperor changed course abruptly and started back
toward the dais.

/ have let this occur, frozen into inaction.

“Are preparations complete for sending the Prince north?”

Tadamoto fought the rage that swelled inside him. “They have
been complete for some days, Sire,” he said tightly.

“Then he shall drag his feet no longer. Send him off even if you
must use force.”

Tadamoto nodded again.

“And the Omawara. We watch them with great care?”

“Both by day and by night, Emperor.”

“Do not let them slip away, Colonel. I will have plans for them yet.”

They walked in silence to the foot of the Dragon Throne and then
turned back. Half the length of the hall passed beneath their feet
with nothing but the sounds of their footsteps and the hiss of the
Emperor’s brocade robe along the stone. Occasionally the jeweled
scabbard the Son of Heaven carried would catch the dim light, and
it seemed he almost brandished it as though at an enemy.

“Sire… ?” Jaku struggled to collect his thoughts.

“Speak your mind, Colonel,” the Emperor said with some
impatience.

“Excuse me for saying so, Sire, but perhaps we play this game too
openly.” He took a deep breath. “If we locate Shonto’s retainers
and they are taken by Imperial Guards, no matter how carefully
disguised, the Empire will soon know. We risk dividing the Great
Houses.” Tadamoto glanced at the Emperor, but it was impossible
to read his face in the low light. “There are other courses. We
could announce that we raise an army to send north— the situation
in Seh is not critical, but it is not what we originally thought. Of
course, we will keep this army here under our control until we see
what Shonto does. It will be a message for Shonto’s allies.”

Tadamoto could see the Emperor nodding. “But what of this gold
we have received from Shonto?” The Emperor turned toward him
in the dark. “You understand its significance, Tadamoto-sum?”

“I do, Sire.” They walked a few paces more. “We could send a
message to Shonto saying we are confused by this. Certainly the
Imperial Treasury should contribute to the efforts against the
barbarians, but this action of Shonto’s staff is foolish in the
extreme. Could not the Governor look into this matter and tell us
his province’s needs?”

The Emperor considered this. “Ah, Tadamoto, this is wisdom. Why
do my other counselors not advise me so?” The Emperor slapped
his palm with his scabbard. “We

will do as you suggest, though Shonto’s retainers should be found
if it is at all possible. I’m certain Tanaka could provide a wealth of
information, and not just about his lord.“

They had walked the hall’s length and returned now to the foot of
the throne.

“What of your brother? Has he written in return to your letter?”

“It may yet be too soon, Sire.”

“Ah.” the Emperor paced across the foot of the dais and then
stopped.

“Begin to raise the army. My son will leave for the north
immediately… to assist Shonto until our entire force can be made
ready.” The Emperor mounted the steps and disappeared into the
total darkness surrounding the Dragon Throne. Tadamoto heard
him settle into the cushions.

“Prepare a letter for our governor,” said the voice in the darkness.
“Tell him that we are confused by the action of his staff. Say we
prepare an army as quickly as we can. Let him wonder what we
plan, let him lie awake and wonder.

“Colonel,” there was real warmth in the Emperor’s voice now, “I
shall reward you for this, reward you richly. Tell us your desire,
Tadamoto-sum.”

Tadamoto knelt and bowed, his spirit sinking as he did so. “To
serve my Emperor,” he forced himself to say, “that is my desire.”

This man…

“You are a man of honor, Tadamoto-sum, but I’m sure something
can be found that will be worthy of you. We shall see.”

Tadamoto sat on the lowest step of the dais, brooding in the
darkness. The Emperor had gone, leaving the young officer in a
turmoil.

Osha, Osha, he thought. He had not seen the dancer for several
days, had been unable to face her, though he could not say why. It
was one thing for him to be avoiding Osha, but now he began to
believe that she was avoiding him as well.

We have come to this, he thought, two people who felt and thought
as one.

Damn him! May all evil take his soul!

Tadamoto stood and walked along the step a few paces, then sat
again. If nothing else, an army would be raised. If Katta had written
anything near to the truth, then Tadamoto would feel he had done
what he could. The Empire would not be entirely unprepared. And
if Katta joined the Shonto in an attempt to overthrow the Yamaku…
? Tadamoto put his face in his hands.

“Osha-sum,” he whispered, and the sound disappeared into the
dark hall without an echo.

Twenty

The Imperial Governor’s Palace was a riot of preparations and
though most of the people involved, beyond Shonto’s own staff,
thought the governor was mad, they were not allowed to let this
feeling be reflected in their work. Shonto’s retainers made sure of
that.

Shuyun found himself with little to do, for he had no specific
responsibilities other than to advise his lord when required. Lord
Shonto’s staff were masters at logistics, so advice from an Initiate
Monk, who owned almost nothing and had moved only twice in his
short life, was highly unnecessary.

The day was comparatively mild, but a strong wind blew out of the
west, whipping up and pushing at Shuyun where he moved along
the top of the palace wall. He had walked the perimeter of the
Imperial Palace atop its various sections of wall and through its
towers for no other reason than to be out in the air after all the
hours spent in the palace during the winter. Though it seemed to
indicate lack of Enlightenment, Shuyun could feel his spirit lift with
each step.

The Palace sat atop a low rise on the city’s eastern edge, the
highest point on the natural island that formed the anchor of Rhojo-
ma. Much of the rest of the city sat upon manmade islands built on
a rock shelf that lay just under the lake’s surface. The palace’s
position hardly offered a high vantage, but it afforded some views
that were worth contemplating and Shuyun had stopped at each of
these.

Below, Shuyun saw two guards in Shonto blue who looked up and
pointed in his direction, then one of them began to make his way at
a trot toward nearby stairs.

Lord Shonto must have sent for his Spiritual Advisor, the monk
thought, and increased his pace.

“Brother… Shuyun.” The guard puffed to the top of the stairs,
holding his sword hilt as he ran. “There has been a missive left for
you.” He bowed. “My corporal was not sure of its urgency, so he
sent me immediately.”

Shuyun gestured down the stairs. “Please, I will follow.”

They did not have far to go, for the guard led the way to a nearby
gate that opened into the streets beyond the palace—quiet streets.
Guards bowed as the governor’s Advisor approached and the few
pedestrians who passed by stepped aside. Inside the gate house
the corporal the guard had spoken of bowed low to Shuyun.

“Excuse me for interrupting your contemplation, Brother, but I
thought this might be of importance.”

The corporal’s name was Rohku; Shuyun had met his father during
his brief time in the Capital. He took from a table what appeared to
be a scroll wrapped in plain gray paper and handed it to the monk.

Shuyun nodded his thanks. It was not a missive, certainly, for there
was no stamp of his Order upon it.

Corporal Rohku bobbed in a second bow—the story of Shuyun’s
confrontation with the young Lord Toshaki had made its way down
through Shonto’s guard, and it brought even greater respect to the
monk. “It was delivered by a Botahist Brother.‘’

Shuyun turned it over and found a wax seal with a name-character
impressed in it.

Hitara.

Shuyun felt his time sense stretch as though he practised chi ten,
yet he did not.

“How long ago?” Shuyun asked, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Moments, Brother Shuyun, only moments.”

“Did you see the direction he set out in?”

“Toward the market streets…”

Shuyun placed the scroll in his hands. “Guard this,” he ordered and
then was out the door at a run before the corporal could protest.

“Follow him,” Rohku snapped. “He is not to leave the palace
without an escort.”

The young guard set out at a run but was soon outdistanced by the
small monk. By the time he reached the market streets, Shuyun
was lost from sight.

Shuyun ran.

“A Botahist Brother? Did he pass?” he yelled at a peasant leading
a mule. The man nodded and pointed down a narrow side street.
Shuyun ran on, increasing his pace.

At the next meeting of streets he asked again and was directed
left. Then right. Then up a flight of stairs and across a bridge.
Coming to a small square, he was stopped by the many streets
and stairs and alleys.

An old man sat on a step, working at a strap on an ancient sandal.
“A Brother,” Shuyun panted, “did he pass?”

The old man tugged away at the strap, looking off into the distance
as he did so. After several seconds of contemplation he nodded.

“Which way?”

Without taking his eyes from the point in the distance or deigning to
look at his inquisitor, he answered. “I am only a poor old man,
Brother, do not ask me to point the Way.”

“I have no coins, old man, but I will see you receive coins aplenty if
you answer my question.”

The old man smiled. “The Way, Brother is not so easily found.” He
paused to concentrate on his task for a second. “And I am not a
teacher.”

Shuyun went to speak again but realized what he should have seen
immediately—the man was blind. Looking around at the many
alleys and stairs, Shuyun shook his head. There was no one else
to ask.

‘ ’Who shall I ask if not you, old sage?‘’ Shuyun leaned against the
wall to catch his breath.

“That is the worst of it, Brother. Until the Teacher comes, there is
no one.” He managed to free the broken strap suddenly and
explored the damage with twisted fingers. He did not like what he
felt. “Tell me your name, Brother.”

“Shuyun.”

The thin smile appeared again. “He who bears. What is it you carry,
Brother Shuyun?‘’

Shuyun sat staring for a moment—he had once been a scholar,
this shriveled old shadow of a man. Only a scholar would know the
origin of his name. He looked down at the man’s feet. His other
sandal was as much a ruin as the one he held in his hands.

Shuyun slipped quickly out of his own footwear and put these in the
man’s hands. “To aid you in your search for the Way, old sage.”

The man ran his fingers over the soft leather, his smile returning.
Shuyun turned back the way he had come, bare feet over cold
cobbles. He had not gone three paces before the old man spoke
again.

“If you do not know what it is you bear, Brother, you risk taking the
wrong path.”

Shuyun looked over his shoulder. The old man sat, gaze still fixed
on a distant point, stroking his gift.

“I bare my feet, old sage, and pray to Botahara to guide them.”

The old man smiled now, rocking back and forth like a child. He
laughed gently.

As he walked back to the palace, Shuyun was met by an anxious
young guard whose great relief at finding his lord’s Spiritual
Advisor unharmed was visible. When the guard realized that the
monk walked barefoot, he immediately tried to give him his sandals
and was somewhat disconcerted when Shuyun refused.

Returning to the palace gate, Shuyun retrieved his scroll from
Corporal Rohku and retired from the bustle to his own rooms. After
an insistant servant had bathed his feet, Shuyun was able to be
alone. He retreated to his balcony with the package, broke the seal
with great care, and unwrapped the scroll, holding his breath as he
did so, much to his surprise.

The scroll was new, doing away with Shuyun’s most irrational
expectation—Shimeko’s words had affected him more than he
realized. The paper was plain, common in fact, a dull shade of
yellowish-brown, and the brush-work, though perfectly executed,
was unremarkable. He read.

Brother Shuyun:

I regret that we will be unable to speak, but it is my hope that
everything you might ask will be answered here. I have come
recently out of the desert and do not know when I shall be able to
return.

The army that you searched for in the north is, even now,
approaching the border of Seh. The brave men of Seh who rode
into the desert to patrol beyond your borders have been returned
to the wheel, may Botahara protect their souls. Although the Khan’s
army is near, it will take ten days to reach your border, such is its
size. Over one hundred thousand follow behind this Khan, Brother,
and they are well armed.

Once across your border the barbarian forces will take another six
days to reach Rhojo-ma. It appears they will enter Seh north ofKyo.
There is so little time, Brother.

Lord Botahara took out his sword and shattered it upon a great
stone. His armor he sank into the rushing river and his war horse
was set free to run across the hills.

“In the struggle that comes,” He said, “such weapons will be as the
toys of children. ” Saying this, the Lord left his army and walked
down from the mountain. And so began the struggle for the souls
of men.

May Botahara smile upon you, Brother,

Hitara

Shuyun sat for a long moment, looking out over the roofs of the
palace. The wind still blew, pulling the clouds into long ragged
banners. He unrolled the scroll further, hoping there would be more
and something soft fell onto his knees. Looking down, Shuyun
closed his eyes and began to pray. As he did so, tears ran onto his
cheeks though he did not feel them. He chanted the long prayer for
forgiveness and then the prayer for thanksgiving. Yet he still dared
not open his eyes.

When finally he looked upon this gift, he thought his

soul would swell until it spread across the sky. His fingers trembled
when he reached out and took Hitara’s gift into his hands. A simple
white blossom, five elongated petals tinged with purple, as soft
and supple as if it had just been plucked.

“Botahara be praised,” Shuyun whispered. “The flower of the
Udumbara.”

Twenty-one

Shonto rolled the scroll with great care as though it were very old
and rare. He sat near a screen partially opened to the cool day and,
like the others present, Shonto still wore outdoor garb.
Preparations for the move south were in motion and Shonto had
walked the quay to see some of this firsthand. It was the lord’s way
to have his presence known in times of difficulty.

Shonto seemed more grave than usual though one could hardly
detect any effects of the burdens he bore or the work he had been
doing. It was part of the lord’s persona—his apparent youthfulness
was due less to his appearance than to his manner, his
exuberance. But today the exuberance was muffled under a layer
of seriousness.

“It is beyond question, Shuyun, you have no doubt?”

The monk nodded. “Though this man is a mystery to my Order,
there is no doubt that he is a true follower of Botahara. I am
convinced that what Hitara has written is true.”

Shonto looked to General Hojo Masakado.

The general did not hesitate. “If this information is not true, I am at
a loss to know what purpose such lies would serve. It is my
counsel, Sire, that we should act as though Brother Hitara’s
information is beyond doubt.‘’

Shonto nodded, then turned to Kamu.

“I agree, Lord Shonto, though I would feel more at ease if we knew
more of this Brother from the desert.” Kamu threw up his hand in
resignation. Of all Shonto’s senior staff, Kamu was affected most
by the preparations that they engaged in. His age was beginning to
tell. Yet he went about his work with customary efficiency and
though he seemed to be aging daily, there was never a complaint.

Shonto turned to Komawara next.

“I do not claim to have a truth sense, Sire, but I met Brother Hitara
in the desert and I do not believe for a moment that he would lie to
us. The guard’s description fit Brother Hitara perfectly and, like
General Hojo, I can’t imagine that giving us such information, were
it wrong, would benefit anyone. Even the barbarians would rather
we stayed in Seh where they could easily defeat us. We have only
a few days, Sire, I think we should act immediately.” Komawara
bowed.

Shonto looked over at Nishima.

“Certainly we should act, Sire, but I don’t think we can leave Seh
before the barbarians have crossed the border. I do not mean to
tell you your duties as governor, but we cannot abandon the people
of Seh entirely.”

Shonto considered this. “We can begin our move down the canal,
though some may stay behind until the true situation is realized in
Seh. A small group can still easily outdistance a large army.”
Shonto bowed to Nishima, then turned to the Imperial guardsman.
“General Jaku?”

The presence of Jaku Katta at this council was a mystery to
everyone but Shonto who had invited him. It was doubly a mystery,
for Jaku had not been told of Brother Hitara in the original story of
the journey into the desert. Perhaps it was not such a surprise to
Jaku that he had not been told everything—he had lived in the
Emperor’s Palace after all. The Guard Commander bowed
formally.

“Lord Shonto, I agree with Lady Nishima. We cannot begin to
move our forces south until the barbarian threat is realized by the
people of Seh. I am forced to admit that this is a matter of pride as
well as prudence. If we leave now, we will be seen as either mad
or cowardly. If we leave after the barbarian army has been seen for
what it is, our actions will be viewed differently by the lords of this
province. As I say, it is a matter of pride—I am a soldier, please
excuse me.”

Other men in the room nodded. Pride was at issue here with all but
Shuyun and perhaps Lady Nishima, though none had spoken of it.

Shonto nodded thoughtfully. “Lord Komawara, what do you think
your countrymen will do when they see the scale of the barbarian
army?”

The young lord considered for a moment; he had embarrassed
himself in Shonto’s council in the past and was

taking some care not to repeat this. “I fear that fewer men than we
would hope will follow us south, Lord Shonto. The Taiki prepare as
we speak but, as General Jaku has said, pride will dictate the
actions of many. Some will stay to fight, though they will understand
the futility.”

Shonto pulled his armrest closer. “Kamu-sum, the tract that you
distributed—when can we expect to see some response to that?”

Kamu did a mental count of days. “Soon, I would expect, Sire. The
lure of gold is great. Armed men from Itsa and Chiba provinces
should be making their way toward us as we speak.”

“Send recruiting officers and staff down the canal,” Shonto said,
“as soon as you can—tomorrow if it is possible. Have them begin
work in a station south of Seh’s border. Then have them move in
seven days. We will keep them ahead of us. Put a responsible
man in charge of this, we do not want a stream of soldiers joining
our flotilla and slowing us as we move. Camps must be created in
strategic places for these men. It will mean thinning our ranks, but
we’ll have to assign officers to the recruits—we need to have them
ready and useful. General Hojo, it will mean promotions for many
junior officers—see to it.”

Kamu and Hojo bowed.

Shonto stared out the open shoji for a moment.

“There is other news.” Shonto reached out and moved Hitara’s
scroll as though its angle to the light was not quite correct. “I have
received word from the Emperor.” Shonto said quietly. He looked
up at the others. “The Son of Heaven writes that an army is being
raised for the defense of Seh.”

Shonto seemed to enjoy the response of the people present or
perhaps he made some secret assessment of those present by
observing how they responded to the unexpected.

Lady Nishima stared openly and with some degree of contempt at
Jaku Katta, thinking to herself that he had again proven himself
incapable of telling the truth.

Kamu was not the first to recover, but he spoke first. “Si-Sire, did
the Emperor not receive his empty tax box?”

“The Son of Heaven has asked that I look into this matter. The
governor’s staff, the Son of Heaven suggested, have acted in a
most foolish manner. Certainly Seh must retain some of her
revenue for defense, but…” Shonto shrugged. “We are asked to
prepare a document describing our exact needs. Our failure to
remit our taxes has been overlooked. So, as requested, we will
prepare a report for the Emperor explaining our military needs.”

“What will we tell him?” Hojo asked.

“The truth.” Shonto smiled. “Does that shock you, General?”

Everyone, including Hojo, laughed.

“General Jaku, perhaps you can explain the significance of the
Emperor’s decision.”

Jaku bowed. “I had begun to lose hope myself, Sire. My friends at
court could not prevail in the council to have an army raised to
defend Seh. You can imagine why. This army the Emperor writes
of is intended to defend the Capital from the army that Lord Shonto
raises—the tract offering to pay gold to armed men must have
caused a great deal of discussion. The Son of Heaven fears other
Houses joining with us.

“The Imperial force is not being prepared to fight the Khan, but it is
an army nonetheless: who will control this army once the true threat
is apparent, that is the issue.”

Shonto’s staff bowed toward Jaku.

“It is some sign of hope, General Jaku. At least the Empire will not
be entirely unprepared. How large a force does the Emperor
gather?”

Jaku opened his hands. “This is not yet clear. I hope to know
soon.”

Shuyun bowed to his liege-lord. “Undoubtedly the Emperor’s force
will be large enough to counter Lord Shonto’s army—that is the
threat the throne perceives. If it is to our advantage that the
Emperor raise a large force, we could assist our cause by
exaggerating the number of our own soldiers.”

Komawara almost grinned. “Brother Shuyun, you surprise me. Is
this what one learns from the writings of Botahara?”

Shuyun responded as though no one present smiled.

“I have recently tried to broaden my education, Lord Komawara. I
have heard it said that the lie no one doubts is spoken by an
honorable man. We may tell a great lie and be believed.”

“We will begin to move our people south the day the barbarian
army crosses the border,” Shonto said. “We are a laughing stock
for gathering so many river craft… but that will change soon
enough. Boats will transport what forces we have faster than the
barbarians will ever ride. And rafts handled by men who have lived
their lives on the desert will be slow—especially when they find the
canal locks impassable. Plans must be complete to burn all other
craft in Seh and also to keep the canal open ahead of us. Once the
news of the barbarian army passes us on the way south, we will be
dealing with thousands fleeing toward the inner provinces. We
cannot have our progress impeded.‘’

Jaku Katta bowed quickly and not as low as he had previously. ‘ ’I
have left garrisons of Imperial Guard along the canal, Lord Shonto.
We can use them to open the waterway before us.“

Shonto nodded. “Good.” He considered for a moment. “The
Emperor sends his useless son north with what will no doubt be a
small guard. The Prince will be a nuisance, I’m sure, but we will
treat him with proper respect. Who knows what part he may yet
play.”

“Certainly he will never make a hostage,” Hojo offered. “The Prince
is not dear to his Imperial father. The Emperor may be hoping we
will send him to his end fighting barbarians.” The general
considered this. “And perhaps we should.”

Shonto nodded. “Too many will find such an end, Masakado-sum,
and I will wish it on no one.”

Twenty-two

Beacon fires flare

From hill to tower

To hill

Like sparks escaping the brazier

In a tinder dry house

Lord Komawara stood at the window in the top of West Tower,
watching. At intervals around the horizon he could see beacon fires
blazing with a distant urgency. By morning the news would have
spread to the remotest corner of the province.

It was a cold evening with a harsh wind, but the lord did not seem
to notice. He had been standing in the same place for more than
an hour, and though he felt numb to the center of his soul it was not
from the night.

They come, he thought, they come.

His mind seemed to have no focus, starting down one path to veer
suddenly into another. Thoughts of his retainers making their way
up into a stronghold in the mountains were lost to images of riders,
relaying from the northern border, racing to Rhojo-ma with news of
the barbarian army. Could it be as large as Brother Hitara wrote?

A fire blazed to life on an eastern hill, and then, far off, another.

Lord Toshaki sat upon his horse outside a small inn. In the
background a narrow river flowed and the light from the almost full
moon wavered on its surface—liquid moonlight rushing off into the
night. Toshaki’s son, Yo-shihira, sat nearby on the stump of a pine
tree, his horse cropping some poor, winter grass beside him.
Neither man spoke. Their guards sat upon horses or stood at in-

tervals around the clearing without sign of either impatience or
intent. Warm light from the inn reflected off lacquered armor here,
a helmet there. A cold wind jostled among the pines, making them
sway and creak.

The moon drifted west. The innkeeper came out with cups and a
cauldron of steaming rice wine, but his suggestions that the lords
would find the night less forbidding inside were politely rebuffed.
The horsemen waiting in the dark felt that the wildness of the night
gave their vigil a certain purity.

The sound of horses at the gallop. A guard stationed up the narrow
road came into sight and whistled. Toshaki’s son vaulted into the
saddle and joined his father.

Men burst out of the inn and disappeared toward the stable. These
were men Toshaki had spoken with earlier—retainers of Lord Taiki
Kiyorama, though they bore the flying horse emblem of the
Governor of Seh on their surcoats. They reappeared almost
immediately with three saddled horses and spent a moment
checking girths and bridles in the light from the inn.

Three men on horseback broke out of the trees and pulled their
mounts up before the inn, horses in a lather, driven to their limits. A
crowd appeared on the porch, talking among themselves. The
riders were off their exhausted mounts, taking a moment only for
drink before setting off on fresh horses.

Lord Toshaki and his men rode up then, half surrounding the
messengers.

“What news?” Lord Toshaki’s son called. “How large is this army?”

The three riders looked up to see who questioned them, and at a
whisper from one of the Taiki handlers the men went back to their
drinks, handing bowls to servants to be filled a second and third
time.

Young Toshaki rode closer now, blocking their path. “The Lord of
the Toshaki asks the size of the barbarian army,” he said with
some anger.

One rider, a young captain, swung into the saddle, his horse
stepping sideways, catching the excitement of the men. “Does
your lord wish to measure the size of the force he has spent the
winter raising against the size of the barbarian army?” he asked
with little show of re-

spect. “Go back to your gü board, young Sire, we do the
governor’s bidding.”

Toshaki spoke now, riding up beside his son, the wind whipping his
long hair out of its ring. “We will all fight together now, despite the
past. We are men of Seh, tell us what it is we face.”

The captain rode forward, working to control his mount as it tossed
its head, ready to run. His voice was pitched low and taut with
anger. “You will bow at Lord Koma-wara’s feet and ask for
forgiveness, lord,” he said to Toshaki’s son. “That is the size of the
barbarian army.”

The messengers spurred their horses then and pushed through
Toshaki’s guards. The riders disappeared into the darkness where
the trees tossed like confused seas driven before a great storm.

The morning after beacon fires appeared, the first riders bearing
the reports from the frontier officers arrived in Rhojo-ma. By first
light a great human stream was flowing into the provincial capital
from the nearby countryside and villages. It was inconceivable to
these people that Rhojo-ma could fall, and so they came, bearing
everything they could load into carts or carry on their backs or drag.

It was late winter and still cool, but the skies were a clear northern
blue during the days and filled with stars at night. Those who had
experience with the movement of troops prayed for the rains that
would be common at this time of year. Rains would slow the
invasion, could even bring it to a halt for some time. The horizon
was studied with an intensity that was unprecedented, but there
was no sign of cloud.

The reports from the frontier officers came to Governor Shonto
and he shut himself up with his staff for most of a day. They waited
for the major lords of Seh who would arrive late that evening. For
the first time in two generations a Council of War had been called
by the Governor of Seh.

The fisherman stood with his family on the muddy edge of the
River Chousa and watched the flames change his life forever.
Smoke and steam from wet planking plumed up in great clouds,
racing toward the heavens, an offense

to the purity of the sky. Tugging at the flaming hull, the river lapped
the shore and passed on, bearing a slick of oily soot. The
fisherman’s wife sobbed and shed bitter tears, holding their two
small children close, but the fisherman stood looking on without a
sound, a deep sadness in his eyes.

Downstream, toward the bend in the river, he could see another
boat pulled up on the bank and put to the torch. The governor’s
soldiers rowed on. The fisherman could see them searching the
mouth of a tributary overhung with willows, a guard standing up in
the boat parting the curtain of branches with his sword.

The fisherman’s burning boat heaved now, as though some part of
it was alive and in agony. This drew his attention and for a second
he looked as though he would join his wife in tears. But this passed
and the sadness returned. The flaming pole of a mast toppled
slowly to the bank, hissing where it touched the wet mud. More ribs
buckled and the boat settled even farther onto its side.

Turning away, the fisherman went to the pile of goods tossed up
on the bank and half covered by a patched sail—everything he now
owned in this world. He pulled aside the sail and dragged a net out
from under a chest. There were wooden floats somewhere. War or
no war, people would need to eat.

Shonto sat in his own apartments, writing by the light of two lamps.
His brushwork was deliberate, though not slow. The silk and
brocade robes of the Imperial Governor were a bother to him,
especially now when his armor laced in Shonto blue had been
readied. He dipped his brush in ink and wrote:

Shokan-sum:

I pray this reaches you. I will send men down the river and along
the coast, hoping they will find a boat to carry them through the
straits. With all of Seh running before barbarian armies, it will be a
miracle if they find a way.

The barbarians have crossed the border and will arrive at Rhojo-
ma within six days. I will

retreat down the Grand Canal, hoping to slow the barbarian
advance long enough that Akantsu can raise an army. Of course
the Emperor will remove me from my command if he can. Look to
yourself. I will control the army as long as I am able, but there is no
way to know what will occur—the Yamaku will have time to consider
their course of action with some care.

Look to yourself. If this war is lost, our lands will mean nothing. Do
not waste time or men defending them.

Nishi-sum stays with me and is a great comfort and help. Often she
speaks of her concern for you.

I have sent word to the Capital and to Yankura. It would be best if
Tanaka were with you, but if this is not possible do not be
concerned—our merchant is ever resourceful.

May Botahara protect you.

Shonto signed this, folded it carefully, and sealed the letter with his
stamp. It was very late, the middle of the night had passed. He
rose and walked to the door. The Council of War awaited him.

The Great Hall of the Governor’s Palace held perhaps a hundred
men in all and though they were men used to the uncertainties of
life in the north most of them showed some signs of the deep
shock they felt. Shonto had seen the look before in
swordsmen—the split second when they realized they had made a
mistake from which there was no recovery, and so waited for the
inevitable touch of steel.

Shonto watched with great detachment as the gathered lords
bowed. For each man present the governor knew there was a
number and that number represented how many armed men they
could raise. For some of the lords the number would be less than
fifty. Komawara’s forces consisted of three hundred and fifty men,
and he had mortgaged his future to raise that number. The major
lords might raise a thousand men, perhaps two thousand for
Toshaki and Lord Ranan.

Fifteen thousand men in all was the estimate of Hojo

and Komawara. Add to this the thirty-five hundred men that Shonto
had brought with him to Seh. To face a barbarian force of almost
one hundred thousand.

Shonto nodded to the assembled lords. The lamps flickered
around the hall and the scent of burning oil almost covered the
odor of riders—so many had arrived barely in time for the council.
It was readily apparent that this was not the Imperial Capital where
such an assembly would be dressed in clothes of unequaled
finery. Many of the lords of Seh wore hunting costume—practical
for riding and ease of movement—clothing one never saw
anywhere inside the Imperial Palace grounds.

Without prearrangement, the men present arrayed themselves
according to their earlier beliefs: Shonto’s advisors and allies
aligned themselves to the governor’s right, apart from the others
who sat in rows facing the governor’s dais. Shonto looked over at
Komawara who knelt stiffly among his allies. It is a moment of
vindication, Shonto thought, no one has suffered as Komawara
has. Yet Komawara hid anything he felt behind a mask of earnest
concern.

Off to the left the governor noticed the Toshaki Lords sitting near
the Ranan—hardly a natural alliance—their only bond the fact that
they had all recently been utterly wrong. Yes, Shonto thought, there
will be few moments in Komawara’s life as gratifying as this.

Shonto nodded to Seh’s Major Chancellor, Lord Gi-toyo, who
bowed and gave a signal to someone unseen. Outside the hall an
enormous drum boomed, twelve even beats, echoing across the
city and the lake long after the drumming had stopped.

Lord Gitoyo bowed again and pulled himself up to his full sitting
height so that his voice would reach the back of the hall. “The
Council of War of the Province of Seh has been called. The
Imperial Governor, Lord Shonto Motoru, has summoned you. Are
there any who would dispute the Imperial Governor’s right to lead
us in time of war?”

Some few shook their heads, but most indicated their answer with
silence.

“Until the state of war is declared past, the commands of the
Imperial Governor, Lord Shonto Motoru, will be the law of Seh
above all but the word of our Emperor.”

The gathered lords bowed.

The Chancellor fell silent, waiting. Shonto nodded and the
Chancellor again drew himself up. ‘ ’The reports of the frontier
officers have been received and what they have written shall be
made known to you. Lord Ak-ima…“

The old man who had for so long tormented Komawara about his
“foolish” opinions, unlike the rest of the men present, did not look
like he was about to taste steel for his own foolishness—he looked
like the blade had slid home as Gitoyo spoke.

Akima gathered himself together to speak, but his voice emerged
small and old. “The reports from… from our northern border are
grave indeed. A barbarian force crossed into Seh west of Kyo
before sunset yesterday. This force consists of cavalry, soldiers,
bowmen, and train. The combined force… the combined force
approaches one hundred thousand fighting men.” He could not go
on then for some seconds, but it was hardly noticed. Some of
those who had believed this number to be rumor were as shaken
as Akima.

With a visible act of will Akima continued, forcing some strength
into his voice. “I am assured by Governor Shonto’s staff that this
barbarian force will take six days to reach Rhojo-ma—its apparent
destination. This force is well armed and horsed, with a supply train
large enough to support an extended siege.” Akima finished
reading and let his hands fall back onto his knees. He met no one’s
eyes but seemed to stare out to Seh’s distant border. “And I would
not listen to reason,” he said with what sounded like disbelief.

“Lord Akima,” the Major Chancellor whispered almost sharply.

Akima seemed to come out of a daze, and he bowed toward the
dais. He returned to a kneeling position, but his face could not hold
the rigid impassivity of the other lords despite his efforts.

Shonto looked out at the men before him. They did not seem like
men of great pride in that moment, but he knew this was deceptive.
How many could he convince to follow him down the Grand Canal?
That was the question. Proud northerners, none afraid to die. Let
their names be sung in the ballad of a great battle, that would

be reward enough for them—especially now. Seh was about to fall
because they had known too much to listen to others and now they
were proved wrong.

Shonto reached over and took his sword off its stand, laying the
scabbard across his knees. Seh would have been lost if they had
listened to him the first day he had arrived: Shonto knew this to be
true. The barbarian army was overwhelming. How to convince them
to abandon Seh to save the Empire? That was the true task.

Shonto took a long breath and began. “Lords of Seh, we have
often debated the extent of the barbarian threat… that debate has
come to an end. Those who argued that the barbarians were not a
threat believe that their lack of foresight has brought us to this
situation, but they are wrong. If we had begun to prepare for this
war the day I became your governor, we would still not be able to
meet the army that rides toward our capital. One hundred thousand
barbarian warriors.” He let the number hang in the still air of the
Great Hall.

“Without the support of the Emperor and all of Wa, we cannot
mount a force large enough to counter the barbarian threat. Rhojo-
ma is a strong city, but force of numbers will tell even in a siege.
One hundred thousand attackers and only fifteen thousand
defenders. Despite the bravery of the men of Seh, it would not be
a battle long enough to allow the rest of Wa time to raise an army.
And that is what we must do… slow the barbarian advance long
enough that an army can be raised.

“This Khan who has gathered the uncounted tribes of the
desert—he could easily have taken an unprepared Province of Seh
in the autumn. But that would have given the Empire a winter to
raise an army. Seh is not the prize the Khan desires. With an army
of one hundred thousand he seeks the throne of Wa.” Shonto
looked out over the hall, trying to gauge the reactions of the
northern lords, but he could not read their faces. It was too much
for them to take in all at once—too much for them to lose at one
time. “Yet I am certain that we can save the Province of Seh.”
Shonto paused to let his words have their effect. “The Khan must
reach the inner provinces before a force can be raised to stop him.
If there is no army to fight in Seh, the Khan will not linger here but
will push south. He has no choice. To move a force of that size the
length

of the Empire will take many weeks—and that army must be fed.
We can slow his march south, there are ways. There are places
that will allow the few to battle the many. If the barbarians can be
defeated in Chiba Province or Dentou, Seh will bear the marks of
the barbarians’ passing less than other parts of Wa.“

Yes, Shonto thought, he could see that he was being heard, by
some at least. “I will take my forces, and those who will follow me,
and set out south. All other craft in Seh will be put to the torch. It is
my intention to slow the barbarian march south and to destroy
everything that an army could use for sustenance. When the
barbarians have gone far into Wa, they will be very hungry indeed.”

Shonto glanced over at Hojo who gave an almost imperceptible
nod.

“I cannot command that you follow me. The course of honor will
not be the same for every man. By sunrise I wish to know your
choices.” Shonto rose and left the hall as the attending lords
bowed.

The Kalam appeared after a quiet tap on the screen leading to
Shuyun’s rooms. The tribesman dressed in Shonto livery was a
sight Shuyun had trouble adjusting to, though not as much trouble
as many others. It had been decided that the Kalam should be
dressed like this for his own safety—the times dictated it.
Emotions ran high among the men of Seh and it was not for them
to make a distinction between a member of a hunting tribe and a
follower of the Khan.

The tribesman executed a bow that was a credit to his blue livery.
Shuyun did not need to be told the reason for the
interruption—there was only one thing that could make the Kalam
blush: Lady Nishima must be calling.

“Yes?” Shuyun said.

“Lady Nishima,” the tribesman said, mangling the “sh” even more
than usual.

Since he had first seen Lady Nishima, the Kalam had believed that
she was a great princess and he still seemed to think that the
distinction “Lady” was a foolish technicality.

It was very late for a visit from Lady Nishima, but no doubt few had
slept in the hour since the Council of War.

“Please tell them to enter.”

A moment later Nishima appeared in the opening and stopped as
though unsure of herself. Shuyun knew by the sounds of her
footsteps that she came unaccompanied by servants or ladies-in-
waiting and he was surprised.

In the light from the lamp Lady Nishima seemed so slight standing
in the door. This evening she did not display the imperious air that
so impressed Shuyun’s barbarian servant. Instead she seemed
fragile, vulnerable. Large dark eyes looked out at him and Shuyun
was not sure what it was they asked, for certainly there was a
question there.

“No one sleeps, Shuyun-sum,” she said softly. No apology for the
interruption and indeed, Shuyun felt it unnecessary.

He gestured to the cushions, “Please, Lady Nishima, like everyone
else I have been sitting wondering…”

Nishima retained her customary grace, despite all, and lowered
herself to the cushions as lightly as a dancer. She pulled her robes
close at the throat and looked around the room. “You have no
charcoal burner?”

Shuyun shrugged. “But I am not cold,” he said rising to his feet and
disappearing from the room through another screen. Returning
almost immediately, he brought a thick quilt and gave it to Lady
Nishima. She smiled her thanks and wrapped herself in Shuyun’s
offering.

They did not speak for some time. More than once Shuyun thought
Nishima would break the silence, but something stopped her. It
almost seemed that what was occurring in the Empire was too
momentous—defying the power of words to describe. Shuyun felt
that everyone was in such turmoil that they could not find a place to
begin discussing what they thought and felt.

Nishima looked up at Shuyun almost shyly. “What is everyone else
doing, I wonder?”

“This,” Shuyun said quietly. “Sitting in rooms alone or with others,
saying very little.”

Nishima nodded, it seemed true somehow. Rearranging the
cushions, Nishima curled up and propped herself on one elbow. A
hanging lamp went out and began to smoke, but neither.seemed to
care. Reaching for the remaining lamp, Nishima said, “May I?”
Shuyun nodded and she turned the lamp low. She lay down,
folding her arm under her head, but her eyes remained open.

“If the Yamaku fall…” Nishima began, her voice small, almost
childlike. “If they fall, someone must ascend the throne.” But it was
not a question, and the lady did not look to Shuyun for an answer.
She stared at the flame of the single lamp for a long time, drawing
Shu-yun’s attention mere. When Shuyun looked back at his guest,
her eyes were closed. Not wishing to wake her, but feeling it was
improper to be in the same room while she slept, Shuyun started to
rise.

Nishima stirred then, coming half awake. Reaching out, she took
his hand in both of hers and settled back, her forehead against his
wrist. She slept.

I must leave, Shuyun told himself, but even so he did not move.
Nishima’s soft hand in his own held him more strongly than any
oath and he struggled with feelings he barely recognized.

Eventually Shuyun stretched out on his cushions, resigned to the
fact that Nishima would not let go of his hand. He lay so that they
were head to head and willed himself to sleep so that he would be
rested for his duties in the morning.

A bell sounded the hour of the owl and Shuyun heard Nishima
moving. Her hand slipped from his and he felt the air stir and the
warmth of the quilt descended on him. Footsteps crossed to the
screen but there was no sound of the screen opening. A few
seconds passed and then the footsteps returned. Shuyun felt
Nishima squirm in under the cover, pressing softly up against his
back. Her arm encircled him and she searched until she found his
hand, pressing it. Breath like a caress on his neck.

Shuyun could feel Lady Nishima struggling to control her breathing,
but this passed. They lay close like this, neither of them sleeping
for some time. Nishima finally gave in to sleep, exhausted from
worry, no doubt, and Shuyun lay awake, feeling her soft breathing,
the warmth of her hand in his and something more that he could not
name.

Botanist training told Shuyun that Lady Nishima had reached out to
draw him into the Illusion and he felt as though he did not resist as
he should, felt himself stepping into a cloud of desire and
tenderness and emotion that no Botanist monk should know. The
path upon which he should walk was becoming lost in the same
cloud.

* * *

Rohku Tadamori, formerly Corporal Rohku, now Captain, looked
down at the camp of the barbarian army in the first light of day. It
was at least five rih off, but from his vantage atop a cliff he had a
clear view and it chilled him to the center of his heart. He had been
sent to assess the possibility of raiding the barbarian train—a large
army on the march was an unwieldy thing and often easily harried.

Rohku handed the reins of his horse to one of his men and bent
over the cliff edge to look at the corner they had seen from below.
It was almost a chimney, stone shattered into uneven blocks. Sixty
feet below there was a ledge with a good sized bush growing on it.
From Roh-ku’s vantage it looked possible.

He turned away from the cliff and began to strip off his armor,
handing each piece to a Shonto guard. He pulled wanner robes on
then and a surcoat and then strapped his sword to his back. When
he was done, he nodded to his guards and turned back to the cliff.

Two of Seh’s best trackers assisted him over the edge so he
would not disturb the sod that clung to the cliff top. Reminding
himself of Shuyun and Lord Komawara’s feat in Denji Gorge, he
began to climb down, stilling his fear of the height. Concentrating
on each step. Above him he heard the sound of the trackers hiding
the signs of his party.

The Khan’s army would pass directly below him here. Only a few
hundred feet would separate him from the barbarians. It would be
the closest look they would have at this force.

Though much of the rock was loose, he reached his destination
without mishap. The ledge was half sheltered from above by
overhanging rock which formed a natural cave behind the bushes.
He settled himself to wait. It would be at least two days until the
entire barbarian force would pass—and then he would be in
barbarian lands.

Daylight ceased to be a welcome sight in the province of Seh, for it
meant the Khan’s army was on the move again, drawing closer to
Rhojo-ma. Shonto’s senior staff were so aware of this that when
the conversation paused

they seemed to be listening for the sounds of an army drawing
near. The lords of Seh had made their decisions and Shonto met
with his staff to decide what would be done now.

General Hojo held the tally scroll in his hands. “Ten thousand
armed men, most on horse. Combined with our own men we will
field thirteen thousand, five hundred men in all.”

Against one hundred thousand, was left unsaid.

Shonto nodded to Hojo to continue.

“We do not yet know how possible it will be to attack the barbarian
train, but it seems unlikely given the size of their force. Lord
Toshaki Hirikawa and Lord Ranan have chosen to remain in Seh,
though they have commanded their sons to join the governor’s
forces. The lords who stay are determined to stay in Rhojo-ma,
hoping to slow the barbarian advance by several days. If the Khan
can be convinced that Rhojo-ma is well manned, he will be forced
to waste time preparing a siege and making rafts—an activity
barbarian raiders may not be masters of. Death in battle, Sire, it is
the penance for their error.”

Shonto shook his head. “Huh.” He tapped his thumb on his
armrest. “It is unfortunate that they put their pride before the safety
of the Empire. A glorious death—their glorious deaths—is
preferred to a retreat. A rearguard action that does nothing but
provide others time to raise an army and perhaps perform the
great deeds.” Shonto banged his hand on the armrest, but his face
displayed no anger. “It cannot be helped. There is little time to
mount an assault on the enemy train before it reaches Rhojo-ma.
Our own assessment of the barbarian force?”

“Will take two more days, Sire, if all goes as planned,” Hojo said.

Shonto turned to Kamu. The old steward knelt as rigidly as a
bronze figure, yet Shonto could detect a tremor in the man’s frame,
a sign of the effort being expended. “Kamu-sum, are preparations
for our departure complete?”

The steward bowed stiffly. “Our first boats are on the canal now,
Lord Shonto, clearing the way. I have seen to my lord’s craft
personally.”

Shonto nodded. “I will wait until we have our own assessment of
the barbarian force. General Hojo, speak with Lord Toshaki and
Lord Ranan—if they will sell their lives, be sure they are sold
dearly.”

Twenty-three

A faint rainbow appeared above the western mountains, forming a
high, pure arc across a tumultuous sky—ragged clouds trailed dark
ribbons of distant rain.

There was no sign of rain where the newly appointed captain,
Rohku, lay—concealed on a ledge high above the broad valley. In
fact the sun shone on what seemed to be a pleasant, early spring
day. Unfortunately, Rohku’s cave looked north and no sun came to
warm his hiding place. Although the rock was both hard and cold,
he would not chance movement for many hours to come. It was
early morning, the second day of his vigil.

The perimeter of the barbarian camp lay not far to his right and
stretched back up the valley in the direction of the border. Rohku’s
initial shock at the size of the Khan’s forces had been replaced by
a growing sense of despair. One hundred thousand men. Since
the plague had swept through the north, the entire population of
Seh numbered barely more than that. Once Rhojo-ma alone had
contained one hundred and forty thousand people, but now it
boasted only half that number.

How can they be so many? the guard asked himself again. It was a
question without answers: the question that had led the lords of
Seh to ignore all warnings about barbarian invasions.

Rohku wasn’t sure which was more disturbing—the barbarian army
by day or by night. The fires in the barbarian camp had been
beyond counting. The fires in their camp! How could they be so
many?

Patrols had left the encampment before dawn. Rohku had not
been able to see them, but he had heard them pass. The Khan
sent out both large and small parties. Perhaps thirty men to a small
patrol and more than two hundred to a larger group. It was a
conservative strategy;

the small groups would travel farther afield but would be able to
retreat back to the larger patrols should they encounter Seh’s
warriors in any number. And Rohku found this, too, unsettling: such
a vast army willing to risk so little. It was not the bravado he had
been led to expect from barbarian warriors.

The army of the desert had come awake like a dragon, a slow
ripple passing from head to distant tail. The head aware and
moving before the extremities had even quivered. The dragon was
on the hunt, now, snaking slowly across the landscape like a great
worm.

The van passed below Rohku, riders on fine horses, well armored
in the style of the Empire and carrying swords and short lances.
Rohku could see bronze helmet ornaments flashing in the sunlight,
but he could not distinguish their shapes.

Banners waved their colors in the breeze, displaying characters
and symbols that Rohku did not recognize. Banners bearing the
shapes of animals; a running horse, a winged tiger, the blue desert
hawk, a coiled viper. Prominent among them were standards of
gold silk bearing the shape of a strangely twisted dragon.

Behind these warriors came a vast cavalry mounted on the ponies
of the steppe though among these men rode captains or chieftains
on horses.

This sight forced Rohku to control his anger: where did the
barbarians find horses except among the men of Seh and he knew
that the raids could hardly have brought the tribes so many fine
animals.

The cavalry were not outfitted with the consistency of the vanguard.
They had not the well matched armor and elaborate helmets, but
that hardly mattered. Their arms were more than adequate and
appeared to have seen use. By the time the Khan’s cavalry had
passed, the sun was at its zenith.

The faces of the tribesmen were far enough off that they were hard
to distinguish, but Rohku could see that this army was made up of
men of all ages—from boy-men to seasoned fighters of the age of
Lord Shonto and older. None looked frail; life in the wastes saw to
that. It was a hard testing ground, and the tribes had their own rites
of passage. The weak, no matter what age, found no place at the
fireside.

After the passing of the cavalry came bowmen and foot-soldiers,
marching so close they ceased to appear human, as though a nest
of ants had spewed its contents onto the valley floor. A great
moving mass bristling with pikes and spears—and even these men
were armored and wore helmets.

A sea of banners followed the foot soldiers and behind these rode
turbaned men dressed in gray. There were rumors of these men in
gray—it was said Lord Komawara and Brother Shuyun had seen
them on their journey to the desert and that they guarded the
skeleton of an ancient dragon. The Shonto guard caught himself
straining forward for a better view and pulled back. The gray men
were few in number and passed quickly, followed by what looked
like an honor guard wearing armor laced in black with crimson and
gold. Rohku could see the backs of these riders now. Imperial
Crimson, he realized suddenly— they wore the colors of the
Emperor of Wa.

A chieftain rode among them, a man upon a great bay horse—a
horse that would have been the envy of a lord of Seh. His armor
was crafted in the style of the Empire but worn with the high boots
favored among the tribes. Even from a distance, Rohku’s practiced
eye told him that an artist of the armorer’s art had created this
suit—armor worthy of an Emperor. Rohku shook his head as he
watched the man pass, armor laced in Imperial Crimson with trim
and sash of gold. This barbarian chieftain wore a helmet crested
with high plumes of deep red which bobbed and swayed as he
rode. Rohku leaned forward again, a sudden realization shaking
him: the Golden Khan rode before him dressed as an Emperor of
Wa. Rohku pressed his eyes closed for a second. The men of
Seh believe they are about to fight for control of their province, yet
Seh is the smallest of this barbarian’s concerns, he thought.

Inside the circle of the Khan’s guard, Rohku saw other chieftains
riding and though none wore the Crimson, they were finely outfitted
in laced and lacquered armor with surcoats of wolf and tiger skins.
These men talked among themselves and laughed as’though they
were on a hunt or riding for pleasure. Down the length of the great
column riders passed and reported occasionally to a chieftain near
the Khan.

A pebble bounced on the ledge before the Shonto

guard, and he pulled back against the cold stone. He stopped
breathing. A trickle of dirt scattered across the moss. Something or
someone, was on the cliff above. Had he just been muttering to
himself?

Voices came down to Rohku now. Despite being raised in the
south it was a tongue the guard recognized—he had heard Shuyun
speak it to his barbarian servant several times. Horses now and
more men. May Botahara protect me. Rohku tried to push himself
into the rock, hoping no part of him could be seen. With great care
but little expertise the captain had studied his ledge—hiding a
footprint in the moss, being sure he snapped none of the bush’s
branches. He hoped that a barbarian tracker would not be able to
see signs of his passing from so high above, but he was not
convinced this would be the case.

The reputation of the barbarian trackers was legend among the
men Rohku had met in Seh, and this made the young captain
slowly unsheathe his dagger. The ledge would be too small for a
sword. The Shonto guard’s left leg was asleep and he knew that it
would not respond if needed quickly. He offered a prayer to
Botahara.

Another pebble bounced on the ledge and more talk drifted down
to him. If only he had taken the time to learn some of this language
from Kalam!

The sound of hoofs seemed to echo through the stone and then
grew fainter. There were no more voices. Rohku lay without daring
to move for some time, realizing that he would do exactly this if he
wanted to take a man hidden on a ledge: ride away and let the man
believe he was safe, taking him when he was unprepared.

Something in the long line of barbarians drew the guard’s attention.
Within another circle of the Khan’s guard Rohku was amazed to
see women. They rode like the men of the desert, though Rohku
could see hints of fine silk being worn under robes of rougher
material. There were perhaps a hundred women, their heads
wrapped in bright scarves that covered all but their eyes and
foreheads.

And thus they go to war, Rohku thought, how amazing.

Late afternoon came, the clouds scattered across the sky grouped
for an assault on the expanse of blue and the

day turned gray. Rohku began to shiver. He ate some food and
drank water from his skin, but not having room to move was making
him very cold. It would be at least another day before he could
leave his ledge and he began to wonder if he would be able to
manage the climb up.

Following another group of armed riders came the supply train.
The barbarians did not seem to have carts or wagons, so
everything came on the backs of ponies and mules. Darkness
came before the train had passed and the man of Wa spent the
first part of the night listening to the sound of the barbarian flutes
wafting up from innumerable campfires.

A soft rain fell, but Rohku’s prayers for a downpour were not
answered.

Shonto sat on the railing of the balcony outside the governor’s
personal apartments. The day was fine, hinting at warmth to come.
Billowing white clouds scattered themselves against the great
expanse of spring blue sky. It would be a day to lift the heart—if the
heart were not burdened with other matters.

Shonto could see the long line of people being forced to leave the
city, so many of them only newly arrived. There were no boats to
carry the population of Rhojo-ma and animals of burden were
being taken for the war, so the refuges were forced to flee on foot.
They crossed the long bridge to the shore and then made their way
up a low hill to the crest where the road divided. About half the
people chose to go south toward the inner provinces while the rest
turned east toward the sea. One could almost see them“ hesitating
at the top—suddenly unsure of their decision.

It is a gamble either way, Shonto thought. His own course was
already set—to leave as he’d come, along the Grand Canal. And
that was a gamble, too.

Shonto read Lord Toshaki’s letter for the second time.

Lord Shonto,

Imperial Governor of the Province of Seh:

It was your own ancestor who said; “The way a man dies is as
important as the way he lives. ” I honor his memory.

Having realized how poorly I have lived, I will take more care with
my death. When this is delivered to you I will have returned to the
wheel. I have chosen this course to erase my shame and because
I am not worthy enough to die beside my comrades fighting the
barbarians.

You see, Lord Governor, I have conspired with my Emperor to end
the life of one Shonto Motoru. No doubt the design is known to
you, though perhaps my part is not clear. Send Lord Shonto north
with express instructions to end the barbarian raids—an
impossibility of course— especially when the barbarians are being
paid to raid across the border by the Emperor. You would have
failed, Sire, it was inevitable. I would even surmise that the situation
could have become worse.

You would be removed from your appointment and ordered back
to the Capital—or so it would be said. In truth I was to remove you
from your position by force. The Emperor would claim that you had
refused to return to the Capital to face the consequences of your
failure. In your desperation you tried to establish yourself in Seh.
The Emperor’s loyal subject, Lord Toshaki, however, would not
allow this—saving the Empire from civil war. Among other rewards
I would become the Governor of Seh, as would my son after me.

I have betrayed Seh, the people of Wa, and neither of these I
intended. I admit to my part in the plot against the Shonto House: I
did not intend to assist the barbarians in their invasion. Like the rest
of the lords of Seh I did not imagine the barbarians could mount
such a force—can still hardly believe it. Even as you struggled to
save my province, I worked against you.

I give my oath that my son, Yoshihira, knew nothing of this, and so I
have commanded him south with your army so that our House
might continue or that he might find an honorable end. It is my
hope that you will allow this. My countrymen will believe that I have
chosen this

course to pay for my errors: I would not allow an army to be raised
in Seh nor would I listen to reason. It is my hope that you will let
them continue to believe this. In return I will give you information.
The man who devised and guided this plot against you is in your
midst: Jaku Katta planned every detail of your fall, Lord Shonto.
Why he is here now I am not sure—you have heard the same
rumors as I.

At the gü board

It is not possible to sacrifice

Honor for position.

I take my place on the battlements.

The plunge as cold as steel

As soft as ashes.

Lord Toshaki Hirikawa

Shonto looked off at the long straggling line of humanity that
wandered up the side of the hill. So sad.

Was it true that Toshaki’s fool of a son was innocent? Perhaps.
Certainly Toshaki Shinga was party to this plot—there could be little
doubt of that. But Toshaki Shinga had chosen to stay in Rhojo-
ma—where he commanded the garrison. That was a life put to
better use than his lord’s! The fool should have stayed alive long
enough to die slowing the barbarians’ advance.

Shonto rose from his position and returned inside. He had shed
the official robes of the Governor of Seh that morning and was
dressed more comfortably now—ready to travel. Prodding the
coals of a charcoal burner to life, the lord went to toss Toshaki’s
letter in but stopped himself. No, he would save this—it might be of
interest one day—historically at least.

The last inhabitants of Rhojo-ma trickled out of the gate and set out
across the bridge. Bells rang from many towers throughout the
empty city—the gates were about to be shut for the last time.
Shonto stood on a quay that would soon be on the lake
bottom—such was it designed. Far off he could see men
beginning to work on the single

bridge that spanned the distance to shore. It, too, would be under
water within the hour.

Toward the north end of the quay, Shonto could see Lord
Toshaki’s son surrounded by his retainers. Word had spread about
the old Toshaki’s suicide—a plunge off the battlement into the
depths of the lake. The lord had worn full armor. It was an odd
suicide—one that indicated great shame. Nonetheless, Lord
Toshaki had been a man respected in Seh and there was obvious
concern for his son among those present, though, as northerners,
they were equally concerned with his pride. All expressions of
concern were therefore kept within bounds strictly defined by an
unwritten code which said: young Toshaki is a warrior and lord of
Seh, therefore he is strong. All expressions of regret will be
offered formally—the Toshaki do not require comfort. This is a
matter of respect only.

Shonto’s senior staff continued to work nearby, attending to the
thousand details that would allow an army of thirteen thousand, plus
a few thousand others, to move south at speed. The barbarian
army could travel five rih in a day, but the canal would carry Shonto
much faster than that.

Men cut away the branches of an ancient lintel vine that clung to the
stone around the city’s gate. This seemed like a sign of things to
come to Shonto, and he looked away.

A delegation appeared at the gate. Guards pushed through, heavily
armed and bearing banners. The lords of Seh had arrived—the
lords who would remain behind. Most of the older generation had
chosen to pay their penance by defending Rhojo-ma—an
endeavor whose outcome was as certain as the night following
day. Five thousand warriors stayed with these men, chosen for this
great honor: to die with their lords in a battle that could not be won.

A crier preceded the fated warriors.

“Make way! Make way! Make way for the lords of Seh. Make way!”

The fools of Seh, Shonto thought, brave fools.

As the senior member of the most important House, Lord Ranan
led the delegation. He bowed as he approached Lord Shonto and
the lord returned this with a

deep bow of respect rather than the nod his position allowed.

“Our preparations go as planned, Lord Shonto,” Ranan said with an
air of importance. “We will be ready before the Khan’s outriders
appear.”

Fool, Shonto thought, arrogant fooll

“You are to be honored, Lord Ranan, as are all who prepare for
Rhojo-ma’s… defense.‘’

Ranan bowed again. “It is our intention to slow the barbarian force
by as many days as our strength will allow. May those days be well
used, Sire.”

Everyone on the quay bowed to those who would remain.

Shonto was about to step back toward his boat when a tunnel
opened up in the crowd and the young lord of the Toshaki stepped
forward. Bowing quickly to Shonto and Lord Ranan, the young lord
turned to Komawara whom Shonto had not seen arrive. Members
of Komawara’s guard stepped closer to their lord—the Hajiwara
men, Shonto realized. Though they wore the Komawara colors,
deep blue and black trimmed in gold, the former residents of Itsa
retained a length of shoulder trim in Hajiwara green. “Lord
Komawara,” Toshaki began with great formality, as though he
repeated a speech carefully rehearsed, “I once suggested that you
would need a proper weapon to fight barbarian hordes.” He
reached his hand back to a retainer who laid a sword in a scabbard
across the lord’s palm. Bringing this around, he held it in both
hands as though it were a treasure. “This blade belonged to my
father, Toshaki Hirikawa. It was made by Toyotomi the Younger
and gained great renown in the Ona War. This blade has been in
the Toshaki family for seven generations and has proven its worth
in many battles against the barbarians. It is my hope that you will
accept this as a mark of my respect. Among the lords of Seh you
were the first to realize our position though so many of us argued
against you.” He offered the sword now with a slight bow.

Komawara seemed frozen in place and for a second

Shonto thought he would refuse it. But then Komawara

bowed and reached out, taking the blade from Toshaki in

a gesture almost equally reverent.

When he spoke, Lord Komawara’s voice was tight as

though he choked back emotion with difficulty. “This is a great
honor, Lord Toshaki. I hope that the hands of the Komawara will
wield this with even half the skill of your ancestors. If so, it shall be
a blade of great fame indeed.”

Toshaki bowed again, and at a gesture from Shonto his senior staff
began retreating to their appointed boats. We are at war, Shonto
thought, there is no time to sit and drink wine and fabricate lies
about the great esteem our ancestors felt for each other.

As the boats pushed away, Shonto walked back to the
quarterdeck. Sails were raised, luffing and snapping, until the
helmsmen fell off the wind and the sails were sheeted home.
Shonto saw Nishima wave from a nearby boat as did Lady Okara
and Lady Kitsura. A sailor pointed, and Shonto looked up in time to
see the Shinta Blossom at Rhojo-ma’s high tower quiver and then
come down. Seconds later it was replaced by the Flying Horse of
Seh.

A line of boats tacked into the breeze, heading toward the mouth of
the Grand Canal and the first set of locks. Shonto’s boat found a
place near the end of this line, for in the campaign to come the
command would need to be in close contact with the retreating
rear. A strange thought.

Lady Nishima leaned against the rail, glad of its support, for she
felt a weakness in her will that was disturbing. Despite all of her
prayers, war had come. As they cleared the end of the city, she
looked off toward the north. Barbarian armies would appear there
in only a few days. All of her other concerns seemed petty and
trivial now. People would die—and not just from battle.

She thought about the people of Seh setting out south and toward
the sea. Not all of them would escape, nor would they understand
their danger. They would try to hide themselves, hoping the storm
would pass by without harming them. Her father had left a small
force behind, hidden somewhere in Seh’s hills for this very reason.
Its only purpose was to be sure nothing would be grown where the
barbarians could find it. They would raid upon and quite possibly
be forced to kill their own people.

Leave nothing for the enemy, her father had ordered. Which meant
nothing for the peasants.

A report like strange thunder echoed across the lake and Nishima
turned in time to see the first span of the bridge collapse into a
cascade of white. For the briefest instant a rainbow appeared in
the spray, but then the waters rushed back together like a healing
wound. Rhojo-ma’s tie to the land was gone.

Around the south end of the city a funeral barge appeared,
covered in the white flower of the snow lily. The light breeze picked
up the petals, strewing them like a wake on the calm water. Lord
Toshaki, Nishima realized. The barge set off with purpose toward
the lake’s southwestern end as though its destination had never
been in doubt. Nishima raised her hands to cover her face but
realized what she did and stopped herself. Instead she made a
sign to Botahara and offered a silent prayer.

The boat suddenly began pitching in the waves created by the
falling bridge. Nishima clutched the rail until the water was calm
again and then made her way quickly below. In the privacy of her
small cabin Nishima took out her writing implements and prepared
ink in what was almost a ritual.

Our boat of gumwood and dark locust

Her paint scaling like serpent’s skin

Sets forth into the throng of craft

On the Grand Canal.

Uncounted travelers,

Uncounted desires

Borne over blue water.

Only the funeral barge

Covered in white petals

Appears to know its destination.

Twenty-four

An abandoned stable, recently refurbished for the presentation of
plays, had been commandeered by Shonto’s recruiting officers.
The thatch leaked in places when rain and the west wind joined
forces and there was still an unrecognizable odor in one corner,
but otherwise it suited well.

Two officers sat behind a large, low desk upon what had been the
stage. On three sides men knelt in more or less straight rows. In
the light from hanging lamps they seemed to be of one type, but
upon closer inspection it became apparent that they were of all
ages, sizes, accents, experience, and temperament.

Despite this, they had one thing in common. They were warriors
without Houses and though some had actually been raised to the
way of the sword, many were the sons of merchants or farmers
who had broken with their families to take up this life. The men who
gathered in the hall had all passed a test of skill with both sword
and bow. Those who failed had been sent elsewhere—all men
would find a place in the war to come.

Of the hundred or so who had passed the test of arms, most
seemed to be without serious criminal records. The senior
recruiting officer, a Shonto sergeant, looked at his list and pointed
to a name which his assistant called out. A man of perhaps forty
years rose and crossed the room to kneel before him. Like most of
the men in the hall, his clothes were rough, though, unlike many, his
were clean and bore the marks of expert mending. He was a large
man, well formed, his face hidden by a dark beard. What wasn’t
hidden had been darkened by time in the sun and lined with deep
creases, especially across the forehead and in the corners of the
eyes. “Shinga Kyoshi?”

The man nodded, a half bow.

“Your weapons are in order?” the sergeant asked.

The man nodded again. “Complete armor and sword. I-I have no
bow.” A deep voice.

The sergeant nodded. There was a note by this man’s name—he
was very good with a sword, apparently. “Your sword,” the
sergeant said holding out his hand.

The kneeling man hesitated for a second, as though not sure of the
request, but then drew his blade and handed it to the officer,
pommel first.

It was a fine weapon, beautifully balanced and honed to a perfect
edge. The sword guard was a small work of art—a lacquered scroll
of sea shells over polished bronze. The maker’s name on the
blade was Kentoka, undoubtedly a forgery, but it was a well crafted
weapon nonetheless—not what you would expect from a
wandering soldier. The sergeant fixed the man with his gaze—a
gaze that melted strong young men. “It says here that you are from
Nitashi.”

The man nodded.

“I’m from Nitashi,” the sergeant said. “You don’t have the Nitashi
way of speaking.”

“It has been many years, Sergeant.”

The officer continued to stare. He would wager that if he looked in
the man’s armor chest he would find new lacing in some neutral
colour.

He returned the man’s sword. Stared for a few seconds more, then
looked back to his lists. He pushed a scroll across the table and
held out a brush. “See the quartermaster,” the sergeant said. The
man signed his name, bowing low and hurrying off.

Looking at the man’s signature, the recruiting officer hid his
reaction. That was the third man the sergeant had seen in the last
two days who he believed had served the Hajiwara—and this one
had been an officer! He shook his head. If there were too many
more, he would have to consider turning some away. There were
the Butto to consider.

“Ujima Nyatomi!” the officer’s assistant called.

Another bearded man hurried up and knelt before the sergeant
who leaned over his reports.

“Ujima Nyatomi?”

The soldier nodded. If the sergeant had looked up, he

would have noticed that this one was older than the last, and less
powerfully built.

“Your weapons are in order?”

The man nodded again.

“Your sword.”

The man placed the pommel in the officer’s hand. The sergeant
looked up from his list, eyes widening. This was a sword indeed! It
came into the hand like a dream. The handle was covered in the
skin of the giant ray, then wrapped in blue silk cord, and the sword
guard, the sergeant suddenly realized, was formed in the shape of
a shinta blossom!

The sergeant looked up at the man kneeling before him. Before he
could begin to react the man spoke. “My armor is of similar quality,
Sergeant, and I have bow, lance, and horse as well.” He shook his
head almost imperceptibly.

The sergeant returned the man’s sword then and searched his
lists. Pushing the paper and brush across the table he said, “See
the quartermaster.”

The man signed, bowed quickly, and hurried off. Another name
was called, but the sergeant did not register it. He had just enrolled
Rohku Saicha, the Captain of Shonto’s guard, into the lists of the
army of Seh. He wondered how many others had escaped the
Capital. He smiled in spite of himself.

The flotilla had entered the Grand Canal and immediately slowed
to what seemed like a walk. Kamu knew that progress south would
not compare with the speed they achieved passing north—there
were too many refugees on the canal and the number of boats
used by the retreating army was greater. Still, an army of one
hundred thousand could hardly make better than seven or eight rih
a day over level ground.

It would take the barbarians over three lunar months to reach the
Imperial Capital by land. With fair winds the river craft could often
traverse the distance between Seh and the Capital in less than
thirty days—half that time if they had crew enough to travel both
day and night.

At our present speed, Kamu reminded himself, we’ll travel twice as
far in a day as do the barbarians. Shonto’s fleet had left at least two
days, probably three, before the

barbarians would reach Rhojo-ma. It was a significant lead.

Kamu’s cabin was a riot of paper, scrolls stacked in holders like
firewood, sheets of paper and letters in carefully laid out piles,
none without a paperweight. Folders of paper, rolls of paper, notes
written on scraps, rice paper, mulberry paper. There seemed to be
no end of this valuable commodity. And every piece of paper bore
information Kamu could not lose. He found himself occasionally
daydreaming about a small thatch house beside a river in some
quiet range of hills.

A knock on the door was followed by Kamu’s assistant, Toko,
entering bearing a folder that seemed to contain more paper. In
the months since the attempted assassination in Shonto’s garden
this young man had proven to be an invaluable assistant. Oh, he
had much to learn, there was no doubt of that, but he learned well
and seldom made mistakes twice.

Kamu raised one eyebrow at his assistant in an unwitting imitation
of Lord Shonto.

“Requests for passage or to join the flotilla, Steward Kamu,” Toko
said quietly. He had not lost the ways of those who served. The
boy was still almost entirely unobtrusive—silent of movement, and
quiet of voice.

Kamu nodded. He pointed with a brush. “There will do.”

Toko placed the folder on the appointed pile and then stood
quietly. Kamu realized the young man was waiting to be noticed,
which almost made the old warrior smile.

“Toko?”

“Steward Kamu,” the young man started, his tone revealing a lack
of certainty, “several of these requests are from members of the
Botanist faith. I was not sure if I should let them wait.”

“Huh.” Kamu considered the column of numbers in the report he
read. “How many, precisely?”

“Two Sisters and five Botanist monks—one claims to have been a
teacher of Brother Shuyun.”

“Ah, yes—Soto…” Kamu trailed off.

“Brother Sotura, I believe, Steward.”

Kamu squinted to make out a figure. “Yes, I have met him. Give
them quarters somewhere well out of harm’s way. This is an army
at war—not an Imperial Progress.”

Toko nodded. He quickly opened another ledger, made entries,
and then was gone.

Kamu shook his head. It isn’t an Imperial Progress, the old steward
thought, may Botahara protect us.

Dusk and rain. Young Captain Rohku was stiff with cold and lack of
movement. He stopped climbing and tried to control a persistent
tremor in his left leg. If one of his men had not thought to bring a
rope, he realized, he would never have been able to climb up on
his own. Five more feet, then stop. Water ran down the corner he
climbed, making the rock as slippery as ice.

He moved again and his feet came off their hold—he fell. For the
third time the rope held him. Flailing until he felt the rock under his
feet and hands again, Rohku leaned his cheek against the cold
stone. Perhaps fifteen feet remain, he told himself. It would be
shameful if he had to be pulled up by his men. This thought gave
him some strength and propelled him upward.

There were barbarian patrols close by, so silence met Rohku when
he clambered over the cliff edge. He sat on a stone and ate a little
cold food. Something warm to drink was what he wanted, but a fire
could not be risked even if they could find enough dry wood.
Finally, nodding to one of his men, Rohku rose stiffly and went to
his horse. It took every bit of strength he could find, but he
mounted without assistance. There were men of Seh present, it
was important that he keep their respect.

A long ride awaited them. First a report to Rhojo-ma, then onto the
canal. They would catch up with Lord Shonto’s fleet within three
days. Rohku had a great deal to tell. A great deal indeed.

Tadamoto found the Emperor walking near the Dragon Pond. A
flower viewing had been arranged, for the blossoms of late winter
and early spring were pushing up toward a sun that showed signs
of warming. Although the Emperor was ostensibly in the company
of members of the court, he walked off by himself and none dared
interrupt his sullen mood.

Tadamoto looked over the gathered courtiers and noted with some
satisfaction that there were a number of young women of great
beauty who had recently come to court.

May one of them catch his fancy, Tadamoto thought—it was almost
a prayer.

But then among the pure young faces and elaborate robes
Tadamoto saw Osha. She was watching him with a look of such
sadness that he almost wept at the sight. Osha, Osha. … To
Tadamoto’s eye there was a great depth of spirit reflected in her
face, while the faces of the young women around her seemed
almost like masks painted with only a single, vague expression.

Tadamoto’s step almost faltered. Tearing his gaze away before
anyone should notice, he continued on toward the Emperor. It was
a familiar exercise now, closing off his emotions. Tadamoto often
thought of himself as some spiritual hermit who had developed this
control through meditation. He could make himself feel nothing
almost at will. When he knelt before the Emperor, he was as
devoid of feelings as a stone.

The Emperor nodded and then beckoned to Tadamoto to rise and
walk with him. The colonel hesitated, casting a glance toward the
gathered courtiers who pretended not to watch. A lowly colonel
being invited to walk with the Son of Heaven—that might raise an
eyebrow or two.

They moved slowly away from the others, the Emperor pausing to
look at a spray of snow lilies that clung to the shade of a chaku
bush. A few more days of sun and they would be gone.

It was a warm day for the time of year. A breeze so gentle it barely
rippled the surface of the Dragon Pond felt as sensuous and
delightful as a lover’s secret touch. A sky, bright as a ringing bell,
bore a smattering of clouds like echoes and overtones in the midst
of clarity.

“You have something to report, Colonel.” The Emperor continued
to look at the snow lilies. Let the courtiers wonder what they
discussed, there would be no clue from the Emperor.

“I do, Emperor. We have finally managed to get officials into Ika
Cho Province. Lord Shonto Shokan has disappeared with a force
of significant size, perhaps four thousand men.”

“It is a difficult trick to perform—to disappear with so many. We
don’t know how this was done?”

“It seems that the Shonto son may have taken his force into High
Wind Pass, Sire.”

The Emperor nodded. “It is early in the year to attempt the pass. Is
it possible that he could win through?” The sound of women’s
laughter pealed across the water.

“It is thought unlikely, Emperor. The snows in the mountains were
substantial this winter.” Tadamoto almost turned his gaze back to
the courtiers but caught himself. “I find it strange that he did not go
north to Seh by ship. Certainly the storms would be no greater risk
than attempting the mountains.”

The Emperor plucked a snow lily and examined it closely. “The
High Wind Pass would bring Shokan to northern Chiba, yeh?”

Tadamoto nodded.

“Huh.” The Emperor handed the blossom to Tadamoto. “For your
honored wife from the Emperor, Tadamoto-sum.” The Emperor
gave him a distracted smile. “Set men to watch the western end of
the pass. If he were not Shonto, I would say a prayer for his soul
but…” The Emperor shrugged and walked on, leaving Tadamoto
scrambling to bow, clutching his snow lily.

The voices of several hundred women raised in a melodic chant
seemed to emanate from the floor and the walls. The Prioress
reclined in her litter, eyes closed. It was impossible to tell if she
slept or simply lay listening in a state of total concentration, for
there was only the merest movement of her breathing. Sister Sutso
hesitated to approach her.

From the nave below, the singing soared up into the rafters where
a balcony perched like a well hidden nest. The room that opened
onto the balcony was one of the Prioress’ favorite retreats and her
staff preferred not to disturb her there.

Sutso decided it would be better to wait and took a step toward the
balcony. The Prioress did not move, but her voice sounded almost
inaudibly over the chanting.

“Sutso-sum?”

“Yes, Prioress.”

The old woman did not open her eyes or move in any way at all. “I
believe our singers become more inspired with each year,” she
said in a voice that seemed dry and withered.

The Prioress’ secretary came and knelt at the side of

the litter. “I agree, Prioress. I feel closer to Botahara even now.”

“It is the height, child,” the Prioress said and a beatific smile
spread across her wrinkled face. Sutso did not laugh, she dared
not, even though she was quite sure the Prioress intended humor.
No, this ancient woman was as close to perfection as anyone
Sutso had ever met. In the presence of the Prioress one did not
act in any way that could be interpreted as disrespectful.

“You have something weighing on your mind, Sutso-sum.” It was
not a question.

Sutso nodded though her superior’s eyes remained closed. “I
wrote to Morima-sum, as you instructed, but I am concerned.
There has been no response.”

Still, the Prioress could lay so utterly still. “Morima-sum will not fail
us, Sutso-sum, do not concern yourself. Much goes on in Seh.
Writing a letter may not seem as important to her as it does to us.
Wait a little yet.”

Sutso nodded again. She bowed and started to rise when the
Prioress spoke again.

“You are concerned about the coming war.”

Sutso sank back to her knees. “Everyone is concerned, Prioress. It
is not like the Interim War where all concerned were followers of
the Way. The barbarians will not treat us with respect. Our Sisters
will be in danger.”

The Prioress’ large dark eyes sprang open and she studied her
secretary for a moment. The eyes closed again. “If the men who
fought the Interim War had truly been followers of Botahara, there
would have been no war, Sutso-sum.” She fell silent for a second.
The chanting suddenly became slow and gentle. “The Empire is
vast. This war will be like others—parts of Wa will suffer terribly
while other regions will be entirely unaffected. It saddens me…
Until the Way is truly followed, there will always be wars. We have
made every preparation we can. Let wars be the concern of others.
Our concern is the Teachings of Botahara.” She smiled again.

“But think, child, the Teacher—in our own lifetime! It is a miracle
beyond imagining. We can spare no effort, even if the Empire
collapses around us. It has been one thousand years, child—forty
generations! The Teacher… we must find the Teacher. It is the
reason for our being.”

The collective voice began to grow, it reached up like hands in
prayer. It touched Sutso with its beauty and a tear appeared at the
corner of one eye. She reached out and touched the sleeve of the
Prioress’ robe so softly it seemed she caressed a sleeping child.

Twenty-five

Spring’s first swallows Glide down from winter’s sky They soar
across rivers, Finding joy in every turn.

Twilight lingers like a lover

Unable to leave,

Unable to say what is in the heart

From the Palace Book, Lady Nikko

The chambers of the Empress Jenna. Jaku Tadamoto sat on the
ancient bed of the Empress herself and wondered if Osha would
come—it had been so long. Perhaps she had been unable to leave
her rooms without being seen or had been intercepted by some
agents of the Emperor’s. Or, worst of all, she had been summoned
by the Son of Heaven. Because this disturbed him the most,
Tadamoto’s mind filled with images of Osha in the Emperor’s
embrace.

Did she respond to his touch? The image in his mmd showed
Osha driven to heights of passion she had never known with
Tadamoto. He began to feel like a fool for

waiting. …

The lantern Tadamoto had used to guide him sat on the floor
casting a feint circle of light out into the large room. They had spent
their first night together here. It was Tadamoto’s hope that returning
to this place might allow them to recapture things felt in the past.

Running his long fingers across the sheet covering the bed, he had
a clear recollection of touching Osha’s breast for the first time,
here, on a warm autumn night.

For some weeks now they had been avoiding each other, but
seeing Osha among the courtiers by the Dragon Pond that
afternoon had affected him in a way that he could not explain.
Suddenly he was desperate to see her— would not eat or sleep
until he spoke with her.

So he sat wondering if he was making a fool of
himself—wondering if Osha was lost in pleasure in the Emperor’s
arms even as Tadamoto sat pining for her. And yet he could not
make himself leave.

An impulse to do something took hold of the young colonel and he
went to the screens opening onto the balcony and pulled them
aside. He was not concerned with being seen this high up in an
unfrequented section of the palace, for even if someone did notice
him the reputation of the Hanama chambers being inhabited by
ghosts would be all the explanation anyone would require.

Tadamoto stood looking out over the impossibly complex curves
and planes of the palace’s roofs lit by a waning crescent moon. It
seemed so tranquil. It was difficult to imagine that Wa was about to
be shaken by war, for Tadamoto was certain that was about to
happen. A civil war with the Shonto against the Yamaku or the
barbarian war Shonto and Katta warned of: but war either way. Less
than a decade since the Yamaku ascendancy and already war
seemed to be flickering to life, like a fire that had only disappeared
temporarily into the earth.

Pacing the perimeter of the room made Tadamoto realize how little
control he felt and he forced himself to sit and be calm.

The screen leading to the room slid aside a few inches and
Tadamoto started. Osha! He could not really see her in the dark,
but he was so familiar with her size he knew this could be no one
else. She slipped in through the crack and pushed the screen
closed behind her. Leaning against the wall she stood regarding
him. In the darkness Tadamoto could not see her eyes and this
unsettled him. He felt he needed to look into her eyes to know what
whispered in her heart.

Osha favored him with a nod and then crossed to the open
screens, her movements slow and deliberate as though her life
force had been reduced to a flicker.

She does not glide, Tadamoto found himself thinking.

Silhouetted against the night Osha seemed very beau-

tiful to him—perfect, in fact. Small and extraordinarily delicate. He
could almost feel the warmth and softness of her skin. Beyond
Osha the sky was not black but the deepest possible blue.
Banners of cloud so distant they seemed to be in the heavens
reflected a hint of moonlight. And the stars lacked definition, as
though seen as reflections in dark water.

Osha turned and leaned her back against the frame of
theopening.herhandsclaspedbehindher. “Thisroom…” she began,
her voice flat, “it brings me deep sadness to come here.”

Tadamoto sat, suddenly awkward, his hands on his thighs. “Yes,”
he said, “I thought it would be different.”

Osha took a deep breath as if she would speak but dien let it out
slowly. She turned and looked out at the night, not seeming to care
that the air was cool. “My heart…” she began, “my heart is in ruins,
Tado-sum, and I do not know if anything can survive the
wreckage.” She almost seemed to fall back into her former
position.

There was a long silence and then Tadamoto braved the question
that tormented him. “Do you love the Emperor, then?”

Osha looked down at her feet, shaking her head slowly. When she
raised her face Tadamoto could see her cheeks shining with tears
in the starlight. “I do not love him.”

Tadamoto nodded; it was a gentle motion, heavy with resignation.
He seemed so weighed down with sadness that it stopped him
from moving—and so he sat on the bed, slumped as though
something inside him had collapsed. The sound of Osha crying
pained him even more, but he could not rise to go to her. Even
when she sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands, he
did not move.

Twenty-six

The canal runs thick with rumor Overflowing its banks Spreading to
the four directions. Intrigues and betrayals Flood into the
countryside Banishing truth to the rooftops

Lady Okara Haroshu

A young officer gave the orders which were carried out by stone-
faced soldiers and dismayed peasants. Everything that had been
planted in the early spring was destroyed. Winter’s remaining hay
was piled in the yard and set to the torch, going up in a blast of
heat. The blaze was fed stores of seed and grains and the
farmers’ carefully nurtured seedlings. The soldiers were
determined to leave nothing for the barbarians. And nothing for the
villagers and peasants either.

Shimeko could see it written in each peasant’s face: but we will
starve. Is it better to be murdered by your own people? The sight
of this had been more than she could bear, so she had set off,
avoiding the road used by the fleeing peasants. I am a servant of
the family that turns them from their homes, she had said to
herself, and it was not a thought that brought her comfort.

Shimeko had been forced to walk some distance up the canal to
find a place where she could be alone and not be an unwilling
witness to the destruction. Part of the fleet had stopped in this
valley to “create the desert” as she had heard one soldier say, and
Lady Nishima’s boat had been unable to pass.

Under the branches of a willow that hung over the canal, Shimeko
set out a grass mat and made herself com-

fortable. The fine curtain of willow branches was covered with
delicate green buds and would be in leaf in mere days. Boats from
the flotilla had been moored against the opposite shore, and she
could see them busily taking aboard cargo from the surrounding
farms. Leave nothing for the barbarians.

A family sailed past in a small river boat, the sail filled by a soft
breeze from the east—the Plum Blossom Wind it was called, and it
was eagerly awaited by the people of Wa. And though it invariably
meant warmer days and planting and the blossoming of cherry and
plum and apple, this year it was not being celebrated. At least not
in the wake of Shonto’s army.

Shimeko could see the looks of anxiety on the faces of the man
and woman in the river boat. He looked up at the sail and then off
to the east. Her years in the monastery told her that he was praying
for the wind to hold. All boats had been ordered to pass ahead of
the flotilla or be destroyed.

A kingfisher dived into the boat’s wake and came out of the water
in a flash of iridescent green. It darted off with its prize,
disappearing into the branches of a willow.

In the privacy of the bower she tried to meditate, but after several
minutes she gave this up. It seemed even that comfort was lost to
her. Taking a comb from her sleeve, she ran it through her still very
short hair. Lady Nishima had told her that in little more than a year
she would be able to put her hair up in such a manner that it would
be impossible to tell how long it was. This is foolish vanity, she told
herself, but continued to comb as though the action would hurry the
course of nature.

Shimeko found herself wondering again about Lady Nishima. It
was difficult to dislike her, Shimeko found, though she had been
prepared to. And certainly the rest of Lady Nishima’s staff adored
her. Even so, it seemed odd to Shimeko. Lady Nishima was so
young and had not spent the years of discipline and denial senior
Sisters had—and yet she was renowned throughout the Empire for
her accomplishments.

Shimeko shook her head. Certainly Lady Nishima was a harp
player of great skill and her hand was one of the finest she had
ever seen. No doubt her social discourse was charming and witty,
but they were only social con-

versations. Shimeko tossed a pebble out into the water. In her
former world, Lady Nishima would have been a senior Acolyte, no
matter what her accomplishments, and many years away from
becoming a senior sister. Yet in the world of Wa, Nishima was
something of a sensation though barely more than a girl.

Shimeko tossed a second pebble after the first, gaining the brief
interest of a kingfisher that hovered over the rings where the
pebble had disappeared.

This interest that the Lady Nishima showed in Brother Shuyun…
Shimeko was beginning to wonder if it was entirely proper. The
former nun was aware that she had little experience of the world,
but even so—the way Lady Nishima brightened when Brother
Shuyun appeared, it was difficult to mistake. If Brother Shuyun is
the Teacher who was foretold, then this situation with the Shonto
daughter was most unseemly.

Shimeko remembered searching the archives for Lady Nishima
and this brought to mind the sculpture of the Two Lovers—an
image she found most disturbing. Though, if truth were told, it was
an image she had had difficulty taking her eyes from when they had
waited in Denji Gorge. She had found herself drawn to it more than
she would ever admit.

Is Brother Shuyun the Teacher who was spoken of? she asked
herself again. If there was only some test she could perform… but
she knew of no such thing.

The day wore on until she felt it must be time to return. She had
been given leave only to stretch her legs, not to disappear for an
extended period.

Rising, she rolled the mat and found her way through the curtain of
willow wands. A few steps brought her back to the path which ran
along the top of the raised bank. Plum trees were planted here and
she could see that only a few days would bring them into
bloom—an event awaited with great anticipation by everyone in
Wa. An image of lines of refuges passing through the plum tree
orchards came like a sharp pain.

Some distance off, coming toward her, Shimeko could see a large
peasant woman wrapped in cotton robes and shawls. And she had
so hoped to avoid the refugees who had been turned from their
homes. But then her head

snapped up again. It could not be! That walk, Shimeko was sure
she could not mistake it.

The woman came closer and raised her covered head. “Sister
Morima?” Shimeko said.

The senior nun nodded, her face contorting in a brief, forced smile.
Before she realized what she did Shimeko bowed as Acolyte to
senior Sister. But then she rose slowly and forced herself to look
the older woman in the eye.

“This is a pleasant surprise, Sister,” Shimeko said.

Morima nodded again. She waved her hand to the side of the track
and they turned and took a few steps among the plum trees. “Do
not be surprised, Tesseko-sum, the Sisterhood releases few
entirely.‘’

Realizing that Morima labored as though from great exercise,
Shimeko laid her mat on the grass and helped the nun sit. She
knelt on the mat facing her, fighting an impulse to take on the
posture of humility.

“Thank you,” Morima wheezed. “A moment.” She sat regaining her
breath and then she tried another smile-marginally more
successful.

“The Sisters will not release even me, and I have lost the Way
almost entirely.” She stared at Shimeko who finally had to look
away.

“Is the path you follow easier, child?” she said in a voice full of
concern.

Shimeko shrugged. “I do not yet know, Sister.”

Morima nodded as though she understood. “You appear well
enough.” A genuine smile this time. “And you will have a proper
head of hair very soon.”

Shimeko colored at the mention of this. “I must be getting back,
Sister Morima, I have duties.”

“Do you, indeed?” Morima said. “May I speak briefly, Tesseko-
sum?”

The younger woman nodded. “I am Shimeko now,
Sister—Shimeko.‘’

Morima tried to smile again but failed. “The Sisterhood has sent
me to speak with you. They advised me to come dressed as a
peasant and to claim that I had left the Order also. They want
information about Lord Shon-to’s Spiritual Advisor and anything
they can learn about the barbarian war and the intrigues within the
Empire.‘’

The senior Sister looked up at her former charge and

shrugged, apparently embarrassed. “It is the worst foolishness.
You might think they would become tired of lies and intrigues, but
that does not seem to be so.” She reached down and tightened
her sandals. “I must be getting back myself, now that I have
fulfilled my duty.” She rose with some effort and stood looking
down at Shimeko.

Shimeko could not hide her look of confusion. “That is all you have
to say, Sister?”

“Yes, child.” The older woman wiped her forehead with the tail of
her shawl.

Shimeko nodded though she was not sure why. They remained as
they were for a moment—an echo of their former lives: the younger
woman kneeling, the elder standing.

“Morima-sum?” Shimeko said suddenly. “You have met Brother
Shuyun. Do you think it is possible that he is the leacher?”

Morima thought for a moment. “I cannot say, child.”

Shimeko pulled up a blade of new grass and twirled it slowly.
“Brother Shuyun claims he is not. Is it possible he could be the
Teacher and not be aware of it?”

Morima shook her head. “I don’t know, Shimeko-sum. When did
Lord Botahara know that he would become the Perfect Master? It
seems possible that Brother Shuyun may not know.”

Shimeko nodded. “I am concerned…”

Morima cut her off with a gesture. “Take care in what you say,
Shimeko-sum, I do not know what I may yet repeat to my Sisters.”

The young woman nodded slowly. She rolled the mat with
exaggerated care.

“Go,” Morima said, “I will wait a while.” She met the former
Acolyte’s gaze. “And may Botahara walk beside you.”

On impulse Shimeko reached out and the two women squeezed
hands. Shimeko turned and hurried back to the path.

The river craft that Shimeko traveled on with the ladies from the
Capital lay where it had been despite her worst fear that it had
gone off without her. She nodded to the guards as she came
aboard. A maid passed her as she scrambled down the steps to
the cabin.

“Lady Nishima has gone ashore, walking with the other ladies,
Shimeko-sum.”

The young woman sat down on the bottom step, deep in thought.
She felt vaguely uncomfortable for having talked to Sister Morima. I
should not have done this, she said to herself, I cannot serve two
masters nor do I wish to. She thought a while longer, then rose and
retraced her steps.

She had noticed Shuyun’s barbarian servant on the boat moored
just down the bank, a place he would not have been without his
master. Approaching the guards of this craft, she gave a password
and the appropriate hand signal.

“Is Brother Shuyun aboard?” she asked. The guard nodded.

“Will you ask if I may speak with him? I am Shimeko, Lady
Nishima’s secretary.”

The more senior guard nodded and his companion hurried off.
Shimeko nodded to the tribesman who served Brother Shuyun. He
paced the deck, looking off toward the destruction taking place in
the fields, then down at his feet as he resumed pacing.

The guard returned in moments. “Shimeko-sum, please,” he
gestured toward the boat ramp. “Brother Shuyun will be only
seconds.”

Shimeko went aboard and saw the barbarian crossing toward her.
They had met once or twice in the palace in Seh and she had been
struck by his devotion to Brother Shuyun. The sight of him dressed
in Shonto livery she found quite incongruous.

The Kalam waved at the fields as he approached her. “Bad, yeh?
A bad thing.” He shook his head vigorously in case she did not
understand his use of the language. Shimeko nodded. “It is a very
bad thing. Very sad.” The tribesman nodded agreement, obviously
happy that he had been understood.

Shuyun appeared from a hatch behind the barbarian and the Kalam
bowed low. Shuyun gave the Botahist bow in return, to both the
Kalam and Shimeko.

“We speak,” the Kalam said with some pride, nodding toward
Shimeko.

Shuyun smiled and said something in another tongue.

The Kalam bowed to both Shuyun and Shimeko and returned to his
pacing.

“Shimeko-sum, it is a pleasure to see you. How do you fare in your
new position?” They walked across the deck and stood by the rail
where their voices would not carry to others on deck or on the
bank.

“Well, Brother. I thank you again for your efforts on my behalf.”

“Lady Nishima has said that you are becoming an invaluable
member of her staff. Consider this as a compliment of high order.”

Shimeko gave a half bow.

Polite conversation continued for some minutes. Cha was offered
and refused. The weather was commented on. The nearness of
the plum blossom season was noted and the lengthening of the
day came under some scrutiny. Finally it was appropriate to go on
to other matters.

“Is there some way that I may serve you, Shimeko-sum?”

Shimeko shook her head slowly and Shuyun nodded, waiting for
her to speak.

“Brother Shuyun…” she began. “Brother, I was approached today
by Sister Morima, the nun I served on my journey to Seh. She
came dressed not as a Sister but in lay clothing. Sister Morima
freely admitted that she had been sent by the Sisterhood.”
Shimeko paused, overcome by a sudden need to swallow. “She
had been sent to ask me for information or to persuade me to
become an informant—it was not clear which. All of this she
admitted. Her Order wanted to know anything I could tell about the
barbarian invasion, the intrigues of the Empire, and you, Brother.”
She hesitated. “I thought you should be told of this.”

Shuyun nodded. If he found this news disturbing in any way, he did
not show it. “Do you know what specific information she was
looking for, Shimeko-sum?”

The woman gestured with opened hands. “I did not inquire further,
Brother, nor did Morima-sum pursue the matter. It almost seemed
that she was performing a duty so that it could be reported done. I
do not think it was a true attempt to enlist my assistance.”

“Huh. This interest in me I find most strange, and the

interest in the Shonto House… What did you say to

her?“

“She did not try to impose on me, Brother, so I did not need to
argue or even refuse. We spoke briefly. When Morima-sum
thought, erroneously, that I was about to speak of the matters she
mentioned, she cautioned me that my words might be repeated to
her Sisters.”

“Might be repeated?”

“That is what she said, Brother.”

“Most strange.” He gazed down into the waters of the canal. “Is
there more I should hear?”

She shook her head.

“I thank you for speaking of this, Shimeko-sum. I am not sure what
I shall do, but it is possible Steward Kamu may wish to speak with
you also.”

She gave a tight nod.

“Most strange.” Shuyun said again.

Twenty-seven

The Plum Blossom Winds

Spread leaves and flowers among the hills

Laughter and song echo from

The Hill of the North Wind,

Harp and flute from

West Wind Hill.

The valley between the Hills of the North and West Winds became
the center of focus for a disturbing meditation by the men of Seh.
Barbarian patrols had appeared there the evening before and
again that morning. Now everyone watched, waiting without talk for
the barbarian army to show itself.

General Toshaki Shinga stood at a narrow opening in the north
tower and looked toward the point in the landscape that had
become the morbid fascination of everyone in the city. The
rhythmic sounds of sword polishers working drifted up to him.

It is too fine a day, the general thought. He leaned out and looked
down the wall to the water lapping at its base. It is a strong city,
Toshaki told himself, but it was not built to be defended by so few.

Silence had invaded the city more completely than any army could.
Toshaki could almost feel men waiting. The gap between the hills
drew his attention again.

A small barbarian patrol could be seen among the budding trees at
the base of the Hill of the North Wind. They had not moved from
that place since first light.

Two boats swung to anchors off the lake’s northern shore, waiting
for the last scouts returning to Rhojo-ma. Toshaki wondered what
choice he would make if he were out on patrol. Would he return to
the doomed city or would he strike out, hoping to catch Lord
Shonto’s fleet?

He pushed on the edges of the opening, rocking back and forth on
his heels. It was the waiting that was the worst.

The men remaining in Rhojo-ma had received a detailed
description of the barbarian army from a Shonto captain. Toshaki
shook his head. That had been the strangest intelligence he had
ever received for, rather than assist them with their strategy, the
report had destroyed all hope. The sheer numbers in the barbarian
army reduced their defense of Rhojo-ma to absurdity. The sole
purpose of the men in Seh’s capital now was to convince the Khan
that the army remaining in Rhojo-ma was too large to leave at his
back. If the barbarians spent several days mounting an attack
across water, Shonto would have a few more days to raise his
army. A few days, Toshaki thought, we sell our lives for so little! At
least it would be an honorable death.

Watches were changed on the city’s walls as the men of Seh
began to create the appearance of a large force. The Scarecrow
Army, someone had named it, winning a forced laugh.

Toshaki was making an inspection of defenses when the vanguard
of the barbarian army appeared between the hills. Banners as
numerous as the blades of grass came down the valley, fluttering
in the spring breeze. Slowly but inexorably the riders spread
across the plain north of the lake. Only when they had established
a perimeter of two rih did the leading edge of the army stop but,
behind this, the barbarians continued to spill out onto the plain.
Tents began to appear almost immediately and horses were
staked out to graze. There was little to indicate that this army
feared attack. With the colored banners waving and the tents
beginning to appear, the scene almost looked festive.

Barbarians on foot and on horseback came out to the edge of their
camp and stood staring at Rhojo-ma, then they would return to their
camp to be replaced by others who would then be replaced by
others again.

When the sun set, the barbarian army was still arriving. Just as the
dusk descended, the first tree was felled and dragged to the shore
of the lake.

Twenty-eight

The dinner conversation had faltered badly and each attempt to fan
it back to life had ended in silence and embarrassed smiles. The
news that the Golden Khan’s army was poised to strike Rhojo-ma
destroyed everyone’s tranquillity and purpose.

Attempting to collect their wandering thoughts in music, Ladies
Nishima and Kitsura played the harp and flute for Lady Okara.
Though famed for her gracious manners, Lady Okara found it
difficult to concentrate on the music of her young companions and
it showed in her face. In truth, the players kept losing their focus,
resulting in a less than inspired performance. Lady’Nishima,
especially, seemed to be elsewhere.

A clatter from the deck of the river barge was enough to destroy
their focus altogether and the music lost its rhythm and failed. A
dull thudding of footsteps passed over their cabin and then back
again. Traveling in the dark often led to emergency maneuvers and
even these did not always prevent groundings.

“It is nothing, I’m sure,” Lady Okara said, and gave them an
encouraging smile.

Neither Nishima nor Kitsura showed any indication of continuing
and, after a moment’s hesitation, set their instruments aside with
apologies.

“Even though we have known what was occurring for many months,
I still find it difficult to believe that war has begun,” Kitsura said.

“Yes,” Nishima said quietly. “So many men in Rhojo-ma. It is a
foolish waste for the few days we will gain.” She rubbed her hand
down the frame of her harp. “I’m glad that our Lord Komawara is
not among them.”

Kitsura nodded and then she smiled. “I’ve grown quite

fond of him. It seems a very long time since we met at the
Emperor’s celebration.“

Lady Okara shifted her pillows and reached for her wine. “He
seemed so young then.” She shook her head sadly. “It is difficult
to believe this Lord Komawara is the same young man. He has
become very grim.”

The conversation faltered again and finally Kitsura and Nishima
bade their good nights and left Lady Okara in her cabin. The barge
they traveled on now was markedly different from the one that had
carried them north. This one was larger and far more elegant—not
a cargo-carrier with a few cabins aft but a boat designed for
passengers from Wa’s wealthier class.

At the door to Nishima’s cabin they hesitated to say goodnight and
when neither of them seemed ready to sleep, Kitsura was invited
in. Nishima’s cabin was lit by a single hanging lamp which cast a
warm glow on the rich woods of the walls and beams. Being in the
stern the cabin had actual windows rather than ports, though these
were all shuttered but one. Spread over the straw mats were two
thick wool carpets made by the tribes. Nishima always tried to bear
in mind something the Ka-lam had said about the tribal
people—they did not all support the Khan. In her mind her rugs
were made by those tribes that hid themselves from this new
chieftain.

“Oh, Nishi-sum,” Kitsura said to an offer of wine. “I have had
enough for one evening.”

They sank onto cushions and back into silence. The coolness of
the night was just starting to find its way into the cabin, so Nishima
called a maid and asked for a charcoal burner.

Kitsura held her hands close to the heat when it came. “It is a sign
of spring, Nishi-sum. The heat from this burner is not immediately
stolen by the darkness. It may even warm the cabin.” She flashed
her incomparable smile.

Nishima nodded. Kitsura was not one to remain sad, no matter
what the circumstances, and she could never bear to see her
cousin anything but cheerful. But Nishima could not pretend
happiness; any smile she summoned would be entirely artificial.
Kitsura fell silent for a few seconds before she spoke again.

“Do you wonder what part Jaku played in the sudden

decision to raise an Imperial Army? He claims it was the influence
of his friends at court, but…“

Nishima opened her fan and looked at the pattern of plum trees in
blossom. “I think our test told the truth, Kitsu-sum: he is no longer
in favor at court. I do not think Jaku would align himself so closely
with my father if he were at all concerned with the Emperor and
what he might think. No, he is ever the opportunist—when the
Emperor decided to raise an army to protect himself from any
designs the Shonto might have, General Jaku stepped to the fore
and claimed credit. I do not trust him, Kitsu-sum. I do not trust him
at all.”

Kitsura shrugged. “Still, he is a handsome man…”

“You are impossible.” Nishima said, and though her tone was
meant to be mock dismay she did not quite carry it off. “Jaku Katta
is so embroiled in plots that it is a wonder he knows who to tell
what lies to.‘’

Kitsura smiled tightly. “We all plot, cousin. For some reason those
of us from older families think we have a right to plot, while those
who have only recently risen step beyond social conventions when
they do the same.” She shrugged.

Nishima did not know what to answer. “I made the mistake of
allowing myself to be drawn by his appearance, Kitsu-sum, but I
was acting in a very foolish manner.”

Kitsura regarded her cousin, who stared at the pattern on the
charcoal burner. “You have not developed another interest, have
you, cousin?”

Nishima glanced up, then went back to her examination of the
burner. “No, of course not. I simply feel that I was foolish in my
regard for Jaku Katta.”

“Huh.” Kitsura produced a brush and began to comb out her long
hair. “We will pass the fane of the Lovers again—in a few days if
we do not pause. A fascinating thing, don’t you think? It would be
interesting to know more. I regret that I did not look into the
archives while we were in Seh.”

Nishima carefully smoothed a crease in her robe. “Yes, it would
have been intriguing, I’m sure.”

The silence returned. The sounds of water lapping and bubbling
past the hull. A tap sounded on the door, making them both start.

“Please, enter.” Nishima said.

Shimeko’s face appeared as the door opened. She bowed quickly.
“Brother Shuyun calls, Lady Nishima.”

Nishima was not quite able to hide her pleasure at this news. “Ahh.
Please, ask him to join us.”

Kitsura nodded to her companion and started to rise. “I must be
going, cousin.”

“Kitsu-sum, I’m sure Brother Shuyun would welcome your
presence.”

As she said this, the door swung open and Shuyun stepped past a
bowing Shimeko. Kneeling, Shuyun bowed and as he did so
Nishima noticed Shimeko perform a sign to Botahara as she pulled
the door closed.

Kitsura and Nishima nodded to the monk.

“It is kind of you to visit, Brother. I am having difficulty convincing
Kitsura-sum to stay…”

Kitsura favored them both with her most disarming smile. “Please,
cousin, Brother Shuyun, I have other matters calling me. I regret
missing your company,” she said to Shuyun, then nodded again. “If
your duties allow you time for gü, Brother, I would be delighted to
have your company.” She nodded to Nishima. “Cousin.” Kitsura
slipped out, opening the door herself and giving a final smile as
she left.

The sounds of the river craft’s progress seemed to fill the cabin.

“I received a message from Lady Okara.” Shuyun said quietly.
“She was concerned that the news from Seh had afFected both
you and Lady Kitsura most adversely. I came to inquire of your
well-being.”

“You are kind, Shuyun-sum, and Lady Okara is most considerate.”
She gestured to the windows. “It is difficult to remain tranquil when
war has returned to Wa. So many men remained in Rhojo-ma. It is
a tragedy, certainly. To provide us with a handful of days…” She
shook her head. “It is like the coming of the plague. You look
around you and ask ‘who will live and who will die’? I’m certain it
haunts everyone equally.” She looked up and tried to smile. “Do
not be overly concerned, Brother, the shock of it
beginning—becoming real, will soon wear off.” Shuyun nodded. “It
is a sad truth, Lady Nishima. The

shock of war wears off. Perhaps if it did not, fewer wars would be
undertaken.“

A look of pain flickered across Nishima’s face, but she recovered
her poise immediately.

“And you Shuyun-sum, how do you fare, now that war is with us?”

Shuyun thought for a moment. “When I traveled in the desert, the
monk I met there… he said that war brings no soul to perfection.
The suffering to come—it is difficult to imagine that it is the karma
of so many to suffer this way.” He fell silent, looking toward the
stern windows.

“I am a follower of Botahara, yet my Order has instructed me to
support Lord Shonto in all of his endeavors—for the good of the
Brotherhood which preserves the teaching of Botahara. So I go to
war also.” He looked up and met Nishima’s eyes. “It is not the
place of a Spiritual Advisor to burden his charges with his own
conflicts. I apologize.” He bowed low.

Nishima reached out and caught his sleeve as he bowed. “Shuyun-
sum, please, do not apologize. Outside of this room I must be
Lady Nishima Fanisan Shonto—I have great obligations to my
uncle and our House. I confess that I find this role taxes me to my
limit at times. If I did not have some place and someone with
whom I could speak openly…” She shrugged. “Your role is as
difficult, I’m sure. It seems to be true that our lives are fraught with
contradictions and I am honored that you would speak of these to
me.” She gestured with a sweep of her sleeve. “This room feels
like a haven in which I do not have to play out my role of Lady of a
great House. In truth, Shuyun-sum, I feel less need for a Spiritual
Advisor and more need for a friend.”

She took his hand. “What happens in this room is between us and
no one else. I would not speak of it even to my liege-lord. Be at
your ease, Shuyun-sum. It is my hope that here the Lady and the
Advisor may be only Nishi-sum and Shuyun-sum. Nothing else.”
She tugged at his hand as if she would draw him closer and he
seemed to become stiff and awkward.

“It is difficult, Lady Nishima,” he said formally, “to forget that I am a
Brother.” Nishima stared into his eyes until he looked away. “It

is not easy to forget that I am the daughter of two great Houses. I
have been trained to always be thus.“ She bowed formally,
returning to a kneeling position, her posture relaxed but erect. The
look on her face spoke of lack of involvement with the world around
her—the pose of the sophisticated aristocrat. Then she broke into
a smile.

“And you, my friend, are always so.” She performed a perfect
imitation of a Botanist double bow and then returned to the
kneeling position, hands on her thighs, her face an impenetrable
mask of serenity. She let out a long controlled breath as though
she would enter a meditative state.

So perfect was her imitation that Shuyun was at first shocked and
then he broke into a grin.

“There!” Nishima said in triumph. She moved quickly to his side,
still facing him. “I have just seen the true Shuyun-sum.” She took
his hands and his smile was gone as quickly as it had come.
“Please, do not disappear again,” she said in a small voice.

Shuyun’s face almost seemed to flicker like a candle, wavering
between the mask of a Botahist Brother and the expressive face of
the young man that Nishima had just caught a glimpse of.

“This discomfort you feel in the presence of women, Shuyun-sum,
it simply has to be overcome.”

He started to protest, but before words formed she reached out
and pushed him, almost toppling him over.

“Ann, a point of resistance! Your teachers would be most
disappointed.” She slipped into his arms and buried her face in his
neck. “This is the comfort I need. The comfort of a friend,” she
whispered. “And you, Shuyun-sum, must learn comfort in the
company of women. I will be your teacher in this.”

They stayed thus for a moment and then Nishima spoke again.
“Breathe as I do,” and they went through a breathing exercise
designed to relax the muscles.

“The night we spent together—I could feel your resistance, as I
can feel it now.‘’ She pushed against him with her body and again
there was a second of resistance. Pulling away, she stood quickly
and blew out the hanging lamp. She took his hands then in the
dark, a hint of light

coming in the stern windows. “Promise me you will not leave?”

Shuyun hesitated and she squeezed his hands until he nodded.
She disappeared into another part of the cabin and returned almost
immediately. In the dim light she rearranged the cushions and
spread a thick quilt over them. She turned to Shuyun who sat like a
stone. “Lady Nishima, I…”

She took both his hands again. “There is no Lady Nishima present
and all Spiritual Advisors are henceforth banned from my
chambers. You, Shuyun-sum, are welcomed.”

He followed as she gently pulled until he was in the hastily made
bed. She joined him, pulling the quilt over them both. Taking his
hands between her own she said, “The object of tonight’s lesson is
to attain a state of tranquillity in the presence of a woman.” She
reached out and squeezed the muscle in his shoulder which was a
knot of tension. “You must begin by relaxation of the muscles. You
do know how to do this?”

He nodded.

“Begin,” she instructed and felt him control his -breathing, sinking
into a meditative state. After a few moments she pushed herself
into his arms again. She was wearing only a single robe of the
thinnest silk and when Nishima came close to him she felt the
tension return. “Do not let my presence destroy your tranquillity,
Shuyun-sum,” she whispered in his ear. “I intend to let your
presence enhance my tranquillity.” She took a long deep breath
and released it like a shudder. “Your arms are around me, but your
hands float in the air. You cannot possibly be relaxed like this…
That is better.”

They lay close in the dark for a long time, neither speaking nor
moving. Then Shuyun felt soft lips kiss his neck and Nishima
whispered in his ear, her words as soft as a sigh.

“We come soon to the Faceless Lovers.”

He nodded.

“Lord Botahara knew women?”

He nodded again, more slowly.

“And yet he attained perfection… Meditate upon that if you will not
sleep.” She kissed his neck again, then he felt her breathe herself
to sleep.

Shuyun lay awake for some time thinking of the image carved into
the wall of Denji Gorge and then he, too, forced himself into sleep.

Later Nishima awoke, feeling Shuyun’s warmth close to her. They
were of a size in height, but the years of training had given his
muscles a tone that could not be equaled and yet he did not have
the massive physique of the kick boxers she had seen. She turned
carefully, trying not to wake him but was unsuccessful. Gently
pushing her back into his chest, she felt him stir.

“Shh, sleep,” she whispered. She took his hand in the dark and
kissed it softly. Holding it for a moment as though making a
decision, she guided his hand through her open robe to her breast
then held it there firmly. Stifling a small moan, she began a
breathing exercise. That is enough for this lesson, she thought, I
will certainly frighten him away. Thinking this she pressed his hand
tighter. The burbling of the boat passing through calm water was
like the music of delight itself, joyous, irrepressible.

When the watch changed, Nishima awoke again, warm, languid.
Shuyun’s hand still caressed her breast and she felt her entire
body flash with heat, her breathing became urgent. She started to
control this but then felt Shuyun wake in response to her own state.
His hand moved on her breast and she turned toward him,
shrugging her arm out of the sleeve of her robe.

Pushing as close to him as was humanly possible, she began
kissing his neck, then his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He
reacted by pulling her closer, so close that she could not move.

“Nishi-sum… I cannot…” He started to pull away, but she would not
release him.

“No, Shuyun-sum, please… stay a while. I will feel I have acted
terribly if you go. I will never forgive myself.”

He stopped trying to pull away and they lay rocking each other
gently until both found their breath again. Nishima made no attempt
to replace her robe but lay in the circle of Shuyun’s warmth.

He ran his fingers slowly up her spine and she found herself
focusing on this touch as if nothing else in the world mattered. Heat
seemed to radiate from his hand.

Slowly his fingers went down her back and she willed him not to
stop. Pushing his palm flat against the base of her spine, she felt
the chi flow, like a glowing warmth, like a tiny branch of lightning.

And then the chi flowed out from his hand and Nishima felt it touch
the center of her desire. She could not catch her breath. She
smothered a moan, fighting not to let him know what she was
feeling. As though it had a will of its own, she felt her body push
closer to Shuyun’s. The lightning branched from his hand.

Burying her face in Shuyun’s chest Nishima moaned uncontrollably.
She began to convulse, his hand almost unbearably hot on her
back. Shuddering for what seemed like moments on end Nishima
finally lay, unmoving, in Shuyun’s arms.

Botahara save me, she thought, did he feel nothing? Could I have
felt the skies open while he felt nothing?

Before the darkness disappeared, Shuyun slipped out onto the
deck, finding himself a place to sit among the cargo. He had left
Nishima sleeping, using his Botahist training to move silently. And
now the cold air and infinite night were an almost painful contrast to
the warmth of Nishima’s cabin, the warmth of her presence.

Shuyun began a silent prayer for forgiveness but lost the thread of
it almost immediately. What is to become of me? he wondered.
For what I have done I should be stripped of my sash and pendant
and turned out of my Order. He brought a lifetime of training to
bear on the chaos he felt within, but the turmoil resisted the attempt
to impose order.

Shuyun sat as though in meditation, but in fact his mind was filled
with an image of the Lovers in Denji Gorge—features beginning to
appear on the two faces. This was mixed with a strong memory of
Nishima in his arms, lost in a pleasure so overwhelming that it was
like a moment of great discovery.

Twenty-nine

In the midst of the vast sprawl of the barbarian encampment a
single plum tree had blossomed, appearing like a lone act of
defiance, a statement poetic in its purity. The cloud of white
blossoms floated just above the tents and teaming thousands as
though the land itself had unfurled its standard.

It was early morning on the second day of the siege of Rhojo-ma,
though not an arrow had been loosed nor a sword drawn other than
to test its edge. A fast boat sailed along the lake’s northern shore
out of range of barbarian bows. Toshaki Shinga wished he were in
that boat himself. He desperately wanted to look into the faces of
his enemy, see them for what they were, though he could not
explain this impulse.

The barbarian rafts lined the shore and the men of Seh waited. The
wind was not terribly strong, but it would gather its reserves
intermittently and send a great gust down the lake and this might be
what was stopping the expected attack. They wait for the Plum
Blossom Winds, was the phrase Toshaki heard again and again; it
was said with a note of scorn.

The men who sailed along the shore had reported that there were
pirates in number among the barbarian warriors. It was an
indication that the barbarians were capable of better preparation
than the men of Seh had wanted to believe—the second time the
barbarians had been underestimated. Toshaki wondered about this
Khan—where did he come from and how had he gathered

so many?

A young man recently given an officer’s rank appeared at the top of
the stairs to the tower from which Toshaki observed the plain. He
bowed quickly.

“Lord Ranan reports that the fleet is in readiness, Sire.”

Toshaki nodded. “We must be patient. The barbarians gather their
nerve slowly.” Looking back out at the enemy’s army, Toshaki said,
“The signals are understood.”

“They are, General.”

“Good.” He nodded a dismissal, and the officer returned the way
he had come.

Horsemen came and went from the barbarian camp, usually in
patrols of some size. No doubt they had realized by now that the
army of Seh had retreated south. And how many do they think
remain in Rhojo-ma? Toshaki asked himself. The men in the city
had been entirely true to their Scarecrow Army ruse and perhaps
that explained some of the hesitation the barbarians were showing.

A boat set out from the shore toward the city. Toshaki had to look
twice: a boat! They had found a boat that Shonto’s men had
missed. A flag of truce flew from a staff at the bow and, as it
approached, the general could see that it was manned by
experienced oarsmen. Pirates were among the barbarians, indeed.
Toshaki could see their brightly colored turbans. The enemies of
Wa had formed an alliance of the unholy—not a follower of the
Perfect Master among them.

The city’s own boat changed its course to stand within arrow’s shot
of the pirate’s craft, holding that position until they approached the
walls.

Toshaki turned and yelled for an aid. A young soldier appeared
immediately at the stairhead.

“Go to the signalmen,” the general snapped, “have them signal our
patrol boat. If this strange craft attempts to round the city, they
must take it at all costs.”

By the gods, Toshaki thought, we can’t have them seeing
everything we prepare.

But the boat made no attempt to round Rhojo-ma, continuing
toward the tower Toshaki had made his command position.
Realizing what they did, the lord made his way down the flights of
stairs to the top of the wall.

As the boat pulled closer, Toshaki could see a single man sitting in
the bow not handling an oar. The lord squinted.

“That man in the bow,” Toshaki said to a young bowman standing
at hand, “can you see him?”

The bowman focused for a second. “I can, Sire.”

“Is he a barbarian?”

The younger man shook his head. “He is not, Sire, nor is he a
pirate. He is dressed as a man of Seh might dress.”

Toshaki took hold of the stone wall, leaning out over the water. A
gust of wind pushed the bow of the boat off, and the steersman
fought to put them back on course. Five strokes closer, then ten. A
muttering began down the wall and progressed from man to man.
Toshaki turned to his aid.

“Some say this is Lord Kintari, General.”

Toshaki turned back to the scene before him. By Bo-tahara, it
could be. The general thought Shonto had done away with the
Kintari clan.

Lord Ranan appeared at his elbow followed by several other senior
lords. “Lord Kintari,” Ranan said, “reincarnated as himself. May
Botahara be praised.” Even Toshaki smiled at this.

“Reincarnated as a traitor, I think, Sire,” said another and there was
a quiet nodding of heads.

The boat came close enough for shouted speech. The steersman
turned it head to wind and the oarsmen held that position. The man
in the bow stood, and if there were any still unsure of his identity
the doubt was buried now.

“Lords of Seh, I come with a message from the Great Khan of the
tribes.” Kintari paused as if time were needed for his words to be
fully understood. His voice sounded small against the noise of the
wind and the waves lapping the stone wall. Kintari was so close that
Toshaki could see the man’s robe ripple in the breeze, could make
out a strand of hair in a streak across Kintari’s forehead.

“He is without sword,” Ranan said quietly and Toshaki nodded.

“Your numbers are known to the Great Khan, my

lords. You cannot hope to stand against the force of the tribes.
What will you gain by this futile defense? Did your Yamaku
Emperor send an army to protect Seh? You give up your lives for
an Empire that will not even notice you have done so.“ He paused
again.

“The Yamaku care only for their own ascendancy. They are not
Emperors of Wa—they do not govern, they divide the Empire
against itself and rob from all. You will give up your lives for blood-
suckers?” His voice rose on the last word, and it echoed from the
buildings.

“I know you, lords of Seh. You are brave men—all of you—but your
sense of duty is misplaced. The Khan has come to bring down the
Yamaku, not to destroy Wa. The Khan is a man of greatness,
lords—greatness the like of which we have not seen since
Emperor Jirri rode upon this very plain.

“You are invited to feast with the Khan, lords. You may know for
yourselves. The Yamaku have bled Seh for ten years. The Khan
will bring us peace and wealth as we have never known. Those
who ride with him will be great men in the Empire to be. Consider
this army.” He pointed to the encampment. “Among one hundred
thousand only the Khan and a handful of others are men of culture.
When the Yamaku are brought down, the Khan will need men of
skill and knowledge to govern the new Empire. If you are those
men, how can it not be an Empire of justice and culture?

“A feast, lords, not a trap—for you have already trapped
yourselves. What word shall I take back to the Great Khan?”

There was a second’s hesitation as men looked from one to
another, questions in their eyes.

“Bowman,” Toshaki Shinga said quietly.

“Sire?”

“Silence that traitor.”

An arrow flashed, appearing in Kintari’s heart as though it had
sprung from there. The lord did not move to clutch his pain but
slowly toppled over the side like a falling tree. The pirates set to
their oars in a frenzy, pulling to get beyond bow range, but no
arrows fell among them.

Lord Kintari was left bobbing, facedown, in the small

waves that broke the surface of the lake. The pirate’s craft, under
its flag of truce, raced to the far shore where the oarsmen ran it up
on the bank as though arrows were aimed at their hearts.

Toshaki looked down at the floating lord. There was silence on the
wall.

“It was a better death than he deserved,” Lord Ranan said so that
all might hear, ‘ ’but it was the best that could be managed.“ He
bowed to Toshaki and nodded to the bowman, then turned and
started back to his duties.

A shout echoed across the lake, as powerful as distant thunder,
and Toshaki looked up to see rafts being pushed out onto the
waters.

“Give the signals,” Toshaki said calmly to his aide. “It begins.”

Along the wall he saw men make signs to Botahara and then, in a
warrior’s ritual, they tightened their helmet

cords.

Toshaki loosened his sword in its scabbard and mounted the stairs
to his tower, pulling his helmet tight as he did so. There would soon
be little he could do, but he would try to give some direction to the
defense while it was still possible.

There must not have been enough pirates to man all the rafts, for
many were paddled by barbarians under the tutelage of screaming,
gesturing pirates. On at least one raft Toshaki saw a fight
underway, swords flashing.

Fools, the lord thought, come a little further.

The vast flotilla moved slowly toward Rhojo-ma, the cumbersome
rafts colliding and hampering each other. Against all efforts the
crosswind blew them off to the west and soon they were strung
out, paddling into the wind and trying to make their way crabwise
toward the walls.

Toshaki almost laughed. In an attempt to send the greatest number
of men against the city, the barbarian chieftains had built too many
rafts and now they became their own enemy. At least one raft had
broken up, leaving terrified tribesmen clinging to the logs, armor
trying to drag them under.

Boats appeared beyond the east wall of the city, towing makeshift
rafts piled with shattered furniture and straw

floor mats. The men of Seh were not strangers to the water and
their operation was executed with a precision that would have
made a naval officer proud. Positioning their craft quickly upwind of
the enemy, the men of Seh fired the rafts and cut them free.

Toshaki hit the stone with his fist. The barbarians on the windward
rafts saw what bore down on them and stopped paddling, which
sent their craft into the rafts behind.

A gust of wind fanned the fires into hot blazes and pressed the fire
rafts down on their victims. The barbarian flotilla lost all way then as
men on the windward craft jumped to the rafts behind. The fire
touched the first barbarian raft and flaming straw started to blow
free.

Toshaki saw men in flaming clothes and men falling into the waters
to slip beneath the surface with barely a struggle. The fleet blew
east now, all chance of making the walls of Rhojo-ma gone.

Someone pounded up the steps behind him and an out of breath
Lord Ranan appeared at his side.

“Ah, Admiral Ranan. Your squadron has done well.”

“Who thought it would become a naval battle, General?” Ranan
said with obvious satisfaction. “And the men of the desert make
poor sailors.” A bitter laugh forced its way out from behind his
face-mask.

The remains of the barbarian flotilla ended up on the west shore of
the lake. Most of the logs were new cut and too full of spring sap to
burn, so the fire rafts did less damage than one might have hoped.

“We have given Lord Shonto the gift of another day at least,” Lord
Ranan said. “May his army swell by a thousand men.”

Toshaki turned to his aide. “Order our patrol out again. I want to
know everything the barbarians do.”

Ranan leaned his back to the wall and opened his face-mask. “I
wonder what they will do? Is it possible they might dare this
again?”

Toshaki shrugged. “We will soon have the measure of this Great
Khan. If he cannot take an almost undefended city in a few days,
he will be no match for Shonto Mo-toru. The great lord is a gü
player of some fame. He will

never let this upstart catch him where mere force of numbers can
win the day.“

He turned back to the north. In the midst of the barbarian army the
plum tree swayed and released a flurry of petals to the wind.

Thirty

The flotilla carrying Lord Shonto’s army south sailed by night,
trailing a wake of terrible destruction. Word had spread quickly
down the canal and the people of Wa fled before Shonto’s fleet as
though it were the barbarian army itself. In places the canal choked
with the boats of refugees and when this slowed the progress of
the flotilla, soldiers were sent ahead to clear the way. Everyone in
the flotilla had seen the results of this earlier in the evening. They
had passed the still smoldering hulks of half a hundred craft,
stranded on the canal banks.

I feel as though we follow on the heels of war, not precede it,
Brother Sotura thought. He stood at the aft rail watching the
following-wave pull a ribbon of moonlight along their wake. Just at
dusk he had heard the sound of a flight of cranes passing over and
it had saddened him in a way he could not control.

It was a night of great beauty. The Plum Blossom Wind pushed the
river craft along the waterway like a gentle, guiding hand, and the
scent of budding trees and opening flowers perfumed the air. In so
steady a wind and a section of canal free of hidden bars, the
sailors on watch had little to do. A charcoal fire smoldered
amidships and the sailors cooked and brewed cha and lounged
about the deck talking quietly, awaiting their turn as lookout or at the
steering oar.

A sailor approached Sotura, offering the senior Brother a bowl of
cha which he accepted with a nod. He sipped cha and watched the
night landscape slip by. The constellation of the Two-Headed
Dragon appeared above the calypta trees lining the bank, and the
breeze murmured in the branches. It was night rich in beauty.

Steps approached, not the barefoot slap of a sailor, but a studied
gait. Sotura turned and saw a woman walking

toward him. She seemed at first bent and tired, but the Botahist
Master could see that this was not a statement of truth: she was
neither. The moonlight outlined the familiar shape of a square jaw.

“Sister Morima,” Sotura said quietly. He bowed. “I am honored to
find myself traveling in your company.”

She was dressed in the yellow robe and purple sash of her Order
though over that she wore shapeless robes of gray and brown, her
head wrapped in a shawl. She nodded in return and leaned against
the rail as though she had just expended great effort.

Sotura thought she was thinner than when he had last seen her—at
Jinjoh Monastery where she had come for the opening of the
scrolls. To an untrained eye, her clothing would have hidden this
change.

“You keep close watch on your prote”ge’t Brother Sotura, one
would think his judgment was in question.“

It was an insulting statement and doubly so, for the nun had shown
the worst manners, refusing to respond to his polite greeting.

“Shuyun-sum seems to be watched by many, Sister, which is the
true question.”

“Huh,” Sister Morima blew the syllable out like a sharp exhalation.
“True questions,” she mused. “Tell me, Brother, do you not have
true questions now that the Teacher has arrived and is not among
your senior Brethren?”

Sotura turned and looked back at the boat’s wake. “You listen to
rumors, Sister. I am surprised.”

“The blossoms were seen, Brother,” Morima hissed in a low
whisper, “touched by my own Sisters. Touched! Do not play the
fool with me, Senior Brother Sotura.”

He shrugged. “Believe as you will, Sister.”

“That is die conclusion I’m coming to, Brother.” She fell silent then,
and only the wash of boat slipping through water was heard.

Sotura looked over at the steersman, but the man was too far off to
hear and too well mannered to notice.

“Do you wonder, Brother, who Shuyun-sum was in his past
incarnation? A child of such accomplishment was not a merchant
or a lord. It is not possible.”

Sotura shrugged. “As you are aware, we cannot always know.”

“With the unaccomplished, perhaps,” Morima answered but carried
the thought no further. She turned also, leaning over the rail and
joining her hands. “It must be difficult for you, Sotura-sum; the
blossoming of the Udumbara, Sacred Scrolls that are missing or
worse, the coming of the Teacher you cannot find, and a young
protege1 with an ear for the truth.” She paused looking down into
the dark water. “Lies cannot come easily, even to the seniors of
your Order. What will you say when Shuyun-sum asks of these
things?”

Sotura stood away from the rail so that he looked down at the
woman. “It is rumored, Sister,” he said icily, “that you have had a
crisis of faith. I will pray to Bota-hara to guide you.” A stiff bow and
he was gone, leaving Morima at the rail.

The monk made his way to the bow where he sat in the lee of the
gunnel. It was as far forward as he could go and yet he still felt the
lies that pursued him close behind.

Thirty-one

The entire line had come to a halt for perhaps the hundredth time
that day. Lord Shonto Shokan looked down the draw at the
horsemen strung out behind him. Like their lord, they had long
since dismounted to lead their horses. Shokan stepped to the right
for a better view and plunged through the softening crust up to mid-
thigh. He cursed.

They were completely surrounded by mountains now, above the
snow line and into an area that, each afternoon, became truly
frightening. The guides had signaled a stop and gone ahead to
assess the danger. They had lost thirty men to avalanches already
and Shokan wanted to lose no more. Of course, this was quickly
becoming a moot point. Could they go ahead at all? That was the
question they asked now.

Willing himself lighter, Shokan tried to pull his leg free and step
back onto the crust. His other leg broke through and he sat down,
sinking to his waist. He cursed again and then laughed.

The night before they had debated leaving the horses, hoping men
could win through where horses couldn’t. With care, men could
travel in the mornings when the surface of the snow was still frozen
from the bitter cold of the mountain nights.

A boy ran lightly up the line of men, earning Shokan’s envy. When
we have no more food, perhaps we will all run as lightly as this one,
Shokan thought. The child dropped to his knees on the crust
before his lord and bowed. Shokan nodded for him to speak.

“Sire, Lord Jima’s men have reached the end of our line, but the
snows caught seven and swept them into the gorge.”

Shokan made a sign to Botahara. “Can they go on?”

The boy hesitated. “Lord Jima says they are prepared to proceed,
Sire.”

Shokan nodded. This might be as far as they went this day though
it was barely midday. With some effort he stood and looked up the
draw. There were perhaps twenty men above him and then the
track of the guides disappearing over the curve of the endless
snows. Movement caught his eye and he turned quickly. Yes! he
was certain this time.

“I saw it, also, Sire,” the boy said, his tone tentative. He had just
spoken to the great lord without being requested to do so.

Shokan did not seem to notice. He pointed up at a ridge line above
them to the south. “There?”

“Yes, Lord Shonto.”

“Huh.” They had started appearing on and off two days before. It
was considered good luck to see one of the Mountain People, so
men had begun keeping a lookout. Down the line he saw others
pointing.

Turning back, he looked up the slope. Certainly it is not possible,
he thought, we will have to leave armor and all the horses behind.
He looked at his stallion, the horse he had brought from Seh, and
shook his head sadly. They would butcher the horses for all the
meat they could carry; there was no other choice. He smiled at the
child.

“Tell Lord Jima that I await word from the guides. We will not move
until then.‘’

The boy bowed low, rose, and jogged off. Thirty paces away, he
plunged through the snows up to his chest and had to be rescued
by a wallowing rider.

Thirty-two

The ruin of a treed hillside Wounds the heart. Plum Blossom
Winds Wltisper across still water. Spring’s gentle arrival Lifts the
eternal spirit

Lord Akima

Lord Ranan and Lord Akima stood at the wall on the city’s eastern
extremity and watched the building of a floating bridge. The
barbarian army had spent a day skidding logs from the western
end of the lake, where they had been blown after the first failed
attack. The arrival of the Plum Blossom Winds had precipitated this
tactic, and the men of Rhojo-ma looked on with something
approaching approval: it is what they would have done in the
barbarians’ place. With the breeze at the barbarian army’s back, it
would be impossible for the men of Seh to position fire rafts
upwind.

The floating bridge grew by the hour, reaching out toward the walls
of Rhojo-ma. The last sections of the bridge were being readied
near shore. When done, these final sections would be easily
floated into place, connecting the shore to the wall of Rhojo-ma
with a causeway wide enough to allow fifty men abreast. It was only
a question of when this would be done.

“There are too many sections, look.” Lord Akima pointed to the
north and south of the floating bridge where work was going on at
an astonishing pace.

Lord Ranan watched the activity briefly and then nodded. Teams of
horses kept arriving with planks torn, no doubt, from nearby barns
and houses. These were being

used to tie the bridge together and provide a relatively even footing
for the attackers. “They must plan to make the bridge wider at this
end. I would do the same.” It was the ultimate approval of anything
the barbarians did: / would do the same.

Akima looked over his shoulder at the position of the sun. “They
might finish while there is still light.”

“But they will not attack until dawn—when we will have the sun in
our eyes. That would be my choice.”

Akima nodded.

Most of the men who remained in Rhojo-ma were concentrated on
the defense of the city’s eastern end now, drawing them away from
the more easily defended Governor’s Palace and inner city. Lines
of retreat to the western end had been prepared through the
city—bridges destroyed, streets blocked. Only a man who knew
the route could move quickly from east to west and that route was
the most easily defended. Even so, the men of Seh were
preparing to hold the city’s eastern end for as long as possible.

Lord Ranan bowed suddenly. “Please excuse me, Lord Akima, I
have matters that must be attended to.”

Akima bowed and watched the man go. “How the great have
fallen,” Akima said to himself. Ten years earlier the Ranan had
been the virtual rulers of Seh— Imperial Governors generation
after generation. And now here was the senior lord of that
House—a general at the fall of Seh’s capital.

How we pay for our mistakes, the old man thought and turned back
to the eastern shore for a final look before attending to his own
duties.

The sound of the barbarian flute-pipes echoed across the water in
the night. It was a melancholy air played in the strange scale of the
desert tribes and it did nothing to raise the spirits of the men in the
city. A night attack was unlikely but not impossible, so large
numbers of men stood watch and others stayed in the recently
abandoned buildings nearby.

Boats had been sent out from the city to patrol the lake to be sure
the barbarians did not move their bridge in the dark. An attack at
first light on some other quarter of the

city would be a disaster. The men of Seh were too few to be
spread around Rhojo-ma.

Other boats were readied after the moon set, but they had their
own purpose. Men, armed and armored, went aboard these boats
in number. In complete silence they pushed off, setting course by
stars and the barbarian fires on the shore. The light evening breeze
bore them along, barely rippling the sails as they tacked. It was a
difficult exercise, for the boats could risk no lamps, so there was a
very real danger of being separated or colliding.

Fires set in sand burned at intervals along the floating bridge, and
they illuminated the span from one end to the other.

A torch on the wall of the city was extinguished, and the boats
turned toward the agreed upon fire on the bridge. There was not
enough wind to give them speed, so the helmsmen aimed the
boats directly at the floating span and ran their bows up on it,
snapping anchor lines in the process.

A shout went up immediately from the barbarian guards, and the
sound of swords shattered the peaceful evening and stilled the
playing of flutes. Torches came to life among the attackers in an
attempt to fire the bridge planking.

Lord Ranan reached the top of the wall and found Ak-ima and
Toshaki there ahead of him.

“It does not burn,” Ranan said.

The noise was fierce now and men appeared at all the stairways,
believing the siege had begun. In the light of the fires, barbarians
could be seen pouring out along the floating causeway. Torches
were kicked into the water though here and there the planking
burned feebly.

Out beyond the point where the attack had been aimed, a watch
fire burst apart and men could be seen spreading the burning
wood across the float. Suddenly there was a tearing sound and the
outer watch fires began to drift toward the walls of Rhojo-ma.

“They have broken it!” Akima said. “Look!”

A cheer went up from the walls of the city, but the sound of swords
continued. Bowmen strung their weapons then, ready for a section
of the bridge to come covered in barbarians and hard-pressed
warriors of Seh. So

slowly did the section of bridge move that men’s arms began to
grow tired holding arrows at the ready.

The sound of clashing swords stopped abruptly and the shouting
of the barbarians fell silent also. On the section of bridge that had
been broken free, flames began to spread as the dry planking
caught. It drifted on like that toward the wall of the city, a long torch
illuminating the area for more than a rih. Barbarians standing on the
end of the now truncated bridge could be seen clearly in the
orange light. A small boat under sail passed by the burning raft—a
patrol boat, no doubt looking for survivors.

The men of Seh watched as the burning hulk began to break up as
it drifted near the city. Signs were made to Botahara. The first
defenders had died, and the attack slowed by half a day.

Morning came, a clear spring day. Another tree had blossomed on
the hillside north of Rhojo-ma. General Toshaki stood at the wall,
looking at the scene. He tried not to think of the funeral barge that
had born his lord across the lake only a few days earlier, for it had
been white with blossoms also.

The sound of the barbarian army preparing their siege echoed
across the lake, ruining the perfect stillness. It would be only a few
hours now. Toshaki loosed his sword in its scabbard for the
hundredth time. The men on the wall around him were silent. There
was no need to discuss plans and strategy—their intent was not
that complicated.

Captain Rohku stood on a hill south of Seh, hidden by brush and
trees that had not been taken by the barbarians for their great
floating bridge. He wondered how he had been chosen for the
function he now performed. Perhaps being the first to report the
arrival of Jaku Katta had started it. Rohku knew that events of even
less significance had set men off on a life’s endeavor. Whatever it
was, the young captain had become the watcher—the witness.

It had been Rohku who had hidden on the ledge and watched the
army of the desert pass. Having reported all he had learned from
that to Rhojo-ma and sent reports on to Lord Shonto, he had been
given sealed orders. And

now he and a few of his company were to be witnesses to the fall
of Seh’s capital. No doubt what he saw would tell Shonto and his
staff much about the barbarian army and its leaders, but Rohku did
not relish the duty. As foolish as he thought the lords of Seh were,
he did not want to watch them die.

Much had happened in the dark the previous night though it had
been difficult to know what. The men of Seh had obviously staged
an attack on the bridge and cut a section of it free, setting it to the
torch. Rohku had watched the flaming raft as it spun slowly,
breaking up before it reached the wall of the city. It was impossible
to tell what had happened to the men of Seh. They had seen only
barbarian warriors in the light from the burning bridge section which
had led to much speculation. His companions had finally agreed
that most or all of the men from Rhojo-ma had escaped in boats,
but Rohku was sure they didn’t really believe this. The attackers
from the city, the captain thought, lay on the bottom of the spring
cold lake, weighted there by their armor for all time—may Botahara
protect their souls.

The last section of the span that would connect the barbarian army
with the walls of the island city had been warped out to the bridge’s
far end where preparations were being made to move it into its
final position. The Shonto guard looked around to make sure his
men watched the woods behind and not the drama that unfolded
on the lake.

A guard appeared at Rohku’s side just as he turned back to his
duty.

“Another barbarian patrol passes to the west. They should appear
below us.” He waved off to their left.

Rohku nodded. Barbarians were exploring the surrounding
countryside with great determination and this resolve was showing
occasional results. More than one patrol returned with some
hapless resident of Wa in their midst. Not everyone had left quickly
enough. By now the Khan would know where Shonto’s army had
gone.

The barbarian patrol appeared as had been predicted— this one
without captives. Watching them ride past, Rohku had to admit that
they were fine horsemen. If they

handled the sword and bow as well, they could make a formidable
army.

“Captain,” one of Rohku’s men pointed.

The final section of bridge was beginning to move. Using ropes
and poles, the pirates and barbarians began maneuvering the
makeshift structure into place. With the Plum Blossom Wind still
wafting in from the sea, there was nothing to struggle against but
the inherent momentum of the raft itself, and they had enough men
a thousand times over to deal with that. Slowly it moved, so slowly
there was not a ripple in its wake.

Barbarians holding shields over their heads began to make their
way out to the section’s far end, guarding against a foray by the
men of Seh. Arrows arced out toward the bridge as it came within
range of the strongest archers, but the barbarians knelt down and
shields gave protection.

Looking quickly toward the shore, Rohku saw the banners of the
Khan close to the shore where the bridge began. Warriors in red
were stationed there on horseback, and the Shonto captain
assumed the barbarian chieftain was there, inspiring his warriors to
perform great deeds.

When the bridge was almost under the city walls, a shadow
appeared on the waters like a passing cloud, but it was a cloud of
arrows. Realizing that he held his breath, Rohku tore his eyes away
to be sure his guard watched behind, for he would need to give his
full attention to the battle now so that he could give as complete an
account as possible to Lord Shonto.

As the bridge bumped against the wall, Rohku saw the men of Seh
swarm down the wall on ladders and ropes at the same time as the
vanguard of the barbarian army started across the last section. The
barbarians who guarded the bridge’s end were pushed back
almost immediately, much to Captain Rohku’s satisfaction. Those
will be their strongest fighters, he thought, and yet they could not
stand against the men of Seh.

The barbarian army and the men swarming out of the city met in the
center of the bridge, and a great shout went up from both sides.
The sound of steel ringing on steel echoed across the valley like
the sound of an enormous bell.

r

* * *

Toshaki turned command of the city over to Lord Ak-ima and
grasped a rope, lowering himself quickly down the wall. The
floating bridge heaved as his feet struck, swaying and jerking like
the deck of a ship. Men dropped to the bridge around him; they
were the third wave of men from the city and would replace those
falling where the opposing sides met.

Despite the number of barbarians, the Khan could not bring his
great force to bear, for the causeway to the city would only support
fifty men abreast. The second wave of men from the city had won
another hundred feet, not pushing the great column of tribesmen
back but driving them into the lake and cutting them down where
they stood.

Toshaki turned and made his way among the fallen, the deck slick
with water and blood. He drew his blade as he went, not looking at
the faces of the dead and wounded. He did not want to know who
had fallen. As he came up behind the wall of men fighting, he saw
men of Seh poised, ready to cut as much of the bridge away as
they could if the barbarians began to push them back. It was their
intention to drive the barbarians as close to the shore as could be
done and then cut the bridge away, forcing them to build again.

We are five thousand strong and we will lose five hundred in this
very hour, Toshaki thought, how long can we carry on such a
defense?

Thinking this, he threw himself into the fray, cutting down a
barbarian in a single stroke. After that it was as if he had lost
consciousness—a lifetime of training took hold and he fought on
without his mind grasping what truly occurred.

A barbarian tripped and Toshaki felt his boot take the man in the
ribs, knocking him into the cold waters. He felt a blow to his
shoulder and registered vaguely that he might be wounded. He
slipped and fell hard and found himself jerked to his feet by a
young giant he did not recognize. He fought again.

He fell back to rest, and others took his place. Forcing himself up
before truly rested, Toshaki returned to the battle. Arrows whistled
overhead and suddenly the men of Seh began to win ground again.
He tripped over a

barbarian, dead from an arrow in the throat. The smell of smoke. A
huge warrior knocked him down with a shield, but a man of Seh
stepped in and took the blow while yet another felled the giant.
Those men wore Toshaki colors, the lord realized afterward.

The sound of fire crackling and hissing. Again Toshaki fell to the
rear to rest. The men of Seh were being driven back now. Toshaki
turned to look for his reinforcements and saw the bridge behind
him in flames, beyond the fire men of Seh had severed the span
and maneuvered their section away.

We are cut off, some part of Toshaki’s mind informed him. He
looked back at the battle raging and realized that they were all
exhausted and falling. Forcing himself to rise, the lord moved to
the platform’s edge. He would not chance capture; the waters
could take him but never the barbarians.

A lifetime

To discover a single truth.

A solitary white petal

Drifting on the wind

Comes to rest on my breastplate

More beautiful

Than all the works of man.

Lord Toshaki Shinga

Thirty-three

Brave heart

Contemplating the plum trees blossoming

Against the infinite blue

From “Poems Written in Old Age” Lady Nikko

Along the banks of the Grand Canal willows and ca-lypta trees
began to unfurl tiny, embryonic leaves adding yet another scent to
the complex perfume of spring. Rushes appeared, straight and
green, in the growing shade of the trees, and the banks were newly
grassed and awash in spring flowers.

Shonto sat on a low platform placed on a high point of the bank. A
silk awning in the blue of the Shonto banner protected the platform
and a fence of silk hangings bearing the shinta blossom created an
enclosure, giving the lord privacy in all directions but east, toward
the canal. Boats of armed guards patrolled the water before the
enclosure, forcing all traffic to the opposite side. Other guards
were posted around the enclosure and beyond them another ring
of armed men both on foot and on horseback.

Nishima watched her father as her sampan approached. In the
midst of war he has set himself in a place where he can truly
appreciate the changing season. Her boat hissed to a stop in the
mud, its bow barely on shore, and guards hurried down to pull it up
far enough that disembarking would not be difficult.

Nishima looked up again and saw that her father was deep in
conversation with a senior military aide. She nodded to the guard
who had assisted her and walked a few paces along the grassy
bank looking at the spring

flowers. The last of the snow lilies were spread there in the shade
of a great calypta, but a few days of such warmth and they would
be gone until the next season.

She picked a tiny purple flower not recognized, reminding herself
to ask Lady Okara what it might be. An aide of Kamu’s hurried
down the bank toward her, and she looked up to see Shonto
smiling at her as though they had not met in a long time.

On the platform a cushion had been arranged for her and Nishima
slipped out of her sandals. She bowed to her father and he
surprised her by bowing low in return, a large grin appearing.

“Lady Nishima,” he said in mock formal tones, “your presence
honors me.”

“The honor, Lord Governor, is mine entirely,” she answered.

Shonto waved to a servant. “Governor is no longer a title I claim.
When our esteemed Emperor learns that I have abandoned Seh
and travel south with an army, I will have achieved a new
office—that of Rebel General.”

Nishima’s smile disappeared. “It is a frightening thought, Uncle.”

Shonto continued in the same tone, not showing any of the signs of
distress that his daughter displayed. “Not at all, Nishi-sum. Think of
all the great men of history who have borne this same title:
Yokashima, Tiari, even our beloved Emperor’s own father. My only
concern is that my accomplishments will pale in such esteemed
company.” He reached out and touched her arm. “Do not be of
barren heart, Nishi-sum, the Shonto are in the best of company.”

A servant brought cups and wine, placing them on a small table.
Waving him away before the wine was served, Shonto proceeded
to pour the wine himself, surprising his daughter for the second
time.

“You are in a bright mood today, Uncle. I wish I could feel as light
of heart in our present circumstances.” Nishima started to refuse
the offered wine, as was polite, but Shonto took her hand and
curled the fingers around the cup, squeezing her hand gently. She
laughed.

“Hakata wrote that, as he grew older, spring became more
beautiful and more painful each year. I, personally, have reached
the age where spring is more

beautiful but has not yet begun to cause me too much pain.
Perhaps in a few years you will be able to appreciate the spring as
I do. War cannot be helped now, but there will be beauty in spite of
it. The truly brave soul will find time for beauty in the midst of the
most terrible destruction.“

“Lady Nikko,” Nishima said. “Though I believe she meant that the
truly brave hearts would see beauty at the hour of their death.”

“Poets… why must they all be so dramatic?” Shonto gestured
toward a branch of the plum that grew down to eye level, not an
arm’s length away. “See these blossoms? I have been watching
them all morning. They prepare to open. They gather their resolve
as we speak. Their opening will be an act of singular beauty, more
lovely than the blossoms themselves. In the midst of all that
occurs, we will sit here and observe. It will be a test of the bravery
of your heart.”

Nishima nodded and they both shifted their cushions to face the
emerging flowers. They stayed like that for more than an hour, side
by side: a tall, willowy young woman and the strongly built older
man. Despite this contrast in their appearance, there was little
doubt that they both focused on the same thing.

The plum blossoms unfolded in the sun. “As slowly as the timid
heart,” Lord Shonto whispered at one point. A quote from another
poem and the only words either of them spoke until a flower had
spread its petals like fragile wings. A bee came then and thrust its
head into the flower, emerging covered in pollen.

The two renegade aristocrats turned away then, Nishima holding
back her sleeve as she poured more wine into their cups.

“There is one other matter, Nishi-sum, that I hesitate to speak of.”

Nishima nodded, recognizing seriousness in her father’s tone.

“The river people have a saying: ‘A whisper aboard ship is a shout
upon the land.’ Keeping secrets aboard a boat is a difficult thing.”
Shonto looked down into his cup, turning it slowly, then up at the
plum blossom again.

Nishima nodded, sipping wine into a suddenly dry mouth.

“Brother Shuyun is a magnetic young man, but he is a monk who
has taken a sacred oath. A heart can be broken against more
malleable things, Nishi-sum, I have seen it.”

Nishima gathered her nerve, not quite certain whether she heard
disapproval or concern in her father’s voice. “Satake-sum had
taken this same sacred oath, Uncle, yet he did not live according to
its letter, as we both know.”

Shonto nodded. “He remained a monk despite his independent
spirit. Shuyun-sum—what will become of him?”

“Do you fear to lose your Spiritual Advisor, then?”

Shonto considered this. “Shuyun-sum would always be invaluable,
there is no question of that. I feel little need of a guide to the words
of Botahara—I can read them myself. That is not my concern.

“You are a lady of a Great House, Nishi-sum, and though I have
often spared you the responsibility that comes with your position I
may not be able to continue to do so in the future. This war will
require sacrifices of everyone—perhaps even of you. You may not
be able to choose your own course, Nishi-sum, any more than I
chose the path followed now.”

Nishima nodded stiffly. She looked out over the canal at the trees
blowing in the soft breeze, wafting their spring greens like new
robes. A guard stood up in one of the patrolling boats, looked off
to the far bank. Years ago Nishima had trained herself to remove
such things as guards and walls and strong gates out of any scene
she viewed, but she knew this was only an act of the
imagination—they had not gone away.

She swallowed with difficulty. “Your words are wise, as always,
Uncle. I thank you.” Shonto nodded, half a shrug.

“Uncle, there is something I have not spoken of. Kitsura-sum
asked Jaku Katta if he would have a letter conveyed to her family,
which he agreed to do. Kitsu-sum received word from her family
that this letter arrived. This would seem to indicate…”

Shonto held up his hand. “Kitsura-sum has already informed me of
this. It raises another question of the Guard Commander’s claims.”

Nishima suppressed her annoyance at her cousin’s in-

terference. “I believe Jaku Katta is no longer in favor in the
Emperor’s court, Sire.”

“Huh.” Shonto looked down at his cup. “I agree, daughter, but I am
not sure who this young Jaku supports—Tadamoto—is he loyal to
his brother and family or is he loyal to his Emperor? It appears to
have been Jaku Tadamoto who convinced the Emperor to raise
the army. Does the younger Jaku intend that army to fight
barbarians or to fight Shonto, and perhaps even his own brother? It
is a curious puzzle. For the time being, at least, Jaku Katta has little
choice but to side with the Shonto and hope the Yamaku do not
stand. He plays out the charade quite admirably, I think.”

Nishima picked up her cup but did not drink. “I confess that I no
longer find much to admire in the Guardsman,” Nishima said softly.

Horses were heard coming to a halt outside the compound and
General Hojo appeared at the opening.

“I must excuse myself, Uncle. Please give my regards to General
Hojo.”

Shonto nodded. “I thank you for viewing the plum blossoms with
me. It added another facet to the beauty entirely.” Shonto bowed
again to his daughter as he had when she arrived. She bowed as
her position required, slipped into her sandals, and made her way
down the bank.

The boatmen pushed out into the slow moving current and began
to scull toward Nishima’s barge.

But Uncle, she thought, I have discovered the rarest beauty in the
midst of terrible destruction. If my heart is truly brave, can I turn
away?

Guards cleared a way through the long line of refugees strung out
along the south road. It seemed a last indignity for these people.
They had been turned from their homes, crops torn from the fields,
livestock taken, feed stores set to the torch, and any food they
could not carry confiscated to feed the growing army. And now
they were being forced to stand aside for the lord who had failed to
stop this alleged barbarian army in Seh where such things should
be done.

Yet when Shonto and his company rode past, the refugees bowed
low, displaying nothing of what they felt.

They were fatalists in a manner that a person of action like Lord
Shonto would never understand. Karma dictated that they would
occasionally be the victims in the machinations of the Empire. It
had always been so and would never change—unless one
progressed, perhaps becoming a monk or a sister of a Botahist
Order.

Passing on horseback, Shonto was saddened by the endless
procession of villagers and peasants, some leading ox-drawn
wagons, others carrying everything left to them on the backs of
mules or on poles slung across their own shoulders. It affected
him, but he knew what he had said to Nishima was true—everyone
would make sacrifices in this war. There would be few exceptions.

They crossed a stubble field, damp from the spring rains but firm
enough for horses. Another group of riders waited on a low rise
and Shonto could see the banner of the Komawara House—the
mist-lily against a night blue background. Komawara bowed from
his horse as Lord Shonto approached while his men dismounted
and bowed properly. Shonto noticed the trim of green lacing on
two of these men—the Hajiwara Komawara had found in the Jai
Lung Hills.

“This is the place?” Shonto asked.

Komawara nodded.

Spurring his horse, Shonto gained a few feet in elevation and then
turned to look west toward the hills, trying to gauge the height of
the undulating land.

“This entire plain has been under flood many times,” Komawara
said, coming up beside Shonto. “Six years ago there was a sea
here sixty rih wide. We can dam the canal and defend the dam.
This defense could last many days. Once the dam is burst the land
will still be impassible for days until it dries.”

Shonto nodded as he looked both east and west again. “What of
the Canal? It will have no source of water, yeh?”

Hojo pointed off to the south. “Ten rih away the river Tensi joins the
canal. There will be no difficulties once the fleet has passed that
point. The section of the canal from here to there may be shallower
than usual, but…” He shrugged.

“And the roads through the hills are narrow and perfect for
ambushes,” Komawara added with satisfaction.

“We can hold the barbarians here for many days, I think.‘’ The
young lord rubbed his sword hilt and Shonto realized this was not
the weapon Komawara usually carried. The Toshaki gift, the lord
realized.

“General Hojo, Lord Komawara, begin planning the tactics to be
used in the hills. Lord Taiki will take responsibility for seeing the
dam built and defended. We will move the fleet south
immediately.” Shonto gestured to the line of refugees. “These
people must be clear of the area by this time tomorrow.” He looked
around again as though weighing the plan one last time. “We will
see what this Khan can do when he meets the unexpected.”

Thirty-four

The first swallows had returned to the north that day, and the wood
vibrated with the excitement of birds calling and courting. Rohku
Tadamori held his horse by its bridle and watched the city of
Rhojo-ma. The Flying Horse Banner of the Province of Seh had
come down from the high tower of the Governor’s Palace and the
gold banner of the Khan with its strangely twisted dragon had
appeared in its place. The dissonant sounds of horns and clashing
of metal had echoed across the water then. Rohku’s horse nudged
his shoulder, pulling at the lacing of his armor.

Seh had fallen. For the first time in the history of the Empire the
province had been taken by the barbarians. And Rohku served the
man who had allowed that to happen. Though not a man of Seh,
the captain felt the loss all the same.

Smoke curled up from the eastern end of the city, but there were
no signs that the rest of Rhojo-ma was being put to the torch. If
anything, the smoke was diminishing.

Five thousand men, Rohku thought, may Botahara rest their souls.
It was impossible to say how many barbarians had fallen. More
than five thousand, Rohku thought, many more. He looked out at
the floating causeway that connected the shore and the eastern
edge of the city. Beneath the waters lay uncounted warriors of both
armies. The fighting had been hard.

The barbarians had not shown themselves to be brilliant tacticians,
but they had not exhibited any lack of resolve either. The Khan had
thrown wave after wave of men against the walls of Rhojo-ma,
spending as though he had endless resources, and in the end this
had won the day.

Rohku made a sign to Botahara and mounted his horse. He looked
back at the city again.

Now we play gü, he thought, struck by how cold this seemed to
him—but it was true. Who would learn the most from this first
encounter? Who would come to the board next time armed with
greater wisdom? He prayed that he could provide his lord with all
the information they would need. The good name of his family
depended on such things.

Thirty-five

Soldiers were neither numerous enough, nor skilled in the work,
and in the end, peasants were pressed into the effort as well.
Poles with baskets hanging from their ends proved more effective
than oxen and carts when loading and unloading were considered.
Shonto’s advisors in this matter soon realized that stopping the
flow of the canal would not be enough—the dam needed to stretch
from higher ground further back from each bank to create the
depth of water required. The volume of water flowing into the new
sea was simply not great enough to backup sufficiently due to a
mere constriction. Near the forming dam, workers dug away the
bank to allow the blocked waters quicker access to the lowlands
beyond.

Imperial messenger boats had been confiscated for the war effort
and they plied back and forth to the north bringing news and
moving observers. The word had passed to most now—Rhojo-ma
had fallen and this news cast a shadow of desperation over the
men who built the dam. Suddenly the war seemed real and the
odds truly impossible.

There was as yet no news of the barbarian army moving south and,
predictably, there were some that speculated the Khan had already
achieved his goal. The victory in Seh would be consolidated and all
this dam building would prove a fool’s work.

Rhojo-ma had stood for five days. Five thousand against one
hundred thousand. Though no one would ever truly know what had
happened inside the city’s walls, poets and writers of songs would
not hesitate to fill in the missing details.

Ten days had passed since Shonto’s fleet had left the northern city
and in that time they had not traveled far. Creating the desert in
their wake took time.

Captain Rohku Tadamori stood on top of a section of the new dike
and watched the teeming workers. His report would have reached
Lord Shonto by now, but his presence would still be requested.
There would be questions not answered by his report.

Riders came up the rise toward him, wearing night blue and black.
Lord Komawara Samyamu himself pulled his horse up before the
young guard.

“Captain Rohku?”

Rohku bowed. “Captain Rohku Tadamori of Lord Shonto’s guard,
Lord Komawara.”

“Lord Shonto would have you join him.” A horse was led forward
and the young captain mounted.

“It is a ride of several rih, Captain. I have not eaten today, would
you share a meal with us?”

“The honor, Lord Komawara, would be mine entirely.”

Motioning for Rohku to ride at his side, Komawara turned his horse
and set off.

Passing the lines of workers, both men and women, coming from
the stone and gravel pits, Rohku was astonished by the numbers
who toiled. They passed an old man who sat on the ground in the
grip of a fit of coughing. A young girl bent over him, obviously
frightened. A soldier rode down the line toward this pair. Seeing
the rider, the girl reluctantly tore herself away from the old man,
tears appearing as she went. Rohku turned away.

“We have little time.” Komawara said softly. “The rains this spring
have not been great, so it will take many days for the waters to
gather.” He said nothing for a moment but then spoke again. “It has
been said that we have created a desert in our wake, but now we
will create a sea. I am told, Captain, that the barbarians proved to
be poor sailors so perhaps seas will serve our purpose better than
deserts.”

Rohku kicked his foot free of a stirrup and shortened it as they
went. ‘ ’The lake surrounding Rhojo-ma proved an excellent
defense. If it had not been for the pirates, the siege would
undoubtedly have taken days longer.“

“Pirates!” Komawara exclaimed, proving again that he was from the
outer provinces. “I had not heard there were pirates.” Komawara
looked at his companion in

I

amazement. “Brother Shuyun and I saw no pirates among the
barbarians.”

Rohku found his now properly adjusted stirrup. “I am sure that is
true, Sire, but there are pirates in the Khan’s army now.”

“This Khan, he has built an army out of impossibilities.” Komawara
could not get over his surprise. “Pirates!”

“It would indicate that my lord was correct, Sire. The Khan has
enlisted pirates so his army can follow the great canal south to the
inner provinces. It seems the barbarian has considered the
possibilities with some care before embarking on this endeavor.”

Komawara nodded. “I agree, though I suspect it never occurred to
the Khan that the army of Seh would not stand and fight. Once the
army of Seh had been defeated, the canal would take him easily
and quickly to the undefended center of Wa. Lord Shonto has
done the unexpected,” Komawara said with satisfaction. “The canal
will prove a difficult road indeed.”

Komawara raised a hand to stop. “This seems a likely place for a
meal, Captain, would you agree?”

Rohku nodded. They were on a low hill, the first of the range that
lay to the west of the canal. Below them a large plain stretched
north toward Seh, black soil ready for planting—though it would
bear a crop of weeds this season.

They dismounted and a bamboo mat was rolled out for the lord
and the man he treated as a guest.

“As you say, Lord Komawara, I am sure Lord Shonto will slow the
barbarian advance to a crawl. If only the Emperor will raise the
army we need.”

Komawara smiled. “Yes. It is the one instance where we may pray
the Emperor’s spies are alert. Once they have seen the barbarian
army, one would hope the Son of Heaven will respond accordingly.
Though we may be in Itsa before that happens,” Komawara said
with a show of frustration.

A small fire was lit and food was laid out for the two men. Rohku
was unused to the company of lords—even minor ones from outer
provinces—but Komawara was so natural and likable he soon
found himself put at ease.

War, the Captain thought, may break down more walls than one
would expect.

“You have served the Shonto long?” Komawara asked, trying to
carry on the polite conversation he believed Rohku would expect.
Rohku was obviously too young to have served anyone long.

“Not long, Lord Komawara. My father is the captain of Lord
Shonto’s personal guard,” he said, trying not to show any sign of
pride.

“How is it that I have not met him?”

“He stays in the Capital performing duties for our lord.”

“Ah. And you are also a captain.”

“Recently promoted.” He waved to the north. “This war has already
seen many a junior officer receive ranks that would otherwise be
years away.‘’

“You are modest, Captain. Lord Shonto would not have sent you to
watch the barbarians and witness the battle of Seh if he did not
hold great respect for you.”

Rohku shrugged, coloring almost imperceptibly. “You are too kind,
Lord Komawara. I myself wonder if any number of lieutenants will
not find themselves generals before many months have
passed—such is our need.

“Lord Shonto is off in the hills somewhere?” What Shonto did and
where he was at any given time was not considered a topic for
general discussion, especially now that war had come, but there
was no one within hearing and Komawara seemed at ease with
Rohku—he might drop a hint at least.

The lord waved to the west. “We make plans for defending the
hills. Perhaps Lord Shonto will explain.”

Rohku nodded. Pressing the point was out of the question. He
looked off to the west. The barbarians might try to skirt the new
lake, and then there might be opportunities for ambush.

“Perhaps,” Rohku said, “I will take a more active roll in the near
future.”

Komawara nodded as he ate. When he spoke again, he seemed
quite serious. “What you have just done, Captain
Rohku—witnessing the battle of Rhojo-ma—I would have found
this a most difficult duty.” He gave a nodding bow. “You are to be
commended for this.”

Rohku did not look up as he spoke. “At the battle of

Rhojo-ma I watched, Lord Komawara. I did not lay down my life.“

“Exactly,” Komawara said softly.

The conversation failed then and they ate in silence. Finishing the
meal, they set out into the hills, the conversation stilted until
Captain Rohku commented on the quality of Seh’s horses and then
it flowed like a steep river.

They found a road among the hills and followed that, riding out of
the direct sunlight into the trees robing themselves in new leaves.
Shonto guards blocked the way until Komawara gave the password
and they continued on, encountering more and more riders in blue
as they went. Finally, Lord Shonto stood before them in a clearing
surrounded by guards and officers. Conspicuous among them was
an ill-dressed soldier, unarmored like the senior military men,
though armed. He carried a sword in Shonto’s presence.

Komawara and Rohku waited beside their horses until General
Hojo waved them forward. The ragged man turned and then a
smile flickered across his face. It was Rohku Saicha, the young
captain’s father.

The two monks sat on mats that had been placed in the bow of the
river boat. The fair wind of the season moved them south, if not at
great speed, with a consistency that saw the rih pass in surprising
numbers. A rain shower had blown over earlier, but the sun soon
dried the decks and only the occasional droplet from steaming
sails indicated that there had been rain at all. Plum and cherry trees
flowered on the banks and where there would normally be gay
parties out under the boughs to observe the blossoming,
frightened refugees streamed south instead.

Brother Sotura was glad that he could speak to his former student
in privacy—only the tribesman in Shonto livery stood nearby and he
was not close enough to overhear. The sailors had little to do and,
as they followed a boat with deeper draft, there was no lookout in
the bow nor did anyone sound the bottom, but out of respect for
the Botahist monks they confined their idling to midships.

“These events are unsettling, Shuyun-sum,” the sen-

ior Brother was saying. “So many people torn from their homes.
Already there are hungry and, with such numbers on the roads and
canal, disease is appearing. I spend time as I can now with the
sick, but there are more every day.” He shook his head. “I have
written to Brother Hutto in Yankura, but it will be some time before
our Order can respond to a situation that grows worse as we
speak.”

Shuyun touched his hands together, rocking back and forth slightly
as though nodding agreement. “I have asked Lord Shonto if I
could assist you, Brother, but he will not spare me, though often I
have little to do. Every precaution is taken to isolate the sick from
the army and Lord Shonto’s staff. Even our meeting was difficult to
arrange. I regret this.”

“It cannot be helped, Shuyun-sum. Your part is to advise Lord
Shonto so that the interests of our Order are represented among
the powerful of Wa. Now that the situation gathers momentum by
the hour, your role is even more crucial.”

At this Shuyun stopped rocking.

‘ ’We do our best to prepare for this calamity, Shuyun-sum, but it is
difficult. The future is uncertain.“ Sotura caught the eye of his
student. ”If we knew more of Lord Shonto’s intent, we could act to
assist him and to preserve our Order so that Botahara’s word
would not be lost.“

Shuyun examined his palm, rubbing it slowly. “My lord hopes to
slow the barbarian advance so that an army may be raised to
defend the Empire.‘’

Sotura paused for a second as though he had suffered a small
insult and was unsure how to respond. When he spoke, he had
lowered his voice. “No doubt, Brother Shuyun, this is true but the
Yamaku still sit upon the Dragon Throne and we could do much if
we knew what Lord Shonto… thought about this situation.”

Shuyun shrugged. ‘ ’In truth, Brother Sotura, I do not know.“

“Perhaps it would be useful to find out.”

“My lord gives me the information he feels I need in my capacity,
Brother. I do not presume to ask for more.”

“As his loyal Advisor it might be to your lord’s benefit

if you spent time informing yourself of the situation in the Empire
and of your lord’s intent.“

Shuyun blinked.

“Jaku Katta is another question, Shuyun-sum. Does he truly have
Lord Shonto’s confidence?”

Shuyun watched a sampan drift past, carrying men in Shonto blue.
“Did not Botahara say, ‘Do not trust truth to a liar.’ ”

Sotura nodded. “The guardsman is an opportunist of the worst
sort. Trusting him would be an error indeed. Does he still seek the
company of Lady Nishima?”

“Perhaps. I do not know,” Shuyun said slowly.

“Maybe she has seen him for what he is and has another interest?”

Shuyun shrugged. “The personal lives of my lord’s family…”
Shuyun threw up his hands.

Sotura nodded.

“It is a crucial time, Brother Shuyun. Much could be lost in the
coming struggle. We must be vigilant. The True Path must be
protected and we are its chosen protectors.”

Shuyun stared at the chi quan instructor until the Master

became uncomfortable.

“Brother Shuyun?”

Motioning to the Kalam suddenly, Shuyun leaned toward the
tribesman and spoke in the man’s tongue. The Kalam gave a
proper bow and hurried off.

“There is something you should know, Brother,” Shuyun said
quietly. “It will make many things clear to you. We must wait for my
servant.‘’

The Kalam appeared a moment later, bearing a brocade bag
containing something small and angular. Giving it to Shuyun, he
retreated to his former station by the rail and stood silently.

With great care Shuyun slid a plain lacquered box out of the bag.
He set the box carefully on his knees and unlatched it. “There is a
matter we have discussed before, Brother Sotura. Let me show
you what I have found.” Saying this he opened the box gently.

On the lining of green silk lay the blossom of the Udumbara. The
breeze touched it and the petals moved as though still fresh from
the branch.

It was not possible to tell from Sotura’s face if the

older monk was overcome with joy or deep sadness. He did not
move for some time and then, almost tenderly, he reached out, but
as he did so Shuyun withdrew the box, closing it sharply. The
young Brother’s face was very cold.

“I will not trust it to you, Brother,” Shuyun said firmly.

* * *

I fear that our young protege is following the path of Brother
Satake—I regret to say that Shuyun is not inclined to provide the
information we seek about his liege-lord. The change in him is
remarkable considering the short time he has served the Shonto
House, but there are circumstances we could not have foreseen.
Shuyun has in his possession a blossom from a tree at Monarta. I
do not know where this has come from, but if it was Lord Shonto’s
desire to undermine the Initiate’s loyalty to our Order he could
hardly have chosen a more effective ploy. This situation will be
difficult to retrieve now, especially as Lord Shonto controls my
meetings with Shuyun and allows far fewer than I request. How
Shonto came by a blossom from the Udumbara is a mystery—one
can never underestimate this man. Although Shonto’s situation in
the Empire does not appear to be secure, I hesitate to say more.
The Emperor may yet discover that circumstances are not what he
believed.

As to Shuyun I am not yet certain what should be done—he was
always a perfect student in the past. Some action must be taken
soon or he will have turned so far from the light that he will find it
difficult to return.

Sotura stopped writing suddenly. He wondered what the Supreme
Master and Brother Hutto would decide about Shuyun. We have
been caught in a lie by one who believed what he was taught about
lies. The deeper reasons for our decision cannot be seen by a
young Initiate, no

matter how talented—all he will see is our hypocrisy. The Teacher
has come and we deny it. How can Shuyun but think we act from
motives that are less than pure? He has not stepped off the True
Path—we have pushed him. May Botahara forgive us.

Sotura picked up the letter, read through the first few lines by the
light of his lamp, and then very slowly crumpled the paper into a
ball. He was not certain that any action his superiors took with the
willful Initiate would not drive this young man further away. Even I
have begun to distrust my superior’s judgment, Sotura realized,
and he made a sign to Botahara.

The monk remembered the interview with his former student. Even
sitting as far as I was, Sotura thought, I could feel the strength of
his chi. I have never known its like.

Thirty-six

The hunting party followed a winding road down the hillside, riding
slowly in the spring sunshine. It had not been a successful day as
the tiger the villagers claimed to have seen could not be found.
The Emperor was disappointed. They had shot some game birds,
certainly, but when one has set out after tiger, pheasant is a poor
substitute. Still, it was a beautiful day and Akantsu II, Emperor of
Wa, was coming out of his sullen mood.

Many varieties of cherry and plum flowered along the roadside and
scattered their petals like a snowfall across the soft ground of
spring. It would not be long now until the Plum Blossom Wind
would perform the feat it was named for, stripping the trees of their
petals and carrying them aloft until the wind seemed laden with
blowing snow.

The rivers, too, would be covered in fallen blossoms, for the
people of Wa loved to plant their flowering trees along the
waterways—the sight of the perfect blossoms borne toward the
sea was symbolic of Botahist thought. Over the centuries so many
poems had been written about the Plum Blossom Winds that it was
said nothing new could ever be written about them—though that
stopped no one.

The Emperor rode a gray mare of the same line as the animals
used in the Ceremony of Gray Horses. Unlike the Hanama who
seldom hunted, the Yamaku men rode and rode well. Perhaps a
family that had won its way to the throne only a decade before was
not yet willing to give up the skills that had brought them their
victory, so sword and bow and lance and horse were thought of as
essential disciplines in the Imperial family. Akantsu was a fine
horseman and skilled with a sword, though his

sons, under the influence of the Empress, had never achieved the
mastery of their father.

The Emperor’s hunting garb was plain by the standards of the lords
of the inner provinces, though it bore trim in Imperial Crimson
which more than made up for its lack of style. As he had hoped to
meet a tiger that day, the Emperor’s garb incorporated a certain
amount of lacquered and laced armor, although light and
incomplete by battle standards. A dragon-crested helmet swung
from the saddle, and the Son of Heaven carried his own sword in
his sash—not the ancient sword of office but a blade that had seen
many battles and duels.

It was well known among the courtiers that when Ak-antsu wanted
to show displeasure to one of the many officials who attended him
he would sometimes invite them on a hunt. It was invariably quite
unpleasant, for few of the higher officials rode, having spent their
entire lives caught up in the functions of the government and
court—and, of course, in the Capital, as in much of Wa, one usually
traveled by boat. The Emperor reserved this treatment for officials
who had done something mildly annoying. To cross the Emperor
seriously would mean postings in the outer provinces or far worse.

Today there were no victims in the party. A distant cousin from
Chou rode near the Emperor though they spoke little. The Son of
Heaven’s earlier mood had quickly curtailed attempts at
conversation.

A dark feathered hawk floated across the road, disappearing into
the cloud of white blossoms and when the Emperor turned his
eyes back to the road he saw a column of Imperial Guards appear
around a bend, led by Jaku Tadamoto. The Emperor’s men made
way for their acting Commander who dismounted quickly and
bowed before his ruler.

“Colonel.” The Emperor smiled, much to the relief of his party.
“Your arrival was foretold. Only seconds ago a hawk I believe was
a Choka passed before us.” He turned to his cousin. “Almost an
apparition, wouldn’t you agree?”

His cousin, Lord Yamaku, a small man perhaps a dozen years
older than the Emperor, most definitely agreed. He nodded his
head vigorously. More than anything else, Lord Yamaku resembled
a successful mer-

chant. He had that wealthy, ill-bred manner and dress that bad taste
damned many with in the Imperial Court. Not that the man’s taste
was glaringly awful, but among people whose standards were strict
and whose imagination was limited he stood out like a farmer in a
Sonsa troupe.

“The Choka hawk has proven to be well chosen, then,” Tadamoto
said. The Emperor had given the Jaku House the symbol, raising
their status considerably among the new Houses.

The Emperor smiled again. “It is kind of you to ride out to meet us,
Colonel. I intend to stop at the shrine for the view. Would you
accompany us?”

“I would be more than honored. May I ask, Sire, how went the
hunt?”

A cloud drifted across the Emperor’s face, but then a wan smile
replaced it. “I believe the tiger we hunted today was mythical. Or a
master of subterfuge. We had beaters out for several rih and
managed to move nothing. And Lord Yamaku had so wanted to
use his new bow.”

“I am sorry to learn this, Sire. Tigers make poor subjects,
sometimes—ignoring their duties, leaving without being dismissed,
and eating perfectly dutiful subjects. I don’t know what can be done
about them.”

The Emperor laughed. “Yes, this one is said to have eaten a loyal
woodsman. A beastly thing to do when I have any number of
courtiers and officials I could willingly spare. Most inconsiderate.”
He laughed again and the others nearby, deeming the Emperor’s
mood changed, laughed as well.

Turning off the road they followed a trail out onto a rounded
promontory where a small shrine to the plague-dead stood.
Knowing the Emperor’s opinions on the matter, no one made signs
to Botahara. They passed on to the lookout point where the
Emperor and his party dismounted.

“String your new bow, cousin,” the Emperor said pleasantly.
“Tadamoto-sum is an appreciator of fine weapons.”

An archery contest was quickly organized among the officers of
the guard using Lord Yamaku’s bow. Much laughter accompanied
the Emperor’s suggestion that an officer donate his very stylish hat
for a target. This was

fixed to a nearby tree and the Emperor took up a seat on a rock,
flanked by Tadamoto and his cousin as judges.

Lord Yamaku did not join the contest as it would have been very
impolite for anyone to best a member of the Imperial family and
Tadamoto was the guard Commander, so a similar etiquette
applied.

Each contestant shot three arrows and though not every one found
its mark, the hat was soon well ventilated indeed. The archers
could not be said to be remarkable in their skill, but they were well
matched so the contest was close and therefore more enjoyable
for all concerned.

Once the contest had drawn everyone’s attention, the Emperor
turned to Tadamoto. “I trust you did not ride all this way to view the
blossoms, Colonel?” he said quietly.

Tadamoto nodded. “I have received a report from the north.” He
searched for the right words. “It is a disturbing report, Emperor.”

The Emperor nodded. He watched a young officer make a shot
and applauded the result. Leaning over, he spoke quietly to his
cousin who bowed quickly. The Emperor nodded to Tadamoto and
the two men rose. All present dropped to their knees until the
Emperor was several paces away.

Walking to the lookout, the Emperor leaned against the railing that
protected the foolish from the steep drop. Behind him the land
stretched off to the Imperial Capital and the Lake of the Lost
Dragon. The river wound its way toward the sea and as far as
Tadamoto could see the landscape was decorated with flowering
trees. Even the distant Mountain of the Pure Spirit seemed to be
covered in a haze of white.

“Colonel.” The Emperor nodded for Tadamoto to continue.

“I have a report that Lord Shonto has left Seh and proceeds south
on the canal accompanied by an army.‘’

The Emperor nodded calmly as though he had not just heard an
announcement of civil war—civil war with the Shonto.

“A missive has arrived bearing the seal of the Governor of Seh. I
broke all protocol and brought it with me, Sire.”

The Emperor nodded again. “There is more?”

Tadamoto nodded. “Reports have been received that a large
barbarian army has crossed the border of Seh. I do not consider
these substantiated at this time, however. ‘’

“The missive?”

Tadamoto signaled one of his guards, and a small box was
brought forward. Opening this, Tadamoto removed the official
letter and, to the guardsman’s surprise, the Emperor reached out
and took it directly from the Colonel’s hand. Looking at the seal, the
Emperor broke it and opened the letter with no show of haste. He
read.

Tadamoto pretended to admire the view. It was impolite to look
directly at the Emperor for more than a few seconds and, under the
circumstances, Tadamoto thought even a few seconds might not
be advisable.

The Emperor lowered the scroll. He looked off at some unseen
distance for a moment and then handed the paper to Tadamoto.
“Read this,” he said, his tone mild.

Sire:

A barbarian army has crossed the northern border of Seh, an army
of one hundred thousand armed men. Their immediate objective
appears to be Rhojo-ma, but I do not believe this army plans to
finish its campaign in the provincial capital. As the entire force
available in the Province of Seh is less than a quarter the number in
the invading army, I do not feel we can stop the barbarians from
advancing into Itsa Province and then further south.

Our decision, therefore, has been to leave Seh and move our army
down the canal, resisting the invaders as we go. If all goes well, I
believe this will give the Empire until midsummer to raise the force
necessary to combat the barbarian army.

Five thousand men of Seh stayed to defend the city of Rhojo-ma,
hoping to give the main force time to cross the border and begin
the recruitment. This we will do.

I regret to say that I do not think this barbarian force can be
countered successfully without assistance from the Imperial
Government. I do not

expect to be able to raise enough men to meet the threat to the
Empire even by the time we reach Chiba Province.

We can say little yet of the skills of this barbarian army and its
commanders and will report as soon as more is known. Certainly,
the tribes are led by the Golden Khan who flies a banner of gold
bearing a dragon of crimson. I believe, Sire, that this chieftain has
designs upon the throne of Wa.

Those who have followed me in this move south are brave and
industrious men and I have faith that we can slow the invaders’
advance, but an army must be raised to meet this threat, preferably
in Chiba Province. We destroy all crops as we go, but once the
barbarians have reached Chiba, this will become more difficult and
if they cross the border into Dentou it will be impossible. They will
also be within striking distance of the Imperial Capital.

I remain your Majesty’s servant, Shonto Motoru

The Emperor had no compunctions about watching Tadamoto’s
face as he read and the young man found as he finished the letter
that he was being stared at.

“He makes no mention that it was his sworn duty to protect the
borders of the Province of Seh.”

Tadamoto nodded, not needing to ask who “he” referred to.

The Emperor turned and looked out at the view, his hands resting
lightly on the rail. For some moments he stood like that in silence
and when he spoke he did not turn his head.

“We did not think he would be able to find the support for a civil
war—not in Seh. He fails to mention how large a force
accompanies him south?”

“That is true, Emperor.”

“A significant oversight in the former governor’s report. It is not
possible that Motoru has raised the force he needs in Seh.” This
did not seem to be a question, so Tadamoto said nothing. The
“thunk” of arrows strik-

ing wood punctuated the silence. “How goes the raising of our
army, Colonel?”

“Well, Sire, but I will redouble our efforts now.” The Emperor
nodded. “We will do more. We must prepare a plan to meet
Shonto’s army—somewhere beyond the Capital. There is no telling
who will flock to his banner once he enters Dentou Province.” The
Emperor fell silent again. “Where on the canal is my useless son?”

“He has not yet crossed the border into Chiba Province, Sire.”
Tadamoto brushed white petals from the small dragons
embroidered over the breast on his uniform.

The Emperor’s shoulders went stiff. “Not yet in Chiba?”

“Yes, Sire.”

The Emperor snorted. “I will send a letter to the Prince in my own
hand: an Imperial directive to proceed north with all haste and
relieve Shonto of the command of the army. He is then to stop any
barbarian invasion he is able to find and send Shonto to the Capital
under guard. How do you think the former governor will react to
that?”

“To do anything but obey the son of the Emperor, Sire… would be
a foolish mistake.”

“Yes, but it would do away with this pose of protector of the
Empire. He will be a rebel and called one.”

Tadamoto nodded even though the Emperor looked out toward the
Capital.

“Have you heard from your brother, Colonel?”

“I have not, Emperor.”

The Emperor rubbed his hands slowly along the railing. “We might
hope that he stayed in Seh to defend Rhojo-ma. All who
accompany Shonto support a rebel.”

“He shames the Jaku House, Sire. We will turn our back to him.”

The Emperor nodded slowly. “I believe this matter should be
discussed immediately in the Great Council. We will have the
Empire know that Shonto has abandoned his duties in the north
and comes south with an armed force. It is not this ragged Khan
who has designs on the throne. If we had only kept that Fanisan
daughter in the Capital!” It was the closest thing to an expression

of anger the Emperor had made, but when he spoke again his
voice was calm. “She will not sit upon my throne, Colonel, nor will
Motoru stand behind it.” He turned now and looked directly at
Tadamoto. “So we must raise a great army, Colonel. My father
fought the Shonto and won—I intend to do the same. But I will not
be so generous after my victory.‘’

Thirty-seven

Shokan lay still in the darkness wondering what one felt when
overcome by the cold. Did a person simply sleep and not wake?
Or was it painful or frightening? If one still felt the cold, was that a
sign that one was closer to life than death? Cold was what the
young lord felt: deep, pervasive cold. The bones of his legs ached
with cold and in his feet there was no feeling at all.

With some effort the lord pulled his mind away from this avenue of
thought and tried to consider the coming day. He had held a brief
council with his staff that night, huddled in a circle in the dark, no
fire to offer warmth or even cheer. Hard choices had been
discussed and decisions made. Destroying the horses had
weighed heavily on everyone; unfortunately, no one had offered an
alternative that would allow the group to continue. It had been a
fool’s hope that the snows would not be deep in the pass so early
in the season, but then there had been few paths open to them.
Bringing the horses was a risk perhaps not everyone had
understood.

Shonto Shokan had made the decision to destroy his stallion
himself, though certainly it was not a task a lord of a Great House
should even consider. Still, he felt this situation was of his own
making and could not ask another to perform the duties his poor
decision had made necessary. This kind of thinking was a trait of
the young lord’s that drove his father mad. The senior Shonto even
went so far as to blame their former Spiritual Advisor, Brother
Satake, for encouraging this trait, saying it was good education for
children but the worst foolishness for the lord of a major House.
Shokan almost laughed aloud at the memory. It was his impression
that Brother Satake had quietly defied everyone; may Botahara
protect him.

There had been no wood for fires that night and the

sky had remained perfectly clear, allowing the bitter cold of the
mountains free rein. The eastern sky was barely gray behind the
white peaks that loomed above, but that was enough to have men
up and moving, trying to restore circulation, praying the sun would
not tarry and the sea wind would bring them warmth. It was a great
irony that by night they huddled together in teeth-chattering cold
while by day the sun burned their faces and had them stripped
down to their lightest robes.

Shokan pushed his cover aside and turned onto his back. He had
been rolling over at regular intervals all night trying not to expose
one side for too long to the bitter chill that seeped up from the
snow—not a restful night. He was hungry and worried about their
food supplies. Horse meat would take them some distance, no
doubt, but they were still many days away from the western end of
the pass. In a purely foolish act they had, to a man, fed some of
their precious grain to the horses the night before—a last
meal—but the lack of fires to melt snow had meant no water. There
was no doubt that the horses would soon be dead without any
assistance from their reluctant riders.

Forcing himself to sit up, Shokan felt the chill wind that still swept
down from the peaks. He stayed sitting for a moment, beating his
hands on his arms and shoulders. The snow would be frozen into a
steel-hard crust now, a surface that would support a man’s weight
with ease, but it was also steep, treacherous ice and had led to the
loss of many of their party.

From up the gulley Shokan heard the measured rhythm of
footsteps as the guides moved higher. The previous day they had
made a stairway while the snow was soft and now they climbed up
to its top where they would continue by cutting more steps in the
hard snow. It was a slow, laborious process.

Shokan thought again of their limited food supplies, wondering if
he led his retainers to a futile end in some frozen pass. My father
needs every armed man he can find, he reminded himself. Every
risk is acceptable.

Looking up at the mountains, Shokan thought of the vast valley that
lay on their opposite side down which ran the delicate ribbon of the
Grand Canal. It seemed very far away, almost unreachable.

A single peak above caught the light of the rising sun and the
young lord felt a great relief. Around him he could make out the
shapes of men and horses. Shades of gray began to take on color
and shapes definition.

“Sire?” a voice whispered.

Shokan turned to his guard who pointed up the slope. Not far away,
half a dozen bearded men crouched down on their heels and
watched, their faces impassive. Mountain people…

Shokan turned to his guard who stared openly, unaware that his
lord regarded him. Moving with great care, Shokan found the small
platform he had stamped out before the snow froze and got
unsteadily to his unfeeling feet.

Though he half expected them to start like deer and bound off, the
crouching men made no move. It was the worst manners, but
Shokan found himself staring like his guard. Mountain people! He
could not hide his surprise.

The men crouching before him were dressed so completely in furs
and skins that nothing showed but weathered faces. At their belts
they carried long knives, almost swords, and, on their backs, bows
of an almost pure white wood. As he had read, these men had
deep blue eyes, like one sometimes saw among the southern
barbarians.

Slowly, Shokan extended his hands, palms out, all the while
searching his memory for words he had heard Brother Satake
speak in the mountain tongue—but none came. His father had said
that Shuyun spoke their language, and Shokan wondered if this
was not uncommon for a Botahist scholar.

Turning to his guard Shokan said, “The Botahist monks often know
the mountain tongue—pass the word down the line to anyone
educated by the Brothers.”

The mountain people looked on as Shokan extended his hands,
but there was no reaction visible—it might have been his private
morning ritual for all the response it received. He tried gesturing to
the snow nearby and smiling in invitation, but the men crouching in
the snow did not move. Both parties were soon reduced to staring
at each other in silence.

After this had gone on for some time, Shokan noticed a movement
higher up on the guides’ stairway. Another

group made its way down toward the snowbound low-landers.

As this second party arrived, the first group turned and bowed
stiffly. The object of this show of respect seemed to be an old,
leather-faced man in a worn hooded robe gathered at the waist by
a silk sash of faded purple. What animal had contributed its coat to
this old man’s warmth Shokan could not say, for the fur was
unknown to him— deep gray with tips of silver.

The old man continued right past the bowing mountain people and
stopped about three paces beyond Lord Shon-to’s guard who had
been unable to move quickly enough on the treacherous footing to
stop him. Shokan gave them a signal to stand ready but do nothing
for now.

The old man stood, arms crossed, hands buried in the sleeves of
his robe. His face was as impassive as his companions’ though his
eyes were the color of a sky washed with a high mist. The
mountain race seemed to be smaller than the people of Wa though
Shokan suspected they were broad of shoulder under their layers
of fur.

The old man pointed at the Shonto lord. “Name,” he said, not
inflecting the word like a question, though Shokan assumed it was
meant to be one. “Lord Shonto Shokan. And you?” The old man
did not respond, but among his companions there was a
whispering. Shokan was certain he heard the name of his father’s
Spiritual Advisor spoken more than once, as impossible as it
seemed.

“Brother Shuyun,” Shokan said. “Do you speak of Brother
Shuyun?”

After a moment the old man nodded his ancient head once, his
expression never altering. It was such an odd movement, Shokan
was not sure the man’s head had not simply fallen forward and then
been returned to its upright position. It hardly seemed an
expression of agreement.

With a quick motion the old man pointed up the slope. “Fight,” he
said with some animation.

Shokan was not sure what this meant but obviously some
response was desired.

“Shu-yung fight!” the man said with more urgency.

“This is hopeless,” Shokan whispered to his guard. “What does he
mean?”

“Tribes… fight, shu-yung,” the man said, and pointed up into the
mountains again.

Tribes; the word struck the lord like cold wind. He nodded slowly,
still far from certain. He was not even sure that nodding meant
agreement to these people. Shu-yung, the old man was saying, a
word so close to Shuyun in their odd pronunciation that to Shokan’s
ear it was barely different—a slight ring in the last syllable, that was
all.

The old man’s face split in a smile then and he broke into his own
tongue, speaking so fast that the men listening could have easily
been convinced it was all a single long word. He smiled again.
“Fight tribes, shu-yung,” he said with some finality. Turning to his
companions he spoke again, and Shokan was almost certain he
heard the word Yankura.

A man detached himself from the others and ran easily up the
slope, causing the men of Wa much envy.

“Yankura?” Shokan said. “Yankura?”

“Yan-khuro,” the old man enunciated slowly, as though he
corrected a child.

“Yan-khura. Yul-khuro, yan yul. Shu-yung,” he said, and then, as if
for good measure, “fight.”

Shokan nodded and smiled. Am I agreeing? he wondered, and if
so, to what?

Pointing at Shokan’s horse with that same quick motion, the old
man spoke in his tongue again, then shook his head. Holding his
hands together as though he held a bowl, he made a drinking
motion and then pointed at the horse, his face suddenly sad.

“Sire,” Shokan’s guard said quietly, “above us.”

A small army of fur-clad mountain dwellers descended the slope,
many down the stairway but as many walking directly down the
steel hard snow without losing their footing. Shokan realized he
stared openmouthed, but then it was a wonder indeed.

“What will happen now?” Shokan heard someone say. He gave a
short laugh.

“I don’t know.” Despite a lifetime’s training in suspicion, the lord
somehow knew these people meant them no harm. “I don’t know,”
he said again.

The mountain people passed by Shokan with barely a nod and a
half smile, but the horses were another matter. These were objects
of great admiration. Shokan was afraid the numbers of people
milling around would spook the animals, but it quickly became
obvious that the mountain dwellers were well versed in the handling
of animals and undoubtedly horses, too.

The old man came a few paces closer to be heard above the
noise of his people. He spoke a few words in his own tongue and
then pointed at Shokan’s horse. “No fight,” he said quietly. Then
pointing at Shokan’s saddle bags and assorted gear. “Shuyunal.”
He gestured to his people. “Shuyun.” Then he pointed up the pass
and gave his odd single nod.

Shokan copied the gesture, then turned to his guard. “Find the boy.
Have him tell everyone to offer no resistance to these people. We
will leave them the horses and they will assist us over the pass… I
think.”

Shokan turned back to the old man, but he had turned and was
trudging slowly up the stairway.

“Shuyun,” a voice said beside him. Shokan turned to look at a
beardless, smiling child. Tapping his chest, the child smiled again.
“Shuyun,” he said.

“Ah,” the lord said. This is Shuyun? But then he realized the same
word was being repeated up and down the line. Two others were
fitting die pole to Shokan’s armor box and lifting it easily to their
shoulders although the lord knew it contained suits of both heavy
and light armor as well as other arms and assorted pieces of gear
for repairs.

The smiling child beside him began to collect the lord’s
belongings, and a guard quickly moved to intervene.

“No,” the young lord said. “I will allow it.” He began to roll his own
bedding, though rather clumsily.

“Shuyun,” he heard someone say down the line, and then again
and again as though it were a chant.

To Shokan’s surprise the mountain people led his party back down
the gulley, making steps for the lowlanders as they went. He feared
that there was a great misunderstanding and the mountain people
were returning the lowlanders to the valley they had escaped, but
he decided to wait a bit and see what would happen.

As the party came out from the shade of the great stone peak, the
sun hit them and Shonto saw signs being made to Botahara by his
men. They smile now, the lord thought, but in only a few hours the
snow will soften and then the dread will return. They had seen what
happened as the softening snow began to lose its hold, seen it
come thundering down in great, white waves.

Looking over his shoulder, Shokan could still see the
horses—surrounded by admirers. He hoped they were not to
suffer the same fate at the hands of these people that they were
about to at the hands of their owners. His foot slipped, but he
recovered quickly. This was no place to be looking about or
admiring the scenery. The footing was treacherous and would be
until the sun had done its work.

The great coastal plain appeared around a corner, stretching off to
the sea lost in a mist. The lowlands seemed green and warm and
welcoming from this height and Shokan felt an urge to return. But
there was no returning. Imperial Guards would be waiting below
and had no doubt taken possession of the Shonto fief. There was
only the mountains and whatever lay on the other side, if he were
fortunate enough to see the western slopes.

Unlike his retainers Shokan carried no weight but his sword, and
even so he did not go as lightly as the mountain people who bore
the heaviest burdens. The lord had watched with fascination as the
mountain people made up their loads, rigging these to be carried
by a single strap across the forehead. The smallest mountain
dweller bore twice what the largest lowlanders could carry, and with
ease. Altitude was said to rob a man of his breath and Shokan did
not doubt it now.

Before the sun was high they had come down around the peak to
the south and here they dug down through the snow bank of the
trench that formed on either side of the gulley, leaving a wide gap
between the snow and the rock. Water ran in the bottom of the
trench now and water skins were filled. A brief but slippery
scramble took them up to a ledge as wide as a man was tall. The
sun had melted whatever snow had lain here and the rock was dry
and almost warm to the touch.

There was no talk. The mountain people seemed little

inclined to chat as they went, and the lowlanders needed every bit
of breath just to keep the pace. The height may have had
something to do with this silence, for though the ledge only sloped
up slightly the floor of the gulley widened and sloped away so that
they were higher with each step. The lowlanders crowded the rock
wall and tried to keep their gaze fixed ahead, which meant all but a
few missed an astonishing vista.

The ledge narrowed here and there, enough to make the passage
of certain sections a test of nerve. Shokan knew that Shonto
guards would go into battle, no matter what the odds, without
hesitation, but heights were a different matter. Slipping off a ledge
was hardly an honorable end. Of course, none wished to be seen
as cowardly before their fellows or the son of their liege-lord, so
much effort went into disguising fears. Still, Shokan was sure that
he had seen men famed for their prowess on the battlefield
traverse the more difficult sections with far less confidence than
some of their younger and less fearsome companions. It almost
made him smile.

Where the ledge narrowed to nothing, wooden walkways appeared
to bridge the gaps and these were constructed in so flimsy a
manner that all the lowlanders said a prayer for the protection of
their souls before crossing. Shokan wondered how they bore the
weight of snow or if they were reconstructed each spring. So
poorly engineered did these walkways appear, the fact that they
had no railings went almost unnoticed. To everyone’s surprise they
did not collapse.

By late afternoon the long snake of humanity had wound its way
around to the south, and the ledge ended in a saddle between two
peaks. They began to descend again, at first on soft snow and
then, as they came into the shadow of the southern peak, on
hardened crust.

Steps were cut again and the party slowed accordingly. The valley
widened and the west-moving sun found its way down to them
again, making the snow heavy. In compensation, trees began to
appear with greater and greater frequency, raising hopes for fires
that evening.

A stream appeared out of nowhere and wound its way down the
valley. Looking into the running water, Shokan could see rocks and
earth and realized the depth of snow was much less than he had
expected.

Suddenly the mountain people came to a halt on a smatt bench
and with smiles and nods and gestures made it clear that this was
as far as they would go that day. As camp was made, Shokan tried
to estimate numbers. His retainers numbered thirty three hundred,
remarkable when one considered the losses they had suffered to
the snow slides. There were easily that number of mountain
people, whom his own men had begun to call “dwellers” or even
“the Shuyuns” which they thought funny. Close to eight thousand
people.

Shokan hoped he would be able to describe this to his father one
day. Eight thousand people over the most impossible terrain and
they had covered at least twelve rih, maybe more. It was
astonishing—it was more than astonishing; it was impossible!

The dwellers surprised the lowlanders again by starting the tiniest
twig fires to brew cha and do some meager cooking. These they
fed constantly with dried grasses and moss and dead needles
from trees. They had reacted with horror when the Shonto men had
begun to cut down trees for proper fires and Shokan had quickly
ordered this

stopped.

The lord had to admit that despite the fact that a terrible war was
perhaps already under way across the mountains he found his own
situation fascinating. Almost nothing was known about these
people, and here they were, chatting away cheerfully beside him.

There was so little room in the encampment that everyone was in
the closest proximity. Shonto’s men had, naturally, kept a suitable
distance from their lord so that he might have a semblance of
privacy, and this area had quickly been filled with the dwellers, who
did not seem to have much concern for rank unless one were a
wizened old man in rather bedraggled furs.

Shokan’s guards were not terribly comfortable with this, but the lord
reasoned that they were entirely at the mercy of these people who
could easily have murdered him before now if that was their
intention. The lord resolved not to worry though it was obvious that
his guard could not reach the same resolution, for they watched the
dwellers near their lord and exchanged the darkest looks.

Using his hands and an art for pantomime that would have given
Lady Nishima cause for pride, Shokan tried

to discover the words for common things—fire, trail, food, drink. It
was more difficult than he might have expected and caused much
laughter.

The greatest reaction came when the lord tried to learn the words
for man and woman. He was so obviously surprised at discovering
the boy who carried his belongings was in fact a young woman that
he thought the laughter would never stop. And the poor woman, it
seemed, would be teased forever, but she took it well enough and
didn’t seem to hold him responsible for his own ignorance.

Darkness came with a suddenness that was almost startling.
Despite attempts to stay awake and pry as many words as
possible from his fireside companions, Shokan fell asleep. The
last thing he heard was the dwellers singing softly in high, thin
voices—a sound both eerie and oddly comforting.

It was much later, in the middle of the night, that Shokan awoke with
a start. He took a moment to sort out his memory of the evening
from his dream and then convinced himself what had startled him
to consciousness had been part of a dream, nothing more. Laying
back down, the lord tried to banish the feeling he was left with, but
with little success. In his dream the dwellers’ song had been a
Botahist chant, translated into the mountain tongue and modified to
suit the dwellers’ ideas of music. It was strangely disturbing to him
and he lay awake for some time, unable to shake the emotions the
dream had evoked—unable to shiver away the feeling of cold.

Morning arrived long before the light. They were on the west side
of a mountain now and the sun would not find them until past
midday. Shokan had begun to believe that the dwellers were
people of infinite patience, but as preparations were made to set
out this was proven wrong. “Ketah,” he learned, was the word for
hurry. If Shuyun had been the refrain of the previous day, ketah had
taken its place. The highly trained fighters of the Shonto guard
were bullied and badgered and hurried until Shokan feared there
would be an incident, but frayed tempers were kept in check and in
remarkable time the company was on the move again.

Shokan took his place behind Quinta-la, the woman he

had caused so much embarrassment the night before. A small
scene with his guards had ensued when Shokan insisted on
carrying some of his own belongings, but he had prevailed and
now carried a load, dweller style, which he was certain would soon
disconnect his neck from his shoulders. Before him walked a much
smaller woman carrying three times his own load; her step was
light and sure. It made him smile.

If Nishi-sum had been able to bear three times as much as he,
there would have been nothing to do but throw himself on his
sword—a warrior had a certain pride. But the fact that this child
could carry more than he could ever hope to bear caused him
nothing but amusement and delight.

I have been transported to a strange world, he thought, like the
stories read to me as a child.

The work of carrying a load and matching the pace of his guides
soon warmed Shokan and hunger replaced the feeling of cold, for
they had started out having taken neither drink nor food. There was
no indication that the dwellers planned to stop for a morning meal
and inns seemed sadly few.

The lord wondered idly if his retainers suffered the soreness of leg
that he felt. It was obvious that Quinta-la knew no such discomfort.
And this made him smile also.

There was perhaps one thing that saved the lowlanders that
morning—they were taller than the mountain people, so the steps
that were cut in the hard snow seemed quite close together to
them. Even this small step down soon had thighs burning from the
effort for every step down meant taking the extra weight of the
carried load. Fatigue caused a few slips, but none of these
became disasters. By noon the leaders of the party had reached
the snow line and soon only the deepest shadows still sheltered
patches of white—the oddest effect; white shadows. The ground,
however, was wet from days of snow-melt and this offered its own
hazards to footing. Sometime after midday the sun worked its way
down among the peaks, warming the walkers and illuminating the
view. Shokan was impressed with the size of the valley—broad and
long and green. Still-frozen lakes like pieces of jade strung
together on a bubbling stream lay in the valley bottom.

As the party made its way down, the trees grew larger and less
twisted. The scent of pine on the breeze was strong.

The way became a road of rock suddenly, wide slabs of stone set
as though they had once been a perfect avenue but shifted by frost
and time and neglect. Shokan pointed at this and made the gesture
that he believed meant a question, but all he received in reply was
a string of unknown sounds and a smile. He looked at his guard
captain who had come up beside him.

The captain shrugged. “It is either a giant’s road or a natural
formation, Sire, and I must admit I prefer neither explanation over
the other.”

And this delighted the lord also—he realized he preferred it to be a
mystery. They walked on with ease along this broad avenue.

What the lord had believed was mist ahead he was becoming
convinced was actually smoke. Gaining the attention of Quinta-la,
he pointed ahead. She spoke one of the dozen words Shokan
knew—the one he believed meant fire.

“Well, yes,” he said, “but does that fire signify anything? Food,
perhaps?”

The young woman broke into her childlike smile and rattled on in
her own tongue, gesturing off at the distance as she did so.

“Ah, I suspected as much,” Shokan said, as though he had
understood every word. “Will there be baths at this inn as well as
fine meals?”

Quinta-la answered without a second’s hesitation.

They carried on this preposterous conversation for some time,
talking in turn, as though there were perfect communication. Both
laughing and gesturing like children.

Shokan did not see the faces of his men nearby, or he chose to
ignore them, but they kept glancing at him as though he had taken
leave of his senses. Only the guard captain found the exchange
amusing, and he was careful not to show he was listening.

The inn turned out to be a small village, though anyone from the
Empire would have had a different image in mind if given the word
village as a description. It sat upon what amounted to a hill on the
north side of the

valley and was almost one rambling building made of a gray-white
stone and roofed with a simple dark tile. Stone walkways and walls
connected all the various wings and alleys, and courtyards filled in
the spaces that were left. Shokan could not guess how many
people lived in this place, but shutters opened and smiling faces
appeared at windows to watch the arrival of the lowlanders. It was
almost as if it happened all the time.

Thirty-eight

When faced with an overwhelming force there is only one possible
response: limit your opponent’s ability to bring such power to bear.
Make them place pieces that will hamper their own attack and you
will have enlisted their pieces in your own defence. Position
becomes the essence of survival, the only hope for winning.

Writings of the Gü Master Sow

Shuyun rode along the rise in the late afternoon. The shadows of
the plum trees stretched across the ground, twisted into impossibly
elongated shapes. The blossoms had not yet begun to fall, but
there was a dusting of white on the ground—a sign of what was to
come.

To the monk’s right lay the sea that had been created by Lord
Taiki’s dam; its surface rippled like the scales of a dragon. It was
impressive in its size. Shuyun stood in his stirrups for a better view.
To the east he could not see the shore that lay somewhere beyond
the old canal banks, but then there had been extensive areas of
marsh there—lands that resisted draining.

If not for the odd tree growing out of its surface and the top of a
meandering stone wall, it would have appeared a natural lake—one
that had known these shores for a thousand years, not mere days.
Too new for dragons to have taken up residence, Shuyun thought.
But even so it seemed a likely dragon pond. Crows screamed over
the bloated form of a dead horse lying half submerged in the
middle of the sea—a result of the Khan’s attempt to march his
army through the waters.

In many places the water would only be inches deep,

but the soil underneath was so soft it would turn to impassible mud
with the least agitation. Extricating horses and men had taken an
afternoon, and more animals than the one Shuyun could see had
broken legs.

So the Khan had done as was expected, skirted the sea to the
west through the hills. As Shuyun topped a slight rise he could see,
in the distance, the van of the barbarian army making its camp for
the night. The gold banners of the great Khan himself fluttered in
the Plum Blossom Wind. Shuyun often wondered about this
mysterious barbarian, wondered what Hitara could have told him of
this man if Shuyun had ever caught up with the monk in the streets
of Rhojo-ma. Shuyun shook his head—Brother Hitara was himself
a great mystery.

The men the monk could see were only the tip of the army of the
desert. The largest part of the Khan’s force would be spending the
night on the road that wound through the hills. It would not be a
comfortable night despite clear skies and the promise of warm
breezes. Lord Shonto’s archers controlled much of the forest that
bordered the road and even in the dark an army of one hundred
thousand would be an easy target. There would be no fires for the
barbarian warriors that night nor much rest either.

Shuyun’s guard whispered among themselves, and the monk
realized they thought he came too close to the army of the desert.
He stopped for a last look at the scene, offering a prayer to
Botahara to protect the souls of the men who would soon be lost
here.

A soft zephyr brought the scent of plum blossoms to the monk and
the sigh of wind in the trees. The sounds and the perfume
reminded him of Lady Nishima, and he felt his memory stir. With an
effort he forced his mind back to the present.

Much of Lord Shonto’s plan had resulted from an observation
Shuyun had made over cha—a quote from the gü Master,
Soto—and Shuyun felt the weight of that.

A council had been called to decide how best to take advantage of
the change in geography they had initiated. The argument had
gone thus: the barbarian force was virtually limitless; to pass the
sea that had been created by the new dam the army would have to
march to the west through forested hills; the way through the hills
was

narrow and winding; if barbarian patrols discovered an ambush in
the hills the Khan could muster unlimited numbers of men to
destroy it; if the barbarian patrols simply disappeared in the hills,
the Khan’s response would again be to send in large forces; a
serious defense of the road through the hills was possible but the
result inevitable, and the cost in lives would be great. Therefore,
what was the purpose of the exercise?

The resulting decisions were largely dependent on timing for their
success, timing and several tenets of the gü board. Once a player
is certain he perceives his opponent’s plan, does he continue to
search for other threats?

Shuyun turned his horse around. The sun would make its daily
plunge into the mountains soon, and he had several rih to ride to
the boat Shonto was using as his command position. The plan was
set, the forces had been committed days ago. There was nothing
to do but wait.

A single encounter with a barbarian patrol in the darkness would
put the entire exercise at risk. Fortunately, the softness of the
ground allowed horses to pass in relative silence and barbarian
patrols were either few or concentrated elsewhere.

Jaku worried that they would not arrive at the canal with enough
men to perform the task entrusted to them— it would be easy to
lose half the company in such darkness. Even recent breaks in the
cloud cover which had begun to provide some starlight did nothing
to relieve the Guard Commander’s growing pessimism. To his right
Jaku could make out Lord Komawara riding easily, setting the
pace. Perhaps it was this that soured the general’s
mood—command of the company had been given to Komawara
Samyamu, not Jaku Katta.

Even in this low light Jaku could see they were skirting the northern
edge of the small sea that had been created—putting them
uncomfortably in barbarian controlled lands. The Khan’s army was
camped on the road through the hills where they awaited morning.
When the sun rose, the barbarian army would hurl their massive
numbers against the makeshift defenses around the newly built
dam. It was the prayer of the men of Wa that the Khan believed he
knew his enemy’s intentions and saw no traps nor surprises.

The plan, as it had developed, was simple. A false ambush had
been set on the road through the hills and this had been
discovered by a barbarian patrol. A significant skirmish ensued,
resulting in the ambush failing, though at some loss to both sides.
A spirited defense of the road through the hills had then been
staged by Shonto’s forces, led by General Hojo. Two days it had
taken the barbarian army to force its way through to within striking
distance of the dam. And now almost the entire barbarian army was
stretched along the single narrow road, unable to move quickly
either forward or back.

The supply train for that army, however, was borne by rafts moored
against the canal bank to the north of the sea, waiting for the army
to open the canal. Of course, the barbarian chieftains had not been
foolish enough to leave the supply train untended—five thousand
barbarian warriors stood guard—but it was perhaps the smallest
guard such a valuable objective would ever have.

Shonto had gambled, leaving Komawara and Jaku hidden north of
the lake with a force of eighteen hundred men, hoping they would
not be discovered, hoping the barbarians would do exactly what
they had done with their supply train.

Komawara’s force had waited in utter silence for several days until
a single rider had come from General Hojo bearing the orders to
attack. The general had fought a wily battle on the road through the
hills, offering enough resistance to convince the barbarian it was a
true defense but keeping losses to a minimum. And now the
barbarian army was strung out along a twelve rih road with their
command virtually isolated at the southern end. A small force
under the command of Rohku Saicha would fall upon the northern
end of the barbarian force at dawn, their objective to cut off all
assistance to the supply rafts. Jaku admired the plan and had
made some suggestions himself though it had been Shonto who
had outlined the original idea to his staff. No one could say that the
Shonto were timid! It was a bold plan in conception and required
execution in the same manner. So why put this bumbling child in
charge of the most crucial element? Jaku worked to control the
anger caused by this slight. The coming fight would require
absolute focus. They skirted the perimeter of a wood now, staying
on

the edge of the shadow, giving the company as much camouflage
as possible while providing enough light to find the way. Earlier a
soft rain had fallen and found its way under Jaku’s armor—just
enough water to make him cold and uncomfortable—and the light
breeze was not helping matters. The general kept working his left
arm as he rode, keeping it limber and warm, knowing that being wet
coupled with a cool breeze could slow his muscles considerably.
He was surprised others did not do the same.

Lord Komawara pulled up his mount to be sure the entire company
was collected and then sent two riders ahead. An open meadow
about half a rih across stretched out before them. Low walls of
stone divided the area with a pattern of erratic dark lines, creating a
hundred fields, irregular in both shape and size.

The two riders crossed the open area, losing shape as they went
until they became a single, black shadow moving over the starlit
field. No one spoke while waiting, but the sounds of horses shifting
and rolling bits broke the stillness. One of Jaku’s guards
dismounted to tighten his girth—the thud of a knee against a belly
and a sharp exhalation of breath.

The black shape of the two riders appeared again, returning,
moving over the dark landscape that played tricks on the eyes. The
black shape divided and became two riders who approached
Komawara and spoke so quietly that Jaku could not hear the
words.

The young lord nodded and then turned to Jaku. “We move,
General,” Komawara whispered. “Please signal

your guards.“

Beyond the field lay the last hill before the canal. A stand of ginkyo
coming into leaf whispered with the sound of wind among the
branches. The plan was already agreed to, though men would be
sent out to survey the barbarian position to be sure it had not
substantially altered. They came into the shadow of the hill and
Komawara dismounted, crouching down on his heels without word
or signal. His own men followed this example and after hesitating,
Jaku did the same, his guards copying their commander.

In name they were Imperial Guards, but it was to Jaku Katta they
owed their allegiance. Rumors that Jaku defied

the Emperor to be on the canal with Shonto or that their
commander was no longer in favor at court meant little to them.
Without question, they would follow Jaku into battle and lay down
their lives for him. Jaku Katta was the great warrior of his time and
to fight at his side meant more to these men than the favor of a
thousand Emperors. None of them doubted that after tonight Lord
Komawara would defer command of any future raids to General
Jaku. He would see the Black Tiger in his true element.

Komawara signaled and eight men rode off into the night.

As the sound of horses moving over soft ground died, the
company fell silent. The voice of the breeze in the ginkyo sounded
like a complex form of music, varying its tempo, falling to whispers,
then rising to crescendos, the pitch and timbre altering with a
subtlety no instrument would ever duplicate. One could listen for
hours and never hear the same pattern repeated.

Having made himself aware of what constellations rose and set
closest to sunrise, Jaku watched the stars against the horizon. The
rotation of the heavens seemed to have slowed that evening, for
the stars appeared to hang utterly still with only the blowing clouds
giving an illusion of motion.

The riders began to reappear in pairs, whispering with Komawara
as soon as they arrived. Jaku desperately wanted to know what
was being said and felt that as a general of some reputation he
should be kept informed, but he was certainly too proud to ask.

The star Jaku had picked as the signal to move touched the earth
at a distant point, and the general stopped himself as he started to
rise and signal his men. Komawara made no indication of being
ready to move. The last riders arrived just as Jaku was losing
patience. Komawara rose to talk with these men, nodding and
asking the occasional question.

He turned and signaled to Jaku who did not respond well to being
treated like a retainer whether this country boy was a peer of the
Empire or not. As a professional soldier Jaku knew that a battle
was no place to discuss such things, so he crossed to where
Komawara stood, holding his face-mask open.

“The barbarian defenses are unchanged, General Jaku.”
Komawara said, his voice far calmer than the guardsman
expected. “There is movement in the barbarian camp, but I am
prepared to follow the plan as we discussed it: surprise appears to
still ride in our company.” Komawara smiled. “The novelty of
limitless supplies of firewood does not seem to have worn
off—there are more than enough fires for our needs. Is your
company ready, general?”

Jaku nodded.

Komawara clamped his face-mask closed and tightened the cord
on his helmet. Riders mounted horses and the company split into
two: Jaku leading his guards north and Komawara turning south. A
hint of gray appeared over the ginkyo wood as the men of Wa rode
off.

Komawara kept his horse at a canter, fighting a strong desire to
race ahead—Shuyun would be pleased to learn that he was gaining
patience. Eighteen hundred men attacking five thousand was not
much to the lord’s liking, but he knew that there were several
factors in their favor. The men guarding the supply rafts were cut
off from the body of the barbarian army and in unfamiliar lands,
which must weigh upon them to some degree. The hope was that a
surprise raid at dawn would disguise the number of attackers and
perhaps send the barbarians into a panic. Even if they recovered
from this fairly quickly, much damage would already be done.

They skirted the wood, keeping in its shadow. Komawara glanced
up at the sky with concern. Darkness would begin to draw back
soon—not too soon he hoped or the impact of their attack would
be lost. They began to round the southern end of the hill then, and
the lord increased his pace slightly without meaning to. In a
moment they would be in sight of the barbarian position. Komawara
loosened his sword in its sheath.

Another tenth of a rih. There was gray in the sky now, and
Komawara could make out objects at some distance if not in detail.
As they passed a large willow, the fires of the barbarian
encampment appeared suddenly. Drawing his sword with some
care for its edge, Komawara spurred his horse into a canter. It was
only a matter of time now. Sentries would cer-

tainly hear them even if they had been staring at a fire and ruined
their night sight.

Even as this thought passed through the lord’s mind, a shout
sounded in the camp and was quickly taken up by others.
Komawara heard his voice screaming, as bloodcurdling as any
dream he’d had of barbarians attacking, and his company joined in
the cry, trying to make nine hundred sound like thousands.

Aiming for the southern end of the barbarian position, the lord
could see men milling around, though what they did was not
discernible. Few will be armored, he found himself thinking. His
company began to split as the bowmen who would stay outside the
camp and send their arrows into the enemy ahead of Komawara’s
attack moved left. A third group would try to fire or otherwise
destroy the supply rafts.

Although there was some attempt at a low wall of logs and dirt on
the perimeter of the barbarian position, it was sparsely manned
and Lord Komawara’s mount cleared this as though not carrying a
rider in full armor.

His personal guard had come abreast of him now, determined not
to let their lord be the first to throw himself against the barbarian
defense. The light was growing rapidly, and Komawara could see
barbarian warriors struggling to push rafts away from the bank while
others prepared to defend them. Almost none had made it to
horse and those that had were without saddles.

Picking a swordsman on foot, Komawara spurred his horse to ride
the man down. The barbarian stood his ground and raised his
sword and just as Komawara was about to turn aside to spare his
mount and engage the man, the barbarian’s nerve broke and he
turned and ran. A single stroke brought the man down and
Komawara rode on.

It was the lord’s intention to push into the barbarian camp until
resistance stopped them, creating as much panic as possible
among the greatest numbers. If the gods smiled on them, the
separate attacks on the encampment would roll the ends of the
barbarian position up before them until they met in the middle,
sending the panicked tribesmen running toward the cover of the
ginkyo wood. An arrow lodged in the lacing of Komawara’s
shoulder piece and he found himself hoping it was not from his

own men. Although some stood and fought, the raid was having its
desired effect—many more were running, abandoning the rafts as
they headed away from the river, nonswimmers to a man.

Whistling-arrows were falling among the barbarians ahead of
Komawara now, adding their eerie screams to the din. A half-
dressed rider made for the lord suddenly, sword and helmet
glinting in the dim light. The darkness on the man’s hand and arm
turned to red as he came

closer.

They clashed with an impact that shocked the lord, but his larger
horse sent the other staggering. The barbarian’s blade had
severed Komawara’s reins, but he had been born in Seh and his
horse responded to pressure from his knees as quickly as to its
bit. Before the other could collect his horse under him, Komawara
struck, aiming at the man’s wrist and then watching the horror on
the barbarian’s face as he realized this was a feint. The sword
Toshaki had given him cut true to its reputation and severed the
man’s leg above the knee, the point cutting into the horse’s side.
The man’s mount jumped sideways and threw him half off, so that
he clung to the mane. It was an ugly stroke, aimed only to maim,
for Komawara would not risk ruining his edge on the man’s helmet.
The barbarian fell under the hooves of his own horse and the lord
of Seh passed by toward another, a foot-soldier with a lance. One
of the Hajiwara men took this man before Komawara had time to
raise his sword.

Fighting went on everywhere around him, but the lord found
himself, for the moment, unopposed. He stood up in his stirrups,
surveying the scene. Rafts burned behind him and on others he
could see the supplies going into the water. It was a rout of some
proportion, he realized with satisfaction. Clouds of smoke billowed
up to the north and he thought he could see black-armored riders
in the melee ahead.

Quickly collecting the riders around him, Komawara threw himself
against the barbarians again. Daylight was full when he realized that
beyond the knot of barbarian warriors before them Imperial Guards
did their work.

Behind his face-mask, Jaku Katta was grinning broadly when Lord
Komawara appeared before him, the stump of an arrow in his
shoulder piece. The two commanders

pulled up their mounts in the midst of chaos. A riderless horse
galloped between them and disappeared into the melee.
Resistance had been broken.

Komawara waved his sword toward the base of the hill behind
which they had hidden that morning. “They will collect their forces
there,” he shouted over the noise. “The barbarians will soon realize
how few we are. Gather every man you can and we’ll carry the fight
to them once more.” He gestured now to the rafts that his men
swarmed over. The barbarians had managed to cut loose more
rafts than he had hoped and these floated slowly in the current.
Others had simply been abandoned at their moorings and not yet
dealt with by his men. “We need more time to complete this.”

A shout went up then and Komawara realized it came from the
barbarians gathering under the ginkyos.

“There, Sire.” One of Komawara’s guard pointed to the south. A
host of mounted barbarians were rounding the base of the hill,
banners waving.

Komawara looked back at the work progressing on the rafts.

“It is a patrol only,” Jaku said quickly, “no more than a hundred
men.” He pointed his sword toward the barbarians at the hill’s base.
“They hope it is reinforcements.”

“Sound the call,” Komawara shouted to his guard. He looked back
at Jaku. “What have your losses been?”

Jaku waited as three long notes from a conch echoed across the
field. “I cannot say, Lord Komawara.”

The lord looked around the field, strewn with both barbarians and
men of Wa. “Nor can I, General.”

Men began to ride to Komawara’s banner, and the lord wheeled his
horse to face them. “Corporal, your company will join General Jaku
in an assault on the forces gathering there.” He pointed toward the
men at the base of the hill.

‘ ’General Jaku…“ A shout from the barbarian horse patrol, echoed
by the men who were forming ranks, cut off the lord’s words. The
sound of galloping horses came to them. Komawara shouted as
he turned his horse. ”General Jaku, engage the barbarians who are
reforming their ranks. My company will prevent these horsemen
from joining them.‘’

Komawara spurred his horse and waved his men to a gallop,
aiming to intercept the horsemen before they reached the others.
Banners waved and pipes shrilled. The shout from the men of Wa
caused a visible hesitation on the part of the barbarians struggling
to prepare an assault of their own. Most were without horse and
armor, though they outnumbered the riders of Wa almost three
times.

Jaku Katta quickly marshaled his own men and the company given
him by Komawara and sounded the charge. It was his intention to
drive directly through the center of the enemy, thwarting any
attempts to fight in an organized fashion. If the barbarian formed
solid ranks, the advantage of being on horseback would be
seriously reduced.

The initial charge broke the front of the barbarian warriors, but in
the ensuing fighting the tribesmen showed greater resolve and
their superior numbers began to tell. A sword blow to a foreleg
brought Jaku’s horse down and the kick boxer jumped clear. On his
feet immediately, Jaku found himself surrounded by barbarians. He
jumped over a stroke aimed at his leg by the same man who had
taken down his horse and dispatched the man as he spun toward
the attackers at his back. This display of skill caused a second of
hesitation and Jaku used this to cut down two near-boys and jump
clear of the circle. Without men on all sides the fight would be
different though Jaku was not sure how long he could maintain this
situation. He parried a blow and kicked the man under the chin,
engaging another as he did so, but each time a barbarian fell
another took his place. An Imperial Guard on horseback was
desperately cutting his way toward his commander, but just when
Jaku was convinced he would win through, an arrow took the guard
through the face mask. He slumped over the neck of his mount
which bolted into the fray.

It is an honorable end, Jaku told himself, deserving of a song.
Pressed on all sides again, Jaku knew he was fighting to stay alive
from minute to minute. A rider in darkest blue drove his horse into
the barbarian warriors at Jaku’s back sending them sprawling, and
before the barbarian could recover the Guard Commander vaulted
onto the rider’s horse. The two men fought their way

toward a group of Imperial Guards on horseback, hard pressed on
all sides.

Komawara spotted an officer and gestured to him as he continued
to fight. A moment later the clear note of a conch lifted over the
battle. It was the men of Wa who would retreat now.

Joining the Imperial Guards, Jaku grabbed the reins of a riderless
horse and managed to calm it enough that he could mount, barely
touching the ground as he moved from one horse to the other. The
men of Wa began to fight their way free of the battle, one knot of
riders joining another, then another until they gathered enough
force to push toward clear ground.

Once free of the fighting, Komawara turned his mount to assess
the situation. Most of the barbarians still fought on foot. In their
midst a few riders swung their last sword strokes. An urge to
attempt a rescue was swallowed down quickly—Komawara had an
entire company to consider.

The men of Wa who destroyed the supply rafts had been caught
by the barbarian assault and boarded rafts, pushing out into the
canal where they tried to protect themselves from arrows while
poling the rafts toward the dam. There is nothing to be done for
them, Komawara realized. Their situation is probably better than
ours.

Jaku stopped beside him. Komawara opened his face-mask and
let it hang, conserving the energy it took to hold it. “We ride north
and west, General. If we can make the hills, we may be able to
rejoin the main army. Our work is done here.” He pointed with his
sword. Perhaps a third of the barbarian supply rafts had been fired
or their cargo turned into the canal.

Jaku looked at Komawara, his gray eyes striking behind the black
lacquered face-mask. It appeared he was about to speak, but
Komawara nodded to him. “Gather your company, General. We
must be far ahead when these barbarians recapture their horses.”

Calling over an officer, Komawara turned and spoke to him. The
conch sounded again and the banner of the Komawara House was
raised aloft on a lance where it fluttered in the breeze.

“We must ride, General. Any wounded who cannot

keep the pace are to be left behind without horse.“ The young lord
wheeled his mount and set off at a slow canter. To the west the
ginkyo wood was already alive with crows and blackbirds.

Thirty-nine

Colonel Jaku Tadamoto considered the idea offortune as his
sampan swept through the Imperial Capital. Fortune, both good
and ///, seemed to be holding sway in his life just when he thought
he had taken control of it. Were he a more devout Botahist,
Tadamoto would never view his life in such terms. Rather than
fortune he would believe in karma, and would think the sense that
one was in control of one’s life was merely part of the illusion. But
he had not been a devout follower of the Perfect Master since his
childhood, so he was beginning to believe in fortune, both good
and ill.

The young guard officer pulled aside the curtain and contemplated
the world beyond. The city lay silent in the darkness, almost
peaceful—although, as acting Commander of the Imperial Guard,
he knew that was without question an illusion.

He let the curtain fall back into place. It would be foolish to risk
being seen; for all he knew Lady Fortune might not be smiling on
him at that moment and some informer of the Emperor’s, returning
home after an evening of drink, might chance to see him. That
would be ill fortune indeed.

One could never be sure of the favor of Lady Fortune. She was
more fickle than any woman, more volatile than the Emperor.
Tadamoto believed it unwise to rely on her.

Fortune had certainly favored Tadamoto that evening but, at the
same time, it had been the worst possible fortune for the man he
journeyed to meet. No, perhaps that was untrue. The guards who
found the man could have reported their discovery through official
channels and the Son of Heaven would have been informed. That
would have been much worse.

As a retainer of Lord Shonto, this man was the object

of an Imperial search—Shonto himself had defied Imperial orders
and betrayed his duty as Governor of Seh. He was a declared
rebel now, a general in charge of a growing and illegal army. All of
the rebel lord’s senior retainers had disappeared like phantoms
before the Emperor’s guard could reach them. Only one had been
apprehended, and that was due to fortune only: misfortune. This
unfortunate man had his river junk go aground on a shifting sand
bar outside the Capital. A boat bearing Imperial Guards had
stopped to offer assistance and the response of the crew had
raised suspicions. A subsequent search led to the man’s
discovery. Good fortune for Tada-moto, ill for Shonto’s retainer.

Some important questions plagued the colonel; did what appeared
to be fortune have significance? Were there powers beyond that
moved the pieces on the board to some end Tadamoto could not
discern? If so, what was the meaning of this ‘discovery ?’ and what
was Tadamoto’s part to play?

He pulled the curtain back and watched the city slipping past. If all
was controlled by some unseen power, did it matter what choices
he made? Did he, in fact, choose any of his actions?

“I waste my time,” he whispered to the night. Who can know the
truth of this? Perhaps there is no such thing as fortune but only
coincidence. Either way I must blunder along not knowing, doing
what my instincts tell me is correct, for now that the Empire is
thrown into chaos the intellect is giving way to instinct.

Instinct had brought him here. Fortune or coincidence would
dictate the results.

The sampan glided to a silent halt beside stone steps and
boatmen stepped ashore to hold the craft in place. A man
appeared at the top of the stair and whispered. One of Tadamoto’s
guards leaned close to the curtain. “The way is clear, Colonel.”

Tadamoto moved quickly, coming ashore with a grace that would
have seemed more appropriate to his famous brother. Light duty
armor had been chosen by the colonel for this meeting, not
because there was any foreseeable danger, but the helmet visor
shaded his eyes well. Tadamoto’s green eyes made him
immediately recognizable

and there were times when that was not desirable. Even on a night
this dark he was not willing to take chances. He crossed the stone
quay to a small guard house. The doors opened immediately and
Tadamoto found himself facing a bowing officer of the Imperial
Guard.

“Captain.” Tadamoto nodded. “You have spoken with him?”

“Only in an attempt to establish his identity beyond doubt, Colonel.”
He paused, then almost smiled. “He asked for a chair. We have
treated him according to your orders.”

“How many men know of our guest?”

Doing a quick mental tally, the captain, a man twenty years older
than his acting commander, answered formally. “Nine, Colonel
Jaku. We have kept him well hidden.”

“None of these men can leave this compound. Keep them to
themselves until I order otherwise. I will speak with him.”

They climbed a set of stone stairs and walked down a dimly lit
hallway. Outside a heavy wooden door stood two guards. They
bowed when the officers approached and at a signal from the
captain one unbolted the door.

As he stepped into the room, Tadamoto held up a hand to the
captain. “I will speak with him alone, Captain, thank you.”

A single lamp set on a low table illuminated the tiny room. The floor
was covered with grass mats and in one corner bedding had been
neatly folded. An expensive hat sitting on the table cast a shadow
like a boat under sail. On a wooden arm chair sat a large man, well
dressed, calmly regarding his visitor and making no effort to rise.

Tadamoto nodded. “Tanaka.”

The man shrugged and opened his hands as if to say, / would deny
it, but what good would that do met

Tadamoto continued to regard the man. He realized that if he sat
he would be staring up at his prisoner, as though he sat at the foot
of a throne. Sly old fox, he thought. Stepping back, he leaned
against the door frame. The older man did not seem to be made at
all uncomfortable by this examination; he sat calmly returning the
colonel’s gaze. The younger man reached up and removed his
helmet, tucking it under his arm.

so

“You are a merchant,” Tadamoto said suddenly, I have come to
offer an exchange.“

The man nodded. “You have captured my attention,

Colonel Jaku.“

The green eyes, Tadamoto thought. The guardsman nodded. “I
wish to be told everything you know about the barbarians; this Khan
and his army.”

“You spoke of an exchange, Colonel?” Tanaka said

dryly.

“The Emperor does not know you have been found. I will not hide
you from the Son of Heaven, for it would mean my life if your
capture became known. When I report your capture, the Son of
Heaven will want to know everything about your lord’s intentions
and his holdings. You will be required to divulge these things. In
return I will protect you—the Emperor, as you know, is neither
patient nor refined in his methods. If you fall into the Emperor’s
hands, I think you will answer all these questions even if you don’t
wish to, and the process will be far less pleasant than the one I
propose.”

Tanaka nodded sadly. “You ask me to betray my liege-lord and his
House with an impressive casualness, Colonel.”

Tadamoto walked across the bare room, looking down at the floor.
When he returned to the door, he put his back against the jamb
again. “Let us be open, Tanaka.” He paused, choosing his words.
“Civil war has all but been declared. If the Yamaku win this war,
your lord’s holdings will mean nothing—there will be no Shonto to
inherit them. If Lord Shonto wins, all of his holdings will be returned
to him. Either way your betrayal will hardly matter. If I can give this
information to my Emperor, he will be satisfied, at least for a while,
and it is unlikely he will want to question you himself.” Tadamoto
kicked at the floor. “For myself, I need to know what transpires in
the north. This Khan, does he truly pursue Lord Shonto down the
great canal?”

Tanaka regarded the young man for a moment. “And if you are told
that he does and that the Empire is threatened and you also learn,
if you don’t already know, that the Emperor has played a part in
bringing this about, what will you do with this knowledge, Colonel
Tadamoto?”

Tadamoto stopped kicking at the mat and looked up. The merchant
was obviously less afraid than Tadamoto had anticipated. He is
used to trading and knowing the value of what he offers, the
guardsman thought. And then Tadamoto realized the truth. Tanaka
believed Tadamoto kept him hidden so that he could acquire the
Shonto wealth for himself. “I am not certain. Be assured, however,
that my loyalty is to my Emperor.‘’

“That is why you have me hidden from his view and why you have
offered me this exchange?”

Tadamoto looked away for a moment. “If this Khan comes to take
the throne, I must convince the Emperor to prepare for that war
and forget this feud with the Shonto. But I must have proof.”

“You have your own sources, I am sure. What do they tell you?”

“I ask this question of you, merchant, in fair exchange.” And then
he added, “I tell you in truth that I do not share my Emperor’s
hatred of your lord’s House.”

“Perhaps, Colonel, I should be the one offering the exchange.”
Tanaka leaned forward in his chair, putting his palms together. “My
liege-lord cannot hope to defeat the barbarian without an army. You
raise an army to defend the Yamaku against the Shonto, but the
threat comes from beyond our borders. The man who controls the
Imperial Army will decide if Wa stands or falls.” Tanaka looked up
at the younger man; it was an appeal. “As you are the man raising
this force and the acting commander of the Emperor’s Guard, you
are the man most able to seize control of the forming army. Would
you not rather have the histories say that Jaku Tadamoto saved the
Empire than Jaku Tadamoto followed his Emperor, loyally, in Wa’s
destruction.”

“Treason, in either act or word,” Tadamoto said coolly, “is a
serious crime in our Empire and I view it as such. You are aware of
the penalty.”

“Treason…” Tanaka said, ignoring the threat. “It was treason to pay
gold to the barbarians to raid into our Empire, Colonel Jaku.”

Tadamoto turned slowly, trying not to show any response to this
last remark. Raising his hand to knock on the door, he said, “All of
the Shonto holdings. I will

And I must know

have paper and brush brought to you. Shonto’s intentions.“

“I am only a vassal-merchant, Colonel, do you really believe I am
party to the plans of Lord Shonto Motoru?”

“You have known him longer than anyone. He calls you sum—I
know this.”

Tanaka seemed to struggle for a moment before speaking. “You
have a reputation as a historian, Colonel, so you are aware that the
throne of Wa has been within reach of the Shonto many times…
yet they have always refused it. Imperial dynasties come and go,
the Shonto have seen many. If one wishes, without doubt, to
eliminate one’s House, ascend the Dragon Throne. Every Imperial
Family falls within a few generations.”

Tadamoto raised his hand to knock again. “All of his holdings, to
start with.”

“I will need a table and another lamp.”

Tadamoto nodded toward the table at Tanaka’s feet.

Holding his hand up the older man said, “This high, and a second
lamp.”

Tadamoto rapped on the door which was immediately opened by
the guard. The colonel stopped as he was about to step out. “If
you will not assist me, merchant, I cannot help you.”

Forty

Despite the season and weather, the entire situation seemed very
familiar. Lord Komawara walked his horse through the forest in the
hills west of the man-made sea. Unlike his time in the Jai Lung
Hills, the day was warm and filled with the sounds and scents of
spring.

War seemed of no concern to the animals of the hills. Birds sang
their mating songs and hawks and falcons hunted without regard
for the long line of warriors that snaked through the trees.

Thirteen hundred men had survived the attack on the barbarian
supply rafts and the several skirmishes that followed. Rohku
Saicha must have performed his task admirably, bottling up the
enemy army on the road, for no barbarians came to the rescue,
allowing Komawara and his force to escape. Pursuit by barbarian
warriors from the supply rafts had been tentative at best; they were
not willing to risk the rest of their supply train by leaving it
undefended. Jaku and Komawara had easily beaten back these
attempts and then had led their men into the hills.

Lord Shonto’s archers had controlled the hills since the barbarian
army had started down the road, and though many of the bowman
were gone now the barbarians were still quite reluctant to venture
far from their road.

From out of the foliage ahead one of Komawara’s several guides
appeared, trotting at the pace they never seemed to vary. The lord
was sure these men could run like that all day without signs of
strain. The man stopped, leaning on his bow, waiting for Komawara
to approach. A huntsman by trade, he was typical of his type, tall,
lean, and sinewy. There was an air of the forest creature about

this man. Even now the lord realized that the guide had stopped
where anyone but Komawara would find him hard to see among
trees and bushes.

Bowing quickly the man almost whispered, “There is a glade with a
stream and new spring grass less than a rih distant. It will be a
good place to refresh the horses.” Looking around with the air of a
wary animal he went on. “There are signs of barbarian patrols
coming into the forest ahead. They are small in number, however.
If we see them, we will make them believe Lord Shonto’s bowmen
are still here in force.” A smile flashed and was gone. “Tomorrow
we will be through the hills, but the danger will be greater then, for a
time. The barbarians control the lands immediately beyond the
hills, now. We will need to have rested horses to travel quickly. If
Botahara smiles upon us, we will be back with Lord Shonto’s fleet
in three days.” The smile

flashed again.

“What of Captain Rohku?” Komawara asked. “Is

there no sign of him?“

The man looked down as he shook his head. “None yet, Sire,
though there is no reason we should cross the captain’s track. The
hills,” he waved at the trees, “spread over many rih and it is no
doubt Captain Rohku’s intention to avoid detection.”

Komawara nodded. “Lead us to the glade, then. Our horses are in
need.”

They pressed on. Komawara called a retainer forward and sent him
to check on the wounded—so many had been victims of their
injuries since the retreat. A second man he sent down the column
to inform Jaku Katta of their pending rest. The Guard Commander
stayed close to his men and showed great concern for the injured.
It gained him much respect and loyalty.

Despite the losses Komawara did not think they had spent lives
unwisely in their raid on the supply rafts. It had been impossible to
destroy the entire train with such a small force, for there had been
many more rafts than Komawara had believed possible. Still, they
had acquitted themselves well. Even Jaku Katta had paid him a
compliment when the attack was over, not something Komawara
had expected.

After Komawara’s force had reached the relative security of the
hills, he had listened with some surprise to the reports of the men
who had destroyed rafts. Much that the rafts carried was not grown
in the desert: grains, rice, corrapepper, dried fish. Many of these
foods could have originated only on the islands of the southern
barbarians, which unsettled Komawara. Despite the common
pejorative, these two races had nothing in common. Komawara
would have guessed them barely aware of each other’s
existence—two non-seafaring peoples separated by a wide ocean.
Impressive what gold and the ships of pirates could obtain—if,
indeed, it had been pirates. He remembered Lord Kintari.

The sound of running water mixed with the sound of the Plum
Blossom Wind, wafting through the trees. The forest was more
than half pine here, mixed with plane trees and slip maple. The
scent of the trees was strong. Unfolding leaves waved in the soft
breeze, dappling the sunlight where it touched the forest floor. The
paper white of birch trees appeared and beyond them Komawara
could see the sun green of spring grass. It was a bigger pasture
than Komawara expected and spoke of itinerant herdsmen; there
was likely a hut concealed nearby.

The huntsman stopped at the edge of the glade until he received a
signal that the lord never heard. “It is secure here, Lord Komawara.
There is grass like this on either side of the brook, both up and
down stream. It will mean spreading your company out but there is
pasture enough for each horse.”

“The woods are free of barbarians, you are certain?”

The huntsman nodded.

“Then we will do as you suggest. The animals need to graze or
they will never manage this last sprint you speak of.‘’ He turned and
gave the command.

One of the Hajiwara men who had taken service with Komawara
took his lord’s horse and led it off to drink and feed. Komawara
walked across soft grass to the stream and bent stiffly to drink and
fill his water skin before the creek was muddied by horses. He
jumped heavily to the other bank, feeling the weight of his armor as
he landed.

Finding a fallen tree on the far side of the glade, Kp-

mawara sat and pulled his helmet off. He ran a hand through his
hair, much of which had grown back since Shuyun’s ministrations in
the desert. Sweat and the weight of his helmet plastered it tightly to
his brow and the lord suddenly longed for a bath.

The coolness of the air and the warmth of the sun were like the
differing flavors of a complex wine, opposing but complementary.
Slipping down to the ground, Komawara leaned back against the
log, closing his eyes against the brightness of the sky.

He was not sure how long he rested like that, nor if he even slept
for a second, but suddenly he was aware that the sun no longer
warmed him. A cloud, Komawara thought, but then the sound of a
man clearing his throat reached him. His eyes flicked open almost
involuntarily. “General Jaku.”

The guardsman bowed. “Excuse me for interrupting you, Lord
Komawara.”

“Do not apologize, General.” Komawara struggled into a more
upright position. “I managed to fill my wa-terskin before the hordes,
General Jaku, please.” He proffered the water to the guard.

Jaku nodded and accepted the water. Returning the skin to
Komawara, the guardsman sat down on the log and followed the
lord’s example, pulling off his helmet. “Three days, I have been
informed? Do you think Lord Shonto will have moved his fleet
again?”

The lord pulled a burr off the lacing of his armor and rolled the
spines gently between his forefinger and thumb. “It seems most
likely, General. The barbarians move slowly, but Lord Shonto will
not risk his army. It may be the Empire’s only hope.”

“It is sadly true,” Jaku observed dryly. “Though the Emperor raises
an army, it is impossible to predict what he will do with it—and I
know the Emperor.” Jaku produced a square of cotton and wiped
his face and neck

with it.

The same huntsman Komawara had spoken to earlier appeared
out of the trees twenty paces off, looked around and then spotted
the lord. Trotting over, he dropped to his knees and bowed so as
not to stand above the seated peer. When he spoke, the man’s
voice quavered slightly.

“Sire, we have discovered… something of great concern.” He
gestured to the forest behind him, words failing him. “Close by.”

Komawara glanced at Jaku, questions unspoken. Signaling to his
guard, the lord waved the huntsman on and he and Jaku fell in
behind. Walking through the spring woods filled with the sounds of
birds Komawara felt suddenly cold. He did not know what had been
found, but the huntsman’s reaction was not reassuring.

As the tracker had said, it was not far. The perfume of the spring
forest was replaced by a sudden stench and flies buzzed up,
agitated by the presence of people. The huntsman stopped,
saying nothing. At his feet lay a corpse, belly down, stripped
naked, its head severed. Stubs of three broken arrows protruded
from the throat and shoulder.

“There are more,” the huntsman said, making a sign to Botahara.

“Who?” Komawara whispered. Shrugging the huntsman stepped
away, covering his mouth and nose. “Not barbarians, certainly.”

Twenty feet away lay two men who had been felled and mutilated
also. The grass and bushes nearby had been well trampled,
perhaps by a struggle. A horse without saddle or bridle was found,
its head twisted at an improbable angle.

Several of the huntsman’s company could be seen searching the
bush, stopping now and then as they discovered another corpse.

“Captain Rohku’s company,” Jaku said quietly to Komawara, “or
some of it.”

Komawara nodded. “No doubt you are correct. This man wore
armor often.” The lord pointed to familiar marks on the man’s
shoulders. He waved the huntsman over. “Hide men behind us. Be
certain we are not pursued.”

The huntsman nodded. “What shall we do for these?” He waved at
the ground around him.

Komawara turned in a slow circle, examining the area. “Leave them
to the forest.”

“Sire,” the man started to protest but was silenced by a cold stare.

“There will be many more like these before this war is over, and we
will not be able to perform ceremonies for one in a thousand.” He
looked down. “May Bota-hara have mercy on their souls.”

Forty-one

Though he waited to speak with the Emperor of all of Wa, Jaku
Tadamoto had not yet decided what he would say to the Son of
Heaven. Perhaps the glimpse he had caught of a woman leaving
the wing of the Emperor’s apartments had unsettled Tadamoto
more than he realized, though he was not at all sure it had been
Osha. The woman had appeared briefly down a long hall, her hair
in an elaborate style, ornate robes of canary yellow—a color Osha
despised and the Emperor loved. But she had moved with such
ease…

Tadamoto felt like he was drowning in deep sadness, unable to
focus his will sufficiently to stroke to the surface. Things of the
greatest import hardly drew his attention. What would be said and
left unsaid in this audience with the Emperor was crucial, he knew,
yet that knowledge did not seem to galvanize his energies.
Despondency was what Tadamoto felt, and his famed intellect did
not seem able to exert control over his other faculties.

Through the screens Tadamoto could hear the Emperor’s voice as
he spoke to some official. From where Tadamoto waited, he heard
brief silences in which, presumably, the official spoke and this
made Tadamoto wonder if he was equally quiet when addressing
the Emperor. It was a strange thing to listen to, as though half of
the dialogue was silence.

Tadamoto turned a scroll he carried, examining it carefully as
though he would suddenly be able to assess its impact in the
meeting to come. Would the Son of Heaven respond as the young
officer hoped? If the Emperor’s greed was caught by the
information in the scroll, he might forget to ask when the Imperial
Guard had found Lord Shonto’s vassal-merchant—if the answer
was not

already known. Why have I played this foolish game with this
merchant? Tadamoto asked himself.

The Emperor’s voice had not responded to the silence now for
several minutes, and Tadamoto made a last attempt to focus his
will. A secretary appeared and bowed to the guard officer, saying
nothing. Rising, Tadamoto followed the old man through a bare
anteroom. Double screens opened onto a terrace tiled with small
stones and shards of porcelain forming a lotus blossom pattern.
Beyond was the view north across the Dragon Pond toward the
Mountain of the Pure Spirit.

Kneeling before the screens, Tadamoto waited to be announced.
It was done so quietly that the officer did not hear. The Emperor’s
mood must be dark.

At a signal, Tadamoto moved forward on his knees across grass
mats that had been laid over the stones. On a small dais at one
end of the terrace the Emperor sat under a silk awning. To his left
the view stretched out toward the far mountains and to his right
stood a small ornamental cherry, ancient despite its size and
famous for the perfection of its shape. The Emperor tapped the tip
of his sword on the edge of the dais, staring at neither view nor
blossom—he scowled openly and his eyes were not focused on
anything another could see.

Tadamoto touched his forehead to the mat.

“Be at your ease, Colonel,” the Emperor said, irritation lodged in
his tone like a thorn.

Tadamoto returned to a kneeling position feeling anything but at
ease.

“I am told the raising of our army proceeds apace, Colonel.” The
Emperor gave a slight nod.

Tadamoto bowed in return. “The reports of Lord Shonto’s force
would indicate he has fewer than twenty-five thousand men, Sire.
Our force will equal that very soon.”

The Emperor nodded. He still tapped the dais with his sword.
“Once Motoru reaches the inner provinces it is impossible to say
who will join him. We must be prepared to face all manner of
treachery, Colonel, or we will not even have the luxury of time to
regret our mistakes.”

“Recruitment continues, Emperor. I’m confident we will raise an
army of adequate numbers.”

“And no experience!” the Emperor shot back.

Tadamoto froze for a second. “We are training now, Sire,” he said
quietly.

“At least our army will be no less battle ready than Shonto’s.”

Tadamoto pressed his eyes closed for an instant, then glanced out
over the Dragon Pond and back to the mats in front of him.

The Emperor fixed the young scholar with a hard stare. “You have
a scroll for me, I see.”

Tadamoto nodded.

“Not more news of pending disaster, I trust?”

Tadamoto lifted the scroll with both hands. “A complete, detailed
list of all of the Shonto House holdings and properties.”

The Emperor stopped tapping the dais.

“We have taken the Shonto vassal-merchant into our custody,”
Tadamoto said evenly.

“Tanaka?” the Emperor said with more than a trace of disbelief.

Tadamoto gave a half bow, keeping his eyes cast down. Leaning
forward he set the scroll on the edge of the dais though the
Emperor almost snatched it from his hands.

Breaking the seal with a thumbnail, the Emperor unrolled the paper
and held it up to the light so that it hid his reaction. When he
appeared again, his face was creased with delight. “This rebel
general was once a very wealthy lord.” He waved a finger at the
scroll. “Astonishing that his merchant could hide so much wealth!”
He let the itemization fall back into his lap. “You are to be
complimented, Tadamoto-sum. I will see that you are given,” he
paused to think, “a fortieth of the Shonto wealth as a reward. But
what else has this merchant said? What of Shonto’s plans?”

Tadamoto nodded, as though acknowledging the question though
he was trying desperately to gather his thoughts. “I—I am honored
by your generosity, Emperor.” He bowed low. “It is difficult to be
sure what Tanaka knows about his lord’s intentions, Sire. I have
spoken with him now on several occasions and I am not convinced
Shonto has been as open with Tanaka as we had believed.”

The Emperor set the scroll aside and reached for his

sword. “Perhaps a less gentle method of inquiry would produce
the results we require, Colonel.”

“I… I hesitate to do so, Sire. I would rather gain his confidence and
convince him with arguments.” An idea. “After the war is over,
Tanaka will have no liege-lord. He would make a valuable addition
to your staff, Sire.” Tadamoto gestured toward the scroll. “Imagine
what such a man could do to increase the Imperial fortunes.”

The Emperor raised an eyebrow at this. “Is this possible? A
Shonto retainer?”

“This list is an example, Sire—which, by the way, was done entirely
from memory. Tanaka agreed to create this itemization after I had
convinced him that such an act would not affect Lord Shonto, no
matter what the outcome of the civil war. He is not a warrior, Sire.
One can appeal to his intellect and see some result. It is also well
known that he enjoys the trappings of wealth himself. Many a lord
would be happy to live in this vassal-merchant’s home. When there
is no Shonto House,” Tadamoto shrugged, “where will Tanaka’s
loyalty lie?”

The Emperor looked out toward the Mountain of Divine Inspiration,
lost in thought. “If you can win his willing service, Tadamoto-sum, I
will double your reward, and more. But we cannot let him hide
behind this.” The Emperor gestured to the scroll. “We desperately
need to know what Motoru plans. Be certain this merchant is hiding
nothing.”

Tadamoto bowed. Wealth… Tadamoto thought, enormous
wealth… on the eve of civil war. The irony threatened to make him
laugh. “I will spare no effort, Sire, be assured.”

The Emperor favored him with a controlled smile. “Is there more
that I should hear, Tadamoto-sum, or will we stop now, while the
gods smile upon us?‘’

Tadamoto hesitated for a second and saw the Emperor’s face
darken as he did so. “I have had reports from the north, Sire. Lord
Shonto dammed the canal and flooded a large plain north of
Fuimo. A barbarian force was certainly following close behind the
men of Seh at that time.”

The Emperor stared hard at Tadamoto for a moment and then rose
suddenly, causing the younger man to flinch

visibly. Crossing the terrace, the Emperor descended a set of
stairs. When all but his head had descended out of sight, the
Emperor turned and nodded toward Tadamoto to rise and follow.

Waiting on another terrace, a level below, the Emperor stared off
to the north and when Tadamoto caught him he set off again,
Tadamoto in his wake. They descended another flight of stairs
which put them on the lawn that ran down to the edge of the
Dragon Pond. The Emperor walked toward the eastern wall of the
Palace where a complex hedge-maze stood, planted generations
past and renewed and altered over the centuries.

The Emperor stopped before the entrance to the maze, waving
Tadamoto ahead with his sword. “Colonel.”

Tadamoto stepped into the maze, not sure what was required of
him, his mouth drying quickly. He walked down the path, the fall of
the Emperor’s step close behind. The maze branched both left
and right almost immediately and the guardsman continued
straight, not knowing if he should have chosen one of the other
paths. “Have you been through the puzzle before, Colonel?”
Tadamoto shook his head, but before he could speak the Emperor
went on.

“It is a most ingenious maze. Unlike others of the type it does not
give up its secret easily. In fact, few find their way to the center. To
unexpectedly arrive back at the beginning is the common
experience or at one of the several gates which lead out. Turn
right, Colonel.”

Tadamoto obeyed, walking slowly and fighting the urge to look
back at the Emperor.

“From whom did you receive this information about the barbarian
army, Colonel?”

“Spies working in the north, Sire.”

“Ah. Stop where you are and look carefully around you.”

Tadamoto did as he was told. The stone pathway was somewhat
wider than a man was tall, bounded on both sides by high, dense
foliage. There was a blind-end visible ahead and a branch-left
perhaps six paces away. Turning further, Tadamoto found the
Emperor watching him, all traces of his earlier lightness of spirit
gone. Reaching right with his sword the Emperor thrust the tip of
the scabbard into the hedge.

Looking at the spot the Emperor indicated, the guard realized that
there was something out of place there and a more careful
inspection revealed a low, impossibly narrow passage, well
camouflaged.

“A gardener’s secret,” the Emperor said quietly. “You will have to
push your way in.”

Tadamoto parted the branches with care and bent low to enter. It
was surprisingly dark in the passageway, the density of the growth
admitting little light. Sounds of the Emperor parting the branches
behind kept Tadamoto moving despite the tightness of the tunnel.
Sunlight appeared ahead and the officer pushed through into
another stone pathway running between the hedges.

“Turn left,” the Emperor said before he had emerged from the
passage.

Tadamoto set out again at the same pace and again the Emperor’s
footsteps followed. Another gardener’s tunnel, and then left, then
right and again right. They were at the center of the maze. The
hedges formed a circle a dozen paces across and in the center of
this lay a round, jade pool, flashes of gold and crimson sunfish like
visions of flame in the depths of a mirror.

The Emperor sat on a stone bench carved with Imperial Dragons,
his sword across his knees. Tadamoto hastened to kneel, the
stones digging into his knees.

The Emperor stared into the green water of the quiet pool. “You
see, Colonel Jaku, uncounted people have tried to unravel this
puzzle but, in truth, only a few have ever managed to stand where
you are now and look into the Jade Mirror. Ministers, princes, court
ladies, great lords, famed generals… so many have failed. Yet the
humble gardeners of the palace all have been here, often. They
know how to go directly to the heart of the puzzle.” The Emperor
pointed the tip of his scabbard at the young officer. “It is the secret
of all great men, Tadamoto-sum.

“If there is a barbarian army, I believe it is in league with Shonto or
is of little consequence and Shonto draws it along behind him as
an excuse to invade the inner provinces. This half-breed Khan
cannot threaten the Empire of Wa with a ragtag army of hunters
and herdboys. You have had your confidence in this matter shaken
by your

brother. This impairs your effectiveness as a counselor to the
Emperor.

“Cut through to the heart of the matter, Colonel, so you can set it
aside. We have war in sight—it gathers on the northern horizon like
a winter storm. Your entire focus will be called for.” The Emperor
stood and walked to the opening in the hedge. “The place where
you sit, Colonel is so difficult to reach most believe it impossible.
Wander without focus for even a short time and you will find
yourself on the outside. May the gods guide vou. Colonel Jaku.

Forty-two

Rohku Tadamori was growing used to being referred to as captain
though he had now twice been confused with his father and that he
would never grow used to. There was a vast difference between a
mere captain and the Captain of Lord Shonto’s Personal
Guard—and only a true provincial would not be aware of the
distinction. Still, he was proud of his new rank as he was of his
father’s status. His dream of the Rohku family achieving fame for
their service to the Shonto did not seem as remote as it once had,
especially now with war at hand.

The young officer rode along the canal bank through a grove of
flowering plum trees. The spring winds were just now starting to
coax the petals of the plum blossoms free, carrying them aloft and
scattering them across the green countryside. The wakes of the
passing river boats disturbed the petals as they landed on the
canal and the Plum Blossom Winds turned them into sails,
stranding them on the western bank.

Behind Rohku Tadamori rode a small company and the young
captain realized that he had achieved a certain level of recognition
since he suddenly warranted a guard. He shook his head. Perhaps
now that war was upon them, he would have a chance to prove
himself in battle as his father had. A few days earlier Rohku Saicha
had led an attack on the barbarians in the hills. Despite his recent
recognition Tadamori was not senior enough to know any details of
his father’s duty—that would come with time. Worrying was
something that Tadamori had been taught not to indulge in, but his
father’s company had not returned and those who knew had begun
to whisper. He focused his thoughts elsewhere.

Functioning in the capacity that had somehow become his own,
Rohku Tadamori had been sent south down the

canal as a lookout. The boats had grown so numerous that it was
becoming impossible to pass to the front of the fleet by sampan in
any reasonable time, so he had chosen to ride. Perhaps the fact
that it was a perfect spring day and he preferred horses to boats
had entered into the decision also.

Although the Grand Canal ran virtually straight throughout most of
its sections, the area it passed through now was strewn with
outcroppings of gray stone, making a straight line impossible. So
the ancient engineers had routed the waterway among them as
though providing travelers with the most aesthetic views had
suddenly become their purpose. This allowed Rohku to go across
country, cutting off great loops of the canal and saving much time
and distance.

Rohku and his guard had not passed half the ships in the great
flotilla so far and yet they had been on horseback half a day. A
small stream met the canal and Tadamori dismounted to let his
horse drink. Others did the same. There was no sense of urgency
in this assignment, and though his men did not know what his
orders were they had soon realized that he did not rush.
Conversation had started among the riders, uncommon among
Shonto’s guard, who took their duty very seriously. A beautiful day
such as this even lightened the spirits of the warriors.

“There is a mess for you,” one of the guards said, pointing down
the canal.

Around one of the giant rock towers came an ornate river boat,
fighting not only the current of the canal but also the current of
events. Barges from the south-going flotilla pulled up to the bank to
let the river boat pass. Rohku could not distinguish the crests on
the banners, but the color was impossible to mistake—Imperial
Crimson. Prince Wakaro had arrived, not appearing out of the
mists as had Jaku Katta, but in the full light of a fine spring day,
forcing his way north against a torrent of refugees swept before the
coming war.

Even at this distance Rohku could see the people on the bank and
on barges bowing as the Prince’s boat passed. Rohku ran up to
the top of the bank and watched for a moment, then trotted back
down and mounted his horse. There was nothing more he needed
to see.

Turning quickly, Rohku spurred up the bank followed by his guard.
At the top he paused to get his bearings in the strange countryside
and then set off across the country at a canter. Lord Shonto would
want to know this immediately.

Although official greetings had been sent and the Prince had made
it known that he wished to have Lord Shonto attend him
immediately, still nothing of significance had occurred. The
Prince’s flotilla carrying personal staff, his small court, and an
honor guard of black uniformed Imperial Guards sat moored to the
east bank of the canal while Shonto’s own vast flotilla passed by on
its way toward the inner provinces.

On the bank opposite the Prince’s retinue, a silk pavilion had been
erected surrounded by a fence of banners laced to bamboo
frames. The Emperor’s banner, the five-clawed dragon on
crimson, wafted from a staff before the enclosure and beside it
Prince Wakaro’s own banner of dragon and crane, also on
crimson, though bordered in gold. Shonto’s blue banner waved
there, also, as did the Flying Horse of the Province of Seh.
Armored men in Shonto blue stood guard and there was a ring of
several hundred yards which only specific Shonto retainers were
allowed to enter.

On the bank before the pavilion a dock had been built so that
people of rank might disembark from boats with some semblance
of dignity. A sampan of the most common variety wobbled down
the canal to the stroke of its single oar. Aboard this craft were three
guards in armor with blue lacing and an old man, formally dressed,
sitting with one hand in his lap while the other sleeve of his robe
creased and rippled in the breeze.

The sampan made a careful line to the elaborate barge that bore
die Imperial Prince. Steward Kamu was left waiting on the boarding
platform for some minutes, but eventually an Imperial Guard officer
came to the head of the stairs and bowed.

“The Prince will speak with you now, Steward Kamu,” the officer
said.

They still bow, they continue to use my title, they are not as
confident as they pretend, Kamu thought. With some care he
ascended the stairs to the main deck and

then a second stairway to an upper level. There, on the stern,
protected by a yellow awning, sat the Imperial Prince, Yamaku
Wakaro, listening to a lovely young woman who played the melody
of a spring dance on the harp.

Kneeling immediately, Kamu waited, listening. The woman was not
the equal of Lady Nishima, in either beauty or in the skill of her
playing, but she was certainly more than competent and the
composition was well matched to the day.

The Prince did not seem to notice the presence of Lord Shonto’s
representative but concentrated his attentions on the young
musician. Sitting on cushions around the stern of the boat sat
several richly dressed men and women of similar age to the
Prince. None were immediately recognizable to Kamu, but he was
well informed of who fluttered about the flame of the Imperial
Prince and though they were not individuals entirely without virtue,
there was not one among them who it could be said was marked
for great things. Another Imperial dynasty that had achieved
mediocrity in three generations.

A second song was called for and plum wine was served. Kamu
knelt unmoving on the hard deck controlling his not insignificant
temper. Occasionally he glanced up at the Prince. He decided His
Imperial Highness favored his mother in appearance, round of
feature, yet fair. Large, wide-set eyes with long lashes drew the
attention and would, no doubt, be the talk of the young women at
court. The Prince kept teasing the corner of a long, spindly
mustache. Like his mother, the Prince had a shock of white hair on
his left temple, distorting the symmetry of his face.

Finally, after the second song and some idle conversation and
laughter, Kamu was summoned forward. Bored with their charade,
the old man thought.

Bowing, the steward waited with every indication of infinite
patience.

“Steward Kamu,” Prince Wakaro said, his voice slightly nasal. “I
trust you have come to arrange the surrender of Lord Shonto and
to pass the control of this upstart army over to my Guard Captain.”

Kamu gave a half bow as though of compliance. “The edicts you
bear from the Son of Heaven would certainly

not be ignored, Sire. As we are at war, however, Lord Shonto is
anxious to give a full report of the military situation before the
Prince takes command of the army.“ Kamu bowed again.

“Tell your lord that the military situation is no longer his concern. I
am more interested in his compliance with direct orders from the
Emperor.‘’

Kamu nodded to the pavilion on the opposite bank. “Lord Shonto is
a general of great skill, Sire. Given your experience in these areas,
it might be prudent to speak with him, Prince.”

Wakaro raised an eyebrow, a flash of anger was replaced by a
smirk. His followers became very quiet. “Your insolence has
earned you a particularly small, dark cell for the brief period
remaining to you, Steward.”

Kamu’s deferential manner did not change. “Certainly, Sire, this will
be as you wish, but this must wait until after your meeting with my
lord.”

“There will be no meeting with your lord, you old fool!” the prince
exploded, slamming his armrest.

Kamu nodded. He shares his father’s temper if little else.
“Perhaps, Sire, I might suggest that you look behind you,” Kamu
said softly.

Wakaro’s eyes widened at this and his flash of temper seemed to
burn down to coals. Others of his party glanced aft and Kamu
heard them curse under their breath. Hearing this the Prince
turned. On the deck of the boat behind, formerly awash in the
black-laced armor of Imperial Guards, stood men in armor of blue.
As the Imperial Prince turned, they bowed and then returned to
position as if they were his own guard.

Wakaro turned and regarded Kamu. Before he could respond to
what he had seen, the old steward spoke quietly.

“As we are at war, my lord is concerned with the Prince’s safety.
He has provided you with his own personal guard. I trust the hour
of the dog will not be an inconvenient time for this meeting?”

“To threaten the son of the Emperor of Wa is a crime that will not
be forgiven,” the Prince said, his voice not sure enough to bear the
weight of the threat.

Kamu could not help himself. He shrugged. “There is no threat,
Sire. Only concern that you are fully aware of

the situation you inherit.“ Without waiting to be dismissed, Kamu
bowed low, rose in the Prince’s presence, and walked with great
dignity to the stairs and then down to his waiting boat.

The sampan carrying Prince Wakaro crossed to the small dock
where it was met by Shonto’s steward, who bowed low, greeting
the Prince with proper formality. Accompanying the Emperor’s son
was the senior officer of his guard and another young man of
similar age to his royal highness. They ascended the bank to the
enclosure between rows of bowing, blue-armored guards. Under
the awning of the pavilion sat Lord Shonto and his senior military
advisor, General Hojo Masakado.

All bowed accordingly as the Prince approached. A small dais had
been provided for Wakaro and cushions set for his counselors.
Taking his place, the son of the Emperor sat and glared at Shonto
with undisguised anger.

“Do not wait for me to speak,” the Prince said quickly. “Despite this
dais and the formal homage, there is no question of who controls
this situation. Enjoy it while you may,” he added, the Yamaku
temper flaring briefly.

Shonto favored the Prince with a smile of great warmth. “I
apologize most humbly, Sire. If we were not at war, I would never
have presumed to use such measures.”

“I am not aware of any declaration of war, and I receive news from
the Island Palace daily. Refusal to comply with the Imperial Edicts
will be considered an act of treason, Governor.” He spat the word
out. “It does not show great wisdom to erode your already tenuous
situation.”

Shonto spoke quietly. “Refusal to learn what is known of the enemy
you will face when you take control of the army could not be
considered great wisdom either, Sire.” Shonto smiled again. “As
die Empire is under great threat, I did not feel such a mistake could
be allowed.”

The Prince eyed Shonto. “What will you have me do?”

Shonto favored the Prince with the look a tolerant parent gives an
unreasonable child—amusement and affection mixed with sadness
brought about by the knowledge

that children will insist on learning difficult lessons for themselves,
though their conclusions will hardly be startling. “The barbarian
force is not far behind, not as far as we would like it to be, at least.
If you can be ready at sunrise tomorrow, General Hojo will
accompany you personally so that you might view this force and
make your own assessment and plans.” He nodded to Kamu who
reached behind him for a scroll. He laid this within reach of the
Prince’s guard.

“This is an accurate assessment of the barbarian force. General
Hojo will certainly be able to answer any questions you might have
as he is familiar with every aspect of our efforts and has recently
engaged the vanguard of the barbarian army in a significant
skirmish.”

Silence followed. The Prince finally nodded, moving his head as
though he suffered from great exhaustion. “As I have little choice, I
will go view this great barbarian army. May I assume my guard
captain will be allowed to accompany me?”

“Of course, Sire,” Shonto answered. “Take the advisors deemed
necessary, by all means. I personally will be interested in the
opinions of the Prince and his staff when they return.”

Shonto nodded to Kamu who gave unseen signals and wine
appeared. “Excuse me for not asking, Prince,” Shonto said, lifting
his cup. “The Emperor is well?”

Forty-three

Upon first awakening, for the briefest of moments, one believes in
the dream.

Brother Hutto Seventieth Primate of Wa

Prince Wakaro wore the black-laced armor of an Imperial Guard
officer, though under a surcoat bearing twin silver dragons and a
trim of crimson. A dark bay stallion was the Prince’s favored horse,
and though it was a powerful animal General Hojo suspected that it
had been chosen to complement the Prince’s attire.

And the silver-trimmed black saddle and bridle… ! These earned
many a glance from the other riders who favored tack that showed
signs of use. Such a saddle and bridle would be a prize to attract a
barbarian’s attention!

Hojo turned back to the scene that stretched out before them. It
had taken some time to find an appropriate place from which to
view the passing barbarian army. Lord Shonto had insisted that the
Prince should never be at risk—not an easy requirement to fullfil in
such times— but this hill was as secure as could be found.
Unfortunately, what it gained in security it lost in proximity.

Far off to the west the Grand Canal wound across the landscape,
shining like a bronze ribbon in the late afternoon light. Rafts were
being pulled along this ribbon of molten metal, their dark shapes
distorted by their own shadows. Along either bank moved the army
of the desert, like an enormous herd of unknown animals
wandering in search of new feeding grounds.

Prince Wakaro said nothing though he repeatedly glanced over at
the captain of his guard as if he tried to

read the officer’s response. It was a small, but telling, gesture.

“It is possible to go some short distance closer, Prince, if this
would help in the estimation of the army’s size,” Hojo offered
calmly. He was not seeing the barbarian army for the first time. He
had fought them, in fact. To the general they were only men, not
some ominous, unknown entity. They fought and made mistakes,
felt fear, and even bled, just like any other men he had known.

The Prince looked over to his captain who shook his head. “We
have seen all we require, General.” He looked over at the western
horizon. “It will be dark soon enough. Perhaps we should return.”

General Hojo nodded, signaled his guard, and turned back the way
they had come. That will take some of the arrogance out of the
whelp, the old fighter thought—and to think this boy’s father began
all of this; paid gold to this Khan to help bring down the Shonto
House. Has this young Prince wondered why he was sent to Seh?
Let him ponder that, Hojo told himself. If nothing else can shake
his imperial confidence, that should.

It was a curious aspect of the natural world and Lord Shonto had
often wondered about it. The willow trees that lined the canal bank
had branches that hung down close to the water, like green robes
swaying in the breeze. Yet, from even a short distance, it appeared
that all of these branches stopped the same distance short of the
water, as though a gardener had trimmed them with great care.
Surely it is only an illusion, the lord thought, but it appears to be so.
Tree after tree all with their long, flowing wands grown to the same
length.

The canal bank slipped past, the spring winds still hurrying the river
boats south. A haze of petals floated on the waters among the
reflections of passing clouds, and other petals took to the wind like
a flight of butterflies. Spring in Wa was disappointing no one, at
least as far as weather was concerned. Shonto sat on the upper
deck of his barge, watching the scene pass.

Unlike his Spiritual Advisor the lord did not wait well, but one did not
hurry an Imperial Prince nor demand that they arrive at an
appointed hour—by definition, the

appointed hour was the precise time the Imperial party made its
appearance.

It was surprising enough that Wakaro came to Shonto, for a Prince
need never wait upon another. There was little doubt that this act
was a message—the sight of the barbarian army was a convincing
argument—but what the Prince would be willing to do in the coming
war remained a question.

“Sire,” Kamu appeared at the stairway, “the Prince comes.”

Shonto nodded. It had been decided that the lord would meet the
Prince as an equal, not kneeling at the stairhead as the Prince
came aboard—and this, too, was a message. The Yamaku
prepared for war against the Shonto, had tried to do away with the
Shonto House altogether; there were certain truths that each
House would have to live with now. One was that the Shonto would
no longer recognize the Yamaku claim to the Dragon Throne. This
did not mean that Shonto would treat the son of his enemy with
disrespect, but he would not credit him the full regard reserved for
the son of a legitimate sovereign.

An elegant white boat shot past, controlled by skilled oarsmen. It
turned easily and brought up beside the platform at the bottom of
the boarding stairs. They were not within Shonto’s sight, but he
could hear voices and footsteps on the stairs.

Two attendants and two Imperial Guards preceded the Prince onto
the upper deck and knelt to either side while their master ascended
the stairs. Everyone on the deck, with the exception of Lord
Shonto, bowed low.

The Prince wore a robe the color of the summer sky embroidered
with a pattern of plum trees in blossom. In his sash he carried a
sword in a black leather scabbard adorned with the dragon and
crane. Crossing the open deck, Wakaro nodded to Shonto and
took the cushion to the lord’s left. Shonto returned the nod and
gestured for a cushion to be set for the Prince’s Guard Captain.
Kamu and General Hojo approached and took places on their
lord’s right.

“Have you traveled the canal before, Prince Wakaro?” Shonto
asked, not waiting for the Prince to open the conversation.

“Not so far north, Lord Shonto,” he waved a hand

toward the shore. “It passes through some of the most beautiful
scenes in the Empire, I am certain.”

Shonto nodded, looking out over the landscape. “I agree. Years
ago I traveled south from Seh. It has changed little.” Shonto looked
down in slight discomfort. “Though we will not say that after the
barbarians have passed.” The lord looked up at the young man
before him, his question unspoken: Now that you have seen the
truth of the world, young Sire, what have you to say?

Wakaro could not meet the lord’s gaze for more than a second. “I
now realize, Lord Shonto, why you so… strongly advised that I
increase my understanding of the military situation. Let us say no
more about it.” The Prince rubbed his palms together in a slow
circular motion. “I have read your report, as has my Guard Captain.
Though I have not received thorough training in the arts of war, I
realize that this Khan and his followers are a great threat to the
Empire and to our Emperor. My Guard Captain concurs with your
staff’s estimate of the army’s size. There is no doubt that the
resources of the entire Empire must be utilized to combat this
threat.” He looked up now, regarding Shonto with the look of one
who has resolved to tell another the hard truth.

“I am not certain that the Emperor can be convinced of this threat,
Lord Shonto.” He looked out over the canal, brushing back a wisp
of white hair. “The Emperor believes that you proceed south with
the intention of overthrowing the Yamaku House.” The Prince
shrugged. “I cannot say what your intentions are, Lord Shonto, but
certainly the choice you have made to retreat south with so small a
force and allow the Empire time to raise an army of defense was
the wise choice. Though I am certain it was a difficult decision.”

The Prince shifted on his cushion. “It is my shame to admit that my
assessment of what happens here will hold little sway over the
actions of the Emperor.” He paused for a second and Shonto
wondered if this was pain the young man felt, but the Prince’s face
showed little sign of emotion. “It is likely,” Wakaro said at last, “that
any report I send will be disregarded. Many an Imperial Prince has
plotted to overthrow his father. The Emperor will believe that I have
joined you, Lord Shonto, unaware that I am loyal to him, despite
all.” The Prince paused

again, looking down at his hands. “I am unsure how to proceed…”

Shonto nodded. “It is a difficult situation, Prince Wakaro. My own
staff have discussed it endlessly. Allow me to say that the Shonto
interest is the safety of Wa, nothing more. As you can see I have
already sacrificed everything to that end. Rebel General I am
named, yet the subject of every Shonto council is: how can the
Empire be preserved?

“The Emperor must raise an army. It is the only answer. I have
gathered as many men as we will likely see, yet the total of our
forces is not a third of the barbarian army. As we speak, an army is
being raised in the Capital, though it is not an army for the defense
of Wa. What will happen when we reach the inner provinces and
the scale of the barbarian invasion is seen?” Shonto regarded his
young companion. “I fear it will be too late, Prince Wakaro. We
must have a plan—now—a plan and an army large enough to meet
this threat from the desert.”

The Prince nodded slowly, looking down at the wooden deck. “I
can send a message to my father describing what I have seen and
urge him to send officers he trusts to assess the situation for
themselves. I can also travel south by fast boat and speak to the
Emperor, though I may find retirement to a well-guarded estate as
my reward. But even so, I would do this. As you have, Lord Shonto,
so would I risk all to preserve the Empire.”

“I think a message to the Emperor is appropriate,” Shonto said
quietly. “Even if it does not change the Emperor’s mind, it must
cast some doubt on the counsel he has received. As you say, it
may be unwise to travel to the Capital yourself, especially as you
have orders to take control of my army and send me south under
guard.” Shonto looked over at General Hojo as though
remembering an earlier discussion. “General Hojo’s report could
be sent along with your letter though I think it may be wise to say
nothing of the size of our own army. Let the Emperor wonder how
many men we have gathered— perhaps he will raise a larger army
if he is unsure.”

A silence fell for a moment. Along the shore refugees appeared
again and after a morning of seeing very few it was a doubly sad
sight. The Prince brushed back the

strand of white hair again, without thinking. “Then, for now, I will
accompany your flotilla and offer what assistance I can. If you will
allow it, I will fly my banner beside your own, Lord Shonto. When
we reach the inner provinces, perhaps I will be the bridge between
the Shonto and the Emperor.‘’

Shonto bowed to the young Prince who rose suddenly. “Please
excuse me, I will write to the Emperor immediately. Will you see
that this letter goes to the Palace?”

“Certainly, Prince Wakaro. I thank you for your counsel. Perhaps
there is hope yet, if the Yamaku and the Shonto can join to defend
Wa…”

The Prince gave a half bow and, followed by his retinue,
descended the stairs to the lower deck.

As the white boat passed, the Prince nodded toward Shonto and
then the oarsmen dug in and sent their craft shooting ahead leaving
a whirl of white petals spinning in their wake.

Kamu bowed to his lord, his face drawn and serious. “I have
received word from Brother Shuyun, Sire. He has spoken to the
Brothers at the nearby monastery and there is no doubt—plague
has broken out among the refugees. The numbers are small and it
is hoped the Brothers isolated them quickly enough to stop the
disease from spreading. I have given permission to use one barge
to transport the victims. The Botanist monks will man it and tend the
sick.” Kamu made a sign to Botahara— uncharacteristic for him.
“May Botahara protect us all. We need do nothing more for now,
but if the disease spreads among the population moving south we
will have a calamity, for the Brothers may not be able to deal with
the thousands who would become ill. Brother Shuyun has
suggested that Senior Brother Sotura could be asked to oversee
this problem.”

Shonto nodded, thinking for a moment. “Brother Shuyun has taken
no risk of infection himself?”

“I spoke to Shuyun-sum of your concern in this matter, Sire, and he
assured me that he would employ all necessary precautions.”

Shonto sat turning his cup slowly and looking out at the people
moving along the canal bank. “We cannot afford to assign many
river craft to transporting the sick.” He shook his head. “Have
Brother Sotura take charge of

this matter. If the plague finds its way out among these people,“ he
waved a hand at the canal bank, ”thousands may die before the
Botahist monks are able to control the disease. We would have
been better to leave them in their homes, barbarian army or no.“

Shonto turned back to Kamu. “Once this becomes known among
the refugees, there will be a panic that will itself cost lives. We
have no more men to police the travelers.” He looked down into his
cup. “Let us see what happens. If the diseased are isolated, the
problem may grow no worse.‘’

A silence fell over the men on the deck for a moment. Memories of
the plague years were still strong among the people of Wa. No
family had been untouched by the wave of death that swept
through Wa. And then the Imperial family had become ill and the
war began. It was all too familiar.

“Excuse me for asking, Lord Shonto,” General Hojo said,
interrupting everyone’s thoughts. “I do not understand why my lord
did not allow the young Prince to speak directly to the Emperor?
The fact that the Prince would take such a risk would light his story
with a flame of truth. Men often will take great risks when they
believe they are the bearers of an important truth, as though the
purity of their knowledge will somehow shield them from the malice
and ignorance of others. The Emperor may have been given
pause to think.”

Shonto nodded. “It is possible, one can never know what will
impress the Son of Heaven. But if the Emperor did not believe his
son… ?” Shonto signaled a servant for wine. “If the son stays with
us, what will Akantsu think? That I have offered the Prince the hand
of my daughter and the throne of Wa—two things of inestimable
value, neither of which the Emperor will ever offer. If the Emperor
loses a civil war, a Prince who is wed to a daughter of the Shonto,
a bearer of the Fanisan blood, would be the most likely to ascend
the Dragon Throne. There is more to overthrowing an Emperor
than winning a war. One must have a suitable claimant or even the
winning side can faction.” Shonto smiled. “The more threatened
the Emperor feels, the larger will his army become.”

The lord shrugged. “And who can say, perhaps the

Prince’s letter will make the Emperor wonder. If the Son of Heaven
sends officers north to assess the barbarian army, they will see
what the Prince has seen.“

“The board,” Hojo said, dryly, “has become too complex.”

Lifting the wine cup that was set before him, Shonto raised an
eyebrow. “For the time being, General.” He drank, then set the cup
on a small table. “The exchange of pieces begins soon.‘’

Returning to the flotilla had become more difficult than Komawara
had expected. They had met a barbarian patrol as they emerged
from the hills and somehow one of the tribesmen had escaped.
After that they had been hunted by barbarian companies and
forced to fight more than one running battle. Of the eighteen
hundred men that had attacked the supply rafts only a thousand
remained. There had been no further signs of the company led by
Rohku Saicha and Komawara was not sure if this was propitious or
cause for sadness.

“Sire,” a guard interrupted Komawara’s train of thought. The lord
sat with his back against a tree, looking out over a field surrounded
by tree-clad hills. Grazing horses were guarded here, and
Komawara thought how lucky the animals were—his company had
not eaten since morning the previous day and his stomach
occasionally complained loudly.

“Sire, the guides have found the flotilla. We may reach it by late
afternoon.”

Komawara nodded, it was all the reaction he felt he had energy for
at the moment. “The scouting parties?”

“They report that the barbarian patrols keep their distance from
Lord Shonto’s fleet, Sire, we have not seen sign of them all this
morning.” The man paused and then said with some pride, “The
patrols the men of Seh ride keep the tribesmen wary.”

Komawara nodded. “Tell General Jaku that we must ride again.
Has our position been reported to Lord Shonto?”

The guard shook his head.

“Send someone ahead to inform Kamu-sum of our position.”
Komawara heaved himself up with some effort.

“The patrols have one other thing to report, Lord Komawara.”

The lord had begun to turn away but stopped.

“It appears that a large party is separating from the main body of
the barbarian army.”

“How large?”

“Perhaps twenty-five thousand men.”

Komawara nodded, looking down at the ground for a moment. “Six
men will carry this news directly to Lord Shonto. Give them our
strongest horses and remounts also. Tell them to ride their horses
to death if need be. Lord Shonto must know of this immediately.”

Komawara signaled for his horse. The barbarians cannot let Lord
Shonto continue to deprive their army of food—not after what my
party has done. This smaller force will set out to catch our own
army and engage it or drive us south at such speed that we cannot
continue to empty the lands before us. This Khan has finally
awakened.

Forty-four

Fourth Moon floated free of the tree, sloughing off a robe of
copper and wrapping itself in pure silver-white. Ladies Nishima,
Kitsura, and Okara sat on cushions laid out on a carpet spread over
the quarterdeck. So bright was the moonlight that the pink of the
cherry blossoms and the white of the plum could be distinguished
as the trees slipped past, their blossom laden shapes hanging like
clouds over the dark canal bank.

At the request of Lady Okara, Nishima had played her harp, a
subtle melody known as “The Lovers’ Parting,” though in the
southern provinces it went by the name “Traveling the Spring
River.”

This done they had begun a poem-series, each composing a
verse in turn. Nishima had been given the honor of both the first
and last verses in recognition of her poetic skills.

“Fourth moon,

Ten thousand broken hearts Line the banks of the spring canal
Strewn among the plum petals. “

And then Lady Okara had taken the wine cup that went to the
composer of the next verse.

“Blossoms as white as lintel vine Drift south against flowing waters.
How do we return to houses Their gateways crumbled?”

The cup passed to Kitsura.

‘ ’Last autumn’s leaves

And spring flowers

Are whirled up into clouds

On the backs of cool winds

Like the lifting of one’s heart. “

The cup returned to Nishima who took the required sip and then sat
holding the cool porcelain in her lap, thinking.

‘ ’A flight of cranes

Passes in silence

Along the river among the clouds.

Ten thousand hearts rise up,

Taking flight toward an unseen lake

At the foot of an unnamed mountain. “

When the poem was finished, the three women sat in silence
contemplating the moon and the passing scene. After a suitable
time had passed, Kitsura raised her flute and played a soft air that
spoke to the mood like a well-chosen quotation. When she was
finished, a bamboo flute answered from the canal bank, the
unseen player offering a melody none had heard before but which
matched the music of Kitsura perfectly.

“That was a spirit speaking to us, I am certain,” Lady Okara
whispered, and the other women nodded.

Conversation ceased for some time and then Lady Nishima rose,
her smile failing even as it formed. “It pains me to leave your
delightful company,” she said, “but I must sleep or I will be of no
use to my uncle. It has been a perfect evening, Oka-sum, cousin.”
A half bow and she retreated toward the companionway.

Kitsura started another song but could not keep her focus and
stopped. “I fear this war has affected my cousin in ways that are
difficult to understand. Her artist’s spirit is too open and in times
such as these…” She did not finish.

Lady Okara nodded. “May she never learn to wall her spirit off from
the world—though it causes her heart to break a thousand times.”

The fires of a refugee camp appeared on the bank for

the next half a rih and then there was only the landscape lit by
moonlight, the calyptas and willows, in full leaf now, silhouetted
against the stars. Intent on not disturbing the women who sat
contemplating the moon, the watch changed in near silence.

“I have heard no word of the company sent to raid the barbarians’
supply train,” Kitsura said suddenly, and though it was entirely out
of place to discuss such things at a viewing of the moon, such
breaches of etiquette were becoming more and more common.

“Yes, and I am concerned,” Okara answered, not seeming to
notice or perhaps care that it was not a suitable topic for the
occasion.

“Lord Komawara has grown very grim, don’t you think? Far more
than even the senior members of Lord Shonto’s staff—though of
course they have seen war before. Still…”

Lady Okara sat quietly for a second. “There is much that has
happened to our young lord of Seh. It gives me sorrow to see him
change in this manner, but I would expect little else. He has lost the
estates the Komawara have held for generations, Seh is occupied
by barbarians who no doubt burned the beautiful city of Rhojo-ma.
And though Lord Komawara has regained the respect of the men
of his own province, the months of ridicule have not been
forgotten, and… there are other things as well.”

“Other things, Oka-sum?” Kitsura asked.

Shrugging, the artist pulled her over-robe closer. “Please, say
nothing of this, but I believe Samyamu-sum has been spurned,
Kitsu-sum, and after all that has befallen him Lord Komawara feels
there is nothing left to him. Such a feeling can lead to terrible
recklessness, I fear.”

“Spurned,” Kitsura said in a whisper, her interest obvious. “Who do
you think?”

Okara shrugged, not meeting the other woman’s gaze. “I thought it
might be the Lady Kitsura…”

Kitsura gave a small laugh. “Certainly not. There were, however,
several lovely young women who frequented the Governor’s
Palace in Seh. There is no shortage of possibilities. Do you think it
was because Lord Komawara’s views were thought to be so
peculiar?”

Okara shrugged again. “Perhaps.”

“Huh,” Kitsura touched her fingers to her chin in contemplation that
looked almost like prayer. “All the other men I am aware of are
smitten with Nishi-sum…” The young woman sat up. “You don’t
think it was Nishima-sum, do you? She certainly said nothing to
me.”

“I do not know, Kitsu-sum. I only mention it as a possibility. I know
nothing for certain.”

Kitsura rubbed her hands together, imitating a character in a play. “I
must find some way to have Nishi-sum tell me,” Kitsura said,
obviously already plotting. “Poor Lord Komawara. My lovely cousin
will break ten thousand hearts before she settles.”

“I must say,” Lady Okara spoke sharply, “this rivalry between
yourself and Lady Nishima is something you will both regret.”

Kitsura stared dumbly. She had never heard Lady Okara say
anything that was not entirely pleasant. What rivalry? she thought.
With my dearest cousin?

Nishima lay in her cabin awash in the moonlight filtering through the
open window. She had changed out of the elaborate robes she
had worn against the cool evening and a maid had laid out her
bedding. Although Nishima had been able to participate in the
viewing with some focus, this had suddenly disappeared and she
had excused herself before the others guessed the turmoil that
possessed her.

It had been several days since Nishima had spoken to Shuyun, had
not even seen him except once at a distance. The monk was
avoiding her, there was no doubt, and this caused her great
anxiety.

In a sense Nishima felt she was engaged in a struggle for this
young man’s spirit—a lifetime of Botahist training and doctrine on
one side and whatever charms Lady Nishima had to offer on the
other. And the longer he was away from her the more likely it
became that training and comfortable habit would be victorious.
Even now she was certain the monks had won their pupil back,
even if they did not know that they were in danger of losing him.

Nishima was surprised at how little guilt she felt from playing the
temptress—drawing the devoted away from

the path of the spirit. It made her question her own goodness.
Certainly nothing could be more improper than this affair she was
engaged in, yet her heart did not care and it was her heart that had
taken control.

The pain she felt at this thought was almost physical, so deep
inside that she could not find its center. For some time she lay in
this state and then forced herself to follow o ie of the several
exercises that Brother Satake had taught tv “^rce her spirit away
from such turmoil. And this finally brought a fitful sleep.

A stair creaking brought the young woman awake as surely as the
sound of someone entering one’s room. After the noise of the
telltale stair tread Nishima heard nothing at all and knew that the
only person who could move that silently was Shuyun. She sat up,
wrapping the quilt around her, every sense alert, but there was no
other sound and her door did not ease open as she hoped.

For several minutes the young woman sat, struggling with her fears
and desires. Then the need to know what transpired in the heart of
this young monk won out and she almost jumped up, throwing a
robe over her thin sleeping garment, forgetting a sash.

She opened her door a crack and watched the corridor and the
stairs that led to the deck, dimly lit by a shaded, bronze lamp:
nothing stirred. Though she did not have the skill of Shuyun,
Nishima did have Brother Satake’s training and her motions
exhibited the harmony of movement and balance that allowed the
Botanist-trained to move with almost no sound.

At Shuyun’s door she paused to listen, but when she heard nothing
she pushed it open and stepped quickly out of the light of the
corridor. Shuyun sat up in the bedding spread over the straw mats,
the moon lighting the planes of his cheek and brow.

“Lady Nishima?”

His voice was a whisper, but even so it carried tones of formality
and distance. Nishima felt her heart sink. A pace from the bed she
knelt and found she could not speak.

“Lady Nishima, is something wrong?” Shuyun asked.

Distance, words as cool as the spring river. I cannot win him with
weakness, she thought, I must be strong. I must find the aspects
of myself that drew him before.

Despite her resolve her voice was small and shook slightly. “I had
not seen you in some time, Shuyun-sum…” Words ceased there
and finally she could only shrug and fight tears. It was as she had
feared—habit and training and doctrine had argued in her absence.
‘t could she do now?

Shuyun stared at her and though it may have a merely a trick of the
light, his face, normally devoid of emotion, seemed to mirror her
own confusion and sadness.

“I do not understand the ways of the heart, Lady Nish-inm,” he said
quietly, his voice utterly calm.

Shaking her head, Nishima heard herself whisper, “No one does.”
A second of silence and then with difficulty, “I only know that my
heart is breaking.”

Shuyun’s lack of experience would no longer stop him from
offering comfort to a woman whose heart was breaking. Nishima
felt his arms encircle her and she pulled him close, burying her
face in his bare shoulder. Neither moved for some time, as though
afraid motion or words would somehow signal acceptance of the
changes they both sensed coming.

“I have a memory from my childhood,” Nishima whispered,
“perhaps my earliest memory. I was crying, I can’t remember why,
and my mother held me as you do now.”

“My first memory is singing a child’s chant with my fellow
neophytes. I have no memory of my family.”

“Were you that young, then, when you came to the Brothers?”

Shuyun shook his head. “When you are very young, the teachers
have you perform exercises where you imagine your mother’s face
changing—from round to sharp, or long to round. Soon you can no
longer remember her true appearance. It is the first lesson that we
live in the illusion.”

“It seems a terrible thing to do to a child,” Nishima whispered.

“Perhaps.” Shuyun put his mouth close to her ear. “There is
something you must know.” Pulling away

slowly, he held up a hand. “Place your palm against mine.”

Nishima did so.

“Push.”

Beginning slowly Nishima applied pressure, controlling her
breathing, feeling the slight tingle of “inner force” through her hand.
Shuyun stared at her with great earnestness all the while. Suddenly
Nishima found her hand being forced back, not quickly but steadily.
Only when this steady pressure had stopped pushing her back did
Nishima realize that there was moonlight falling between Shuyun’s
hand and her own. She faltered and withdrew her hand, staring
openly.

“Brother Satake did not tell me of this,” Nishima whispered. “I…
would not have thought it possible.”

Shuyun shook his head. “There is no record of such a thing being
done before,” Shuyun said, his voice so filled with awe that
Nishima found herself moving away as though the monk was
suddenly something to be wary of.

“Are you the Teacher, then?” she whispered.

Shuyun shook his head, almost a tremor, and shrugged, looking
down at his hands. “I do not know. Certainly this confusion I feel is
not the Enlightenment the Brothers describe.” He met Nishima’s
gaze and she felt he asked her, silently, to reach out to him, and
despite her discomfort and questions about the nature of this man
she could not refuse.

Gently, Nishima pulled the quilt aside and slipped into the bed
beside Shuyun. They lay in the moonlight, close, in each other’s
arms—too much to be said, neither able to find words to begin.

The sounds of the boat swaying and rocking through the waters
were all around them and the moonlight arced slowly across the
cabin. The entire effect was one of strangeness—a room that
moved and hissed and burbled, cool pure light illuminating the
cabin, bright enough to cast shadows. It was as though they had
been transported to some other realm where the laws and forces
of nature were unknown.

Nishima felt Shuyun’s finger trace the shape of her ear, his touch
so light. Down the curve of her neck and she realized she was
holding her breath. Out along her shoul-

der, pulling her robe back. She felt the soft silk slide across her
breast and then the soft warmth of Shuyun’s skin against her own.

Brave heart, Nishima thought, what beauty we have found.

Lord Shonto Shokan awoke in a small gray room, a thin line of
daylight finding its way through a crack in the window shutter. Early,
he thought, it must be very early. The furs he slept under kept him
warm, but the stone walls drew all the heat out of the air and the
lord’s breath was visible. He rolled over again and was startled by
pain in his back and neck. Carrying a load, dweller style, had asked
much of him.

A night’s sleep uninterrupted by the cold: Shokan had to admit that
he was not meant to live high in the mountains. He could not bear
the cold.

Unwilling to face the air in the room and unable to think of a
pressing reason to rise, Shokan lay in his furs wondering about the
people who had found him—rescued him was perhaps more
accurate.

In some ways they were not unlike the people of Wa, the
lowlanders. The mountain dwellers’ dress and habits differed,
there was no question, but there was a familiar focus of duty
among these people which reminded Shokan of the retainers on
the Shonto fief.

There appeared to be no aristocracy here, though the elders were
accorded a level of respect that was impressive. But even their
lives did not compare with that of a pampered member of Wa’s
peerage—his life, for instance.

If Shokan were to characterize the greatest difference between the
mountain dwellers and his own people, it was in the dwellers’
seemingly consistent ability to find delight in virtually everything.
More than innocence, this was a quality of joy and spontaneity that
was seldom seen in the Empire of Wa—a world smothered with
rigidly structured etiquette, formality, and ceremony. Even his
stepsister, Nishima, who flouted the rules of her station almost
without regard—and with impressive impunityi— did not share the
spirit he witnessed in the dwellers. He realized he was somewhat
jealous.

The door opened a crack and Shokan was not sure whose face
appeared in the dark hall beyond. The door was pushed open by a
foot and Quinta-la appeared. In her hands she bore a covered
wooden tray and the smell of food permeated the cold air. She set
this on what appeared to be a low, round stool and went directly to
the window, speaking as she went. There was no way to be certain,
but Shokan had the distinct impression that this young woman was
scolding him. Unfastening the latches she flung the shutters open
and sunshine flooded the room, warm sunshine, and the young
lord was not sure that the outside air was not warmer also.

Quinta-la squatted down on her heels and gestured to the food and
smiled.

Shokan said the word he hoped meant “eat” and received a
delighted smile and a torrent of dweller language, not a single word
of which he recognized.

When he had eaten, every bite watched with apparent interest,
Quinta-la rose and gestured to the door, speaking as she did so.

“I would love to stroll in the sunshine in your lovely company,
Quinta-la,” Shokan responded, “but it is improper for you to be
here and certainly very improper that I should dress in your
presence, so…”He waved her out, smiling so that she would not
take offense, and when this did not work he rose, wrapped in a fur,
and guided her out the door which caused much laughter, but then
many things he did made her laugh.

Dressing quickly the lord went out into the hall where Quinta-la
crouched down against the wall.

“Ketah,” she said and jumped up, waving down the corridor. She
walked beside him, her pace forcing Shokan to hurry, yet, except
for the speed at which she walked, she showed little sign of being
rushed. She smiled at Shokan when he looked at her and seemed
to be walking quickly out of excitement or perhaps sheer pleasure,
but not because there was pressure to be somewhere.

They left the building by a very substantial wooden door and
crossed a stone courtyard to ascend a set of narrow stairs. In the
shade between the building and the high wall the air was frigid and
occasional patches of ice appeared on the stone treads.

tiATHERER OF CLOUDS

As they reached the top of the stairs, and another of what seemed
to be an endless number of courtyards and terraces, a shout went
up and in seconds a swarm of children appeared, converging from
all directions. Round faced, with perfect, white smiles they were a
contrast to the quiet, decorous children Shokan was used to
encountering. They ran in circles around the stranger and his tiny
guide or pranced along beside Quinta-la tagging on to her hands
and clothing, laughing and jabbering and letting go the occasional
shriek, apparently for sheer joy.

They crossed yet another stone terrace toward a wide set of steps,
just high enough that Shokan could not see what lay at the next
level. As they came closer to the stairs, the children became more
subdued and then fell completely silent. A few at a time they began
to drop behind so that the adults reached the foot of the stairs
alone. There Quinta-la stopped also, her face uncommonly
serious.

Shokan looked back and the children stood watching him, big eyes
unreadable to his outsider perception, their smiles gone. Quinta-la
nodded, the strange gesture of the head falling forward then
jerking up. Waving her hand at the steps, she tried a reassuring
smile though it was so forced it did anything but reassure.

I have no sword, Shokan thought. He had left it in his chambers out
of respect and trust for the people who had saved him, for they did
not carry swords in their own village. It is a groundless fear, he told
himself, a thought without honor. The dwellers are not treacherous.

As there seemed to be little choice, he bowed and turned up the
stairs, watched intently by his strangely mute audience.

Though he was not certain what he had been expecting, what
greeted him at the top of the stairs did not fullfil those
expectations. A round terrace surrounded by a waist-high stone
wall. In its center a stunted tree lifted twisted branches against the
background of white mountains and the broad valley.

The scene was so dramatic that Shokan almost did not notice the
tiny figure sitting on a stone bench, looking out across the valley. A
woman dressed in long robes of dark colors belted with a faded
purple sash. She turned

as Shokan stood regarding her, unsure what to do. A gesture, not
unfriendly, to join her.

If this woman was not the sister of the old man Shokan had met
when the mountain dwellers first approached him, then the lord
would feel his powers of observation had deserted him entirely.
Tiny and wrinkled, her face looked out from the folds of a rough
woolen scarf of faded blue.

“You,” she said in a thin but surprisingly deep voice, “are Lord
Shonto?”

Shokan hid his surprise, for she was the first dweller he had
encountered who spoke his language, and almost without accent it
seemed. “I am.” He bowed.

She motioned for him to sit and he took the other end of the bench
to the one she occupied, her knees drawn up in a posture much
like a young girl’s. “I expected you to be older,” she said.

“I am Lord Shonto Shokan. Perhaps you mistake me for my father,
Lord Shonto Motoru?”

“You are the son?” she said. “I expected you to be younger.”

The lord smiled. “I was not told your name or title; excuse me, I do
not know how to address you.”

“Alinka-sa,” she offered. “I am,” she paused. “I do not know your
word… an old-one.”

“Elder,” Shokan offered.

She gave the dwellers’ peculiar nod. “Elder. I am, perhaps, the
elder. I am the voice of my people.”

“You speak my language very well.”

She shrugged, offering no explanation. “May I ask what led you to
be in the pass before the snows had melted?”

“We were attempting to make our way to Chiba, the province on
the western side of the mountains.”

Alinka-sa did not hide her look of displeasure at this answer. A few
seconds of silence followed and then Shokan went on.

“There are events in the Empire that led us to attempt this crossing
of the mountains too early. There is a war beginning or perhaps it
has already begun. It will take place beyond the mountains.” He
nodded west.

Silence followed while this was considered. Unlike the

rest of her people, there was no sense of lightness in Alinka-sa.
Hers seemed a personality devoid of humor or joy.

“Why does the Emperor allow the army of the Alat-an, the desert
tribes, to move south on the canal?”

“It is a long story, Alinka-sa.”

She looked at him sharply. “Perhaps there are things even a lord of
Wa does not understand. The Shonto name is ancient and
honored, but my people saved you and all of your company: your
debt is great, Shokan-li. How it will be paid is yet to be decided.
What part you play in the events of the world will become part of
the decision. ‘’

“You will not allow us to continue through the mountains?” Shokan
did not hide his shock as well as he hoped.

“What will become of you, Shokan-li, has not been decided. The
world beyond our valley is large. Some play parts larger than
others. Perhaps you should pass through the mountains to the
battle beyond. But it is also possible that you should stay with us,
preserving the Shonto House through a time of great turmoil. This
cannot be decided easily.”

Shokan nodded. “You are a Seer, then?” It might explain why
Quinta-la and the children were afraid of her.

“I do not understand this word,” she said bluntly.

Questioning an elder, the lord was beginning to suspect, was not
acceptable. “The situation in the Empire, Alinka-sa, is difficult to
explain and much that I would tell you is conjecture only.” He took a
long breath. “It began this summer past when my father was
appointed Imperial Governor of the province of Seh…”

There seemed to be nothing else to do, so Shokan began the tale.
Slowly at first, and then the words began to flow more easily. He
told her of the Emperor’s plot and what he thought it meant, the
coins Tanaka had found, his own time in Seh. The sun had traveled
a good distance across the sky before he was done. During the
entire telling, Alinka-sa did not ask a single question. Occasionally
her eyebrows would rise or she would give the dwellers’ nod of the
head, but she never interrupted Shokan’s story.

Even when he finally finished, the old woman did not speak but
stared off across the green valley floor.

“The tree with the fan-leaf, what is it called?” she asked suddenly.

“Ginkyo?”

She nodded. “Alinka means ginkyo in my tongue. This tree does
not grow in the mountains and is something of a legend among my
people. They believe that the leaves are quite large and that the
ladies of Wa simply pluck a leaf from the tree whenever they need
a fan. Though I often told my people the truth of this, after some
discussion they decided that, in this matter, I was not well
informed.” She gave the tiniest smile. “My mother was like
you—she became lost in the mountains and was saved by the
people of this village. When my father died, my mother went back
to Itsa and we lived for some time in Wa before returning here.”

She looked over at Shokan, meeting his gaze. “For this reason I
know your language and something of your ways, strange as they
are to us. Some of your story was known to me, though much was
new. Great tragedy is about to shake Wa and this saddens me.”
Alinka-sa looked away again.

“Tell me of this monk who serves your father,” she said, not
looking at Shokan.

The lord hesitated before speaking. “The people who brought us
here used his name often—Shuyun. Why was that.”

Obviously controlling her annoyance Alinka-sa answered. “Shu-
yung, it is a word in our language: it means bearer, those who carry.
To the ear of an outsider the word meaning to bear would be
indistinguishable from the word meaning bearer. Tell me of him.”

“I have never met Brother Shuyun, in truth. It is said that he is very
advanced in the skills of the Botahist monks. Both my father and
my sister have written of him in very flattering terms. That is all I
know.”

She nodded. “My people will guide you through the mountains. You
will leave at sunrise.” Alinka-sa rose to her feet with an ease that
one would not expect in one so aged. Standing, she was eye to
eye with the young lord.

“But why have you decided this? I am grateful, certainly but what
has made your decision?”

Very gently she reached out and touched his cheek. “Quinta-la will
accompany you to the lowlands. May Botahara go with you.” She
turned and crossed the terrace, disappearing down the steps.

Forty-five

The sky was as confused as a lover’s heart. Clouds torn and
buffeted by conflicting winds rolled overhead, moving against a
background of higher clouds, striated like sand revealed by the
tide.

It had rained earlier that day and threatened to do so again. The
wind was steady from the east though it had blown from every point
of the compass that morning, making the rivermen curse under
their breaths.

Shuyun knelt before his liege-lord, waiting. They sat on the deck of
Lord Shonto’s barge which was moving south at its best speed.
Dipping his brush in ink, Lord Shonto added three characters to the
letter and then waved for his secretary who had servants remove
the writing table and all of its contents. Turning to his Spiritual
Advisor, the! lord smiled.

“You have heard the news of Lord Komawara, Shuyun-sum?”

“I have, Sire. Botahara protects us.”

Shonto nodded. “It is good that He does. Perhaps you do not know
that Rohku Saicha has returned to us also, though his losses were
even more severe than those of Lord Komawara and General
Jaku.” Shonto hesitated and his face showed a trace of the strain
he no doubt felt.

“The Khan has done the correct thing. Driving us south will give him
the possibility of food by summer. If he is wise enough to put the
peasants he captures to work rather than to the sword, his army will
not starve.” Shonto pulled an armrest closer. “This smaller
barbarian army will soon be beyond assistance from the larger
army… If our own force were not so small, it would be an
opportunity.” He fell silent, lost in the great game of gü that he
played.

Shuyun sat quietly waiting. The monk was aware that

he felt a growing sense of disquiet as he sat before his liege-
lord—the father of the woman with whom he had so recently spent
the night. Not that Nishima was not of an age to make her own
decisions in such matters, but Shuyun could not believe that Lord
Shonto would be pleased by such an alliance.

I am torn in every direction, the monk thought. There was a part of
him that felt closer to Shonto and the lord’s purposes as he moved
further from the faith of his own Order. As though the concerns of
the world became more real as the ways of the spirit became more
confusing. Yet he was a Botahist monk still and he had spent the
night in the embrace of his liege-lord’s daughter—certainly an act
that would shock anyone who lived in the Empire of Wa. Although
Shonto did not pry into Lady Nishima’s affairs unduly, was it
possible that the lord was unaware of what was taking place?
Shuyun thought it unlikely and thus the discomfort.

Shonto focused on his Spiritual Advisor suddenly. “You have a
report for me, Shuyun-sum?”

The monk nodded, pushing his feelings into one corner of his
being. “It appears that we have isolated the plague for now, Sire,
though I think we will see other cases yet. The refugees are
frightened, but this has resulted in them moving south more
quickly—a good thing. We have placed the barge for the sick at the
front of the fleet and it flies a plague banner. All the Imperial
Guards in the Empire could not clear the canal more quickly than
the sight of that terrible flag. There has been only one more death,
may Botahara protect her soul.” The monk made a sign. “I pray that
the situation does not grow worse, Sire. Brother Sotura is a man of
great skill—he has the present situation well in hand.”

Shonto nodded. “I wish to be kept informed of this matter. If
plague finds root in our army, it will not matter if the Khan is
followed by one man or one hundred thousand—our army will be
reduced to ghosts.” Shonto waved at the mouth of a small creek
hung with willows. “Master Myochin will no doubt hear of our
approach. He will not be pleased at the prospect of leaving his
home.” Shonto shook his head. “We all hope for peace in our old
age… It will be some time before we see peace again, Shuyun-
sum. Even if this Khan can defeat

the armies of Wa, holding the Empire will be another matter
entirely. Children born today may find their way into this war before
it is over, though I pray it will not

Forty-six

The Stone Ship appeared to float in its own reflection in the middle
of the Lake of the Autumn Crane on the western edge of the
Imperial Palace. It was largely carved of marble though jade had
also been employed by the ancient artisans—uncommon materials
for a ship. In truth, it was no boat at all but a small island of stone
blocks carved to form an elaborate, somewhat fantastic ship
though to a small scale.

Over the centuries the Stone Ship had been the favorite retreat of
many an Emperor or Empress and had only fallen into disfavor with
the recent dynasty. It remained, however, an ideal place to find
peace and to carry on conversations that one did not want
overheard. Perhaps it was this that had brought the Emperor out to
the Stone Ship.

An awning of spring green had been spread for the Son of Heaven
and he sat on silk cushions attended by only a single secretary who
stood on the bow, signaling the shore for anything Akantsu
requested, occasionally scurrying back to the stern at a nod from
the Emperor. So that the Son of Heaven could spend a few hours
in this blessed isolation an entire retinue of officials and servants
and secretaries waited on the shore, kneeling patiently—only the
most senior members involved in conversation. To maintain this
company a kitchen had been constructed behind a screen of willow
trees, and runners stood ready to hurry to the Palace to retrieve
anything or anyone the Emperor might request.

Swallows and kingfishers crossed the lake, weaving intricate
patterns, and ducks cut vees into its calm surface. Jaku Tadamoto
watched three swallows chasing a downy white feather, one picking
it out of the air and rushing off, then dropping it for the others to
dive at. This may

have been a struggle for possession of nest material, but it looked
for all the world like a game, and the acrobatics of the players were
impressive.

Tadamoto was being sculled across the Lake of the Autumn
Crane’s calm waters in one of the elegant craft used by officials of
the Island Palace. As was often the case, the young colonel came
to his audience with the Emperor carrying written reports and
scrolls, not all of which bore good news.

As well as official writings Tadamoto also carried, hidden in his
sleeve, a letter from Osha. It was a conciliatory letter, full of
apologies for offenses she had not committed, washed in
sadness, her pain tearing at his heart. They must not give up, she
had written, their love would survive if only they believed it would.
So he tried to believe.

Tadamoto also tried to push this letter out of his mind as it would
undoubtedly affect his ability to serve his Emperor—something that
could not be allowed now that civil war was all but upon them.

The sampan came alongside a stone dock built in the shape of the
platform one found at the foot of a ship’s ladder. Tadamoto
mounted the steps to the “deck” where the secretary greeted him
with a low bow. Crossing to the quarterdeck on his knees,
Tadamoto bowed at the foot of the stairs and waited to be
acknowledged.

The Emperor pored over a long scroll, completely absorbed. The
ruler’s robe of yellow embroidered with a flight of cranes among
clouds created a disturbing contrast. Although his garb was
perfectly appropriate for the season—light of spirit—the Emperor’s
face was drawn and pale like that of a man who had not known a
night of peace in many, many days. Tadamoto kept his eyes cast
down, concentrating on the wood-grain that had been carved into
the planks of the stone deck.

Letting his arms drop, the Emperor laid the scroll across his legs.
“Colonel.”

Tadamoto bowed again.

“Let us begin with your news. My patience has worn away to
nothing and pleasantries have become most unpleasant. What do
we know today?”

Tadamoto unrolled a small scroll—notes for this audience.
“Shonto’s flotilla is three days north of Denji

Gorge, Sire, and has increased its speed considerably in the last
few days. The first refugees have crossed the border of our own
province and they will begin to arrive in the Capital in numbers
within a few days. I have detailed officials and guards to deal with
this influx.

“Our own army has reached twenty-five thousand in number, Sire,
and will be thirty thousand before the next moon.” Tadamoto
lowered the scroll. “I have reports here, Emperor, if you wish to
read them.” He tapped the pile of rolled paper. “I estimate that
Lord Shonto could be within the border of Dentou within fourteen
days if he continues to travel at his present speed. There has been
a report that Shonto’s fleet is preceded by a barge flying the
plague banner. This report has not been substantiated and even if
it proves true it would appear to be a ruse to keep the canal open
before Shonto’s fleet. Nonetheless the rumor precedes the flotilla
like a bow wave.”

The Emperor shook his head. “Shonto would think of such a thing.
It is entirely without honor but effective, no doubt.‘’ The Emperor
lifted the scroll he had been reading. ”I have received my own
reports. Prince Wak-aro has sent this, a complete report of the
military situation prepared by Shonto’s staff. My son claims to have
seen a barbarian army of one hundred thousand and it is
accompanied by a letter written by the captain of the Prince’s
guard—a man we selected together, Colonel. He, too, claims to
have seen this army. The Emperor set the scroll aside. “My son is
not a warrior and easily duped, but from the captain of his guard I
expected more. It is most curious.”

Tadamoto nodded. “Excuse me, Sire…”

“Speak, Colonel, this is no time to be shy.”

“At your suggestion, I sent the most reliable men I have north to
assess this situation. According to their count—they saw the
barbarian army with their own eyes— the force pursuing Shonto is
no more than thirty thousand and perhaps less. Shonto’s own army
appears to number between twenty and twenty-five thousand, a
significant number of these being Imperial Guards. Alongside the
shinta blossom fly the banners of both Prince Wakaro and my
brother Katta. It grieves me to bring you this news, Emperor.”

The Emperor looked toward the white walls of the Island Palace as
though he meditated upon their form. But his breathing did not
exhibit the controlled rhythm of meditation and his hands would not
lie still on his knees. “Betrayed,” the Emperor almost whispered,
“betrayed by my own son and by the man I treated as a son.”
Picking up his sword, he laid it gently across his knees. “Is this
army in league with Motoru, do you think?”

‘ ’My own men believe there have been real battles with the
barbarians though reports that Lord Shonto scorched the earth as
he passed south appear to be unfounded. They saw no evidence
of this. So it seems unlikely. There truly is a barbarian invasion but
not the hordes some would like us to believe.“

“Two invading armies, one on the heels of the other.” The Emperor
toyed with his sword. “Betrayed by my own son,” he said again, his
voice filled with disbelief and pain.

The son you sent north to share in the fate of Lord Shonto,
Tadamoto thought.

Forty-seven

The barges almost never stopped now and though it meant the
countryside was left untouched by the devastation formerly
wrought upon it, it also meant that Shi-meko could not get off the
boat to walk on the bank. This made it very easy to avoid Sister
Morima and all of the influences from her former life. But she was
shut up on the ship among people who were very different from
her—the three ladies from the Capital and their attendants. It was
difficult for her.

The Plum Blossom Winds filled the air with clouds of petals from
the plum groves planted along the canal. When a gust came,
standing on the deck of the boat was like being in a warm
snowstorm, so thick were the petals in the air. The canal was
almost a white waterway and the decks of the ships were
constantly needing to be swept clear, for a rain shower would
render a petal-covered deck dangerously slick.

Shimeko had given up brushing the petals from her robe despite
the fact that on the deep blue they were very apparent. The robe
had been a gift from Lady Nishima, one of the lady’s own, no
doubt, and though it was a cast-off it had obviously been worn
infrequently for the silk was as new as the day it had come from the
loom. Having seen the size of Lady Nishima’s wardrobe, Shimeko
was not surprised that signs of wear would not be found on the
lady’s clothing—and Lady Nishima often complained that she had
left the Capital with hardly anything to wear!

Shimeko smiled. Such a statement would have offended the
former nun only a few weeks before, but now it only made her
shake her head and laugh. The Lady Nishima Fanisan Shonto was
difficult to dislike and, despite having been raised in the greatest
luxury, could not

be said to have been spoiled by it. She was a Lady of a great
House, there was no doubt, but Lady Nishima was a person of
substance and accomplishment and depth. Shimeko could not
dislike her.

Shimeko turned away from the rail, leaning there with the breeze at
her back. Pulling her shawl down onto her shoulders, she enjoyed
the feeling of the wind blowing through her hair; though it was still
short by the standards of lay-women, it was longer than Shimeko
had ever known it.

The decision Shimeko made was a difficult one. Although she had
found Lady Nishima admirable in many ways, there was this other
matter which the former nun found very disturbing. Shimeko was
almost certain that Lady Nishima had more than once spent the
entire night alone with Brother Shuyun.

The young woman looked off at the white-capped mountains rising
along the western horizon. Having little experience of the world,
she did not know how such news would be received by the
population at large. What would Lord Shonto think of such a thing?
Sister Morima always claimed that the Brothers were entirely
corrupt, but Shimeko never suspected she had meant corrupt in
ways such as this. And Brother Shuyun! To think that many of the
Sisters hoped he was the Teacher who was spoken of. A vision of
the Faceless Lovers carved into the cliff of Denji Gorge came to
her. This was the subject of Lady Nishima’s curiosity. Shimeko
brushed petals from her robe unconsciously. Was it possible that
this sculpture was not a heresy? Was Lady Nishima aware of
things that Shimeko was not?

Sister Morima had also claimed there were things written in the
Sacred Scrolls of the Perfect Master that were not included in any
copies of these texts—things the Brotherhood wished to keep
hidden. Botahara had taken a bride, everyone knew that, but when
had he attained Enlightenment? That was the question that had
once caused a war. The bride was not spoken of in the writings of
Botahara and his disciples only mentioned her in passing. Shimeko
shook her head. Despite having left the Sisterhood and rejected its
doctrine, she still found Lady Nishima’s relations with Shuyun
disturbing and a part of her feared this might be jealousy.

There had been a night when Shimeko had heard Lady Nishima cry
out and though the former nun would admit she knew little of such
things, a cry of ecstasy was difficult to mistake. Her own body had
responded to this sound in a manner that was surprising and her
imagination had… well, it had not been under her control.

A servant appeared at the head of the companionway and, seeing
Shimeko at the rail, crossed to her.

“Lady Nishima awaits you, Shimeko-sum,” the woman said.

The young woman replaced her shawl, nodded her thanks, and
proceeded to the stairs, controlling her nervousness with care.

Bowing at the door to Lady Nishima’s cabin, she entered at a smile
from her mistress.

“Shimeko-sum, it is a pleasure to see you.” Nishima gestured to a
cushion. “You are well, I trust.”

“I am well, Lady Nishima. It is kind of you to ask.”

“Are the petals on the wind not a most impressive sight today?”

Shimeko nodded. “I have just come from the deck.” And then she
realized that not only were her robes covered in petals, but it
appeared a small snowstorm had focused its efforts around her.
“Please excuse me, Lady Nishima.” She was obviously dismayed.
“And all over your gift to me.”

Laughing with great delight, Nishima reached out and touched
Shimeko’s hand. “These blossoms complement the robe
beautifully. As for this,” she waved her hand at the petals on the
mat, “I would like nothing better than to have my chambers covered
in plum blossoms, like the floor of a grove. Would that not be
charming?” She

laughed again.

Shimeko smiled, not quite reassured.

“I was told, Shimeko-sum, that there was some matter you wished
to speak of?”

Nodding, the former nun gathered her courage. “It is not my
intention to appear ungrateful for your favor, Lady Nishima; serving
the Shonto House has been a great honor. There appears to be a
matter that has arisen which is more suited to my particular skills. I
have come to ask if I may be released from your service so that I
might

tend to the sick aboard the plague ship.“ She bowed when she
finished and kept her eyes fixed on the floor.

For a moment Nishima did not respond but only looked at the
woman who had come to be a trusted secretary. “I regret to hear
that you wish to leave, Shimeko-sum, for your skills are far beyond
those of anyone who has served me in the same capacity. Will the
Brothers allow you to assist them? Is there not a certain
antagonism to the Sisterhood, not to mention great secrecy about
the ways of healing?”

“As you say, Lady Nishima, the two Botahist Orders are not allies,
but I am no longer a Sister and Brother Shuyun has said that the
Brothers’ need is great. I may assist and learn little or nothing of
their secrets, I am sure.”

“And you would be in no danger from this illness?”

“Certainly not, Lady Nishima. I am no longer a Sister, but I have not
forgotten all that I learned. It is also true that the Brothers could
cure me if I were to become ill—though I assure you this is next to
impossible.” She paused and then said quietly. “Your concern
touches me.”

Nishima arranged the hem of her robes. “When you first came to
me, you spoke of a desire to serve the Shonto Spiritual Advisor,
Brother Shuyun. If you go to care for the sick, you will be more
removed from Brother Shuyun than you are presently. Does this
not concern you?”

Shimeko nodded reflexively. “I do not know, Lady Nishima, I…
There are sick who I may offer help to. In a time such as this, it
seems that I must do what I am able.” She shrugged.

“I see. Have the Brothers agreed to accept your assistance,
Shimeko-sum?”

The young woman shook her head.

“If they agree to allow you to assist them, I will release you upon
one condition—you will send messages to assure me that you are
well.”

Shimeko bowed. “Certainly, my lady.”

Nishima forced a smile. “You are no doubt anxious to proceed with
this matter. Please inform me of the Brothers’ decision. Certainly
you are welcome to stay with me if this plan is untenable.”

“I thank you, my lady.” She met Nishima’s eye for the briefest
second. “It has been an honor to serve you.”

With that she bowed and retreated to the door, receiving a last
reassuring smile from the young aristocrat as she went. Shimeko
was surprised at the feeling of emptiness this decision left. She
had almost embarrassed herself in conversation with Lady
Nishima, so touched was she by the woman’s concern.

My life will become quite simple again, she thought. I will tend the
sick, I will eat and I will sleep. There will not be the turmoil and
confusion of my present position. No Sisters will come to me with
demands that I can not fullfil and I will not have my heart torn by
growing loyalties and attachments that I am not suited to.

Forty-eight

For those that had journeyed north in Lord Shonto’s fleet, Denji
Gorge was remembered not for its unique beauty but for the days
when no one had been certain what would befall those traveling
with Seh’s Imperial Governor.

The country surrounding the gorge itself had changed so much in
the intervening months that it was like returning to another time.
Over the Imperial Guard Keep at the gorge’s northern end flew the
Emperor’s banner, and the locks were administered by Imperial
Functionaries and guarded by black-clad Imperial Guards.
Nowhere could one find signs of the Hajiwara presence. The armor
with green lacing had disappeared—unless one looked very
carefully at the men who formed Lord Ko-mawara’s guard. There,
among the armor of night blue, one could find a trim of green on
the occasional shoulder piece or sleeve.

All of the earthworks and fortifications constructed over the years
had been dismantled and several of the larger manor houses that
had been protected by moats were in the process of converting
these to decorative ponds or filling them in altogether.

Arrayed along the stone quay of the northern locks were several
rows of kneeling guards in purple-laced armor, hands on their
thighs, faces and posture rigid. As Lord Shonto’s boat bumped up
against die quay, the warriors bowed low. Out from among this
group emerged a youth of such small stature that it brought a smile
to the lips of all who had not previously encountered the Lord Butto
Joda.

“I greet you, Lord Butto,” Shonto said from the deck. “It is a great
honor to be met by such an esteemed company.”

Lord Butto gave a half bow. “The honor is mine entirely, Lord
Shonto. I bring greetings from my father who asks that you forgive
him for not meeting you himself.”

“Lord Butto does me great honor. I trust that he is well.”

Butto Joda gave a half nod and a smile, acknowledging the
question but giving no specific answer—the senior lord of the Butto
had not been well for many years.

Steps were set out and Shonto and several of his advisors
disembarked.

“Certainly you remember Lord Komawara, General Hojo, and
Steward Kamu?”

“I could not forget those who fought so valiantly beside the Butto. I
am forever in your debt,” he said bowing. “And Brother Shuyun, he
travels with you also?”

“Brother Shuyun monitors the progress of the ship bearing the sick
through the locks. We are taking care that there is no transfer of
disease.”

The young lord nodded. “I am less concerned knowing this.”

Jaku Katta was delivered to the quay at that moment, his sampan
coming alongside the stone wall. The Imperial Guards on the quay
bowed low in unison.

“General Jaku,” Lord Butto greeted him with a great smile. “I see
that my concerns regarding who would control the locks were
groundless.” He looked around. “There seems to be no delegation
from the Imperial Governor of Itsa. New to his position, perhaps
the worthy Governor has not yet learned proper protocol for such
occasions.”

The smiles were polite. The Governor of Itsa was no doubt under
orders to detain Shonto but had not the troops to do so. Ignoring
the flotilla’s passing was the only choice left to the poor man, and
his situation was made worse by the fact that Imperial Guard on the
canal were loyal to Jaku Katta. An appeal to the larger Houses of
Itsa for assistance would have been futile as the most powerful
family in the province was the Butto—sworn ally of Lord Shonto.

The group walked slowly along the quay in the direction of the
gorge, the line of Butto guards bowing in turn as the party passed.
On a lookout that had recently been a Hajiwara military position,
mats and cushions had been

spread. Calypta and willow trees coming newly into leaf shaded the
lookout from the early afternoon sun so that no awning or pavilion
was necessary.

The great gorge stretched out to the south, the surface broken by
the breeze and sparkling in the spring sunlight. Off the gravel bar
below the fane of the lost Brothers, river craft of every type and
size swung to anchors, so close together that fouling of rodes and
lines must have been constant.

Along the eastern cliff more boats huddled, mooring to unseen
irregularities in the rock face and countless more sailed back and
forth or drifted free, unable to find anchorage or moorings. Smoke
rose from many of the craft and a ragged camp had been erected
on the gravel bar itself, shelters of all shapes and colors arranged
in random patterns.

In contrast to this chaos of refugee craft, a line of ships in
formation passed down the middle of the gorge, the foremost
boats almost at the southern locks—Lord Shon-to’s flotilla
continuing south.

A meal was served by Butto attendants and plum wine, a gift from
Lord Shonto, was poured for the young lord and his guests.

“It is unfortunate that Prince Wakaro was unable to join us,” Shonto
said to Lord Butto.

Setting his wine cup down, the young lord nodded. “Most
unfortunate. I had the honor of entertaining the Prince on his
journey north. He was most kind.”

Lifting his cup to Komawara and Jaku in turn, Butto Joda said, “I
have heard tales of your recent exploits, Lord Komawara, General.
It was a bold stroke—a frontal attack on the barbarians’ supply
train.” He gave a half bow. “Your reputations have become great. I
consider it an honor to join you in your struggle.‘’ He bowed also to
Hojo.

“This barbarian force,” the young lord continued, “has divided, I am
told, and a part of it is now in close pursuit?”

Shonto nodded at Hojo.

General Hojo bowed. “There is a force of about twenty-five
thousand not far behind and they come slightly closer each
day—the number of refugee craft fleeing south is slowing our
progress.” Hojo stroked the

gray hair of his beard, staring out over the gorge. “This is
becoming a cause of some concern.”

Butto Joda nodded. “I have considered this situation myself. I have
taken the liberty of allowing no boats to pass through the southern
locks for six days past. River craft accumulate in the gorge at an
alarming rate, but the canal south is now open for many rih. In a
letter, Lord Shonto suggested that we prepare this set of locks so
that, once your fleet has passed, it would take engineers of great
skill to restore them to use. These measures, General Hojo,
should improve the speed at which you travel and, at the same
time, impede the progress of your pursuers.” He held up his cup.
“This is excellent wine. Does it come from Seh?”

Shimeko had slept three nights on the deck to be away from the
endless coughing and the odors of the sick. Although she had
often treated the sick before, she had been too young to minister
to those stricken by the plague during the previous outbreak. It was
a frightening disease, so she spent as much time out in the fresh
air as her duties would allow.

Upwind, and not far off, a small boat sailed a parallel course and
aboard it, standing at the rail as she did herself, Shimeko could
see Initiate Brother Shuyun. The distance was such that, had they
attempted to speak, they could not have heard each other over the
wind and boat sounds nor could the other’s expression be seen.
To the former nun this distance seemed great—as great as the
distance between her present life and her days as a Bo-tahist nun.
Did she still hope he was the Teacher and would help her find
tranquillity of purpose again?

She looked off to the south where the locks awaited them. She
was a healer now and though it was a simple life, as she had
hoped, the confusion she had felt in Lady Nishima’s service had
not disappeared.

Earlier the plague ship had passed the fane of the Brothers of the
Eightfold Path—the Faceless Lovers. It had been difficult to view
the figures, for she did not want to be seen looking at something
so unseemly. Even so, she had managed a glance or two.
Thoughts of Lady Nishima with Brother Shuyun would not leave her
in peace.

* * *

The wind moved the pine branches in slow circles, constantly
spoiling Rohku Tadamori’s view of the advancing army. The young
guard officer had abandoned his blue-laced armor in favor of the
brown and green garb of the huntsmen and this clothing helped to
camouflage him where he lay. The forest floor was cooled by
occasional rain and the consistent wind out of the east, and
Tadamori found that his muscles were growing stiff.

The small army, as it was becoming known, traveled at a pace that
was impressive. Even those born of the desert could learn the
handling of rafts, and the crude sails the pirates had fabricated
from bamboo cloth were surprisingly efficient with such a fair wind.
Horsemen still rode along the bank but they led strings of the
barbarian ponies which were able to cover much more ground
without riders. Constant changing of mounts for the riders was
required, but this was not difficult.

There was no doubt in Tadamori’s mind that the small army was
gaining on Lord Shonto’s flotilla. Occasional refugees were being
overtaken by the barbarians now, and the Shonto guard did not like
to contemplate what might happen to them—especially the women.

The huntsman who was Tadamori’s companion touched his arm
and cocked his head toward the passing army. Among the
hundreds of rafts one came into view bearing banners, some gold
and crimson. Tadamori and his companion had hidden themselves
atop a hill overlooking the canal from the west, but they were still
half a rih from the bank—close enough to assess the army but not
able to see who its leaders might be.

The question in the minds of the two men of Wa was: does the
Khan lead this expeditionary force? If the great chieftain had taken
it upon himself to pursue the retreating army, then Lord Shonto
might consider a battle. It was believed likely that the Khan was the
only force that held the various tribes together. Brother Shuyun’s
barbarian servant was utterly convinced that without the Khan the
natural rivalry between the tribes would soon lead to the dissolution
of the great army if not an outright war between the factions.

Rohku reached up and stopped the branch from blocking his view.
It was difficult to say. Almost certainly that

was the Khan’s banner, but then the Emperor’s banner was seen
over all of Wa, above Imperial Keeps and palaces of government.
This might be the banner of the desert chieftain, but the Khan
himself might be here only in spirit. It would be the worst
foolishness for the men of Wa to destroy their army fighting this
force and find the Khan was not present. Foolish indeed.

It had been seven years since the Supreme Master had set foot on
the land of Wa. Normally his arrival was heralded by celebration
and ceremony and pilgrims would come from across the Empire
just to kneel outside the temple grounds in which he resided. On
this journey, however, the Supreme Master came quietly, if not
quite secretly. His ship arrived in Yankura without gaining any
notice, and the head of the Botahist Brotherhood boarded a
smaller boat that bore him swiftly to the Jade Temple.

Peering out a slit between the curtains the Supreme Master
watched the activity of the Floating City. The canals and docks and
quays teemed with people in motion, for Yankura was the center of
shipping and commerce in the Empire of Wa and it appeared
never to rest. Such lack of tranquillity, the monk thought, how can
they live such lives? Even more to the point, how did Brother Hutto
live in the midst pf this? It was not conducive to the contemplation
of Botahara’s words, there was no doubt of that.

Botahara’s words were more on the Supreme Master’s mind
recently—His true words. The blossoming of the Udumbara, the
missing scrolls—these matters disturbed even his sleep. And now
news of this barbarian invasion. He had returned to Wa as soon as
word had arrived on the first ship of spring.

There was about to be war with an army that did not even know the
words of the Perfect Master, a dynasty might fall, civil war was
almost certain, and the Shonto House seemed likely to finally
suffer the fate that overtook all other Houses—extinction.

Small river craft of all description lay alongside the quay, loading
cargo from the great stone warehouses. In the midst of this a
ragged child wriggled out of an open port and was spotted by a
river man who sent up a shout. Jumping to the next boat, the child
was barely able to

r

grab the rail. Shouts echoed the alarm as the child pulled himself
up onto the deck. Scrambling over stacked boxes, he leaped an
open hatch and dodged a burly sailor. Holding something in his
robe, he made another impossible jump to the quay where it
seemed certain he would disappear into the clutter and the
uncaring crowd.

The Supreme Master watched in fascination. Suddenly a man
appeared from behind a pile of sacks and the child ran into him
head-on, allowing one of his pursuers to grab him by the hair. A
wild struggle ensued until the much larger man landed a blow that
drove the child to his knees, and a series of punches and kicks left
the child an unmoving pile of rags on the stones.

The scene was lost to view then and the Supreme Master slumped
back against the cushions, fixed in his mind was the image of
triumph on the man’s face as he beat the child to the ground. And
this is what I have come to, the old monk thought, a brutal, violent
land.

The Lake of the Seven Masters was not large enough to develop
much swell except in storm winds; still it was not as calm as a
canal, and Lady Nishima steadied herself by clutching the frame of
the port. The fane of the Brothers of the Eightfold Path was quickly
falling astern. Nishima could see the cliff that appeared almost to
have been carved with shadows and light—carved into the form of
a man and woman in the act of love.

She moved away from the port and returned to kneeling on the
carpet. After a moment, she lay down and cradled her head on her
arm, pressing her eyes closed, the image returning as she did so.
The boat rocked her as she lay there, making her feel like a child,
though she knew the ache she felt was not the ache of a child.

Forty-nine

I aku Tadamoto, followed by officers and engineers, 9 strode
along the top of the earthworks. Stopping suddenly, he let his eye
follow the line of the newly built defenses which ran between two
steep hills broken only in its center by the Grand Canal. The
earthworks swept up at each end following the curve of the hills
and provided a surprising degree of symmetry to the entire
composition.

Only a day north and west of the Imperial Capital, the position had
been chosen after long deliberation. Tada-moto’s eye examined
the plain that stretched out for several rih north of the hills. It was
there that the battle would take place—the fortifications were only
built to ensure that.

Despite all the discussion that had led to this decision Tadamoto
was not entirely convinced this was the best course. The Emperor
wanted to be certain that Shonto could not reach the Capital where
there was every possibility that the population would rise up to
support him. It was also true that the Imperial Capital would be a
difficult, if not impossible, position to defend. After all, the Capital
was not a fortified city but an enormous sprawl without continuous
walls or towers and festooned with gates and canals.

And so Tadamoto had been sent north of the city to create these
defenses. But who would the battle be with? That was the question
in the young colonel’s mind. There were two armies hurrying south
on the canal—one appearing to pursue the other. Once they
encountered the Imperial Army, what would occur? The situation
was so confused and unclear that anything the Emperor did was
undoubtedly a gamble.

What if Shonto had agreements with this Khan the Em-

peror had thought was his own toy? Would the rebel army
suddenly join the army of the desert, creating a force double the
size of the army Tadamoto had raised?

Recent reports indicated that Shonto was rushing down the canal
as fast as an army could be moved. This, despite the fact that his
own letters claimed he did everything to slow the barbarians’
advance so that the Emperor could raise an army. What was
Shonto thinking?

Turning south, Jaku looked out over the encampment that was
slowly filling with the newly recruited troops. Beyond that lay the
commandeered mansion that would be the residence of the Son of
Heaven. As he trusted no one and felt everyone to be less capable
than himself, the Emperor had made it known that he would
assume command of the Imperial Army himself. There was no
doubt that the Yamaku would survive or fall according to the
decisions made on this field, and the Emperor did not intend to let
another take control of his fate.

Tadamoto continued toward the canal. A continuous flow of
refugees passed by, both day and night, swelling the population of
the Capital and straining the ability of the city to support such an
influx. Crime was growing at alarming rates and the Imperial Guard
were hard pressed to deal with this, preparing for war as they were.

A messenger approached Tadamoto’s guard and was allowed
through. He bowed and knelt before his commander. Tadamoto
nodded for the man to speak.

“We have brought the merchant, Colonel Jaku, as you requested.
He is under guard in your quarters.”

Somehow the capture of Shonto’s vassal-merchant had been kept
a secret and even now Tanaka’s name was never used. Merchants
were as common as street women and a reference to one meant
nothing. Tadamoto was not sure what part Tanaka might play in
events, if any, but it seemed prudent to have the old man present.
He was someone Shonto respected and there were few of whom
that could be said.

A hundred paces more brought Tadamoto to the canal bank.
Although most of the flowers had been swept from the trees this
far south, farther north the Plum Blossom Wind was still blowing,
for the boats of refugees were decorated with white and the canal
still bore petals south toward the sea.

Turning in a slow circle, Tadamoto surveyed the scene one last
time. When his gaze fell on the mansion where the Emperor would
dwell, the question that had bothered him all morning flared up:
who from the Imperial Court would accompany the Son of
Heaven? He whispered a silent prayer. Let the gods spare Osha
that indignity— that she be brought along like a common camp
woman.

Fifty

Here, above the clouds

Mountain paths

Lead always to the unexpected.

Rush ahead

And see it with the eyes of a child

Lord Shonto Shokan

They had ascended and descended so often that Shokan no
longer knew how high in the mountains they were. The type of
vegetation that grew seemed to be an indicator but was affected
by too many other factors to be relied upon entirely.

The lord lay in the darkness, looking up at the stars. The world he
traveled in was so strange that he was surprised to see
constellations he recognized floating overhead—the Two Sisters
were peaking over the shoulder of a mountain now.

It was not as cold as usual, which might be a sign that they were at
a lower elevation. Whatever the reason he was thankful for it.

A few feet away Quinta-la slept, wrapped in a fur. Since they had
left the village in the valley she had refused to teach him new
words in her language but insisted he teach her words in his own
tongue. He was not sure what had led to her decision to learn the
tongue of the lowlanders, but she approached this task with an
earnestness that Shokan could not help but find charming— almost
comic. Even so, Quinta-la was learning at a pace that surprised the
men from the Empire.

Closing his eyes, Shokan felt sleep hovering close by. Earlier in
the evening he had bathed in a hot spring—an experience almost
worth the days of walking. It had been

a large pool, one of several etched out into the rock by ten
thousand years of moving water. The dwellers had a different
sense of propriety—the women bathed with the men and no one
seemed to care.

Quinta-la had slipped into the pool beside him and continued her
language inquiry without being self-conscious about the
naturalness of their state. Shokan smiled. He had fallen into the
strange world of a story; at least for now.

The litter was lifted carefully over the river boat’s rail and set gently
on the deck where it was secured against movement. Sister Sutso
stood by, her hand to her mouth. Stepping forward, she opened
the curtain a hand’s width and was surprised to find the Prioress
awake, her lively eyes turned to a half-open curtain on the litter’s
opposite side.

“Excuse me, Prioress,” Sutso said pulling the curtain closed. “I did
not mean to intrude. Excuse me.”

The dry voice filtered through the curtain. “How far to the river,
child?”

“Perhaps seven rih, Prioress,” the senior nun’s secretary
answered. “This creek is quite narrow and not straight. We will be
some time,”

“It is a day to be enjoyed, Sister Sutso. A shame the trees have
lost their blossoms, but the new leaves are beautiful, are they not?”
Before Sutso could agree, the Prioress went on. “Have you heard
the most recent news?”

Sutso shook her head. The Prioress took delight in surprising her
and usually succeeded. “I have not, Prioress.”

“He arrived in Yankura, three days ago; the Brotherhood’s
Supreme Master. We cannot tarry. Are Sister Gatsa and her
companions content with our pilgrimage?”

“They speak of little else, Prioress.” The faction lead by Sister
Gatsa had been told that the Prioress was on a pilgrimage to
Monarta. The fact that the Prioress had sent a message to the
Brotherhood demanding that they open the grounds to the Sisters
had caused a hum of discussion—so much so in fact that no one
had yet

thought to wonder if Monarta was their true destination.

The Prioress did not speak for a moment, but Sutso was used to
this and waited. One could never be sure when the Prioress slept
and when she was awake.

“War could sweep away the prize for which we have lived all these
lives. That fool of an Emperor has gone off with his toy army?”

“He has, Prioress.”

“May the hand of Botahara guide us. Pray for fair winds, Sutso-
sum, the currents are against us.”

The officer was awakened in the night and found he was dizzy and
disoriented when he sat up. Imperial Guards, he seemed to
remember gambling and Imperial Guards… and rice wine. His
men—the men Lord Butto had left at the northern end of Denji
Gorge to be certain the locks were filled—were billeted in the
Imperial Guard Keep. Not perhaps the best idea.

“Captain?” The voice came from outside the door to his tiny room.

“What is it?” he said, unable to sound civil.

“Barbarians, Captain. Many barbarians—they are only tworihoff.”

The officer was on his feet. “Botahara save us! Alert the Imperial
Guards.”

“The Guards will muster immediately, Captain. Your armor is being
readied. I have a lamp.”

The Captain opened his door a crack and a lamp was passed in.
He began pulling on the clothing that would go under his armor.
“What hour?”

“The owl, Captain.”

“Huh. And we hoped these barbarians did not even know of Denji
Gorge.”

A clatter in the hall announced the arrival of his armour, and he
threw open the door to his attendants. He could hear men shouting
now, the sound of men running.

It could not be a large barbarian force, or Lord Shon-to’s patrols
would have known of it, he reasoned. They would not allow
functioning locks to fall into barbarian hands, of that he was certain.

* * *

Shimeko had taken up chanting again, not because she had found
her faith but because the chant was like a curtain between one’s
heart and the world. The smell of smoldering maji was thick in the
converted hold of the ship. Maji cleansed the air and inhibited the
spread of disease, but it stung the eyes despite its health-giving
properties. She lifted the head of a young man and fed him his
drug cake a small piece at a time. He was the only soldier on
board, a cavalry man in Lord Shonto’s army.

“You must make the effort to chew, Inara-sum,” Shimeko chided
him. “Come, just a little.”

The young man made a tiny nod and moved his jaw in a feeble
effort. He was racked by the cough that marked the disease then,
and Shimeko had to wait some time for him to recover enough to
take a sip of water and then she fed him another piece of drug
cake—the Brothers’ great secret.

“That is better, Inara-sum. You will be well before you know it if you
make an effort.”

He shook his head a little. “You would be less concerned, honored
Sister,” he whispered hoarsely, “if you had seen the army that
pursues us.”

“I do not want to hear this talk. All of your focus must be given to
becoming well. Let Lord Shonto and his able staff worry about
barbarian armies. You fight your own battle.”

The young man nodded weakly.

Most of the sick were slowly recovering, but this boy-man was
getting weaker and this concerned the former nun greatly. Of all the
patients on the ship this man was without doubt the most devout
follower of Botahara and he was the only one who did not seem to
respond to the Brother’s ministrations. It was as if he was resisting
the treatment in some way.

Shimeko was chilled by the conversations she had overheard
between this young man and the Brothers-talk of completion and
rebirth. This obsession with the size of the barbarian army also
unsettled her. It had obviously had a great impact on his young
mind. He is choosing to die, Shimeko thought. Her recent crisis of
faith made this realization extremely disturbing.

Completing her rounds, Shimeko bowed to Brother So-tura and
made her way up to the deck. It was a dark night, thin clouds
covering the stars. She took many lungfuls of the clear air and
walked to the rail, leaning over it and staring down into the black
water. They were back in the canal now, south of Denji Gorge. The
fleet proceeded at a faster pace, for the canal was almost free of
the boats of the refugees which had been detained in Denji Gorge
until Shonto’s fleet passed.

The evening was warm, full of the scents of spring, the sounds.
Had she heard a nightingale earlier?

“Do you fare well, Shimeko-sum?” a whisper came to her out of the
dark. A woman’s voice.

The quiet swirl of an oar in the water. There in the dark, the shape
of a boat and someone sitting to paired oars.

“Morima-sum? ”

“Yes. I have come to be sure these fool monks have not let you
become ill.”

Shimeko had to stay absolutely still to hear—even the noise of her
robe moving would mask the words. “I remain well, but you should
not come so close, Sister. It is unwise.”

Shimeko was not sure if she heard a chuckle or if it was merely the
bubble of oars in the water. “You have left your Teacher to come
serve the sick, Shimeko-sum, or perhaps it was his bidding?”

The younger woman felt herself relax a little in resignation. It was
as Morima said, they would never let her be.

“What is it you wish to know, Morima-sum?”

The sound of oars, unmistakable this time.

“I wish to know what is truth and what is merely a fabric of lies,
Aco… Shimeko-sum. But the Sisters have other concerns. They
wish to know if this young monk is the one so many await. Recently
rumors have been whispered—Lady Nishima… she is an attractive
woman.” A pause. “You were her secretary, Shimeko-sum.”

The former nun resisted the urge to hang her head in her hands.
She shook her head in the darkness. A woman’s cry of ecstasy…

“Shimeko-sum?”

She said nothing. The swirl of oars holding a boat in position.
Again. And yet again.

“May you find tranquillity of purpose, my young seeker,” the voice
whispered and the dark form disappeared into the shadow of the
canal bank.

Fifty-one

The river boats of Shonto’s fleet passed slowly by on the constant
east wind and on almost every craft warriors lined the rail, bowing
low to their liege-lord. Shonto sat on a wooden dock under a blue
silk awning and though his retainers bowed as they passed, the
lord was hidden from sight behind screens of bamboo and Shonto
banners.

Aboard the passing ships there was an uncommon silence, almost
funereal in its pervasiveness and emotional weight. News had
spread very quickly.

Kneeling before Shonto were the lord’s senior advisors, several
ranking officers, and sundry allies. Dressed in robes of blue over
which he wore a surcoat in the same colour bearing only the shinta
blossom in a circle, Shonto was an imposing figure. A powerful
man in more than just position.

As was the lord’s custom, he allowed the silence to last longer than
one would expect, like a Botahist Master who gave his students
time to attain the proper state of tranquillity so that they would be
better prepared to learn. The lord’s retainers were used to this and
all others present remained respectfully quiet and still.

“General Hojo,” Shonto said at last, “could you explain the
situation.”

The senior general bowed and composed himself before
addressing the council. “It was artfully done, Sire. Our own patrols
monitored the progress of the small barbarian army which made its
way down the canal and the western bank, but the companies that
took the locks at Denji Gorge were from the main barbarian

to be filled in with stone by workers from Lord B fief and this task
was to be watched over by Im Guards and Butto House Guards.
The attacking barl forces were large and unexpected. We do not
kno tails, but the locks and positions of defense at eith< of the
gorge are in barbarian hands; losses are unki This gives the Khan
access to large numbers of river for many of the refugees had not
yet locked out i gorge. We expect the small barbarian army to in<
its speed as a result.“

The banners fluttered in a small gust and conver

waited until this noise stopped. Both Jaku Katta and

Butto sat calmly, showing no sign that it had beer

troops guarding the locks. Shonto sat quietly for |

ment, watching a hawk soar high over the canal.

“It appears that we have few courses left open

If we turn and fight the small army pursuing us,

were we to win, our own force would be reducec

stantially. Yet if we continue south, we must m&

Imperial Army. Commanded by whom?“ Obvious

lord was thinking aloud and no one attempted to an

Shonto put his fingertips together, staring at nol

“No matter who commands the- Emperor’s fore

would prefer to meet them with an army at my back

than as a ragtag company of survivors.“ He turn<

Jaku Katta. “General Jaku, who do you imagine

command the Emperor’s army?“

Jaku bowed and returned to a sitting position, h on his thighs.
“There are several generals who se the Yamaku in the Interim
Wars who could be ci from retirement, Lord Shonto. At least three
are we commanders and still young enough to wage such a <
paign, but none of these are favored by the Emperor, own brother,
Tadamoto-sum, is the acting commandi the Guard, but he has no
experience in warfare. I i given this much thought, Sire, and I
believe that the peror will act as his own commander of forces. The
of Heaven trusts few and of the few he trusts he do their abilities.”
Jaku bowed again.

Shnnto nnHrlpH “Huh T havp alinwp.H mvsp.lf tn ‘t

the armies must be joined or the barbarians cannot be defeated.
The armies cannot stand alone, no matter what the cost.“ Looking
around the gathering, Shonto said, ”I will hear other opinions of this
matter.“

Lord Komawara bowed. “If the barbarians are to be defeated, I
agree, Sire. Our army must be kept whole until we meet the
Emperor’s force. The Son of” Heaven must realize what we face.
He will certainly fall without our support. All possibilities will be
open for discussion then.“

Shonto nodded to the young lord. The fact that Komawara had
actually spoken first was not lost on the others.

“It is impossible to know what will happen when we meet the
Emperor, if indeed it is the Emperor, Sire,” Kamu said. “I would
prefer not to leave a matter of such import so open to the whims of
fate and situation. Can we not approach the Emperor now? If he
realizes he will lose his throne without our support, as Lord
Komawara has said, the Emperor should welcome discussion.”

“I agree with Steward Kamu, Lord Shonto,” Lord Butto said. “We
should not wait to begin discussions with the Son of Heaven. We
are in a position of power— the Emperor cannot continue to sit on
his throne without our help.”

Jaku Katta shook his head. “Excuse me for saying so, but I have
had quiet contact with the Palace. The Emperor believes the entire
barbarian army is represented by the mere fraction—the small
army—that pursues us. The Son of Heaven will not be willing to
listen until he realizes the true peril. To approach the Palace now
would be to no avail.”

General Hojo stroked his beard as he did when lost in thought. His
bow was barely perfunctory, though no one appeared to notice.
“The suggestion that Prince Wakaro approach his father comes to
mind again. Perhaps the Prince could be an envoy in his father’s
court.”

Shonto frowned. “I suspect that having received no response from
the Emperor to his letters has led the Prince to reconsider his
offer. Even a son of the Emperor can lose favor at court. Certainly
we could send the Prince to the Capital, but I believe it would be a
course

of futility. The Prince may serve a purpose among us yet. We
should keep him close.

“It is only a matter of days until we arrive in the Capital. If we are to
have another course, we must decide now. Consider this. Our
enemy is showing himself more resourceful than we had previously
thought possible. After the clumsy attack on Rhojo-ma I did not
consider him a general of note. But now… This barbarian chieftain
has stopped our destruction of crops which will allow him to feed
his army, and he has seized the locks at Denji Gorge from
formidable warriors. As Soto wrote: we cannot rely on this Khan to
make a mistake. If we do not raise a force of sufficient size to
challenge this desert army, then retreat may be our only recourse.
It is not beyond question that we would allow this Khan to take the
Imperial Capital—and then he will sit upon the throne he so
desires.”

Fifty-two

The boat that bore the Emperor to war had sails of crimson silk, a
hull ornate with carvings and gilt, a dragon’s head on its prow, and
sixty men to man the oars should the Son of Heaven lose the favor
of the Wind Goddess. On the decks beautiful women played
music while other women of equal beauty danced, their long
sleeves swaying with the intricate movements of their hands. The
Emperor did not go to war as did other men.

Tadamoto waited at the dock that had been prepared for the
Emperor’s arrival. Banners rustled in the wind, and guards knelt in
curving rows forming the shape of a dragon fan. The petals of
fresh flowers had been strewn across new mats laid out on the
dock, and a guard stood at the end of this fragrant path holding a
gray stallion of famous lineage.

An Emperor who rode a horse rather than a sedan chair, who led
his own army, turned his back on the religion of Botahara, and in
whose hand a sword was more than a sign of office. Tadamoto
shook his head—he served an Emperor who would go down in
history as defying the pattern, there was no doubt.

Shonto’s army was only days away, certainly less than seven,
moving by both day and night and reportedly burning any craft that
hindered its progress. With the rebel lord’s army came Tadamoto’s
elder brother and this must lead to a reckoning that the young
colonel could not think about with ease. Tadamoto had begun to
sleep poorly and felt the effects of this more each day.

A sudden strengthening of the wind caused the Emperor’s boat to
heel slightly and pick up speed, a white wave appearing at the bow
as though the dragon on the prow rode forward on a cloud. Willow
trees billowed in

the breeze, hissing like angry old women waving their arms at
truant children.

Straining to overcome the distance, Tadamoto searched the deck
of the Emperor’s boat for a familiar form—seeking among the
flowing silk robes of the dancers, among those who watched. He
could not find her there and he was both disappointed and
relieved. If Osha was in the Emperor’s retinue, then there would be
a chance for her and Tadamoto to speak—with the first battle just
over the horizon he would welcome such an opportunity—but he
neither wanted her in danger nor in the Emperor’s company.

With sails dropping and sailors swarming to smother them, the
boat fetched the dock just as she lost all way, as perfectly
executed as one could imagine. Like everyone within sight,
Tadamoto bowed his head to the ground. The Emperor showed no
sign of disembarking, however, at least not until the melody and
dance was complete. All waited.

At last the performance ended and the Emperor rose and made
his way among the bowing retainers to the stairs. As he stepped
onto the dock, the Emperor spoke Tadamoto’s name and gestured
for the colonel to walk with him.

“Shonto’s army has reached Chin-ja?”

Tadamoto nodded. “It has, Emperor. They progress at speed.”

“And this rumor is unquestionably true, then?”

Tadamoto lowered his voice. “The Prince’s banner flies beside the
shinta blossom.” Saying this he cast the briefest glance over his
shoulder at the women on the Emperor’s boat.

“We both have known betrayal, Tadamoto-sum. It is a great
sadness.” They walked a few steps further, the Emperor lost in
thought. “You will be the new Commander of my Guard, Colonel
Jaku,” the Emperor said suddenly. “May you erase the shame your
brother has brought to your name.”

Tadamoto bowed. “I shall strive to be worthy of this honor, Sire.”

“See that you do.” They approached the guard holding the
Emperor’s horse. “Ride with me, Colonel, I wish to inspect our
defenses.”

Fifty-three

After days of haste Lord Shonto’s flotilla lay against the bank, only
the current moving the hulls, causing them to tug lightly on their
lines. The lengthening day had worn on to dusk, the sun setting
behind the western mountains—the colors of an autumn hillside
washed into the sky.

Shonto and Nishima walked along the bank, followed at a discreet
distance by guards. In the near distance other men in Shonto blue
had established a perimeter, keeping the refugees and the curious
at bay.

“Are you concerned about the safety of Master My-ochin, Uncle?”
Nishima asked. Lord Shonto seemed withdrawn, quieter than
usual. He had sent a party to the home of his former gü Master,
who lived nearby, and they had returned without the old man.
Myochin Ekun the legendary master of the board, blind from birth
yet six times champion of Wa.

Shonto waved to the small creek mouth that opened across the
canal. “I have left guards and archers in the woods. Eku-sum’s
home is difficult to find. There is no path to lead one there and the
barbarians keep most of their force on the canal’s opposite side. If
there is trouble, my guards will hide Master Myochin in the hills.”
Shonto shook his head. “He would not leave his home, saying he
has nothing even the poorest barbarian would desire. He is getting
very old. In a note Eku-sum had a servant write, he suggested that
I would soon have an opportunity to perform a move no gü player
could ever choose—I could sacrifice an Emperor.” Shonto smiled.
“He will never cease to offer me lessons.”

They walked a little farther along the bank, saying little.

“Do you not find this strange that they would suddenly

give up the chase?“ Nishima asked. It was the subject on
everyone’s mind. The small army had ceased to pursue Shonto’s
flotilla.

“Perhaps, but they are not really such a large force and we draw
near the Capital. If a large Imperial army suddenly appeared, the
small army would be at risk. Twenty-five thousand is almost a third
of the Khan’s army. He is wise not to risk them. It is also true that
they have accomplished their main purpose: in the wake of the
small army crops are growing which will allow the Khan to feed his
entire army very soon.”

Nishima nodded. “So we have stopped to rest our forces.”

Shonto nodded. “That, and for other reasons. The Emperor has
moved north of the Capital with his army. If we were to meet that
force before the Emperor has seen the true size of the desert
army, the Son of Heaven may be led to foolish actions. We cannot
allow a battle between ourselves and the Emperor. As it stands,
our combined force is likely less than the Khan’s. I will risk no more
men.”

They came to a stand of plum trees, the canal bank almost white
with decaying petals. The leaves were quickly reaching their
mature size, opening like blossoms. Long shadows stretched out
onto the surface of the canal and in the warm light the water took
on the color of burnished copper. The thinnest sliver of a crescent
moon floated overhead.

Coming to a tree trunk that curved out almost horizontally over the
water, Shonto stopped and leaned against it. Nishima circled its
base and leaned against the opposite side beside her uncle. They
stayed like that, side by side facing opposite directions, without
speaking for some minutes.

Shonto reached down and plucked a new strand of grass and
twirled it distractedly. “We will be forced south again within days.
The large barbarian army moves more quickly now that they have
true river craft and river men to sail them. Once we meet the
Emperor’s force, I cannot predict what will happen. Any agreement
we make with the Emperor at that time will be illusory, only
respected as long as there is the common threat of this Khan and
his army. If we defeat the Khan, Akantsu will turn on us

if he is able.“ Shonto wound the blade of grass around his finger
like a ring. ”The Emperor is not a man whose actions can easily be
foreseen. He may retreat once he sees the barbarian army in its
true strength; it is impossible to say. I must tell you now that the
safety of the Empire will take precedence over the interests of the
Shonto House.“ The lord fell silent for a moment. A soft breeze
rustled the leaves of the plum grove.

“If the worst befalls us, it is my plan to retreat into the mountains.
You should know this—one cannot predict who will survive a
battle.‘’

Nishima took a long breath. “If we must run, why to the mountains?
Ika Cho would seem to offer better possibilities for raising an
army? The mountains are not hospitable to those not born there.”

“The Emperor holds Ika Cho and Shokan-sum has fled. I have
reason to believe we would find friends in the mountains.”

Nishima looked up at her uncle’s face. He would always surprise
her—friends in the mountains? She wanted to ask but knew that if
he had wanted her to know more he would have continued.

“I had thought you bore the news of Shokan-sum’s retreat into the
pass with great poise. Is there hope for him, then?”

Shonto nodded. “I know nothing for certain, but his situation is
certainly no worse than our own.” The lord tossed the blade of
grass like a dart and it was swept away on the breeze. “In the
coming battle the forces of Wa will lose if there are factions
holding back, hoping to save their troops to win a civil war after the
barbarians are vanquished. The army of the desert is too large. We
can only hope to meet it with total commitment and intelligent
selection of the battle ground. If you are forced to go into the
mountains, do not become separated from Shuyun-sum. He will be
as valuable as a thousand guards. Do not forget. The Shonto have
fled the Empire before and lived in the wilds. If Botahara smiles
upon us, Shokan-sum will not find his way through the mountains
before this war is decided. Let the Yamaku know that the Shonto
are beyond their reach, waiting.”

Nishima laid her hand on Shonto’s arm. “Uncle, I do not doubt your
wisdom, but neither do I doubt the wis-

dom of the people of Wa. They will not allow the Yamaku to call
themselves Emperors after this war, no matter what the outcome.“

Placing his hand over his daughter’s, Shonto squeezed. “I hope
you are correct, Nishi-sum. May the people of Wa not disappoint
you.”

The last trace of sunset disappeared before Shimeko’s eyes, but
the sky retained a hint of the darkest blue among the myriad stars
and the crescent moon. The young woman leaned against the
rigging of the plague ship, forcing an appearance of calm over
herself. Although Bo-tahist monks were notoriously observant, she
hoped they would not notice her despair. The fact that, commonly,
she was almost entirely ignored by them would no doubt work in
her favor.

A short distance down the bank the last embers of a funeral pyre
were glowing like the molten colors of the sunset. Inara-sum, the
young Shonto soldier, had attained completion. Death, the former
nun realized, should hardly shake her as it did. As a devout follower
of the Way, the young man could only look forward to returning a
step closer to Perfection. Yet… Shimeko did not feel the
conviction necessary to keep grief at bay.

The growing belief that Inara’s funeral had been seen as a
celebration by the Brothers caused a constriction inside her. The
young man’s death was somehow regarded as a triumph. The
Brothers’ attitude was frightening to her, seemed almost
monstrous. They had celebrated his death because he believed
with such conviction, she realized. And this war would bring death
to thousands of Botahara’s followers. Would the Brothers
celebrate that?

News was traveling quickly now—news of the atrocities committed
by the invaders. She had been watching the faces of the refugees
as they passed, frightened, unable to believe what was occurring.
The faces had begun to haunt her dreams.

With an effort Shimeko forced a calm over her mind and focused
on her situation.

The plague ship was moored to trees and held close to the canal
bank. No other ships lay within a half rih of it and the long lines of
refugees gave the ship flying the

plague banner a wide berth. Turning as casually as she was able,
Shimeko surveyed the deck. Other than the single man guarding
the gangway, only sleeping river men could be seen.

In one graceful motion Shimeko slipped over the side, lowering
herself easily into the water which rose to mid-thigh. Two quiet
steps brought her to the bank and several more put her among the
trees. She stopped then to be sure there was no sudden
movement on board ship, no sign that she had been observed, but
there was nothing.

I will not be missed now until morning, she thought, and by then I
will be far to the north—and on my way from all the things that
cause my turmoil. May Botahara forgive me.

Fifty-four

The Plum Blossom Winds gave way to the fitful breezes of late
spring and the nights and mornings saw the occasional fog from
cold air descending the mountainsides into the lowlands after the
sun set. Although this mist slowed the flotilla that bore Lord Shonto
south, the barbarian army suffered the same, putting off the
inevitable day of battle—though only briefly.

A day’s march north of the Imperial Army’s position, Shonto landed
his force and spent several days engaged in the final preparations
for battle. Reconnaissance parties were sent both north and south
to gather information about both hostile armies and a constant
stream of riders came and went bearing reports and orders.

The main body of the army of the desert had rejoined the smaller
force and they continued their push into the inner provinces.
Skirmishes between barbarian patrols and the companies Shonto
sent north became more and more frequent as the armies vied to
control the lands that lay between them.

Accompanied by General Hojo, Lord Taiki, and Prince Wakaro,
Shonto rode among the troops, speaking to the various company
commanders, making his presence known. An army caught
between two enemy forces needed the reassurance of a confident
commander and, in this capacity, Lord Shonto lifted spirits
wherever he passed.

The army itself was a patchwork affair made up of the well-armed
and trained retainers of various lords, Imperial Guards, and the
recruits who had arrived with every variety of weapon and
armor—many of them looking like patchwork themselves.

Horses were being exercised and fed on green pasture, many a
man squared off against another with swords, and

archers loosed their arrows on makeshift targets. More than one
wager had been laid on these various contests and officers were
alert to see that no disputes erupted into real violence—with men
from all regions of the Empire such things were not unknown.
Despite the activity in the encampment there was also an air of
something being amiss—laughter that was too loud, many a young
man deliberately alone with his thoughts, men looking suddenly
embarrassed when Shonto approached as though the lord might
read what was in their minds by the looks on their faces.

Prince Wakaro turned to Lord Shonto as they rode. “I can’t help but
wonder about these men, Lord Shonto.” He tugged at a braid in his
horse’s mane. “Are they afraid? I myself cannot find words to
describe what I feel. I don’t even know if it is fear.”

Shonto stroked the neck of his mount with a leather gloved hand.
“Anticipation of a battle wears away at men, Prince, until they reach
a point where they want a decision to be made: either they will live
or die, but they will stand no more of this existence, suspended
somewhere between life and death. At a certain point battle comes
as a relief.”

The Prince looked up at Lord Shonto who surveyed the army with
an experienced eye. He was coming to respect this man whom his
father considered the Yama-ku’s greatest enemy, and this he
found unsettling.

Shonto waved his hand to encompass the entire encampment.
“Your opinion, Lord Taiki.”

Taiki brought his horse up and looked slowly around. “It is an army,
Lord Shonto. There have been better and there have been far
worse. Battle experience is lacking among the young, and I do not
know that we will have more than one battle in which to gain this.
The other armies, I’m sure, suffer from this same weakness,” he
hurried to add. “The barbarians, however, fight in a land that is so
different from their own that I cannot believe this does not unsettle
them. Retreat must also look daunting, should they fail in their
purpose. Such factors must be weighed in a battle.”

“I agree, Lord Taiki. Numbers are not the only measure of an
army.” Three riders in blue came at a gallop through the en-

campment. As they approached, Shonto recognized Rohku Saicha
followed by Shonto House Guards. They pulled up before Lord
Shonto and dismounted to bow low before the Imperial Prince and
their liege-lord.

“Captain Rohku?” Shonto said, nodding to his retainer.

“There is a party from the Emperor approaching, Sire, under a flag
of” truce.“ He pointed south. ”They come by fast boat.“

“Send for General Hojo, Kamu, and Brother Shuyun. We will ride to
meet them. Prince, Lord Taiki, will you meet the Emperor’s
emissary with me?”

The two men nodded though Shonto thought the Prince showed a
tightening around the jaw that had not appeared even during
discussions of the coming battle.

The three set off at a canter, followed by their guards. Men in the
encampment bowed low as the Prince and Lord Shonto passed
and stared after them as they went. Rumor went quickly through the
encampment. The Emperor has sent his minions to bargain with
Lord Shonto. Did this mean there was hope of an alliance?

Just south of the encampment a decked boat that boasted thirty
oarsmen swung to an anchor in the middle of the canal. Off its
stern the Emperor’s banner fluttered in the breeze as did the
banner of a senior official and the green flag of truce. Beneath a
plum tree, mats had been spread, and it appeared that men had
chosen this spot to drink wine and perhaps compose a poem-
sequence, for there was no armor worn but by the guards standing
at a distance. Those who knelt upon the mats drank from wine
bowls and laughed cheerfully.

“Lord Shinzei,” Prince Wakaro said quietly to Shonto. “The
Emperor’s favorite talking bird.”

Shonto pulled his horse up and dismounted. Several more Shonto
guards had joined them and others had taken up positions close by
and stood with hands on their swords.

Rohku Saicha rode up in haste. “Lord Shonto, General Hojo
comes now. Kamu is across the canal and Brother Shuyun has
been called to the plague ship.”

Shonto nodded. “We will do without them, then.” Shonto turned
and saw men riding toward him at a gallop. “General Hojo is here.”
Then turning to the Em-

peror’s son, “Prince Wakaro, does this talking bird have power to
speak for the Emperor?”

“I would be shocked if that were so. No, this will be an offer from
the Emperor. Shinzei will have no power to negotiate. He is but the
first move of the game and, as is common, the most expendable
piece. Though I doubt he will realize this.”

Hojo rode up and dismounted bowing quickly.

“General Hojo,” Shonto said, “please approach the Emperor’s
emissaries and ask them the purpose of their embassy. Or
perhaps they have come merely to enjoy the fine day and the
view?”

Hojo bowed quickly and set off toward Lord Shinzei and his party.

A moment later he returned. “They will speak to Lord Shonto only,
Sire. They do not have concerns about who accompanies you.”

Shonto nodded. “And they expect the Prince and me to attend
them?” Shonto cast a glance over his shoulder. What happened
here would be known by everyone in his army within the hour. What
fools did the Emperor send that they would allow such a situation
to develop?

Shonto looked back at the Emperor’s men and shook his head.
“Take them prisoner, bind them, and bring them to my boat.” He
mounted his horse abruptly, leaving the Prince and Lord Taiki
hurrying to follow. They rode off at a canter toward the boats that
carried Shonto’s family and senior advisors. Much of the activity of
the camp had come to a halt and men tried not to be seen
watching.

Shonto’s own boat was protected by a bamboo fence forming a
large open space on the canal’s eastern bank. Riding past the
sentries, Shonto dismounted and left his horse to a guard. He
stormed up the gangway of his boat, throwing gloves and surcoat
at a servant. Mounting the stairs to the upper deck, he took up a
position under the awning on the stern.

Kamu appeared suddenly. “Sire, excuse me, my attentions were
drawn elsewhere…”

Shonto waved a hand to cut the old man off. “That guard who is a
kick boxer—is he still in our service?”

“He is, Lord Shonto.”

“Bring him to me.” Shonto turned to Lord Taiki and

Prince Wakaro as they came up onto the deck looking unsure if
they should have followed. “Please, join me.” Shonto said
pleasantly. He gestured to cushions. The two men took the offered
positions and an awkward silence ensued.

They did not have long to wait, for Hojo appeared with his charges
moments later. A boat ran up on the canal bank and the bound men
were assisted onto the land with some degree of concern for their
dignity.

Kamu appeared with a young guard and Shonto nodded to have
the man brought forward, speaking to him privately and
demonstrating several hand signals. “Turn Lord Shinzei over to this
guard,” Shonto said to Kamu.

The Emperor’s emissaries padded up the stairs then and guards
requested that they kneel. Shonto sat regarding them for a
moment.

“We come under a flag of truce—emissaries of the Son of
Heaven. Be certain that this will not be forgotten, Lord Shonto.”
Shinzei spoke Shonto’s name with as much disdain as he could
muster.

Shonto gave a hand signal to the young guard who spun quickly
and kicked Shinzei in the diaphragm, doubling him over on the
deck.

When the lord’s struggle to breathe had begun to subside, Shonto
nodded and the man was pulled roughly back to a kneeling
position. His voice perfectly calm and pleasant, Shonto addressed
Lord Shinzei. “Perhaps you can relate the purpose of your visit,
Lord Shinzei. Or was this merely an outing to drink wine and enjoy
the fine spring weather?”

Shinzei visibly collected himself, trying to gain control of his
breathing. “The Emperor of Wa has sent me to demand the
immediate surrender of Prince Wakaro, Jaku Katta, Lord Shonto,
and all senior advisors and officers of the same.”

Shonto waited for a moment and then signaled the young guard
who again doubled the kneeling aristocrat over on the deck. His
recovery this time was lengthy, the others in his party staring down
at the deck, afraid to move. At last, the emissary was set back on
his knees, managing not to collapse.

“My liege-lord,” Kamu explained quietly, “is addressed as Lord
Shonto or Sire, Lord Shinzei.”

Shinzei nodded, unable to hide the pain he felt or to maintain his
dignity in such a situation. As a favorite of the Emperor he
encountered nothing but deference in all of his dealings.

“Lord Shinzei,” Shonto began again, his voice remaining calm. ‘ ’I
am well informed on the size and state of the Emperor’s army. It is
no larger, and certainly less experienced, than my own. You cannot
afford arrogance. Not two days north on the canal a barbarian army
that, despite our efforts, numbers eighty-five thousand men is
moving toward the Imperial Capital. In my estimate, their chieftain
is four, perhaps five days away from the throne he seeks—your
lord’s throne, Lord Shinzei. Already it grows late for the alliance that
we require.“

Shonto looked at the man kneeling before him and shook his head.
“Take this message to your Emperor. If he will provide written
pardons for myself, my family, and all who support me, I will
consent to join forces with him to face the barbarian threat. If the
Emperor will not agree to this, I will allow him to face the barbarian
army alone. It is a simple choice—to retain his throne or to be
overthrown, perhaps it is a choice between life and death. Be very
clear when you explain this point to Akantsu, Lord Shinzei—it is
important that he understands his position.”

Shonto nodded to Hojo who signaled the guards to take the
Emperor’s men away. “General,” Shonto said to Hojo as the
captives were led down the stairs, “put them on horses with their
hands bound behind them and trot them through the camp on the
return to their boat. Then throw them on the ground before their
fine ship and leave them to be unbound by their own guard. Show
them not a single sign of respect.”

Hojo bowed and hurried off.

Shonto signaled for cha and once it arrived, his spirits lifted
noticeably.

“Excuse me for saying so, Lord Shonto,” Prince Wakaro said in a
soothing voice, “but this will infuriate the Emperor.”

Shonto smiled. “But it will lift the morale of our own army to the very
skies. We would only dare treat the Emperor’s advisors this way if
there was no doubt of the outcome of the battle. It will give your
father cause to

think also, Prince. The next battle we fight will not require
swords—it will be a battle of wills and I have answered his opening
with a message which says the Shonto have nothing to lose, while
the Emperor has everything.“

The army of Shonto Motoru moved south as soon as the fog lifted
the morning after Lord Shinzei had paid his visit. The bulk of the
army went by land though some ships were still in use and these
paced the army as it went. Open fields bordered the canal in this
area and stretched east to foothills and west toward distant
mountains, jagged against the horizon.

Many of the “rebel army” rode horses, though companies of foot
soldiers marched among the mounted troops. Despite the
patchwork nature of this force, Shonto’s officers and the officers of
his allies had marshaled it into a tight formation, better to impress
the watching patrols of the Emperor.

Shuyun stood beside his liege-lord at the rail of a river craft. Before
his arrival in Wa, he had never seen an army and he found the sight
both impressive and very sad. In the next few days many of the
men before him would die. The words of Brother Hitara came back
to him; “War brings no soul to perfection.‘’ My Order has bound me
to serve this man and now I am at war also—a follower of
Botahara, Shuyun thought, a poor follower.

Something the monk had never anticipated was the sound of men
going to war. There was silence in the ranks, but the sounds of
men and beasts tramping over the land was ominous, disturbing,
like the pulse of a dying man—the strength of its rhythm came from
fear. Unspoken fear.

‘ ’There are no reports of a new outbreak of the disease?“ Shonto
asked Shuyun.

The two men stood at the rail of Shonto’s ship watching the army
as it moved.

Shuyun shook his head. “I have sent men out among the refugees
and to the villages. The plague seems to be under control. We
have had only one report of a woman of Shimeko-sum’s
description, but this was not certain and whoever it was made an
effort to avoid contact with others.”

“Huh.” Shonto tried to turn the hemp shroud, the muscles in his
forearm bunching into knots. “Nishima-sum told me this young
woman was a person of education and intelligence but caught in a
crisis of the spirit.”

Shuyun nodded. “I believe Lady Nishima was correct, Sire.”

‘ ’Perhaps she seeks a monastery or wishes to live the life of a
hermit.“

“Perhaps.” Shuyun seemed lost in thought. The dull pounding of
the army on the land kept calling his attention. “She seeks escape,
I believe, Sire.”

Shonto let go of the shroud and shaded his eyes against the sun,
staring off toward the south. The Emperor’s position would not
become visible until the next day at the earliest, but it was common
to see people standing with their gaze focused on the horizon as
though meditating upon a distant point.

“It is a fine balance we must achieve, Brother,” Shonto said
suddenly. “If we meet the Emperor’s force before the barbarian
army is seen for its true size, then we risk the Emperor making a
foolish mistake. If we do not arrive at the Imperial Army’s position
soon, we will not have time to join the two armies into an effective
force. Once we have committed a piece, we cannot retrieve it.
There can be no mistakes.”

“May Botahara guide us, Lord Shonto.” Shuyun had watched his
lord carefully since he had come into his service and though it
could be said that Shonto always kept much to himself, Shuyun
was noticing a change. The lord often shared information that was
not truly necessary for others to know, yet at the same time the
monk was convinced there was some knowledge that Shonto was
keeping entirely to himself. If asked, Shuyun could not have
explained why he felt this.

“Once we reach the Emperor’s position, I will move the members
of my household to the northeast of the probable battlefield. When
battle has been engaged, you will join Lady Nishima. Be prepared
to run toward the mountains, Shuyun-sum. Leave everyone else
behind if they cannot keep your pace.” Shonto turned to regard his
Spiritual Advisor. “If the Shonto army falls and I cannot escape,
Lady Nishima must be protected at all

costs. I charge you with this, Brother Shuyun. Do not fail.“

Shuyun gave a half bow in response. “Perhaps Lady Nishima
should be closer to the mountains now?”

Shonto shook his head. “There is danger whichever course we
choose, Shuyun-sum.” The lord shrugged. “Perhaps it is the
selfish path, but I wish to keep Nishima-sum close for now.”

The river men dropped the sail behind Shonto and Shuyun as the
breeze had come up and was moving the ship ahead of the
marching army.

Shonto waved a hand out toward the patch of dark blue uniforms
among the men on horseback. Shuyun could see Shonto pull his
focus away from the knowledge he was hiding. “I am concerned
about Lord Butto and these Hajiwara men in Lord Komawara’s
guard. Lord Butto has not spoken of it, but certainly it must weigh
upon him.” Shuyun leaned out over the rail looking down into the
water. “I have considered this matter also. Lord Koma-wara
believes that their sworn oath binds these Hajiwara men and that all
of my lord’s allies are safe from any plans for vengeance. Perhaps
that is true, but men have been known to word their oaths in ways
that are understood to mean different things to different people. I
would keep the Butto and the Komawara companies separate on
any battlefield.”

“Huh.” Shonto shook his head. “Within our own ranks to have such
concerns…” He left the thought unfinished.

Fifty-five

Fog persisted in the morning so it was not until the sun was high
that Lord Shonto was able to move his army south again. Even
after the fog had cleared, the sky was covered with a high, thin mist
that filtered a weakened sunlight down to the earth.

Several of Shonto’s advisors had voiced the concern that the
Emperor might move his army north under cover of darkness and
surprise Shonto’s force in the morning when the fog lifted, but this
turned out to be a groundless fear. Patrols reported that the
Emperor kept his army behind earthworks that had been dug into
the side of hills on either side of the canal.

Shonto sat under an awning on the stern of his ship, giving no sign
that he was only hours away from meeting his enemy. He pored
over a scroll with great focus of attention; a secretary knelt in
attendance and Kamu also waited at hand. Sitting only a few paces
off, a servant played a quiet melody on the harp. Occasionally the
lord would look up and give his attention to a passage of the tune
and then, with a nod to the musician, return to his reading.

Finally Shonto rolled the scroll and set it aside. Reaching for a cup
of cha, he sipped and found it cold and returned the cup to the
table.

“It is an interesting position, don’t you think?” Shonto said to his
steward. With some care he unrolled a map and placed four jade
paperweights, carved in the shape of the shinta blossom, on the
corners. He waved a hand at the map and Kamu moved closer to
look on.

“The Emperor has split his position to either side of the canal.” The
lord tapped the spot with his finger. “What is your opinion of that?”

Despite his age and apparent frailty Kamu had once

been both a swordsman of great reputation and a senior officer in
the Shonto armies. Stewards of Great Houses seldom had such a
depth of knowledge in military matters and Lord Shonto did not let
this expertise go to waste.

“The Emperor must believe it is his function to stop an army from
descending on the Capital, therefore he blocks the canal. In truth, I
believe he could position his army anywhere and the Khan would
not pass it by. This division of his forces…” Kamu shook his head.
“The Emperor makes a foolish mistake. The bridge that connects
them across the canal… it is too vulnerable to fire rafts.”

Shonto nodded. “I suspect our Emperor has not blocked the canal
to stop the barbarian advance but to stop our army from passing.
No doubt the Son of Heaven would like to keep the Shonto
between his own army and that of the Khan.”

Shonto ran his finger up the line of the canal. “And I certainly do not
wish to spoil the Emperor’s view of the barbarian army.” Moving his
finger to a hill east and slightly north of the Emperor’s position, the
lord said. “We will concentrate our troops on this slope. The Khan
will array his forces here—there is no other choice.” Shonto traced
an arc east from the canal north of the Emperor’s position.

“That will form a triangle.” Shonto said, tracing the three sides with
each army being a point. “If the Khan is an intelligent man, he will
not wait but will attack both positions at once—the barbarian army
is large enough to do this. If the Khan waits, there is a possibility
that Ak-antsu and I can reach an understanding. Once the Emperor
sees the army of the desert with his own eyes it is my hope that he
will be more willing to listen to our arguments. We shall see.”

Shonto stared at the map for a moment more without speaking. “If
the Emperor will join forces with us, Kamu-sum, we will have two
choices. Fight the barbarian army with a force perhaps two-thirds
its size, or retreat to the southeast. If we choose to retreat, we will
see if you are correct. Will the lure of an undefended Capital be
more than the Khan can resist? If so, there is a chance that we can
raise an army large enough to be

sure of defeating the barbarians. A battle now is a difficult decision.
Such a fight is likely to be inconclusive and, at worst, could result in
the annihilation of the armies of Wa. It is a great risk, Kamu-sum, a
great risk indeed.“

A guard approached, bowing and waiting to be acknowledged.
Kamu gestured and the man came forward to speak quietly to the
steward. The old man nodded.

“Sire,” he said turning back to his liege-lord, “our forward scouts
can see the Emperor’s position.”

Shonto nodded. “I will take a fast boat. Have a horse ready at our
forward position. And I will speak with General Hojo and our senior
commanders.” The lord rose suddenly. “Well, steward Kamu, the
endgame is always the most interesting, is it not?”

Late in the day Shonto’s army came upon the plain that lay before
the Emperor’s army. Patrols reported the barbarians only half a day
behind now and the rear of the Shonto columns were under
constant observation from barbarian patrols. Due to sheer
numbers, the barbarians had taken control of the shifting lands
between the two armies and they tracked the Shonto army as
silently and relentlessly as a predatory animal.

Shonto was still not in armor as he rode before his army though he
wore a sword in his sash—the sword the Emperor had given to
him. A group of concerned Shonto guards stayed close by, eyes
turned to the earthworks that sheltered the Imperial Army.

“The Emperor will wait,” Shonto said to his senior advisors. “He will
not undertake to accomplish with swords what he hopes can be
done by words. It is good to remember that he hates the Shonto
because he fears us.”

Shonto stood up in his stirrups, looked around the horizon, and
then shook his head. “Excuse me for saying so, Prince Wakaro,
but the Emperor is not the general your grandfather was. His
position is untenable.”

Wakaro gave an almost imperceptible shrug. He was the only man
in Shonto’s party who wore full battle armor and he was no doubt
suffering some embarrassment at not demonstrating the
acceptable bravado in the face of the enemy. Having tied his
helmet to his saddle, the

Prince’s streak of white hair was at the mercy of the breeze and
waved like an ominous flag. The Prince was struggling to maintain
his Imperial dignity and this was made more difficult by his lack of
skill with horses-appearing far worse than it was by proximity to the
men of Seh; riders of the first order.

Shonto nodded to the hill upon which he proposed to establish his
own army. “What is our assessment of that position?”

Lord Komawara spurred his horse forward three paces and bowed
from the saddle. “Lord Toshaki and I have ridden and walked every
section of the hill, Lord Shonto. It is not defendable from all
directions due to the small size of our force, but it is a reasonable
position in which to weather an attack form the west and north. It is
certainly more defensible than the Emperor’s earthworths,”
Komawara said with disdain. “The slope is steep at the base and
rolls off to a series of benches halfway up the flank. The crest is
thickly wooded. Considering this is not a battleground of our
choosing, we could do much worse.”

Shonto looked over at Hojo, who nodded agreement.

“We will secure that position and move our forces there in the
dark,” Shonto said. “Light fires to guide the way. Tomorrow we will
witness the arrival of the barbarian army, and our Emperor shall
have the same pleasure.”

Shonto turned his horse to face his advisors. Lord Taiki and Butto
Joda had become friends over the past days and sat on horses
side by side. Jaku Katta, General Hojo, Lord Komawara, young
Toshaki and Shuyun formed a loose group. Only the Prince and his
captain rode apart— outsiders, Yamaku; of questionable loyalty.

“We will move our forces to the hill and then set a pavilion on the
plain between the Emperor’s position and our own. I will attempt to
establish contact with the Emperor at the earliest possible
moment.” Shonto looked into the faces of the men before him. “In
the history of Wa no foreign enemy has ever penetrated the inner
provinces. It is impossible to separate the clouds that cover the
future, but it is beyond doubt that a loss to the army of the desert
would mean the loss of the Capital, if not

the Empire. If the Khan is an intelligent general, he would pursue
our army to the southern borders, for our army is the basis of all
our hopes for the future. We do not know which action in the days
to come will be a deciding action. We must never forget that
anything we do could be the single act that changes the course of
history. Do not lose courage, not for an instant. History will turn on
the events of these next days and it will be shaped by each of us.
Do not lose courage.“

Nishima lay awake long into the night. She had crossed the small
plain that men were referring to as the “battlefield” in the dark and
found the experience disturbing in the extreme. The fires
illuminated rows of armed men who marked the way in the dark and
fog—an eerie spectacle of yellow-red light reflecting off armor and
weapons and faces distorted by the light and darkness.

As Lady Okara had insisted that she did not want a sedan chair,
Nishima and Kitsura had gone on foot when Nishima would rather
have ridden. Her experience with horses was limited, for ladies of
breeding were not supposed to ride, but in the unsettled years
after the Interim Wars Lord Shonto had thought it prudent that she
master the basics of riding.

A large pavilion had been pitched on a ledge dug into the hillside,
just inside the sheltering edge of the wood, and this had been
divided with hangings into three rooms for the ladies from the
Capital. Mats and rugs made it comfortable and lamps and a few
other furnishings created an impression of order and security—all
seeming a great sham to Nishima.

In an attempt to gain some sense of tranquility, Nishima had turned
to the poetry of Lady Nikko.

Sky

Torn to rags and tatters.

Earth

A ruin of storm shattered trees.

The riches of summer have been scattered

To the four directions.

The first days of Autumn arrive

Like invading armies

Wisdom is more fragile

Than a young girl’s love,

Lost between one generation and the next.

These boys drop stones into the village well

To break each morning’s ice

Never asking, “How long until the well is filled?”

In Itsa peasants work the family fields Season after season without
rest Until the soil bears nothing But thistle and scrub

The moon drifts toward winter Each night colder than the last, Soon
women will sell winter clothing For a few sticks of firewood

From A Journey to Itsa by Lady Nikko

Not precisely the reassurance Nishima was looking for. She set the
scroll down.

Earlier it had been decided that Lady Okara would be taken south
toward the Capital by Shonto guards who would shed their blue
livery. Skirting the Emperor’s army would be difficult, for he sent
patrols out into the countryside, but there was no doubt in anyone’s
mind that Lady Okara’s reputation would protect her from all but the
barbarians. She was anxious to see her island home again and
Lord Shonto was equally anxious to have the great painter out of
harm’s way.

Nishima knew the parting in the morning would be difficult. Oka-
sum had risked so much for her, for so little return, Nishima felt.
Poor Oka-sum, the young aristocrat thought, I tore her from her
solitude and cast her into the center of a war that may see the fall
of our Empire. May Botahara protect her.

The thin fabric of the tent seemed impossibly fragile to a woman
who had spent most of her life surrounded by substantial walls, and
the reality that pressed against this material was not the wild beauty
of the world but the coarse brutality of men. She longed to have
Shuyun come and lie beside her. It was not entirely a desire to be
pro-

tected by someone stronger, for Nishima knew that wars could
bring down even the mightiest, but a desire to comfort and be
comforted in the face of the utter uncertainty of the world.

It was close to dawn before she managed to fall into a fitful sleep.

Fifty-six

Shonto walked along the path that had been dug into the side of
the hill, followed by his guards. The gray light of early morning had
become the gray light of a foggy day. Reports from outriders
indicated that this propensity for morning fog diminished only a few
rih south, indicating that one did not have to stray far from the
mountains to rid oneself of this weather.

Leave it to the Emperor to pick a battlefield commonly enshrouded
in fog, Shonto thought. He had risen before first light and met with
his advisors. After much discussion it had been decided that
Prince Wakaro would bear an offer to his father, and though the
Prince had gone off showing a brave face, Shonto did not expect
him to return. Even if the Emperor answered Shonto’s letter, the
lord did not expect the bearer of the response to be Prince
Wakaro. It is a sad family that cannibalizes its own, Shonto told
himself, but Imperial families seemed to suffer this ill too
commonly.

Though the fog muffled sound and played tricks on the ears, there
was no doubt that an army moved upon the plain. The sounds of
voices, the stamp and whinny of horses, the clanking of weapons
and armor filtered up through the layers of mist to the men of Wa
perched on their hillsides. This will open the Emperor’s eyes,
Shonto thought. I would give much to be standing beside him as
the fog clears.

Guards in armor laced in the darkest blue appeared through the
mist, bowing to Lord Shonto as he passed. A few paces later he
came upon Lord Komawara staring out into the featureless gray.

“Can Komawara eyes part the mists?” Shonto asked.

Komawara turned and bowed low. His face lit with half a smile.
“Komawara eyes fail this test as miserably

as most others, Lord Shonto. But when I traveled in the desert with
Brother Shuyun, he taught me not to rely on my eyes as other men
do. I cannot claim to have attained the skill of the Botahist-trained in
this, but I am learning. It seems to be a matter of focus.“

Shonto stopped at the young lord’s side and looked out into the
mist as Komawara did. “What do your other senses tell you, Lord
Komawara?”

Komawara listened for a few seconds before answering. “An army
gathers on the plain, Sire, I have heard the pounding of mallets on
wood indicating that tents have been raised. Horses are being
pastured,” he pointed to the north. “I smell fires burning and there
is a tang of tar in this odor. They burn the ships now. This close to
the Capital the barbarians would appear to have no expectation to
return north. I hear the sounds of armor being cleaned and
weapons being honed. I hear the sounds of men who are not
entirely confident. So far from home—if their chieftain has
misjudged the strength of this vast Empire they have crossed, they
will never return to their lands, to their people.”

Shonto nodded. “You have crossed swords with the men of
desert, Lord Komawara, is it possible that we can win a battle
against such superior numbers?”

There was a long silence then and Shonto found himself straining
to hear the sounds that drifted up from the plain.

“It would depend on the place and the commander, Lord Shonto.
When we attacked their supply rafts, we had the advantage of
surprise and they thought they had been set upon by an entire
army. I do not believe it is foolish pride to say that the men of Wa
are stronger warriors. The reports from the battle for Rhojo-ma
would indicate this to be true. A confident army with superior
position would likely prevail—at great cost—despite smaller
numbers. Confidence comes from the men’s faith in their
commander, Sire.”

“And the Emperor? Can he meld the two armies into a force that
will bear the blow this Khan will deliver?‘’

Komawara shrugged. “The Emperor is unknown to me, Sire. If he
abandoned his position on the west side of the canal, burned the
bridge, and concentrated his force and our own on the eastern
hillside, the Emperor’s

position would be improved. But I cannot say that he could inspire
the confidence required to beat a foe who is stronger in numbers.
It is impossible to know.“

Shonto turned and looked back toward his own position, hidden in
the fog. Noises similar to those heard emanating from the enemy
position echoed here.

“We will see,” Shonto said quietly.

The sound of armored men approaching caused both lords to turn
around. A moment later Kamu materialized out of the fog followed
by guards.

He bowed low. “A rider has arrived from the north bearing news,
Sire.” Kamu paused for a second to catch his breath. “Lord Shonto
Shokan has come down from the mountains with a small force. He
hurries to join you, Sire.”

Shonto remained calm at this, compared to the obvious excitement
that his steward barely contained. “We must get word to him. He
must not risk capture. There is no reason for him to hurry. His
presence here with a small force will hardly be the deciding factor.
We must warn him to stay well clear and approach from the
southeast. He must take no risk of capture, Kamu-sum, absolutely
none. Send messengers immediately.”

The steward bowed quickly and was gone.

Prince Wakaro did not know whether to feel relief or not. The ride
through the fog toward the perimeter of his father’s defenses was
a terrifying endeavor. Even his guard wearing the armor of the
Imperial Guard was little comfort. The men of the Imperial Army
knew that Jaku Katta and his rebel followers still wore their black
uniforms and all the insignias of rank.

They had found a guard in the fog and finally been escorted
through the lines. The feared arrow did not find him and the Prince
was relieved to the point of developing a small tremor. He was not
sure if Shonto or his followers would have condescended to wear
armor in such situations, but the Prince had decided he did not
care. To die of an arrow shot by some nervous, unknown archer
did not seem like a dignified death.

He and his men stood surrounded by Imperial Guards, and though
they had not been shown the courtesy due an Imperial Prince they
had been treated well enough and

even allowed to retain their swords. The Prince realized he had
stopped trying to predict his father’s reaction to this embassy from
Lord Shonto—an embassy led by his own son.

Perhaps he should have refused Shonto’s request that he
approach the Emperor, but the Prince felt that what Shonto had
said was true. This was a decisive moment in history, and he did
not want to be known for all time as the prince who contributed to
the fall of the Empire. So he tried to swallow his fear.

Lord Komawara had told Wakaro that he had been frightened
before the attack on the barbarian supply rafts and there was
something about Komawara that made the Prince believe the
young lord would never stoop to lies. A guard officer appeared
then and it took a moment for the Prince to realize it was Jaku
Tadamoto. The young guardsman seemed to have aged many
years in the past few months.

“If it is convenient, Prince Wakaro, could you accompany me?”
Tadamoto asked in the refined tones of a scholar. How did the
men of the Imperial Guard respond to a commander who sounded
and looked like a historian or a poet? A few weeks earlier the
thought would never have occurred to him and it surprised him.

Nodding, the Prince fell into step beside the young colonel who
deferred to the Imperial Prince in voice only. It was no time to
demand that proper etiquette be followed, Wakaro decided.

They made their way along a deep trench behind one level of the
earthworks. Bundles of arrows stood against the trench wall and,
on a dirt shelf, archers stood looking out onto the fogbound plain.
Prince Wakaro had become more intimate with fear recently and
this had increased his sensitivity to it. He could feel the fear among
these men.

They mounted a wooden stairway that brought them up a level. The
effort was causing the Prince to sweat under his heavy armor, and
he pulled off his helmet and tucked it under his arm as he often
saw guards do, for there was no one on his staff to reach out and
take this burden from him.

They progressed through various rings of guards until the sound of
banners rustling in the frail breeze told

Wakaro that the Emperor would be near at hand. Indeed, only a
few paces farther along and they were stopped by guards. Wakaro
stood trying to hold together the shreds of his failing courage. I
have seen the barbarian army, the Prince reminded himself. Any
death I find here will be more charitable than the death I would find
on the battlefield. Stories of what the barbarians did to captured
enemies had reached Wakaro through his guards. His dreams had
not been the same since.

A guard appeared out of the fog and gave a hand signal.
Tadamoto motioned the Prince forward. A few paces along and a
small pavilion took shape before the Prince. He knelt and bowed to
his father who did not offer even a nod in response.

“I am told you are a messenger for the Shonto?” the Emperor said,
his voice betraying tight control—a sign of anger that the Prince
dreaded.

“Despite all appearances, Sire,” Wakaro said, ashamed at the
quaver in his voice, “I remain the Emperor’s loyal servant. The truth
of this will be revealed as the fog lifts. An army of unprecedented
size is before us. If the Imperial Army does not join with the forces
of Lord Shonto, the Empire will be lost.”

The Emperor stared at his son until the young man looked down.
“You have a message from your master?” the Emperor said at last.

Wakaro reached into his sash and removed the carefully folded
letter. He passed this to Tadamoto who set it on the edge of the
small dais.

The Emperor looked down at it for a moment as thought the letter
itself was an insult to his dignity. He picked it up suddenly, tearing it
open without even glancing at the seal. After casting a final, cold
eye upon his son, the Emperor turned his attention to Shonto’s
letter. He looked up in a moment. “This does not differ from the
message Lord Shinzei conveyed,” the Emperor said, his face
flushing with anger.

Wakaro could only nod. He kept his eyes cast down.

The Emperor threw the letter in his son’s face, startling the Prince
so that he almost fell backward.

“Colonel Jaku. Take this man out of my sight,” the Emperor said as
though dismissing an annoying servant.

“He is charged with treason and we are at war. Deal with him
accordingly.‘’

The Prince reared up, stumbling to his feet. He felt Jaku
Tadamoto’s hand on his sword arm and then other hands gripped
him also. “I have not lied!” the Prince cried out. “I do not support
your enemies. The enemy is a barbarian army that has armed itself
using Imperial gold.” He was dragged backward, the Emperor
disappearing in the fog. “Father! You will see that I tell the truth. In
just a few hours. Father!” Jerked off his feet, the Prince hit his
head against something hard. He sank completely into the fog
then; it swirled close about him obscuring everything, even his
thoughts.

Swimming up to the surface of the fog, ever so slowly, the Prince
came back to the world. He lay on his side on a surface that was
soft and uneven. Nausea passed through him like a wave rushing
onto the shore though it did not break but only dissipated in the
smallest ripple. Two more waves moved him and he felt for a
moment that he had washed ashore and was swept back and forth
by the rhythms of the sea.

Finally the Prince opened his eyes. A thick, straw mat was the
surface under him.

“Sire?”

It was a soft voice, not at all hostile. Wakaro tried to nod.

“Can you hear me, Sire?”

Tadamoto, Jaku Tadamoto: Wakaro recognized the voice now. He
moved his head, a definite nod, he was certain.

“If you wish, I will help you to sit.”

After a moment of consideration Wakaro shook his head. I must
have more time, he thought. The fog will lift and then I will be
vindicated. His eyes focused on a second guard who stood a few
paces off. In his hands this man held a sword laid across folds of
white silk. The Prince closed his eyes again.

After a few moments had passed, the voice came again. “Sire? I
will do everything to preserve your dignity, but you must assist me
in this.”

“I am more concerned with my life, Colonel,” Wakaro said, words
coming with difficulty into a dry mouth.

‘I am prepared to give you time to make your preparations and also
your own sword. In this I defy the orders of my Emperor. Please,
Prince Wakaro, I offer you the path of dignity. It is the honorable
way.’‘

The Prince shook his head softly.

“Tadamoto-sum?” he whispered, using the familiar form. “If you will
grant me one request… I will cooperate in any way you wish.”

Tadamoto did not answer immediately. “It is not my place to grant
requests, Prince Wakaro. I risk the Emperor’s displeasure in what I
do now.”

Displeasure, Wakaro thought, the word striking him like a blow. He
fought to control growing panic. “I wish only to be given until the
fog lifts to make my preparations. It is a small thing,” he said, trying
not to let his voice be reduced to the whimper that was threatening.
The Prince propped himself up on his elbow then, looking up at the
young guard colonel. He prayed it was compassion he saw there.

Tadamoto crouched at the edge of the mat, looking down at the
Prince. Very deliberately he nodded once, then rose and walked
away, leaving the Emperor’s son under the eye of several guards.

The days had fallen into a pattern of fog in the morning which then
lifted at virtually the same hour each afternoon. The Prince knelt on
his mat facing the north, searching for the first sign of the barbarian
army. The rest of the Imperial Army encampment was hidden from
view by a roll in the hill and some low bushes. Undoubtedly, the
Prince had been carried to the top of the hill on the canal’s eastern
bank.

Faint signs of blue began to appear overhead and the Prince felt
his hope rise. The guard, holding what Wak-ara realized was a
ceremonial white robe, still stood, unmoving, at his back. Had the
Prince known how to pray to Botahara, he would not have hesitated
to do so.

The fog seemed to have learned considerable cruelty in the last
few hours, for it kept showing signs of thinning and then blowing in
as dense as it had ever been. Then the plain before the Imperial
Army began to appear, a few paces at a time, the green grasses
trampled but still vivid against the white of the mists.

Finally a barbarian sentry appeared, riding a dark horse. Colored
banners took form, waving among the tendrils of white—gold and
Imperial Crimson, and blue and spring green. Wakaro offered up
an awkward prayer of thanks to powers unknown and unnamed.

The mist disappeared more quickly by the moment. A man cleared
his throat at the Prince’s back causing the young man to tear his
eyes away from the scene being revealed before him. Jaku
Tadamoto had returned.

‘ ’May I assist you with your armor, Sire? It would be my honor.“

The Prince pointed out at the army that was slowly coming to light.
“It is as I said, Colonel. Once I had seen this, I could not chose
another course. The Empire is in grave danger. You need Shonto
Motoru.”

Tadamoto nodded. “May I begin with your shoulder pieces, Sire?”

Turning back to the north, the Prince saw that more of the army of
the desert was coming into view. Fingers began working at the
lacing on his shoulder pieces. But it is there before them to see,
the Prince thought. Could they not see?

Tadamoto and a guard were lifting the heavy body armor over
Wakaro’s head when the guard happened to look up.

“Botahara save us. Colonel!” He pointed to the plain.

Tadamoto turned to look as the armor slipped over the

Prince’s head. He froze in position for a second and then

stood up to full height, the Prince completely forgotten.

The barbarian encampment was a vast, teeming sprawl,

dark against the new green, like a bloodsucker Tadamoto

had once found undulating on a rush beside a pond.

“I am not a traitor, Tadamoto-sum,” the Prince said as calmly as he
was able, as though the sanity of his tone would make the young
guard realize how mad this entire situation was. “I described this
army in detail in a letter to my father. I have tried to warn him of this
for some weeks. I have committed no act of treason.”

Tadamoto stood staring for a moment longer. “I will speak to the
Son of Heaven.” He turned and hurried off, leaving the Prince to
struggle against a fit of shaking that suddenly racked him.

Tadamoto made his way quickly down the path to the Emperor’s
pavilion. Bowing to the guard, he gave a password reserved for
dire emergencies that would allow him immediately into the
Emperor’s presence. A guard announced his commander and
Tadamoto was brought forward.

The Emperor sat in the same place under the small pavilion of
crimson silk. Like everyone else, he stared out at the clearing plain
as though transfixed. After a moment he spoke to Tadamoto
though he did not take his eyes off the sight before him.

“Did he die well, Tadamoto-sum?”

Jaku cleared his throat. “I allowed him time to make his
preparations, Sire. And then this…” The young officer waved a
hand toward the barbarian army. “Prince Wakara wrote the truth,
Sire…”

The Emperor turned to Tadamoto, his face suddenly drained of
blood. “He aided a rebel lord. I will have no traitors in my House,
Colonel Jaku. Carry out your orders.” And with that he returned his
attention to the north.

Tadamoto stood for an awkward second, then, despite being
entirely ignored, bowed stiffly and retreated. This is a murder,
Tadamoto thought, a coldhearted murder.

fifty-seven

The army of the barbarians and the two armies of Wa faced each
other across the open fields in chilling silence. The men on either
side stared out over the green grass and wondered if their death
was somehow, mysteriously, taking form among the
indistinguishable faces of the enemy.

After the shock of seeing the barbarian army for the first time,
Akantsu II sent an embassy to speak with the representatives of
Lord Shonto. Appointed to speak for the Emperor, Jaku Tadamoto
rode out on a gray horse accompanied by two guards. The Son of
Heaven demanded that Jaku Katta, former commander of the
Imperial Guard, come forward for Lord Shonto and made it known
that no other would be acceptable.

Having already helped an Imperial Prince to die that morning,
Tadamoto felt like a man being slowly torn apart, for there was no
doubt in his mind that Katta was also on the Emperor’s list of those
who would fall upon their own swords.

To Tadamoto’s left the barbarian army prepared for battle at a
pace that could almost be described as leisurely and this did not
raise the young colonel’s confidence. The Emperor would not
discuss the barbarian army, and when Tadamoto dared to push
him the Son of Heaven finally answered; “I am well aware that the
army is larger than previously reported, Colonel.” Beyond that the
Son of Heaven would say nothing, knowing full well who had
assured him that the barbarian force was small.

How had he been so misinformed? Tadamoto asked himself
again, realizing he would quite possibly never know. But what had
happened with those fools he had

_____^mjkjkjvo

sent north? Katta had told the truth, he reminded himself for the
thousandth time that day. Katta had told the truth and his own
brother had not listened.

Jaku Katta and his two guards appeared now, coming down the
last run-out of the slope that protected the Shonto position. Neither
party displayed flags of truce nor did they carry banners, as would
have been common under the circumstances. It was still hoped
that the barbarians did not realize the armies of Wa acted
separately.

The two groups rode slowly forward, like two patrols meeting and
pausing to speak for a time. Katta stopped his horse first and
made Tadamoto approach him. The younger brother shook his
head at this tactic. With his tongue Tadamoto tried to work some
moisture into his mouth. So much depended on this one
conversation… And Tadamoto was still not certain why the
Emperor had demanded that Katta should speak for the Shonto.
All of the Emperor’s choices seemed to be selected to cause
Tadamoto confusion and test his loyalty.

The evening before Tadamoto had played gü with Shonto’s vassal-
merchant, Tanaka, a practice he had taken up in the last few days.
The old merchant had played a wily game, forcing the distracted
Tadamoto into a foolish mistake. When the game was surely won,
the old man had surrendered and pushed back from the board.
Tanaka had answered the colonel’s expression of surprise with a
shrug. “I can see a course that will win you the game, Colonel, so I
have surrendered my force to you, hoping thereby to gain your
good will. In the days when I played this game with Lord Shonto, I
often did the same. He is a gü master of some reputation, as you
know. My alternative was to risk losing everything.” The old man
spread his hands in a gesture that seemed to say: the choice is
yours.

The brothers motioned for their respective guards to stop and rode
forward, Katta waiting for Tadamoto to bow and when he did not
the elder brother smirked. No one dismounted.

“Brother,” Katta said, and Tadamoto answered his brother’s nod
with the same gesture. A moment of silence. Tadamoto thought his
brother

looked much the same as when they had parted months before,
though now Katta had some color on his face from time in the sun,
making Tadamoto wonder what things had passed in his brother’s
life since they had last spoken.

“Lord Shonto has asked me to inquire after Prince Wakaro. The
Prince has not returned to us.”

“The Prince is the concern of the Emperor only.” Tadamoto said,
the half-lie coming with difficulty. “Lord Shonto should not trouble
himself.”

Katta looked into his younger brother’s eyes then, and Tadamoto
found himself looking down at the leather reins in his hands,
adjusting his grip on them.

Katta shook his head with some sadness. “The Emperor demands
much of his servants, Tadamoto-sum. It is a sad thing. I will inform
Lord Shonto.”

Tadamoto swallowed. Perhaps this ability to look into the souls of
others was a characteristic of all opportunists, and womanizers,
too, for that matter, the young colonel thought.

Katta cocked his head to the barbarian army. “I did not lie,
Tadamoto-sum. The Emperor thinks I have betrayed him, but I
have merely put the safety of Wa first. There lies the end of our
Empire as we have known it.. We must not allow this to happen,
Tadamoto-sum, don’t you agree?”

Tadamoto looked into his brother’s gray eyes then, wondering if
there was truly some shred of honor behind the words or if this was
merely part of another elaborate plot. “I have come with a
message from the Son of Heaven.” Tadamoto almost referred to
his brother as General Jaku, for he still wore his Imperial Guard
uniform and insignia. “You may tell Lord Shonto that the Emperor
will accept the surrender of the lord’s army immediately. There will
be no pardons for rebels. If Lord Shonto wishes to show his great
loyalty to the Empire, he will resign his command upon receiving
this message. We will speak only to those who come to arrange
the surrender. No other emissaries will be recognized.” Tadamoto
reached into his sash and removed a letter, thrusting it toward his
brother. “This is the message, inscribed so that there shall be no
misunderstanding. Please, deliver it to your lord.”

Katta looked down at the paper in his brother’s hand but made no
move to accept it. “The Emperor assumes that Lord Shonto will
surrender his life to the Emperor rather than allow Wa to fall. Hear
me, Tado-sum, Lord Shonto will retreat in the darkness and leave
you to face the barbarians alone. We will retreat toward Yankura
and raise the army needed to oust these barbarian chieftains.

“This Khan, you know who he is. The Emperor paid him gold to
help bring down the Shonto. He is a half-caste—born in the desert
to a woman of Seh. But he is more than that. His mother was born
to the House of Tokiko. He has Imperial blood in his veins, this
Khan. For many years he lived in Wa, after his mother was rescued
from the tribe that had abducted her. If this man takes the throne,
his claim could be recognized. The barbarians think that they come
to make Wa their own, but I do not believe it is to be so. This Khan
does not care for their prophesies or claims or vendettas. He will
make himself Emperor with the barbarian army at his back, but he
will be an Emperor of Wa. The barbarian army will be split and
spread across the Empire, made ineffectual, and this Khan will
become a man of Wa.

“But he does not love us, Tadamoto-sum. The half-castes are
barbarians to the men of Seh. His life before he returned to the
desert was not such that he has gained respect for the men of Wa.
He would be a danger on our throne and I cannot say what his
reign would bring.”

Katta stopped, glancing up for a second at his brother’s eyes.
Whatever he saw there seemed to give him hope. “Tado-sum.
Akantsu is not a man of honor. You know this. What befell Prince
Wakaro? Was it just?” Softly Katta pounded his fist on his armored
thigh. “Lord Shonto has spent the last months slowing the
barbarians’ advance, allowing the Emperor to build an army. And
yet Lord Shonto knew of the Emperor’s plot against him. Knew that
the Emperor would be unlikely to make peace with him even in the
face of an invasion. Look at this!” Katta waved a hand at the army
of the desert. “We can save the Empire, Tado-sum. The Jaku
name can go down in history as the Shonto name did in the
past—as saviours

of Wa.“ Katta lowered his voice. ”Exchange guards with me. Tell
them it is the Emperor’s wish. Return to your master with my men
as though they were your own. Take them into the presence of the
Emperor as witness of what was spoken here. They are the best
swordsmen I have, and utterly loyal. They will not fail. Surrender the
Imperial army to Lord Shonto and there will still be a chance that
we can win against this Khan.‘’

Tadamoto still held out the Emperor’s letter. It was an impossible
scheme. Tadamoto knew he was being watched with great interest
by the Emperor’s officers. There was no chance that he and his
brother could simply exchange guards—it would not go unnoticed.
And even if it were possible, these guards would not be allowed,
armed, into the Emperor’s presence. Tadamoto knew that he was
the only one who was allowed near to the Emperor wearing a
sword. Yet he was loyal—loyal to the Emperor even while he had
grown to hate Yamaku Ak-antsu.

“Brother,” Katta said, reaching out and taking the letter. “Motion
your guards forward. It is worth any risk to save the Empire.”

Tadamoto shook his head. “Even in time of war they will not be
allowed into the Emperor’s presence carrying weapons of any
sort.”

“You carry a sword, brother. It can be snatched from your sash at
the correct moment. These men understand what needs to be
done. They have made their peace with Botahara. Once the
Emperor falls, you must take control of the army. I know you have
many loyal men in the guard, Tado-sum. They will support you.
Tomorrow the Khan will have prepared his forces for the battle.
There is no time, Tadamoto-sum.”

Shaking his head, the younger brother reined his horse back, his
gaze fixed on his brother’s gray eyes. “You do not understand
loyalty, Katta-sum. You think it is something one owes to another,
but it is not so. Loyalty to principles is the essence of all honor.”
Tadamoto looked down at the reins in his hands again. “It is this
difference that has led to this—meeting across the field of battle
as we do. What you ask… it is impossible. I do not believe the
Emperor will waver in his position. If you think Lord Shonto can
save the Empire by retreating to raise

an army, then it is a course you must recommend. But if the Khan
pursues you… ?“ Tadamoto looked into his brother’s face a last
time, shook his head, and turned his horse back toward the
Emperor’s position.

Fifty-eight

An Empire away

From distant battles

Yet there is no peace for the spirit.

When letters come,

White rice paper bearing the Dragon seal,

Old men walk out alone into rain swept fields.

Fog lay around the base of the hill and the thousand fires of the
barbarian army illuminated the mist, causing it to glow like a fabric
of mystical origin. Shonto stood looking out toward the plain, his
hand resting lightly on the trunk of a tree. Two paces away Kamu
stood watching in silence. Lord Shonto had spoken very little since
sending for the steward, but this did not seem to matter to
Kamu—his lord had requested his presence and it was possible
that nothing more than that would be asked for. The old man did
not feel it was his place to question.

Earlier in the evening Shonto had requested that his armor be
brought and had then inspected it meticulously, knowing full well
that Kamu had done the same. The steward did not take offense at
this, for he knew that Shonto’s inspection was a ritual only,
something to occupy the mind. Even so, the old warrior was
gratified that his lord had found the armor to be without flaw.

Now Shonto was lost in silent thought. Everyone wondered if the
battle would be joined the next day, after the fog cleared. It
depended on the Khan, for the men of Wa would not take the
offensive.

“Shokan-sum,” Shonto said suddenly, “have we word of his
progress?”

Kamu cleared his throat. “The countryside is full of

barbarian patrols, Sire. I instructed Lord Shonto’s guides to bring
him to us with all possible caution. I apologize, Sire, his present
location is not known to me.“

Shonto moved his hand as though he brushed away an insect
though Kamu knew it was the apology his lord waved off.

Silence returned. Occasional music and singing would drift up from
below—sometimes the haunting scales of a barbarian flute and
sometimes the familiar tunes favored by the soldiers of Wa.
Neither side seemed inclined to the drunken, boisterous singing
often heard in camps. Somehow Kamu had expected it from the
barbarians-curious.

Shonto shifted his position, running his hand down the smooth,
white bark of the birch. “I wonder about this Emperor, Kamu… Is it
possible that he will sacrifice his Empire? Is Akantsu so certain I
will surrender before allowing the loss of the Imperial Capital? He
takes a great risk.”

Kamu ran his hand through gray hair. “Undoubtedly he knows Lord
Shonto is more loyal to the Empire than the Yamaku—who are only
loyal to their own ambitions. If the Khan is defeated and my lord is
part of the command that routs these invaders, the Emperor
believes he will lose his throne for his part in bringing the
barbarians into Wa. Akantsu must think that he can only survive if
both Lord Shonto and the Khan fall. He will not sacrifice his House
to save the Empire.”

Shonto nodded. “If I were to surrender my force to the Emperor,
would he fight or would he retreat?”

Kamu kneaded the stump of his missing arm and shifted his weight
subtly from foot to foot. “Sire, I… I cannot say what is in die mind
of the Emperor of Wa.” Kamu considered carefully before
speaking his next words. “If Akantsu stands against the barbarian
on this field and does not triumph, the Imperial Army will be
shattered. The barbarian army is formidable.” The old steward
whispered his last sentence. “Certainly the Emperor would be a
fool if he did not retreat and attempt to increase his force.”

Shonto nodded. “He would be a fool. I agree. The question is
really very simple: who will sacrifice their House to save the
Empire? Thank you, Kamu-sum.”

* * *

The former commander of the Imperial Guard, Jaku Katta, sat on a
rock with his back against a tree and examined a sketch which
showed the relative positions of the armies in the field. A lamp
hung from a branch to the general’s right and several guards knelt
on the edge of the circle of light. The fires of the barbarian army
glowed in the mist gathered below, and overhead stars appeared
to be immersed in liquid, points of light diffused by a high veil of
the thinnest clouds.

Jaku looked up from his map and stared into the darkness. It is
hopeless, he thought, the Emperor could hardly have chosen a
worse field. Considering the number of ideal positions farther
north, it was almost a betrayal of the Empire to have chosen this
site to face the invading army. Fool! Jaku thought. If he had only
listened…

Rolling the map with some care, Jaku created a calm to replace his
anger. His teachers had taught that anger and fear destroyed one’s
ability to reason, dulled the reactions, and this was a time that
would demand the very best of the former kick boxer.

Jaku set the map aside. If only Tadamoto would reconsider his
proposal. A dead Emperor would change the world—as surely as
the change from winter to summer. Shonto could defeat this Khan,
Jaku had no doubt of that, and the Jaku family would retain a
position at court, for who would sit upon the throne but a member
of the Shonto family—the son or Lady Nishima.

Tado-sum, the kick boxer sent his thoughts out to his brother, why
do you stay loyal to this man?

There was no doubt in Jaku’s mind that it would be worth the life of
his brother to kill the Yamaku Emperor. He was not certain that his
brother would agree, however.

What will Shonto do? Jaku asked himself again. He must retreat,
the guardsman thought, it is the only wise choice. Akantsu was
such a fool! Both armies had to be preserved if they ever hoped to
stand against the barbarians.

Jaku believed it would take the Khan another day to ready his
attack, which could allow the armies of Wa a chance to slip away.
But if the Khan had any idea of what really transpired in the camps
of his enemy, he would

attack the next day. Pray that this chieftain does not understand
what transpires here, Jaku thought.

As any good general, Jaku tried to consider all the possibilities, no
matter how unpleasant. Defeat of the forces of Wa on this plain
would put the Jaku on the run—if they survived. Nitashi or Ika Cho
would be the provinces most likely to remain autonomous if the
Empire fell—at least for a while. An army might be raised there.
Whichever province Jaku chose, he knew that he must make his
way there by the fastest method—by boat, unquestionably.
Yankura would be his destination if the armies of Wa suffered
defeat. From there he could go either north or south—Ika Cho or
Nitashi. He would not decide before reaching Yankura. Much would
depend on what occurred in the next few days—on who survived.

Calling for an inkstone and paper, Jaku shifted so he could write by
the light of the lamp. Considering the uncertainty of the future,
custom indicated that he must compose the required poems.
There were still many hours before a battle would begin—if there
was a battle at all.

A servant brought steaming bowls of cha to the two ladies who sat
on grass mats looking out over the scene to the south. They were
as far away from the sight of the armies as they could manage and
still be within the protective perimeter of Shonto’s defenses.

Once the servant had returned to the darkness, the conversation
resumed.

“Do you remember, when we journeyed north on the canal,”
Nishima said, “my spirits fell low and you lectured me…”

“I never lecture, cousin,” Kitsura interrupted.

“Encouraged me, then,” Nishima said, slowly turning her bowl,
steam rising into the air, the swirls barely visible in the starlight.
“You said it was truly surprising that, considering our family
histories, we had never been forced to flee before. Excuse me for
saying so, cousin, but I’m not certain I truly believed that. Yet here
we are. If the Emperor does not come to his senses, my uncle will
take our force where? South, perhaps, or east. And will the Khan
take the Capital then? I believe so. Strange to think—the capital of
Wa in the hands of a barbarian chieftain.” She sipped her cha.

Kitsura did the same. The night was warm for the time of year and
without a breeze. A waning moon would not appear until very late
and the stars were suspended in a haze. The lights of the Capital
glowed in the south for the nightly fog did not spread south of the
hills upon which the armies camped.

“I hope my family have escaped south.” Kitsura said quietly. “Our
estates in Nitashi should be out of reach of barbarian armies for a
while.” There had been no word from the Omawara family for many
days and Kit-sura’s worst fear was that the Emperor had moved
against them.

Nishima reached out and touched her cousin’s arm. “I am certain
they have slipped away and have been unable to send word. Your
family have been well informed of the true situation, thanks to the
diligence of their own daughter. The Omawara have had warning
long before any other family in the Capital. Do not despair, cousin,
I am sure they are safely away.”

Kitsura nodded—a smile of thanks for her cousin’s reassurance.
They sat quietly, sipping their warm cha, the aroma of the herbs
blending with the complex scents of spring in Wa.

Tadamoto sat across the board from the vassal-merchant and
stared at the arrangement of pieces as though he contemplated
his next move, but in truth his mind was elsewhere.

Tanaka cleared his throat quietly.

Tadamoto looked up and then realized that it was indeed his turn to
play. “Excuse me, Tanaka-sum, I am not a worthy opponent this
evening. I apologize.”

“There is no need to apologize, Colonel Jaku. Please. This battle
will decide the fate of the Empire.” Tanaka tried a reassuring smile.
“Your brother’s proposal? It unsettled you?”

Without ever intending to, Tadamoto had spent much of the
evening explaining the present situation to the Shonto
merchant—had even told him of the Prince’s death and his
meeting with his brother. It was quite likely that Tanaka was the only
man Tadamoto knew who was, beyond a shadow of doubt, not an
informer for the Emperor—a man to be valued for that alone. The
young

colonel had also come to appreciate the merchant’s opinions and
the unassuming manner in which they were proposed.

“Katta unsettles me simply by being Katta. He demands much.”
Out of frustration Tadamoto finally exchanged a piece, a move he
had explored several times though he could not remember if he
had decided it was a good move or bad.

Tanaka nodded. “Your brother said the same thing of the Emperor,
yeh?” The merchant responded by taking a swordsman. “It seems
you are caught between two men who have the same requirements
but different ends in sight, Colonel.” Tanaka’s face contorted in a
small grimace. “Most difficult.”

Tadamoto stared down at the board again. Tanaka was forming a
substantial attack, there was no doubt, though Tadamoto could not
quite see where the effort would be concentrated. To the right side
of the colonel’s keep his position was weaker and to the left the
board was more complex, so he moved his Emperor to the left,
hoping the complexity would shield it.

Tanaka contemplated the shift in focus Tadamoto’s move created.
There was no evidence that he was having trouble concentrating
nor did he appear very concerned with the situation just beyond the
walls. Tadamoto had been expecting the merchant to ask what
would become of him on the eve of the battle but was beginning to
realize that Tanaka had no intention of asking him. This response
had added to Tadamoto’s feeling of anxiety and he suffered from
an urge to explain the merchant’s situation to him just to be rid of
the tension.

“I had the honor of watching Master Myochin Ekun play gü on
several occasions—years ago now. He played against my liege-
lord. Those were instructive matches, Colonel Jaku, two
formidable masters of gü. I must say, those were humbling
matches also.” Tanaka moved a dragon ship into the center of the
fray. “Master Myochin won almost invariably—but then he had the
advantage of being blind.”

Tadamoto looked up at the merchant, wondering if this was meant
as humor, but Tanaka stared at the board, his palms together,
fingers pushing under his chin, his look serious.

“It is an unusual advantage, Tanaka-sum, one which most people
would choose to be spared.”

“No doubt that is true, Colonel, but the game that Master Myochin
plays exists entirely within, he does not even need a board. He has
also never seen any of his opponents—they are only differentiated
by their styles of play. Master Myochin plays gü—we play…”he
waved at the contest in progress, “a game on a board with another
who intimidates us or is our friend or rival or lover. Our game is
always caught up in the world—we cannot escape this—and it
lacks… purity.” Tanaka shrugged.

Tadamoto moved a swordmaster to counter the dragon ship, no
longer caring if he made intelligent moves. “I had never considered
this before, but what you say is… fascinating.”

Tanaka removed Tadamoto’s swordmaster with a guard
commander and the young colonel stared at the position. His
swordmaster had been well covered, and obviously so. Tanaka
was offering a sacrifice and there seemed to be no choice but to
take it. He looked further but was not sure where Tanaka’s attack
would concentrate. He took the guard commander with a foot-
soldier and Tanaka answered without a second’s contemplation,
taking the foot-soldier with his dragon boat and pinning Tada-
moto’s own dragon boat in the process.

The young colonel threw up his hands and then pushed over his
Emperor in surrender.

“The Commander of the Imperial Guard defeated by a guard
commander.” He smiled, the tension in his face disappearing for
an instant. “It could not have been more artfully done, Tanaka-
sum.” He gave a half bow to his opponent. “I congratulate you. For
a man with the affliction of sight you play remarkably well.”

Tanaka nodded, bowing lower than his opponent. “You are too
kind, Colonel. Like any Emperor, I will sacrifice a guard
commander without hesitation to win a battle.”

Tadamoto stood abruptly, jarring the gü table as he did so,
knocking some of the pieces to the floor. He looked down at the
older man, his face hard with controlled anger. ‘ ’You presume too
much, merchant. Your instruction is neither asked for nor
acceptable.“ Tadamoto waved toward the door. ”I have much to
prepare for.“

Tanaka gave a low bow and rose. He was shorter than Tadamoto
by half a head, so stood looking up at the younger man. “Loyalty to
principles, Colonel, those were the words you used. What
principles is your Emperor loyal to? Ask yourself that, for if you
serve him you are, without choice, loyal to those same principles.”

Tadamoto waved toward the door again, glaring at the merchant as
he did so.

Tanaka turned and took a step but stopped. “There is more at
stake than the honor of Colonel Jaku Tadamoto. Will you sacrifice
the Empire for that?”

“Guard!” Tadamoto called and the door burst open immediately.
“Take this man to his quarters, by force if necessary.”

The guard bowed, but Tanaka proceeded out the door without
further resistance, casting a final glance over his shoulder and
though the look on the merchant’s face was truly unreadable,
Tadamoto felt it was an accusation.

The door closed and Tadamoto was alone. He found himself
staring down at the gü board, the pieces in disarray. For a moment
he could not find the guard commander Tanaka had sacrificed, and
this was disturbing. Then he saw it and replaced it carefully on the
gü board, as superstitious as any soldier on the eve of a battle.

Tadamoto slumped down on a cushion and stared at nothing. How
long he sat like that he did not know, but he was eventually
interrupted by a tap on the door.

“Enter,” he called.

The face of an Imperial Guard appeared. “A message, Colonel,
from the Emperor.”

Tadamoto nodded and the guard entered, setting a small stand
bearing a letter within his commander’s reach. Waiting until the
guard had closed the door behind him, Tadamoto picked up the
letter, barely glancing at the seal as he broke it. He unfolded the
pale yellow paper and found the clear hand of the Emperor’s
principal secretary. A single vertical line of characters:

Shonto will surrender his army to you at sunrise.

Tadamoto tried to read the message again to be sure he had not
made a mistake, but his eyes would not focus.

Shonto would surrender? Shonto would allow his House to come
to an end in ah attempt to save the Empire?

Tadamoto set the paper back on the stand, staring at it dumbly. He
felt no joy at this news, he realized. In truth, he felt deep sadness.

Nishima paced back and forth across the small room in her tent,
unable to maintain even a facade of patience or inner peace. After
her conversation with Kitsura, she had sent servants to find Brother
Shuyun, reasoning that a meeting with her family’s Spiritual Advisor
under the present circumstances would be completely natural.

A lamp flickered on a low table where Nishima had tried to write
earlier—tried to create some order out of the turmoil she felt within.
It had been an unsuccessful attempt. She could not find words that
even approximated what she felt.

“Excuse me, Lady Nishima,” her servant’s voice came from close
outside die tent.

“Please enter,” she answered quickly, her heart lifting.

A maid pulled back the flap of the door. She bore a tray.

“Excuse me, my lady. An Imperial Guard messenger brought
these.” She nodded down at letters, bound together by a silk cord,
lying on the silver tray.

“Please,” Nishima waved at the table and the servant placed the
tray there, bowing as she left. Nishima was struck by how drawn
and pale the woman’s face was. Her future is as uncertain as
anyone’s, the aristocrat thought. Kneeling by the table she
unknotted the cord, careful to choose the letter intended to be read
first. Unfolding the crisp paper revealed a blade of spring grain and
Jaku Katta’s indifferent hand struggling down the page. Her view,
she realized, had changed, for she had once convinced herself
that the general’s brushwork had qualities that could be
admired—as she had once felt about the general himself.

Plum blossoms Cover the land In a shroud of white. Morning in the
fields

Grain shoots struggle up Into the season’s warmth

I am not daunted by the sunrise

“He is impossible,” Nishima whispered. Jaku cannot accept that a
mere woman can resist his efforts. She tossed the letter onto the
table and found that the second letter was sealed with the Jaku
family symbol and beside this a line of characters read:

If circumstances require.

She was appalled. It is his death poem, she realized, and he has
sent it to me. Presumptuous fool! On the verge of calling for a
servant to have the letter returned, Nishima realized that Jaku might
indeed die the next day. He was apparently estranged from his
brother—who would he leave his final words to?

It is a small thing, she told herself. In all likelihood the guardsman
will survive—it will be a cuckolded husband who brings about the
Black Tiger’s end—and then I will have the poem returned without
comment.

She put the two poems into her sleeve and sat watching the lamp
flame flicker. From beyond the thin wall of her tent the sound of a
soldier’s flute rose up, as light and uncertain as the flight of a
butterfly. Listening not as a musician but with her heart, Nishima
found the music very beautiful, evoking an image of a fragile,
solitary

spirit.

A rustling of the tent fabric and a soft voice. “Lady Nishima?
Please excuse my intrusion.”

It was Shuyun. She rose quickly to her feet and crossed toward the
opening.

“Ah. My servants found you, Brother,” she said quietly. “Please
enter.”

Shuyun slipped in through the opening. “I met no servants, Lady
Nishima,” he said.

He has come of his own will, Nishima thought, and this gladdened
her heart. She reached out and took his hand, drawing him into the
room.

“You cannot address me as Lady Nishima here,

Shuyun-sum, it is not permissible.“ She smiled and received a
smile in return.

“You sit alone, Nishima-sum. I am concerned.”

She shrugged, lowering herself to a cushion. “How can one sleep?
Tomorrow the world I know will change utterly. Many, many will die,
perhaps some that are close to me. I feel separated from my
emotions in the face of this.” Nishima reached over and turned
down the flame on the lamp. “When my mother died, I remember
feeling much like this, as though the shock of what had occurred
rendered me incapable of feeling for some time. I remember
doing all the things that were required of me, appearing very
controlled to everyone, but inside… Botahara save me.

“It was more than just the loss of my mother. A time was over
suddenly and I felt that I had never given it the attention required to
properly appreciate it. Everything had changed. It was as though I
had been traveling in a safe canal and suddenly found myself at
sea—a sea of uncertainty. I had never truly appreciated the canal
and it was past.”

She looked up, searching for understanding and felt the monk’s
warm hand squeeze her own. She smoothed a crease in her robe.
“I look back at my recent journeys on the canal and think that I
understand things that seemed impossible to untangle before. I
realize, now, that Jaku Katta is truly the tiger, driven by instincts he
can neither understand nor control, and Lord Komawara, whom I
thought impossibly parochial, is thoughtful and noble and quietly
very brave. Kitsura-sum and I are often spoiled and compete with
each other just as we did when we were children, and my uncle is
working tirelessly to preserve an Empire that the Shonto have
shaped longer than any Imperial dynasty.” She caught the monk’s
eye again. “And you, my friend… are out of place in this world, in
the House of a great lord. Yet I sense that you are not at peace
within your own Order either. Where is your place, Shuyun-sum?
You… you look so troubled.”

He shook his head. “I have been in a council. Lord Shonto did not
want to wake you immediately.” Shuyun took a controlled breath.
“I’m sure he would rather speak to you himself, but… Lord Shonto
has agreed to sur-

render his army to the Emperor. We will join the refugees fleeing to
Yankura in a few hours.‘

Nishima pressed her forehead with her hand, remaining like that for
some time. Then she moved forward until she pressed her cheek
against Shuyun’s neck and he

e“What will become of us,” Nishima whispered. “Whatever will
become of us.”

Fifty-nine

All preparations were made in the dark or the dim light of covered
lamps. It was crucial that the barbarians saw nothing untoward or
they might react in ways no one could predict. Nishima heard more
than saw her tent come down in the dark. She was standing in the
midst of total chaos, Kitsura clinging to her arm as though she
feared Nishima would evaporate into the darkness at any second.

The two women were dressed in men’s hunting costumes, the
better for riding, and perhaps the thought of this unsettled Lady
Kitsura even more—she had less experience with horses than her
cousin.

Although she had spoken a few words with her uncle, the meeting
had not been private and Nishima still did not know the reason for
Shonto’s sudden decision to surrender his army to the Emperor.
Some part of her wanted to believe it was a ruse of the gü Master,
an apparent sacrifice that opened the gate of an elaborate trap.

Yankura was the destination everyone mentioned or the Islands of
Konojü, but Shonto had said neither to her, so she was uncertain of
their direction.

The great lord met with his advisors now, planning the move of the
army to the Emperor’s position. The Emperor was expecting the
surrender of the Shonto along with the army but this was not to be
so. All of those the Emperor named in his scroll would flee with the
Shonto; Jaku Katta, Lord Komawara, and all of the Shonto family
retainers and senior advisors. The oaths of the Shonto House
Guard would never allow them to join the Ya-maku. It would not be
a small party able to move quickly, and this concerned Nishima.

“There is a hint of gray in the east, cousin,” Kitsura

said, her voice curiously high-pitched. “Should we not be on our
way?”

Turning to the east, Nishima could see no signs of light. “We have
time yet, Kitsu-sum. Be patient.”

Servants bustled about, sorting clothing and other goods, packing
trunks and bags. Much would be left behind, Nishima realized, but
this did not seem important. She was concerned for her staff, and
this thought brought an image of Shimeko to her mind. Where had
she disappeared to, Nishima wondered? Such a troubled soul but
someone Nishima had developed an affection for. I should never
have allowed her aboard that infernal ship, Nishima thought.

Her last memory of the plague ship was of it passing along a side
canal toward a Botahist Monastery. The land there was so flat it
seemed to be setting out across the fields, sails full and drawing,
the terrifying green banner waving against the blue sky.

“May Botahara protect her,” Nishima whispered.

“Cousin?”

“I am reduced to mumbling. Please excuse me.”

She felt Kitsura’s grip tighten on her arm for a moment in
reassurance.

Lord Taiki rode toward the two torches, their copper light reflecting
dully off black lacquered armor in the darkness and fog. Clearing
his throat so that his presence would be known, Taiki whispered to
a guard. “Give the signal.”

A lamp opened quickly, three times, and a torch dipped once in
reply, leaving an arc of flame hanging in the air for the briefest
instant.

They continued forward. Shapes took form in the fog-riders in
black.

“Colonel Jaku? I am the emissary of Lord Shonto Mo-toru.” Taiki
spoke quietly.

“Come forward, Lord Taiki.”

A pace apart Taiki stopped and looked at the young man
illuminated in the torch light. He wore an unadorned helmet and his
face-mask hung open revealing a fine-boned silhouette. The green
eyes could not be seen and Taiki was surprised that he would think
of this.

“I have orders to conduct Lord Shonto through the lines into the
presence of the Emperor, Lord Taiki.”

Taiki took a long breath. “Lord Shonto slipped away with his family
and senior advisors, Colonel Jaku.”

Silence.

Taiki saw Tadamoto reach out and take a plait of his horse’s mane
into his gloved hand. “And my brother, Katta?”

“He has disappeared also along with Lord Koma-wara.”

“I see. My Emperor’s instructions were very clear: if I sense
treachery, I am to cut you down and retreat.”

Taiki controlled his urge to rest a hand on his sword hilt. “There is
no treachery, Colonel. Lord Shonto warned the Emperor of this
invasion months ago. He has done everything within his power to
prepare the Empire for this war. Lord Shonto was ignored. He has
now given up his army for the defense of the Empire. Do you
expect him to forfeit his life as well?” Taiki realized he had raised
his voice and forced his next words in the most reasonable tones.
“There is no treachery, Colonel Jaku. Only a desire to save Wa. I
am prepared to move our force, retreat or attack or prepare for
battle as we are. I will surrender command to whomever you
appoint. Do not fear, Colonel Jaku, we will not risk a war between
our own army and the forces of the Emperor with a barbarian army
standing ready. I await your instructions.”

The sounds of clattering armor and horses stamping and calling
out to each other carried across the empty field. The barbarians
were stirring.

“Bring your men in an organized file down the southwest slope of
your hill and form them into ranks behind the position of the
Imperial Army. This must be done quickly, Lord Taiki, it is our
intention to retreat under cover of morning fog. We must move
south. This position is not favorable.”

“You will surrender the Capital, then?”

Tadamoto did not answer. “It is the Emperor’s will that you retain
command of Shonto’s army for now,” he said. “By the hour of the
hare we will have begun moving south. Further orders will be sent
to you.”

Jaku Tadamoto turned his horse and moved back into

the darkness, the torches borne by his guard were quickly
consumed by the fog.

Shonto knelt on cushions set out on a flat section of stone
projecting from the side of the hill. Lamps had been hung in the
trees nearby, but the apparent tranquil-ity of the scene was belied
by the sounds of an army moving in the darkness around them.

“No news could be more welcome, Lord Taiki,” Shonto said, his
voice calm. “It was my fear that the Emperor would make a stand
upon this field, and I would have committed my troops to a
slaughter. General Hojo will assist you in moving the army, Lord
Taiki, and then will join my party. You have much to do, may
Botahara be with you.” Shonto bowed low.

“Sire. I take on this duty out of loyalty to the Empire and because
you wish it,” Lord Taiki said, carefully keeping emotion out of his
voice. “The Emperor does not command the smallest part of my
loyalty. When the Khan is defeated…”

Shonto held up his hand. “When the Khan is defeated, there will be
much to do to restore the Empire. The commander of an Imperial
Army cannot speak of civil war. Choose your words with care, Lord
Taiki, even in this company. The Emperor trusts few men.”

Taiki hesitated and then bowed, touching his forehead to the cool
earth. He retreated three paces and rose to his feet, the company
bowing to him as he turned and walked beyond the circle of light.

Shonto nodded to General Hojo who hurried after Taiki lest the lord
become lost to him in the darkness.

“Kamu-sum, is our party ready to travel?”

Kamu bowed quickly. “They will be, Lord Shonto, before the hour
of the hare, if need be.”

Shonto gave a tight smile. “Please see to our preparations.”

Kamu bowed, slipping off into the night as quietly as a Botahist
monk.

Lord Komawara bowed then. Like the others present he wore full
armor, his helmet tucked under his arm. “May I see to my troops,
Sire? I can offer some small assistance to Lord Taiki before we
depart.”

Shonto nodded. “We must be gone soon after sunrise, Lord
Komawara. Do what you can, but we cannot wait.”

As had Lord Taiki, Komawara touched his head to the ground
before retreating and hurrying off.

“General Jaku, no doubt you wish to do the same.”

Jaku nodded.

Shonto gave the guardsman a half bow. “An hour after the sunrise.”

Jaku, too, bowed low and disappeared into the darkness.

Shonto was left facing Lord Butto who, like Lord Taiki, was not
seen as part of Shonto’s rebellion and would join the Imperial
Army.

Butto Joda bowed low and returned to a kneeling position, a boy in
armor laced in purple.

He is no boy, Shonto reminded himself, he is a formidable
strategist and ruthless when necessary.

Shonto nodded, acknowledging the young lord.

“Sire, if I may presume… No one would expect you to go north. If
you traveled the edge of the foothills you would come to my fief. It
would be an easy thing to hide there. The Butto hunting lodge is
secluded and not uncomfortable. I would send word ahead of you.
And, Lord Shonto, the mountains could be a last resort. Even if
Akantsu can defeat this Khan, he will look for you to go south or to
cross the Inner Sea to the islands. You have assisted the Butto in
the past, Lord Shonto, and now sacrifice much for the sake of our
Empire. I would risk the displeasure of the Son of Heaven without
hesitation if I could assist you in any way.”

Shonto was silent a moment. “This is a generous offer, Lord Butto.
The future is so unclear, I would hesitate to earn anyone the
Yamaku’s enmity. The Emperor may retain his throne yet. Do not
endanger your House as I have mine. The Yamaku will not be a
dynasty like the Mori—their ascendancy will not last. Do not be
concerned, Lord Butto, the Shonto have survived far worse than
this. We are practiced in the art of waiting.” He gave the young lord
a brief smile. “Lord Taiki will need your assistance, may Botahara
walk beside you.”

Lord Butto bowed again. “May the Perfect Master watch over your
House, Lord Shonto.” Bowing low again, the tiny figure backed
away and hurried off.

Shonto sat alone but for his guard who kept their distance, kneeling
in perfect silence.

A whisper came from beyond the lamp light. “Uncle?”

Shonto smiled. “Lady Nishima. Please, do not be shy.”

As she stepped into the light, Shonto was confronted with the sight
of his daughter dressed in the clothes of a boy.

“Like Princess Shatsima, I am ready to flee to the wilds if that is
your wish, Sire.”

Shonto smiled, despite the gravity of the situation. “I am certain
that Shatsima never looked so lovely nor faced her exile with such
courage. You do honor to your House, Lady Nishima.”

She came and perched on the edge of the stone. “I am certain
Princess Shatsima not only exhibited but also felt more courage,
Uncle.” She waved a hand in the direction the Shonto army moved.
“It shames me to feel such trepidation when I am not among those
who will join the battle.”

Shonto shook his head. “After Rohku Tadamori witnessed the fall
of Rhojo-ma, he told his father that he would rather die in a
thousand battles than stand by and watch others give their lives. It
is a common thing to feel. There is little comfort in this knowledge,
but I am certain that you would enter the battle as willingly as any
man of arms, were that your part to play. Those who do not wield a
sword will yet be called upon, Nishi-sum. An act of bravery may be
asked of each of us before this war is over.”

Nishima nodded her head, sadly it seemed. “I pray I am equal to it,
Sire.”

“We all have the same prayer, Nishi-sum, even the bravest.”

Nishima waved toward the eastern horizon. “It grows light. Sunrise
is not distant now. Is it time?”

“I wait only for the few to return who assist Lord Taiki: Jaku Katta,
Hojo, and Lord Komawara. They will not be long.”

The blaring of horns and the clashing of metal shook the air
suddenly and Nishima and Shonto turned to look out toward the
field.

“Botahara save us,” Nishima whispered. “What is that?”

“An army preparing for battle. The Khan grows impatient to sit upon
his throne.”

“Will he attack today, then?”

“The army he seeks will be gone when the fog clears. Then this
barbarian chieftain wi!i be tested. Will he pursue the Emperor’s
army or will he choose to ascend the throne and declare himself
Emperor of Wa? It is the question our Emperor would give half his
wealth to have answered.”

“No one can know, Uncle, this Khan is a great mystery. Who is he?
From where did he come?”

Shonto looked at his daughter then, raising an eyebrow; “I have not
told you? Jaku Katta has admitted many things now that there is no
question of regaining the Emperor’s favor. This Khan is your very
distant cousin, Lady Nishima, a half-barbarian with Tokiko blood in
his veins. He has almost as much claim to the throne as do the
Yamaku or the Fanisan or the Oma-wara.”

“Uncle, this is not possible! How can you tease at a time such as
this?”

“It is the truth, Nishi-sum. His mother was of the House of Tokiko,
married to a lord of Seh. Barbarian raiders abducted her and she
bore a son in the desert.” Shonto waved toward the north. “And
now he comes to claim his birthright.”

Nishima looked out into the still, dark night, where the fires of the
barbarian camp glowed in the mist. ‘ ’So it is he who has lived in the
wilds, like Shatsima, waiting to reclaim his throne.“ Nishima
pressed her fingers to her chin. ”It is as Hakata said. During times
of upheaval, when history is created daily, miracles become
commonplace.“

The horns echoed off the hills again and a stillness answered as
the moving army paused to listen. There was no answer from the
opposing camp who prepared their retreat.

Shonto reached out and took his daughter’s hand. “Join Kamu-sum
and Brother Shuyun, now. I will wait a while to see that all has gone
well. Stay close to Brother Shuyun, Nishima-sum, he is charged
with your safety.”

Nishima sat for a second and then spoke in a small voice. “May I
not wait with you?”

Shaking his head, Shonto squeezed her hand. “The less
experienced riders should not come last. Watch over your cousin,
she will find this an ordeal, I fear.”

Nishima sat saying nothing, then put her arms around Shonto.
Neither spoke for a moment, then Nishima released him, touching
his cheek as she turned to go.

The body armor was slipped over the Emperor’s head by
attendants and the lacings tightened.

“Enter, Colonel,” the Son of Heaven said to Tada-moto who
hovered outside the entrance to the tent.

Tadamoto knelt and bowed his head to the ground, moving forward
awkwardly in his armor.

“Do not keep me in suspense, Colonel. If I desire suspense, I
attend a play.”

“Excuse me, Emperor.” Tadamoto shifted his helmet under his
arm. “Lord Taiki has delivered the army of Lord Shonto Motoru,
Sire, but the Shonto have fled with their advisors and other
members of the rebellion.”

The Emperor nodded, considering the information. “It was to be
expected,” the Emperor said with some finality. “Motoru will remain
treacherous to the very end.”

Tadamoto shifted and felt the weight of his sword against his thigh.
The guardsman closed his eyes for a second, the words of both
Tanaka and his brother coming back to him.

/ am not loyal to his principles, Tadamoto thought. There are no
guards present—/ am the only armed man in this room. It would be
easy. But what would ensue?

“Will Taiki deliver up this army as he has said, or is this a trap,
Colonel?”

Tadamoto placed a gloved hand on his sword.

This man…

“I believe that Taiki will bring us the army and is prepared to take
orders in the coming war. His loyalty to the Emperor is, however, in
question.”

“Once we have our march in order, Colonel Tadamoto, I will
transfer the command of the Shonto army to you. After the river is
crossed, we will have time to deal with the disloyal.”

The disloyal, Tadamoto thought. / remain loyal to my principles.

The Emperor’s shoulder pieces were laced into place. “Is there
light, Tadamoto-sum?”

“The sky is turning gray.”

The Emperor nodded. “Then let us leave this barbarian to wonder.
He will take the Capital, I’m certain. We move south toward
Yankura.‘’

Tadamoto nodded and retreated from the tent. Osha, he thought, I
must send word to Osha.

He stepped outside to find the sky light, hinting at blue, and the fog
hanging in the valley being swept away by a breeze from the north.
The army of the desert could be seen in the mist, wavering, as
though it lay at the bottom of a moving stream.

“Komawara. Is he not with you?” General Hojo asked Jaku Katta.

“I have not seen him since we left your company, General Hojo.”

“We wait only for him.” Hojo stood holding the bridle of his own
horse. He kept looking north as they spoke. The barbarian position
was becoming visible and the fog threatened to clear. “This will
expose the Emperor’s retreat,” Hojo said. “The Wind Goddess will
bring ruin upon us if this continues.”

Jaku nodded. He dismounted. “What will the Khan do?”

Hojo did not answer. The two warriors stood looking out over the
field as the sky became fully light. Horses were heard coming
down the path behind them, and the two generals turned in time to
bow to Lord Shonto.

They were within the protection of die trees just below the base of
the hill so their view was imperfect.

“Can you see the Imperial Army?” Shonto asked. “Are they in the
earthworks still?”

Hojo dropped the reins of his horse to the ground and picked his
way some distance down the slope, stepping over fallen trees and
bramble. Leaning out from behind the base of a tree, he scanned
the Emperor’s position.

Pulling himself back he shouted up the hill. “The Imperial Army
appears to be retreating from their position, but this operation is
not complete.”

“Damn fool,” Shonto said. “If this mist clears, they will be caught on
an open field. Better to stay behind their earthworks and pray they
can hold until dark.”

Shonto came up closer to Jaku but did not dismount. Mist pushed
up the hill from the valley then, enveloping Hojo in white. The lord
motioned his guard forward. “Do not leave General Hojo alone in
this fog.”

Five guards dismounted and stumbled down the slope,
disappearing before they had gone a dozen steps.

Again a braying of horns and a clash of arms, then again, and once
more. The shout of hundred thousand went up, an inhuman din,
and the sound of a charge shook the earth.

“General Hojo!” Shonto shouted.

There was no answer. All that could be heard was the pounding of
hooves, the crying of men.

Suddenly the mist cleared, snaking off around the sides of the hill,
and there, on the field, was the barbarian army in full charge.

Hojo turned and ran awkwardly up the embankment followed by his
guard. “They break ranks,” he said breathlessly, “the few that
remain. It will be a slaughter.”

“It is a rout!” Shonto shouted. “Damn that fool Emperor! Damn him
for eternity. They will fall upon Lord Taiki from behind.” He spurred
his horse. “Come, we must save what we can. If these armies are
broken, the barbarians will take the Empire.”

The others were quick to follow, whipping their horses up the
hillside in pursuit of their liege-lord. They came up to the shoulder
of the hill in moments and Shonto stopped to survey the scene.

The first wave of barbarian warriors washed across the earthworks,
taking the few who tried to stand and throwing them back like bits
of flotsam. Men of Wa were on the wooden bridge spanning the
canal trying to escape to the western bank, but many fell to arrows
and a fire ship was bearing down on the bridge.

Standing in his stirrups, Shonto watched with an air of detachment,
the gü Master surveying the board, weighing possibilities coldly.
“The banners of this Khan, do you see them?”

There was a second’s silence and then Hojo pointed. “There.”

In the rear of the army the gold and crimson banners fluttered in
the cool north wind.

“He made no offer to accept a surrender,” Jaku said bitterly.

Shonto nodded, turning to Hojo. “Send guards to warn Kamu and
our household. They must leave everything and move as quickly as
possible.”

Shonto wheeled his horse to the south and set off at a gallop, the
sounds of battle growing dim as they descended the long slope of
the hill. A different scene faced them as they broke out of the
trees: the army of Lord Taiki was formed up, ready to march, but
was not on the move, and the army of the Emperor was forming
ranks to the west. Over the crest of the hill upon which the
earthworks had been established men poured in disarray.

Pointing toward the Imperial Army, Jaku said, “They do not even
realize what has happened.”

“The barbarians will crest the hill soon enough,” Hojo said, “then all
will know.”

“The Emperor’s army will break and run,” Shonto said. “Our own
forces will take the blow. We must do what we are able. General
Jaku, General Hojo, you will organize the rearguard action and we
will march south and take our losses.” He waved them forward and
the small group set off at speed.

A shout went up from Lord Taiki’s army before Shon-to’s party
reached them, and men turned to the north where the vanguard of
the barbarian army appeared. On the crest of the hill the army of
the desert hesitated, banners fluttering, the men of Wa in flight
before them. The soldiers of the Imperial Army stood looking back
as the Khan’s army grew, crimson riders appearing under a cloud
of gold silk banners.

The Khan had taken the field and was, for the first time, seeing the
distant Imperial Capital rising up above the mist. Barbarian warriors
collected below the banners of their chieftain like the dark crest of
a wave forming on the hillside. Like a wave crest it gathered weight
and grew in size until it must rush down and spread itself across
the shore. The din of horns assaulted the ears three times, and
each time the barbarians answered the call with a shout and a clash
of arms.

With a final shout the army of the desert surged down the hillside.
The men of the Imperial Army stood looking on for a few seconds
and then they broke and ran, the panic washing through the
unformed ranks like wind through wheat.

Shonto’s party closed with Taiki’s army, standing its ground still,
and a guard raised the blue silk and shinta blossom on a staff to a
shout of elation from the men. A rider in Komawara blue raced
along the edge of the troops, pulling open his face mask-as he
came.

Hojo waved a hand at this rider. “The mystery of Lord Komawara…
he stayed to fight with his men.”

Shonto’s guard met the rider with drawn swords, but Shonto waved
them aside and Komawara pulled up his horse before the lord.

“The barbarians split their force to attack, Lord Shonto. My men are
ready to ride out to meet them. Lord Butto will join me.‘’

Shonto looked up the slope to the charging army and nodded to
Komawara. “Their force is large, Lord Komawara. You may slow
them, but be prepared to fall back quickly. General Hojo will
prepare our defense. Where is Lord Taiki?”

Komawara waved a gloved hand to the south. “At the head of the
army, Sire.”

“May Botahara protect you,” Shonto said and waved his guard to
follow, setting out toward the south.

Komawara spun his mount and raced off, closing his face-mask as
he went and tightening his helmet cord.

The crest of the barbarian wave broke upon the rear of the fleeing
Imperial Army first, riding down the foot-soldiers. A conch sounded
in the rear of Lord Shonto’s force and the Komawara banner shook
free in the breeze, fluttered for an instant and then the north wind
faltered and died. The conch sounded again and riders in darkest
blue and riders in purple set off with a shout to meet the charging
barbarian cavalry.

With the dying of the north wind the cloud of fog halted in its
southern retreat, reformed its ghostly ranks, and began to creep
north, devouring the heads of the two armies of Wa, then drawing
in the bodies.

* *

Lady Nishima turned to Shuyun who stared off at the hilltop. Dark
banners waved on the crest and men massed there in growing
numbers.

“Those are the banners of the Khan, Lady Nishima. It would appear
that the barbarians have attacked the retreating Imperial Army.”

Dark stains on the green fields marked the distant armies of Wa.
Horns sounded, their metallic voices borne across the land on the
north wind.

Nishima looked back toward the hill they had recently departed.
“Where is my father?” she said, keeping panic from her voice with
an effort.

Kitsura rode up then, one hand on the reins and the other holding
tight to the saddle.

“Can you see, Brother?” she asked. “What occurs?”

Rolling across the green land, the shout of the barbarian army
struck like the first breath of winter.

“Botahara save us,” Kitsura whispered.

The dark mass of the army of the desert poured down the slope of
the hill. Nishima tore her eyes away, looking back the way they had
come, searching for the signs of blue.

Near at hand a single rider jumped a low stone wall, coming toward
them at a gallop from the direction of Lord Taiki’s army.

“A messenger,” Shuyun said.

Kamu appeared, galloping his horse down the line of Shonto
retainers, his empty sleeve blowing in the wind like a banner. He
stopped beside Lady Nishima, staring out toward the beginning
battle.

“We cannot tarry, Lady Nishima, Brother. We must make haste,” he
said.

Nishima nodded. “What has become of Lord Shonto?”

The rider who came toward them waved then and no one made a
move to make haste as Kamu had suggested. They waited,
transfixed by the terrible scene unfolding before them.

His horse in a lather, the rider, a Shonto House Guard, reined in
before Kamu, pulling open his face-mask as he did so. “I come
from Lord Shonto. Our lord orders that you leave everything and
flee with all haste. The barbarians have carried the attack to us.”

“Where is he?” Nishima said, the fear she felt breaking through.
“Where is Lord Shonto?”

“He has joined the army, Lady Nishima, to direct the defense.”

Nishima turned her face away, covering her eyes with her hand.

Shuyun pointed to the north, east of the hill that had been the
Shonto encampment. Barbarian riders were emerging from behind
a stand of trees not far off. Turning in his saddle, Shuyun surveyed
the field in all directions, then he reached over and took the reins
from Kitsura’s hands, pulling them over the head of her mount.

“The north wind is dying,” Shuyun said, “The fog will hold for some
time now. Lady Nishima?” he said with some gentleness. “Lord
Shonto is a capable man surrounded by able warriors. We must
look to ourselves.” He tugged at the reins of Kitsura’s mare.
“Steward Kamu, the fog clears first in the east. May Botahara
protect you.”

“You must have guards, Brother,” Kamu protested. “I cannot let the
Ladies Nishima and Kitsura go off unprotected.”

“We will be more likely to slip away undetected the fewer we are.”

“I will go with Brother Shuyun, Kamu-sum,” Nishima said. “Do not
be concerned. In the fog Brother Shuyun can see where others are
blind. Brother.”

The monk turned his horse and led the two ladies south,
disappearing into the cloud of white.

Lord Komawara elected to charge the barbarians, knowing from his
experience that they could be thrown into confusion by a direct
attack. To his left he could see the small form of Butto Joda, riding
a massive stallion and outdistancing his apprehensive guard. Jaku
Katta held a position to the lord’s right. Arrows whistled overhead,
passing both north and south.

The opposing armies met with a clash of steel that rang across the
field. Komawara took his first man from the saddle with a blow from
his pommel. He caught a fleeting glimpse of Jaku Katta, his sword
flashing and barbarian riders falling back before the great warrior.

He fought another, one of his Hajiwara guards knee to

knee with him as they both battled forward. It soon became
obvious to Komawara that the momentum of their charge was
being overcome. The Hajiwara guard toppled from the saddle and
he saw two barbarians on foot pounce on him.

A shout came from Komawara’s left and he saw Lord Butto spur
toward him. “We must fall back while there are enough of us to win
through.”

Komawara looked around quickly and realized that, among the
fallen barbarians, the field was strewn with men in Komawara
colors and the Butto purple. He tore his conch from his saddle as
Lord Butto fought to protect him. Sounding the retreat, he dropped
the conch to the ground and went to the aid of Butto Joda.
Lieutenant Narihira appeared at Lord Butto’s side, unhorsing a
barbarian and disarming another who retreated.

The three fell back, more barbarian raiders appearing with each
passing moment.

“There is no end of them,” Butto shouted.

“They are like the swarming of the Butto across my lord’s fief,”
Narihira answered.

Butto Joda almost fell from his horse as he aimed a blow at the
Komawara guard who wore the green lacing on his sleeve, but
Narihira turned this aside. Komawara drove his horse between the
two men as the first tongue of mist drifted past them. In a moment
they were completely enveloped, the sounds of swords ringing
came out of the mist around them, but they could see no others.
Barbarians appeared before them, charging immediately. They
were separated in the ensuing fight and lost their way, no longer
certain which direction was a retreat, which a futile charge.

Despite the number of his guards the Emperor of Wa kept his
hand on his sword hilt. His army was in retreat before a vastly
superior force and at the crest of the hill that his army had recently
abandoned he could see the gold “banners of the Great Khan
waving in the fitful breeze. The banners slowly descended the hill
which told the Emperor more about what happened in the battle
than any number of reports. The Khan had a perfect view of the
situation—the scene of his triumph.

Colonel Jaku Tadamoto rode through the Emperor’s guard, bowing
from the saddle.

“Colonel?”

“Lord Taiki’s army is holding ranks thus far, Sire, though they are
cut off from us now. Our troops have broken rank, Emperor, the
barbarian army sweeps all before it.”

The Emperor nodded, his reaction unreadable behind the frozen
features of his black face-mask. “Gather what troops remain and
retreat toward the Capital. If we can slip out across the lake, we
may yet save some part of this frightened army. What direction
does Lord Taiki go?”

“It is difficult to know, Emperor: south, generally.”

The Emperor reached up and tightened his helmet cord. “Offer
what resistance you can to cover our retreat, Colonel.” The
Emperor turned and spurred his horse toward the canal where his
boat waited.

Tadamoto sat his horse watching the Emperor go. I did not tell him
that many say they saw the Shonto banner at the head of Lord
Taiki’s army, Tadamoto thought—no doubt he will find out soon
enough.

It was quickly obvious to Lord Taiki that they could not be certain of
their direction in the fog and the relief he had felt at returning
command of the army to Lord Shonto quickly gave way to
apprehension. The knowledge that they would face a barbarian
army of one hundred thousand if they were still on the field when
the fog cleared kept them moving all the same.

In council with Lord Taiki, Shonto had decided to go what they
hoped was southwest to meet the canal which would take them to
the Capital—perhaps the only destination they could be certain of.

The sounds of battle surrounded them and companies of riders
would appear and disappear like apparitions. Neither General Hojo,
nor the Lords Butto and Komawara, nor Jaku Katta had been heard
from since the fog returned and not one member of their party
found their way back to the main body of Shonto’s army. The worst
was feared, though no one would give voice to this, but Lord Taiki
became more pessimistic about their fate by the moment.

Despite moving across level ground the army progressed at the
pace of an old man on foot, a result of their uncertainty of direction,
no doubt.

“This fog is both a blessing and a curse, Lord Shonto,” Taiki said.
Like everyone else, he found himself constantly searching the mist
around him, looking for signs of the enemy or for a landmark that
might tell them where they were. Patrols could not be sent out, for
they would never find the army again and this made the
commanders doubly blind.

“It is a blessing, do not doubt it. We should have been swept from
the field, but the Khan has lost us as we have lost him. Pray it holds
until we are beyond his reach. We will march by night. If we can
find our way across the river, we may escape, Lord Taiki. It is the
most we can hope for.”

The ringing of steel sounded before them where Shonto had
placed his strongest swordsmen. A rider in blue pushed through
toward Lord Shonto and Taiki.

“We have met a barbarian party, Sire,” he shouted as he came.
“Reinforcements are being called for.”

“What numbers? How large a party?” The man rode up then,
bowing from his saddle. “Large, Sire. It is impossible to tell.”

Shonto turned and gave orders to an officer and there was a flurry
of movement around them. Horns blared to their right, sounding far
too close. Riders appeared suddenly and Taiki drew his sword at
the same time as Shonto.

“They are Lord Komawara’s men!” someone shouted and Taiki
heard a voice thank Botahara—his voice. But then he realized
these men fought barbarians.

Shonto cursed beside him. “We have ridden into the heart of the
battle, Lord Taiki. Fall back in that direction.” The lord waved his
sword. “We must hold our force together.” His words were lost in
the chaos. Arrows whistled and fell among the men near him. Like
any lord of Seh, Taiki did not flinch or try to cover himself.

Barbarian warriors engaged the guards around the two lords. Butto
purple could be seen in the mist now, riders hard pressed and few.
Taiki saw Shonto cross swords with a barbarian. The lord of the
Shonto fighting like a com-

mon warrior, Taiki thought, and then he, too, was fighting for his life.
More arrows fell, shot by which side Taiki could not tell. Lord
Toshaki Yoshihira unseated a man to Taiki’s left, shouting that he
had seen the canal bank. Arrows flew and men fell around him.

Taiki took a barbarian’s helmet off with a blow and then finished the
stunned rider with a perfectly aimed cut. He looked around for Lord
Shonto but could find him nowhere. Shouts were heard now: the
canal, they had found the canal.

They waited in the mist, absolutely still. Nishima had lost track of
the times Shuyun had made them do this, or ordered them to turn
suddenly, or reverse direction all together.

“What is it, Brother? What do you hear?” Kitsura whispered.

Nishima leaned close to her cousin. “Say nothing. Shuyun-sum can
sense chi at some distance. Do not destroy his focus.”

Kitsura’s beautiful face was pale, frightened, yet she struggled to
maintain a semblance of dignity even so. She nodded at Nishima’s
words.

Riders had passed close to them several times and they often
heard the barbarians’ horns and the clash of swords. Shuyun
looked up at the sky which showed some signs of the lightest blue.

“The fog is clearing to the east, we are forced toward the canal.”

He tugged at the reins of Kitsura’s mare and Nishima moved her
horse to stay close beside him. They went perhaps a hundred feet
and the mist grew thicker again. Shuyun motioned for an abrupt
turn to the left, then stopped them again. Riders could be heard
close by, many riders by the sounds. Kitsura mumbled the Bahitra.
The riders passed.

Leading them another hundred feet, Shuyun suddenly stopped, his
eyes closed. A man coughed somewhere nearby though Nishima
did not know from what direction this sound came.

Shuyun spoke and his voice sounded strange, distant. “Do not
move from this spot no matter what occurs.”

He handed the reins of Kitsura’s mare to Lady Nishima, pressing
her hand as he did so.

Moving his horse forward the monk slipped into the mist. Kitsura
reached out and gripped her cousin’s sleeve. The sound of
something of weight striking the ground came to them and then a
riderless horse appeared before them, causing their own horses to
shy, throwing Kitsura to the ground.

Shuyun appeared then, dismounting quickly and helping Kitsura to
rise.

“Are you injured, Lady Kitsura?”

She shook her head. “No…” Moving her arm in an arc, she tried to
smile. “No, I am unharmed. The ground is soft.” She remounted
with the monk’s assistance.

Without further hesitation they moved off, more quickly now. The
fog was clearing, there was no doubt.

As the mist pushed back, Shuyun pressed the horses into a canter.
Soon the sounds of battle seemed to recede and they stopped
infrequently now.

There was a shout to their right. “Ride,” Shuyun called out. “Stop
for nothing.” Saying this, he whipped Kitsura’s mount with his reins
and turned toward the sound of horses bearing down.

The circle of their world had drawn itself out to half a rih and in their
entire world Nishima could see no moving figure. At a low stone
wall time was lost while Nishima jumped both horses over, one at a
time. Kitsura climbed over, one fall being enough for the day.

They rode on, seeing no one, and finally Nishima pulled their
horses up, looking back over her shoulder.

“Brother Shuyun said to stop for nothing,” Kitsura panted.

Nishima shook her head. “But he is alone. How many were there,
did you see?”

Kitsura shrugged. “I cannot see through fog, cousin. I think the
Capital is showing through the mist, look.”

Off to their left the white walls of the city reflected the afternoon
sun.

“I am entirely turned around, Kitsu-sum.” She wiped her brow with a
sleeve in a most unladylike action, causing her cousin to laugh.

“It is not a time for laughter, cousin,” Nishima scolded.

“Excuse me, Nishi-sum, I… excuse me.” She forced her face into
seriousness though her eyes still retained a sparkle.

The sound of a horse running over soft ground came from behind
them and they both turned to see a rider jump a ditch.

“It is Brother Shuyun, cousin,” Kitsura said, “I am certain.”

Nishima pressed her horse forward to meet the monk. When he
stopped, she rode up beside him embracing him from her saddle.
Kitsura examined a tree in the distance and the beauty of the
Capital appearing from the shroud of mist.

Waving toward the north and west where the fog was clearing,
Shuyun pulled free of Nishima’s arms. She released him reluctantly
and turned to look.

Among the tendrils of dissipating mist the Imperial Army straggled
over the fields, making their way toward the Capital in small groups,
many on foot, having shed their armor to make better speed.
Spread out over many rih, the silent, defeated soldiers of Wa
retreated.

“Where is my father in all of this?” Nishima asked.

Shuyun shook his head. He pointed east and Nishima turned to
see a large force off in the distance moving toward the river. “Lord
Taiki’s army?” she said.

“Barbarians.” Shuyun said quietly. “That line of retreat is cut off.
The Khan will force us all into the Capital.”

They began to move again. A flowing ditch was used to water the
horses and Shuyun stopped them then to let the horses graze for a
time.

Sitting on the bank in the warm spring sun it seemed to Nishima
that there could hardly be a war only a few rih away. She closed her
eyes and tried to make herself believe it was all a dream, but when
she opened them the retreating army told her the dream was true.

Taking her reins from Shuyun as they remounted, Kitsura said,
“There is no fog for me to become lost in, Brother. I must learn to
ride while I may.”

A group of horsemen converged with them and though Nishima’s
tendency was to avoid them Shuyun thought

that they wore the midnight blue of the Komawara and this proved
to be true.

“We became separated from our lord in the fog and confusion of
battle,” an officer, one Narihira Chisato explained. One of the men
was obviously injured, though not bleeding. Shuyun forced him to
dismount and examined his injuries—broken ribs and terrible
bruises. The injured man’s companions made a bundle of his
armor and strapped it behind his saddle.

“Was there news of my father, Lord Shonto?” Nish-ima asked,
almost afraid of what she might be told.

The officer turned back toward the scene of the battle as though
searching for the answer to Nishima’s question. “Lord Shonto
joined Lord Taiki,” he said, still looking out over the field, “no doubt
regaining control of the army. We charged the barbarians then,
Lady Nishima, to protect the retreat. Since that time we have seen
no sign of Lord Shonto’s force.‘’ He waved toward the thousands
whose paths converged on the Capital. ”All we have spoken to are
from the Emperor’s army which was routed before they could
retreat. The Son of Heaven has fled, surrendering the field to the
barbarian pretender. It is a black day, Lady Nishima. The north wind
blew out of the desert and brought ruin upon us.“ The man shook
his head sadly and said no more.

The small party continued in silence, pushing their tired mounts on
toward the Imperial city. As if the gods of wind and weather had not
caused enough pain for one day, the western sky was lit with a
sunset that caused the heart to ache.

“It is a sign of the end of a glorious empire,” one warrior
whispered. The others glared at him and he bowed, whispering
apologies.

Darkness came slowly, the colors of the sunset lingering after the
stars appeared in the east. The lights of the Capital flickered to life
and the night finally turned dark. Seven Imperial Guards joined
them and nothing was asked or offered about the identities of the
riders without armor.

Nishima and Kitsura pulled cowls over their heads and the
darkness masked them well enough. Both were careful not to
speak and the Komawara guard formed a pro-

tective wall between the guardsmen and the others. Little was said,
at any rate, each alone with their thoughts.

The Empire had fallen; that was enough to occupy the mind.

Sixty

The northern gate to the Imperial Capital was open and the bridge
that crossed the canal to it had not yet been destroyed. A party of
Imperial Guards were stationed at the entrance, or had merely
taken it upon themselves to stand guard, it was not clear which.

Lady Nishima’s party was challenged as they rode up though it
seemed to be mainly for the sake of form—so many fled to the
Capital. One of the Imperial Guards in Nishima’s company
identified himself as the Great Khan come looking for a good inn
and in the ensuing laughter they slipped into the city of the
Emperor.

The streets and canals were choked with the soldiers of the
Imperial Army and panicked residents and refugees attempting to
make their way toward the city’s eastern gates and the Lake of the
Lost Dragon. No organized defense was in evidence and robbery
and looting had begun in plain view.

“Where is the Imperial Guard?” Kitsura whispered. “Will the
Emperor not defend the city? Has he fled?”

Nishima shrugged, looking about, alarmed by what she saw. The
guardsmen who had accompanied them into the city immediately
went their separate ways and only Shu-yun and the three
Komawara guards remained. Among the thousands jostling in the
streets this seemed little protection.

As they progressed into the city, Nishima’s fear began to recede.
She realized that the looting was not widespread and that,
generally, people were proceeding in an organized way and often
offered assistance to others. She began to relax and smiled at her
cousin who looked truly frightened.

Many of the soldiers were headed in the direction of the Island
Palace, as was a large part of the population.

Rumors said the Emperor had not fled and that the defense was
being organized from the palace.

Although horses were seldom used in the Capital, a city of canals
and narrow streets, they were common that evening as the
retreating army arrived. The city was not designed for transport by
horse, however, and they soon encountered a footbridge too
narrow to pass.

Shuyun turned into a tight alley which led out onto an avenue that
ran along the edge of a major canal.

“Where shall we go, Shuyun-sum?” Nishima asked. Until then there
had been little hope of going anywhere but where the crowds went.

“I do not know, my lady.” Shuyun answered, “your family residence
will have been taken by Imperial Guards some time ago. Perhaps
Lady Kitsura’s family have not left the city and we could find rest
there for the evening. If we want news of what has happened in the
field, I suggest we go toward the palace though your name cannot
be spoken there.”

Nishima looked toward Kitsura. “I would like news of my family,
cousin, but I understand your concern for Lord Shonto. My own
family is more likely to be safe. Let us go to the palace gates at
least and find out what we can.”

Nishima gave her cousin a smile of thanks that dissolved
immediately into a look of concern. They followed the canal,
walking their tired horses across a bridge where, for the first time in
their lives, the two ladies were jostled by the people in the streets.

It was late in the night when they came to the Gate of Serenity and
in the square before the gate thousands gathered. A few small
fires blazed on the cobbles of the square and soldiers and guards
rubbed shoulders with all manner of citizens. .

Atop the gate black-clad Imperial Guards stood, ignoring all
questions and taunts. A single bell sounded the hour of the owl as
though only one bellkeeper in the entire city stayed at his post. The
hour rang through the teeming city in a strangely empty way.

Nishima’s party dismounted and the Komawara guards took the
animals in hand and loosened their saddle girths. One of the men
walked off to see what could be learned, but when he returned he
shrugged. “You can learn any-

thing you desire here. The Emperor has fled, the Emperor has
fallen on his sword. The barbarians are at the gates. The
barbarians have gone toward Yankura. Everything is being said,
nothing is known.“ He found a wall to place his back against and fell
promptly to sleep.

Jaku Tadamoto, Commander of the shattered Imperial Guard,
found his way into the city aboard a commandeered sampan,
sculled by two riverman his guards had pressed into service. He
was not seriously wounded though he was bruised and battered
and his once fine armor, a gift from his brother Katta, had saved his
life more than once.

Scholars make poor warriors, he told himself over and over again.

The Imperial Army had been shattered and sent fleeing in disarray.
The Emperor’s decision to take command himself had proven the
army’s undoing. That and the Emperor’s refusal to join forces with
Lord Shonto. Had Lord Shonto escaped with his army? Tadamoto
wondered. Was there hope for the Empire yet?

A group of Imperial Guards looked on as he passed, yet none
made a move to bow to their commander. Tadamoto saw no
animosity in their looks. It was as though he had simply lost his
rank; there was no anger on their part but neither was there
respect. Scholars make poor warriors, Tie said to himself again.
He had but one intention now, to go to the Palace and seek out his
sovereign if the Emperor was not already on his way to Nitashi.
Tadamoto had left his young brother, Yasata, as a guard in the
palace—determined that at least one member of the Jaku would
survive. They would escape. Tadamoto had a plan and gold
enough. Had Osha received his message? Had she fled? He
would take Yasata and find her. The three would make their way to
the Islands of Konojü. It would be years before this desert-bom
Khan would cross a sea. It was likely that intrigue would have
ended his reign before then—this chieftain did not know what
would happen when he entered the Island Palace, could not
imagine. He would learn to sleep lightly and listen to whispers.

The rivermen brought the boat alongside a set of stone steps that
led to a side gate used by the Imperial Guard.

Tadamoto disembarked stiffly and forced himself to stand erect to
ascend the steps. The canal and the quay were thronged with
people—all trying to escape the barbarians, no doubt. It was a sad
sight and sadder yet when Tadamoto realized that he would soon
join them. His future would become as uncertain—was as uncertain
now.

A password opened the gate and Tadamoto and his guards
entered. They were in a square bordered with quarters for the
Imperial Guard.

“Colonel Jaku,” a guard said quietly. “I will find attendants to assist
you with your armor and to see to your injuries.”

Tadamoto shook his head. If he kept moving, the stiffness could
be worked out as long as he did not stop again. “I have duties. See
to yourself now, but I will need a boat—before dawn, no doubt.”

“I will arrange for the boat myself, Colonel.”

Tadamoto nodded. He walked toward the central palace buildings.
The grounds were quiet, deserted, almost serene in contrast to the
streets beyond the walls.

Mounting a set of stairs, Tadamoto passed the hedge-maze where
he had been given instructions by the Emperor—instructions and
threats, as it always was with the Emperor. Two guards challenged
him as he came to one of the great doors to the palace. He
identified himself and gave the password needed.

“The Emperor, is Tie‘ in the Palace?”

“I cannot say, Colonel,” one guard answered. “Perhaps the Son of
Heaven attends the council in the Great Hall.”

“Find my brother, Colonel Jaku Yasata.” Tadamoto ordered one of
them. “I will need him to attend me in my quarters within the hour.”

Inside the palace, Tadamoto was met by near darkness; only a
small number of the hall lamps had been lit and these smoked
from lack of attention. He removed one and used it to find his way.

Few knew the palace as well as the Commander of the Guard. He
took an impossibly narrow set of stairs used by servants and
kicked open a door to another hall, saving himself some minutes.
The Emperor, Tadamoto was certain, would flee at the first
opportunity and Tadamoto did not want that to happen.

* * *

There was a stirring in the square and whispers rippled around the
edge. Much pushing occurred at the mouth of the major avenue
and then mounted armed men appeared, some in black and others
in blue or purple.

“Shonto livery!” one of the Komawara guards exclaimed, rousing
the two ladies from a near sleep.

Nishima leapt up from the cobbles, surprised by the pain from
riding. “It is General Hojo,” she said, and had to be restrained by
Shuyun from rushing forward.

“Do nothing,” Shuyun whispered in her ear, “until we know what
occurs here.” He kept a grip on her arm and Nishima leaned
against him as others stood and vied for a view. She closed her
eyes and felt the monk’s warmth. Surprised to find herself fighting
back tears, she forced herself to open her eyes and focus on the
scene, what little of it she could see.

Jaku Katta and the diminutive Butto Joda rode at Hojo’s side. All
three were covered in dust and appeared very grim. They rode at
the head of a substantial force of armed men, Imperial Guards and
Shonto men and a few wearing purple. They stopped before the
gate and silence fell in the square as ten thousand held their
breath, listening.

Hojo looked up at the guard over the gate. “Open the gate,” he
called out. “We will speak with the Emperor.”

The guard stood frozen in place and then disappeared. There was
silence and then Hojo rode up to the gate, drew his sword, and
pounded on the wood and bronze with his pommel. The square
rang with the sound of his anger.

“Open this gate!” Hojo roared, “or we will have it down and the
palace will be open to all.”

A guard officer appeared above the gate. “We do not open the
gate to rebels,” he shouted.

Jaku Katta spurred his horse forward, pulling off his helmet as he
did so. “Brother.” he called out. “You must open the gate. The
barbarians march toward the Capital and the Emperor does
nothing. The Yamaku have betrayed Wa. Open the gates! We have
an Empire to defend.”

There was hesitation above the gates. Other black-

uniformed men appeared and there was a hasty council. Suddenly
a sword flashed above the gate and then others. The crowd
surged forward at this and the Shonto guards pushed them back.
The black-uniformed men disappeared and a moment later the
gates creaked open and Jaku Yasata appeared.

The crowd surged forward again, shouting. “Bring forth the
Emperor.” A chant began. “Bring forth the Emperor.”

The Shonto men and Imperial Guards pushed the crowd back, but
even so Nishima felt herself thrust forward and she struggled to
keep her grip on Shuyun and Kitsura.

They were close to a Shonto guard now and Shuyun called out and
was recognized. Nishima was squeezed through the wall of guards
and found herself face to face with Hojo Masakado.

“Lady Nishima! May Botahara be praised.” He almost forgot to
bow.

The crowd took this up then and Nishima heard the syllables of her
name pass around the square like a chanted prayer, a sound she
found deeply disturbing.

“You should not be here, Lady Nishima,” Hojo started but then
stopped. “Come, we must go in while we may.”

Dismounting his horse, Jaku Katta bowed to Lady Nishima, a
standing bow but low. “The north wind has brought us together,
Lady Nishima, I am grateful.”

Nodding Nishima stepped away, lqoking for Hojo. What of my
father? she thought, what has happened to him?

The general had turned toward the gate and Nishima fell into step
between him and Butto Joda who performed an awkward bow.

“My father, General, I have had no word of him.”

Hojo shook his head. “We were separated on the field. The main
force has not reached the city though I do not doubt Lord Shonto
has managed an organized retreat. Do not fear, Lady Nishima, your
father is wise in the ways of the battlefield. ”

“And Lord Komawara—what of him?” Kitsura asked.

“Lord Komawara,” Hojo said with great warmth. “He is out on the
plain yet, harrying the enemy in the dark. Lord Butto tells us that,
lost in the fog, Komawara encountered the Great Khan and his
guard and engaged

them, felling a chieftain and sending the Khan running. Lord
Komawara and General Jaku,“ he nodded at the guardsman, ”have
become the great warriors of our time, Lady Nishima. Their deeds
will make a thousand songs.“

Lady Nishima looked away. What a terrible thing, she thought.
Behind her, she heard the whispers of the Komawara guard
repeating Hojo’s words.

War will destroy all of our souls, Nishima thought.

The Emperor paced the length of his chamber and back again.
“Hopeless fools,” he muttered, “they will fall into argument over the
correct color robes to wear at the surrender of the Empire.‘’

A knock rattled the door to his chamber and made the Son of
Heaven start. “Enter,” he called out.

The face of a kneeling guard appeared. “We have a boat,
Emperor. It is being readied as we speak.

“The palace is completely surrounded, Sire. The people…”he
hesitated, “appear unruly, Emperor.”

“They are calling for my head, is that what you mean?”

The guard said nothing but stared down at the floor before him.

“Knock when the boat is ready.”

Before the door closed, the Emperor had returned to his pacing.
Venturing onto the balcony, he looked out over the city. Little could
be seen, but the open fires in the squares said much. They will
have someone’s head before the night is over, the Emperor
thought. Anyone’s will do—nothing less will satisfy them. Well, he
almost smiled, let them have any number of ministers and palace
officials.

He paced back into the room and looked down at the armor of an
unranked guardsman: the disguise for his escape. It went with the
uniform he wore. He crossed the room and knelt on a cushion,
staying only a second before morbid curiosity drew him back to the
balcony, like a man fascinated by his own fear of heights.

Where was Osha? He had sent for her an hour ago. Were the
servants afraid to say that she was gone? Run off like his wife and
sons the minute he left the palace to go to war. He shook his head.

From the Gate of Serenity he could hear shouting and

what sounded like a crowd chanting. The words were unclear, but
he found the sound unsettling all the same.

A knock sounded at the door again and it opened without the
Emperor’s command. Osha slipped into the room, looking around,
her face like a frightened bird’s.

“On the balcony, Osha-sum,” came the Emperor’s voice. “I am
basking in the affection of my loyal subjects—who call out for my
death.”

Osha moved slowly toward the sound of the Emperor’s voice and
finally saw him, dressed in the black robes of an Imperial Guard,
his dark form blotting out the stars.

“Do not be afraid, it is not your name they chant,” the Emperor
said.

She did not like the tone of his voice.

The Emperor stood on the balcony, his back to the rail, his arms
crossed.

“It warms my heart to see that not everyone has abandoned me,
Osha-sum. Loyalty has not fled the palace entirely.”

She nodded.

“Here is what you must do,” the Emperor said matter-of-factly.
“There is no one else I would trust. I will make my escape in
moments. You must bar the door to this chamber when I leave and
open it to no one. Force them to break it down. I should be out of
their reach by then. I had the robes of a servant brought for you. A
servant will be safe enough.”

I am a mistress, Osha thought. She knew what happened to the
pampered mistresses of fallen Emperors.

The Emperor pointed at neatly folded cotton robes lying on a small
stand. “Quickly. We will throw your robes off the balcony.‘’

Osha nodded. She began unwinding the yards of brocade sash.
Looking up, she saw the Emperor watching. I am about to die at
the hands of the people he has betrayed and he stares at me as
though I am a hired woman. She closed her eyes and continued.

Steeling her nerve as she finished unwinding her sash, Osha
asked the question that haunted her. “I hope your officers survived,
Sire, so that they may assist you in the future. Colonel Jaku, for
one, would be a great loss.”

She turned her back to the Emperor and removed her outer robe.

“The Colonel has acted as a loyal subject should— putting himself
in the path of the barbarian army so that his Emperor might
escape. As for the rest, they turned and ran, trying to save their
miserable lives, may they be damned for eternity.‘’

Osha steadied herself as she felt the room spin.

“Osha-sum, shyness does not become a dancer. Do not hide your
beauty.”

Nishima fell in behind General Hojo as Jaku Katta led the way to
the Great Hall. The tramp of soldiers behind her was disquieting
and so out of place. She had been in these halls many times, but
they had been filled with laughter and music and poetry on those
occasions. She felt Kitsura take her sleeve, like a shy child not
wanting to be left behind.

“General Hojo, what is it you intend here?” Nishima asked
nervously.

Hojo did not slow his pace. “We intend to force this fool Emperor
to perform his duties. He cannot leave his throne, as much as it
would gladden me if he did,” the general said, casting a glance at
Jaku. “We cannot fight the barbarians and a civil war as well,” Hojo
said, pointedly.

Nishima saw Jaku shake his head. “This Emperor, in an attempt to
bring down your lord’s House, sold our Empire to the barbarian
Khan, General Hojo,” Jaku said with force. “I have not changed my
opinion—the Emperor is a threat to all.”

Nishima looked back at Hojo, wondering how he would respond.
The two officers had obviously been arguing the point.

“We will let Lord Shonto decide the fate of Emperors, General
Jaku. Soldiers will always make decisions with a sword. It is our
way, but there are other ways.” He said this with finality.

They reached the doors to the Great Hall and the guards stationed
there drew their swords. Jaku did the same, followed by the men
around him.

“Stand aside,” Jaku commanded as he pulled open his

face-mask. “The Emperor you serve has fallen. You cannot be
loyal to a ghost. Stand aside.”

The men hesitated, exchanging glances, and then gave a half bow
and laid down their swords. The doors were thrown open and the
members of the council turned, their eyes wide. Immediately the
officials leapt to their feet and fled in every possible direction,
ornate robes flapping, like a flurry of escaping moths. The Dragon
Throne was empty.

Hojo stormed into the room while his guard chased down several
running officials and dragged them back to him. Nishima remained
outside the door, trying to hear what was said. A commotion to her
right drew her attention, and she saw Jaku Katta disappearing
down the hall with Lord Butto on his heels.

General Hojo came out the door then, an official in tow. “This man
has kindly offered to lead us to the Emperor,” Hojo said, pushing
the man in front of him. Something drew his attention. “Where do
they go?” Hojo waved his sword down the hall at the backs of
retreating Komawara guards.

“They follow General Jaku and Lord Butto,” Nishima said.

Hojo looked around as though sure he would find Jaku beside him.

Nishima pointed. “That is the way to the Imperial apartments,
General.”

“May the gods take them!” Hojo swore and set off at a run,
followed by the entire company.

Shuyun paced the general. “Those Komawara guards wear the
green lacings on their sleeve—they were Haji-wara men, General.”

Hojo nodded, saving his breath. They came to stairs and the
armored men lagged behind. Shuyun looked over his shoulder
once and then sprinted ahead. Seeing this, Nishima pushed past
General Hojo and the other men exhausted from battle. She
ignored the calls of her cousin and the guard, focusing on the
sound of Shuyun’s running feet just ahead of her.

Tadamoto reached the head of the stairs leading to the Emperor’s
apartments. From the guards before the Great Hall he had learned
that the Emperor was in the Imperial

apartments and, though less than certain he would be allowed
through the halls, Tadamoto had set out. To his surprise, he had
not been challenged once. The Imperial Guard, their commander
realized, had broken and run just like the army in the field.

Down the long hallway he saw lamps and the black of guards
before a door, indicating the Emperor was not unprotected.
Akantsu is a fine swordsman, Tadamoto reminded himself, he is
never entirely unprotected. Loosening his blade in his scabbard,
Tadamoto started down the hall.

As he approached the guards before the Emperor’s chambers,
Tadamoto heard the pounding of boots on the stairs behind.
Turning, he saw a single black-clad guard crest the stairs with a
leap and come running down the hall toward him. Drawing his
sword, Tadamoto signaled the guards, who rose and drew their
weapons as well.

Jaku Katta slid to a stop on the polished floor, facing his brother.
He reached up and removed his helmet and stood regarding
Tadamoto.

“It is my hope the gods have brought us here with the same
purpose, brother.‘’

Tadamoto did not lower his sword. “Do not do this, Katta-sum.” He
swallowed with difficulty. “Do not stain our name with this crime.”

“He is a traitor, brother. You know this is the truth. Wa deserves a
sovereign who understands honor. Let me pass.”

The sound of running feet in the stairwell.

Jaku did not look back.

“They are my men, Tadamoto-sum. You can do nothing. Stand
aside.”

The colonel shook his head. “I cannot, brother.”

Jaku nodded. Very slowly he tossed his helmet aside and it rattled
on the floor, sliding to a stop against the wall.

Turning toward the Emperor, Osha removed a second robe, the
sheer silk wafting to the floor like a falling banner. She could not
stop the tears, but she did not sob. Forcing her feet to move
forward, she stepped out into the cool night.

The Emperor watched her with some interest. He

reached out to her as she approached and she took his hands and
pressed them to her, his touch fueling her resolve.

She stood looking at the confusion in the Emperor’s face for a
second, realizing she could not let the instant pass. “Tadamoto-
sum,” she whispered, “was my lover.”

Saying this, Osha pushed the Emperor, her Sonsa training giving
her surprising strength. As he fell back, the Emperor’s grip
tightened on one of her hands and she grabbed the rail with the
other, pulling against his great weight. Groping with one hand, he
grasped at the balustrade, cursing her, but Osha let go of the rail
and caught this hand before he could save himself. And then,
without hesitation, she followed him over the railing, her motion
graceful as though she took flight.

Jaku drew his sword and faced his brother who stepped back
immediately, his guard faltering. Men were in the hall behind,
running. Butto Joda came to a position off to Jaku Katta’s right,
stepping into the Tiger’s line of vision but staying out of reach of
his sword.

“General Katta?” the youth said. “General Hojo is correct. This is a
decision for Lord Shonto or the Great Council. I beg you
reconsider.”

Jaku did not appear to hear. Lunging forward, he took the sword
from Tadamoto’s hands so that it bounced off a post and fell to the
floor.

Tadamoto faced the point of his brother’s blade, but his attention
was drawn back over Katta’s shoulder. “Brother…” he said, lifting a
hand to point.

That second’s warning saved Jaku’s life. The first Ha-jiwara guard’s
blow missed Jaku’s neck, the blade cutting through armor and
deep into the guardsman’s right arm. He raised the sword again as
the Black Tiger stumbled aside. Tadamoto leapt in between and
took the second blow on the side of his helmet, which drove him to
the floor.

Jaku spun and landed a blow one-handed, accounting for one as
the other Hajiwara men fell on him. The guardsman retreated, using
a post to protect his injured right side. Lord Butto reached for his
sword but, unexpectedly, a Hajiwara guard sprang at the young lord
and

drove the pommel of his sword into Butto’s face mask, leaving him
limp on the floor.

The two guards before the Emperor’s door held their places,
swords at the ready. Jaku circled away from these men, unsure
who they would side with. Someone else reached the stairhead
and started down the hall.

“We will avenge Lord Hajiwara, General,” Narihira Chisato hissed,
“for it was you who placed him in the path of Lord Shonto with lies
and false promises.”

The injured Hajiwara man leapt at Jaku. As the guardsman cut him
down, Narihira stepped in coolly, sword raised. The Black Tiger fell
heavily to the floor and did not move. Narihira raised his sword for
the final stroke but found himself propelled across the room, hitting
the floor and sliding to the feet of the guards at the Emperor’s
door. One held the tip of his sword to Narihira’s throat, and the
Hajiwara guard lay still.

Nishima arrived to see Shuyun literally toss the Hajiwara guard
aside and then bend over Jaku Katta, who lay in a growing pool of
blood. The monk made a sign to Botahara and rose, looking
around.

“Is there no hope, Brother?” Nishima asked. She stood across the
room, frozen in place.

Shuyun shook his head. “His spirit has fled, my lady. Jaku Katta is
in the hands of the Perfect Master. May Botahara protect him.”

Shuyun crossed to Lord Butto who lay unmoving. Removing the
youth’s helmet, the monk found his eyes open, only whites
showing. Coming to stand beside him, Nishima laid her hand on
Shuyun’s shoulder.

Katta is dead, she thought, trying to make it seem possible. But
why do I feel so little now when I believed I felt so strongly before?

“He breathes,” Shuyun said. “His life force is strong.”

“He was knocked down with a pommel, Brother,” one of the
Imperial guards said. “He cannot be badly hurt, I’m certain.”

“Please, Lady Nishima…” Shuyun took her hand and drew her
down. “Watch Lord Butto.”

The monk then rose and went to the other fallen men as Hojo and
the others came into the hall.

The other Hajiwara guards were dead, but Tadamoto had raised
himself to one elbow, and propped himself there with visible effort.

“My brother?” Tadamoto said in a near whisper.

“Who is your brother, Colonel?” Shuyun asked.

“Katta,” he said with effort.

“Lie back, Colonel Jaku, you are injured,” Shuyun said. Softly he
removed the ruin of the guardsman’s helmet.

Tadamoto shook him off when the monk reached out to probe the
wound.

“My brother…” Tadamoto turned and saw the great, still form of
Jaku Katta lying against the wall in a dark pool. Sobs racked him
and he would let no one near.

Hojo stood looking on. He made a sign to Botahara.

“He intended to kill the Emperor, General Hojo,” Shuyun said. The
monk motioned at Narihira still lying at the feet of the two Imperial
Guards. “It was Jaku Katta the Hajiwara men had vowed revenge
against, not Butto Joda.”

“The Emperor is inside?” Hojo panted, motioning to the door with
his sword.

The two Imperial Guards held their positions.

“We will not harm your Emperor,” General Hojo said. “Let us pass.”

One guard shook his head, pushing Narihira away with his foot.

Scrambling to his feet, the Hajiwara retainer joined the other party
where Shonto guards pushed him to the rear.

Hojo motioned Shonto swordsmen forward.

Lady Nishima turned away and suddenly her cousin came and knelt
beside her. The ringing of swords stopped abruptly and Hojo
stepped up to the now unguarded door.

“Wait,” Tadamoto said, lurching to his feet. Supported by a man in
Butto livery, he followed Hojo as he tried the door and found it
unbarred.

Entering the room everyone stopped, searching the dim corners,
looking for doors. The room was empty.

“He has hidden or made his escape,” Hojo said, driving his
pommel into a gloved palm.

Waving at the balcony, Tadamoto moved forward. On the
balustrade a torn scrap of silk wafted in the light

breeze. The guard colonel stepped out onto the balcony, looking
around, confused.

One of Hojo’s officers peered over the balcony and turned to his
commander, inclining his head almost imperceptibly. The general
hurried forward and Tadamoto did the same. A white form lay on
the stones far below, a dark shadow at its side.

“There is our Emperor,” Hojo whispered. Beside him Tadamoto
turned slowly and spiralled to the floor.

A Shonto officer pointed out beyond the north gate where a long
line of torches snaked its way south.

“And there is Lord Shonto and his army.” Hojo said, his voice
strangely quiet. “Inform Lady Nishima. She will have some good
news this night.‘’

Standing inside the Gate of Serenity, Nishima held tightly to
Kitsura’s arm. They almost leaned upon each other, their
exhaustion was so great.

“Food,” Nishima whispered to Kitsura. “I will greet my father and
then food and perhaps a bath. If we are to escape or face a
barbarian attack, let us do it fed and clean, and perhaps even
rested.”

“I could sleep upon the cobbles,” Kitsura said.

“You did, cousin,” Nishima reminded her, but her lightness of
mood was entirely false, in Her heart she sent up a silent prayer:
bring him to me safely. He is good and wise. Bring him safely.

The gates were open and soldiers pushed back the crowds
outside. They jostled and shouted and still called for the Emperor,
his death not yet known, and then, suddenly, they cheered.

“That will be the hero, Komawara,” Kitsura said. “Imagine.”

Men on horses appeared in the dim light, framed by the great arch
under the dark sweep of tile. Three men rode abreast, one in
darkest blue, one in gray, and one in Shonto blue. Nishima let out a
long sigh and another prayer to powers unnamed—a prayer of
thanks.

Outside, the people in the streets fell utterly silent, and then
Nishima heard a single voice—the sound of a woman crying. She
found herself moving forward, Kitsura trying to restrain her. She
shook off her cousin’s grip and continued. Komawara was
dismounting now and the rider in

Shonto blue also: her stepbrother, Shokan. And then she was
running. Shokan saw the movement and turned toward her, his face
black from dust and streaked with tears. Nishima felt her body
stop, as though it obeyed commands from forces more powerful
than her will.

Shonto’s personal guard came slowly through the gate bearing a
bier of lances upon their shoulders and on it lay a form draped with
a banner—the blue silk of the shinta blossom. Nishima felt her
knees strike the ground. A cry of deepest agony tore at her throat.
Then she felt hands lift her, and she pressed her face into the blue
lacing of Shokan’s armor. Kitsura’s arm encircled her shoulder and
she heard the soothing voice of Shuyun, chanting a prayer for the
dead.

Nishima had not eaten, bathed, or slept. She sat in a strange room
in the Imperial Palace turning a cold cup of cha compulsively
between her hands. She stared off, deep into her memories,
perhaps, and looked as if she would begin to sob again at any
second.

Kitsura had left her for a few minutes, lured by a hot bath, and
Shuyun was off seeing to the ceremony for her father. There was
so little time; they would have to perform the rites before dawn.
They’re going to burn him, she thought, and this realization was like
a blow to her heart.

A tap sounded on the door to the room and a maid’s face
appeared—one of Nishima’s own maids!

“Tokiwa,” Nishima exclaimed, “how is it that you are here?”

“Steward Kamu brought us, my Lady,” she bowed, hesitating, her
eyes cast down. “I’m sorry, my Lady.”

Nishima nodded. Her mouth formed the words, thank you, but no
sound came.

“Lord Shonto and Steward Kamu wish to speak with you, Lady
Nishima.”

“Please bring them to me,” she said. Perhaps their company will
help, she thought.

The maid disappeared.

Seconds later Shokan and Kamu entered. They bowed and knelt
on the mats.

“I have no cushions, I am sorry,” Nishima said, her voice small.

Shokan shrugged.

“It lifts my heart to see you safe, Kamu-sum. It is a miracle.” She
looked into each of the men’s faces. Certainly they are able to
maintain an appearance of dignity better than I, she thought. I must
look a ruin.

“The miracle,” Kamu answered, “is Brother Shu-yun’s servant,
Kalam. He went out into the fog and met a horde of barbarian
raiders, sending them off chasing phantoms. He led us and hid us
and put his ear to the ground and lured barbarians off into the mist
and even drew his sword against his own people. He will be a man
of Wayet.”

Nishima’s smile was pained.

“Nishi-sum,” Shokan said gently, “despite all, we must prepare for
the future. There are many things that must be spoken of.”

Nishima nodded, a sudden coldness spread through her. “You will
not marry me to this Khan, will you, Shokan?” she said, surprised
by the edge of hysteria in her voice.

“Sister, I would not marry you to anyone you did not choose.”

She turned her tea bowl, still focusing on nothing.

“Nishima, the Lords of Wa and the officials of the government are
meeting in the Great Hall as we speak. There is no heir to the
throne.”

“There are sons, Shokan-sum. Have you forgotten?”

Skokan glanced over at Kamu. “Wakaro is certainly dead, and the
others will follow their brother once the people learn that the
Yamaku have fallen. They are a despised family, Nishima-sum. No
Yamaku will sit upon the Dragon Throne again.”

There was silence for a second, but Nishima did not really take this
information in. She could not force herself to focus on the
conversation.

“If a suitable sovereign is not found, there will be a civil war,
Sister.”

Nishima looked up. I have lost a father, why have they come to
bother me with this, she asked herself? “Shokan-sum, excuse me
for saying so, but you are speaking the worst foolishness. The
Khan is about to take the throne. In a few hours he will sit in the
Yamaku’s place. The Empire, I may remind you, has fallen.”

Shokan rubbed his palm with his fingers. “If there is not a chosen
sovereign, claimants will spring up all over Wa. There will never be
a concerted effort to oust the barbarians, for there will be no
alliance strong enough. The lords of Wa will war among
themselves, making the barbarians’ work easy. It will be a
generation before we see the enemy gone, perhaps more.”

“They are such fools,” Nishima said coolly, but there was no
conviction in her voice.

“Nishima-sum!” Shokan reached over and took hold of her arm,
spilling cha over her hands. “You must listen.”

She fixed him with a cold glare and he let go of her hands. “I am
listening, brother. What is it you have come to say?”

Shokan took a deep breath.

Nishima realized he waited for eye contact before he spoke and so
she looked up, not trying to hide her anger.

“There is one candidate acceptable to all,” her stepbrother said,
speaking with unnecessary precision. “If you will consent to
become our Empress, Nishima-sum, we will avoid civil war.”

Nishima started to laugh, but the laugh died in her throat. She
began to speak and could not. She stared at her brother as though
he had spoken words that, beyond all doubt, confirmed him mad.

“Lady Nishima,” Kamu spoke gently. “Thousands of lives may be
saved by your decision. There is an entire Empire to think of.”

My father is dead. The Empire has fallen. Why will you not leave
me in peace? “Kamu-sum,” she said as reasonably as she could.
“I know nothing of the ways of government. How can you seriously
expect me to rule? This is madness,” she said, exasperated.
Again she began, trying to achieve a tone of reason. “What of Lady
Kitsura? The Omawara have as much Hanama blood as the
Fanisan. Perhaps she will consent to be your Empress. Please,
brother. Speak no more of this… I cannot bear it.”

“Sister, my father raised me to understand my duty.” Shokan’s
voice was as cool as hers now. “Did he not do the same with you?”

Lady Nishima stared at Shokan. My father is dead, how can you
insult me now? Have I not paid enough?

“Lord Shonto,” she said to her stepbrother, “if I seriously believed
that I could play a part in saving Wa, I would not hesitate to do so.
But once this crisis is passed and we avoid civil war—then Wa will
be saddled with an Empress who knows nothing of the art of ruling.
If one day we do oust the barbarians, I would not know where to
begin to rebuild an Empire. I would be a worse ruler than the
Yamaku.” She waved a hand at the door. “Bother me no more with
this. We have a lord whose ceremonies must be seen to.”

“I will say no more, sister,” Shokan answered, “though I would ask
you to come to the Great Hall and inform the gathered lords of your
own decision. Then you may see the civil war begin with your own
eyes.”

“Shokan-sum!” Nishima cried. “You do not know what it is you ask.
Please do not place this burden upon me.” Her hands trembled
and she dropped the cha bowl to the mat. “Please, it is my life you
ask for.” She covered her face with her hands but no tears came.

Oh, father, she thought, they are not satisfied with one Shonto life,
they want another.

“Sister,” Shokan said very softly, “I would spare you this if I could. I
would take it upon myself, but I cannot. By midday a barbarian
army will be at our gate. We must have a new sovereign and we
must have made our escape. If you will not take up this duty, the
Empire will dissolve into chaos. Let me tell the gathered lords that
you require time to consider. That you will answer in an hour. Let us
hold off calamity as long as possible. Sit and ponder the
alternatives, Sister. Speak with your Spiritual Advisor. Let me say
you will decide within the hour?”

Nishima sat for a long moment, then nodded her head, the tiniest
of movements. “I will give you my decision at dawn. Please ask
Brother Shuyun if he will attend me.”

Kamu looked over at Shokan who nodded toward the door.
Bowing, the two men rose and left, closing the door quietly behind
them, and making Nishima think that they suddenly felt they should
not disturb the grieving daughter. As though they had not thrown
her already uncertain life to the wind once again.

She sat unmoving, and then Lady Kitsura entered through a
screen. She was dressed in the silk robes of a peer—one of
Nishima’s robes, in fact.

“There is a bath, Nishi-sum, and your servants have found some of
your own robes.” Kitsura paused.

Nishima did not look up. “I can accept the fall of the Empire,” she
said in a flat voice, “more easily than I can believe that my father is
gone—he seemed the greater of the two.”

Kitsura nodded. Kneeling, she took Nishima’s hands. “A bath will
help, cousin, truly.”

Nishima nodded. Servants came and led her to her bath, leaving
her to soak in peace as she preferred. Carefully laid out within view
were robes and combs and perfumes, and the box that belonged
to her mother decorated with the warisha blossom of the Fanisan
House. Nishima closed her eyes. So many had died that day. Jaku
was dead, she realized. His death poem was hidden in her hunting
costume. I must have it sent to his brother, poor man. She hugged
her arms across her breasts and felt the warmth work at knotted
muscles. Remembering the teaching of Brother Satake, she began
an exercise to relax her muscles and calm her spirit. Her focus was
so poor that this was an indifferent success.

A tap on the screen preceded a maid’s voice from outside.
“Brother Shuyun awaits, my Lady.”

Nishima fought back a sudden attack of tears and, when she felt
she had mastered them, she stepped out of the bath.

Dressing without too much haste was difficult, but she forced
herself to move slowly lest her servants think she rushed to meet a
man. “Tokiwa,” Nishima said to the maid who waited beyond the
screen. “I wish to pray with Brother Shuyun, I do not want to be
disturbed for any reason.”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Have you laid a bed for me in the adjoining room? I will try to
sleep later.”

“It has been done, Lady Nishima.”

“Thank you, Tokiwa. You may go. I will tie my sash.”

She could easily imagine the servant nodding and performing her
graceful bow before hurrying off.

Nishima left her hair down and combed it carefully. She tied her
sash with particular care.

Slipping into the room, Nishima was disappointed to find Shuyun
not present and then she heard his voice whisper her name from
the balcony.

Shuyun was standing at the rail, looking out to the north. Nishima
came and stood close beside him, resting her hand on his
shoulder.

“Upon the fields,” he said, pointing off to the distance.

A fire burned there and then Nishima realized that it must be many
rih distant—the figures moving around it were so small. The blaze
was enormous.

“What is this?” Nishima asked.

Shuyun shook his head. “Even the Kalam does not know.”

“They burn the fallen, certainly.”

Shuyun shook his head. “Perhaps, but it is not their way, Lady
Nishima.”

They stood a moment longer and then Nishima took his hand and
gently led Shuyun away from the spectacle, back inside. Nishima
opened a screen at the room’s end where an enormous bed had
been made. A single lamp cast a soft glow.

Nishima stopped him at the bed’s edge and embraced the monk
who returned the caress with more warmth than usual. Nishima
guided his hand to the knot on her sash. “Pull,” she whispered.

Doing as he was instructed Shuyun felt the knot give and unravel in
his hand.

“A Lover’s Knot,” she said.

The monk almost stepped away, but she held him.

“lama fallen Brother,” he said, an edge of anguish in his voice. “A
lost one.”

She held him close, afraid he would leave. “Do not despair,
Shuyun-sum, I have found you. Please stay with me. Tonight I have
need of a friend more than ever.” She reached back and took the
sash from his hand and let the heavy brocade slip to the floor,
uncoiling itself around her feet.

“They have asked me to ascend the throne,” she said suddenly,
her voice the smallest whisper.

He nodded. “I have been told.”

She stepped away, pulling the quilts back on the bed and drawing
the monk in after her.

They lay close in the dim light of the lamp. “I must tell them what I
will do in a few hours.”

They did not speak for some minutes. “I do not think I can bear my
father’s death, Shuyun-sum. I have not the strength… and they
want me to be their Empress.”

“I believe Lord Shonto will be reborn in only a few days. His spirit
will return, though you may never meet it or know it if you do.”

Nishima did not answer immediately. “Even so, he is lost to me. I
am a selfish, spoiled peer, and it is my loss that grieves me though
it shames me to say this.

“It is not surprising that I have led you from the path, Shuyun-sum. I
am so far from perfection it is a marvel I was not bora an ant.”

Shuyun smiled. “Be careful what you say, ants have Empresses
also. It is a fate that can pursue you from lifetime to lifetime.”

The sounds of distant voices reached them, the chanting of the
crowd beyond the gates.

“I do not know what answer I should give the lords of Wa. My father
warned that an act of bravery might be required of me, yet I do not
think I am brave enough. I know nothing of ruling, Shuyun-sum. It
seems a sham to ascend a throne that in a few hours will belong to
this barbarian Khan.”

“I am not certain the barbarian will be long for this throne,” Shuyun
whispered. “Perhaps only days.”

Nishima pulled back so that she could see the monk’s face. “Why
do you say this?”

“In the mist, when I disappeared and had you and Lady Kitsura
wait—do you remember the coughing? The tribesman suffered
from the plague, there is no doubt. It will spread among the army of
the desert more easily than the wind blows through unshuttered
houses. It will be a great tragedy. Tens of thousands will die, and if
the Khan takes the city the plague will spread through the Capital.
Barbarian patrols have crossed the river and turn back all those
who hoped to make their escape. The population of the city is four
times what it would be normally.”

“Botahara save us.” Nishima said. “We will all die-barbarians and
people of Wa alike. Is there no escape?”

Shuyun nodded. “For the few, there is hope of escape.”

Nishima closed her eyes. “Do the others know of this, the plague?”

“I have told only General Hojo. It is possible that others may guess
what the barbarians’ fires mean—they must burn the plague-dead
and all of their belongings, perhaps even their horses, hoping this
will save them. It will not.” Shuyun paused. “I regret that General
Hojo will not listen to my counsel in this.”

Nishima pulled back so that she could touch the monk’s cheek,
tracing the outline with great tenderness. “What have you
counseled?”

“To save Wa, we must save the barbarians. It is the only
possibility.”

Nishima froze, unable to believe what she had heard. “Even I am
aghast at this suggestion. They have murdered the length our
Empire.”

“And so have we, my lady. You do not know how many refugees
have died on the roads and the canal.” Shuyun took her hand and
pressed it to his heart. She felt the warmth, the tingle of chi. “When
the barbarians reach the Capital tomorrow, I could walk out to meet
them under a flag of peace. I would offer them an exchange. My
Order will save them from the plague if they will lay down their
arms. Thousands of lives might be saved.”

Nishima propped herself up on one arm. The people of the
Capital—the plague would ravage the city, while she escaped. But
save invaders? No one would agree to this. She looked out the half
open screen, and saw the flicker of the barbarians’ pyre, far out on
the plain.

Did not Botahara teach compassion? she asked herself. “Is it
possible, Shuyun-sum? Will this Khan believe you?” She rolled
back, staring up at the ceiling, her hand to her brow. “If not, you
would be in great danger.” Her mind raced through the possibilities
now. “Will the Bo-tahist Brothers perform this task? The barbarians
are not followers of the True Path.”

“Few are, Nishima-sum.” Shuyun pushed her hair back behind her
ear. “The Brothers will agree reluc-

tantly. It saddens me to say this, but I believe it is more likely that
the barbarians will listen than it is that the lords of Wa will agree to
this course.“

“But it is our only hope,” Nishima said, convinced now that Shuyun
was right. ‘ ’Tens of thousands could be saved—barbarians and
people of Wa alike. The lords of Wa must be convinced.“

“They will not be. Their hatred of the barbarians is unreachable.
Tell them that plague is about to sweep the barbarian army from
the Empire and they will not care how many people of Wa will have
to die so that this will occur. Sacrifice is their way. To suggest we
save the invaders—they will not allow it.”

Nishima rolled so that she pressed her cheek close to Shuyun’s.
“You make my choice difficult,” she whispered in his ear.

An act of bravery, he had told her. There had been so many
already.

“Shuyun-sum, tell me truthfully—if an Empress commands that this
be done, will the lords of Wa obey?”

Shuyun considered for a moment. “Lord Taiki, General Hojo, and
your brother control the army. No others have an organized force.
Will these three obey a command from the Empress they have
placed on the throne? I believe they will, Lady Nishima, though I
fear it is not the answer you wish to hear.”

Nishima closed her eyes for some time, breathing as Brother
Satake had taught her. Oh, father, it is my greatest fear. You ask
me to overcome my greatest fear. She felt her heart beating and
forced it to calm. Thousands of lives she told herself, balanced
against my own desires and fears.

Opening her eyes she whispered to the room. “If Hojo and
Shokan-sum will agree to your plan, I will ascend the throne though
my entire life I have vowed I would not.”

She felt Shuyun draw her close. Pressing her eyes closed she
said a silent prayer, though it was not to any god. Nishima spoke to
Lord Shonto, praying she had chosen correctly. May this be the act
of bravery, she thought, and not an act of foolishness.

She whispered close to Shuyun’s ear. “What name will I take if I
am to ascend the throne of Wa?”

Shuyun drew her closer and said, “Shigei. ”

“I do not know that name.”

“It is from the mountain tongue, as is my name. Shuyun—he who
bears. Shigei—she who renews. It is the name of a mountain spirit.
It is also the name given to fair spring winds and to the scent of
new budding leaves. She who renews. Empress Shigei.”

Nishima nodded slowly. “I will need the wisdom of your counsel.”

“You will have the wisest of counselors, my Empress,” he
whispered. “You will rule with your heart as well as your reason and
you? subjects will come to love you as they have few others.”

The lamp flickered out and they lay still in the darkness until the
gray light of dawn appeared through the half-open screens.

Sixty-one

The sunrise filtered through a long tear in the cloud, somewhere far
out over the unseen sea. Among the weeping birch trees on the
edge of the Pool of the Sun the Shonto guard had built the pyre.
The sound of the three small falls that crossed the pond mixed with
the breeze moving through the new leaves and made Nishima think
of her father’s private garden.

Under the silk banner that he had borne into battle, Lord Shonto
Motoru lay hidden from the eyes of those who cared for him. To
one side Kamu stood holding the lord’s favorite stallion, a sword
strapped to the saddle— the same sword the Emperor had given
the lord in this very garden.

The death of his ancestor, Shokan had said, an honorable death.

Brother Shuyun completed a long prayer, and all present made
signs to Botahara. Nishima felt Shokan release her hand as he
stepped forward, a surcoat of pure white over his Shonto blue
catching the light of the sun.

Removing a tiny ornate scroll from his sleeve he paused to find his
voice.

Through a long winter we have awaited

The rebirth of spring.

During the cold nights

We dreamed

Of the plum tree’s blossom

Along the shore of an endless canal

Cranes stand among rushes

So still

The harmony of their world

Is left untouched

The boat passes,

White against blue waters,

Its wake causing birds to fly

Rising up among blossom laden trees

Passing on the breeze, the boat Follows the ribbon of blue, As
narrow and perfect As the river among the clouds

Shokan and Lord Komawara had begun this poem during a
sleepless night and Nishima had completed it that morning—many
others would follow.

Stillness and quiet descended as all present offered their silent
prayers. Nishima looked around. The more important lords of Wa,
those who had not fled the Capital, were present, as were the lords
who had followed her father south from Seh. The senior officials of
the Palace were present; chancellors, ministers, and sundry
advisors had come to pay respects to the Emperor’s most
powerful lord—the man who had given his life in an attempt to save
Wa. Lord Komawara stood beside a recovered Lord Butto, the two
so grim that it hurt Nishima to look at them.

She made herself breathe in careful rhythm, for her part of the
ceremony was yet to come. Conscious of her new role, Nishima
was determined to conduct herself accordingly though certain this
would be the most difficult thing she had ever done.

At a nod from Shuyun she stepped forward, and a bowing
attendant passed her a small torch, its flame guttering in the
breeze. She closed her eyes for a second, certain she would be
overcome by the odors of the burning oil. / release his spirit from
this world, she reminded herself. She bowed low, holding back the
sleeve of her white robe, and touched the torch to the pyre. At first
nothing seemed to occur, but then the lamp oil caught and the
flames rose up, spreading both left and right with a sound like a
giant wing beating the air.

She stepped back then and tossed the torch into the flame. As the
silk banner caught, she closed her eyes.

“Lady Nishima,” the attendant said softly.

She turned and took the handful of white plum petals

she was offered and these she tossed onto the flaming pyre where
the rising heat took them and scattered them on the wind.

The fire crackled and roared now, too hot to be near. The
mourners stepped back then and she felt Shokan take her arm.
Space opened up around them and Nishima felt the distance
despite the presence of her brother. Isolation, she thought, a life of
isolation. Only that morning her decision had been made known
and already she was set apart.

/ cannot turn back, she told herself. Tens of thousands of lives
depend on the strength of my resolve.

But Shokan and Hojo and Lord Taiki had agreed to support
Shuyun’s plan though they argued against it strongly. In the end
they had decided that having Nishima as an Empress was more
important. Then had come her first test. She discovered that the
lords of Wa and the senior Ministers of the Right and Left had
already selected a name for the new Empress. A name from
another tongue was not acceptable, they explained; there were
traditions.

Nishima had been forced to be utterly firm with them— she would
ascend the throne as the Empress Shigei. Their choice was to
offer the throne to someone else. They had acquiesced: a name
was an important thing, no doubt, but there were certainly other
matters of greater consequence.

Once she had ascended the throne, Nishima thought, this tactic
would no longer be possible. There would be many more such
battles of wills, Nishima thought, many, many more. Fighting them
when all she felt was a need to be alone, to have time and peace
to heal the wound inside her—that would be the challenge. It would
be so easy to give in, but she must not. She would be an Empress
and that meant she would not let ambitious counselors gain control
of the government.

They ascended a flight of steps and attendants waited there with a
sedan chair. Nishima looked at this with dismay.

“I will walk,” she said firmly.

“But, Empress,” the Minister of the Right said in his most pleasant
voice, “it is unseemly for a member of the Imperial family to walk.”

“I am not yet an Empress nor a member of the Imperial family. I
am Shonto. I will walk.”

Tugging Shokan’s arm she skirted the sedan chair and ascended
the next stairs as quickly as decorum would allow. The sound of
the funeral pyre could still be heard and as they reached the
Palace doors she turned to look back. White smoke rose in a high
column from the shore of the glittering pond and she thought of her
father lifting up to soar among the clouds.

Movement caught her eye beyond the fire. It was the barbarian
army gathering beyond the city walls. Botahara save us all, she
thought.

It was the shortest and least elaborate investiture in the history of
the Empire of Wa. Ceremonial meals were reduced to a few
dishes being arranged to symbolize an entire part of a ceremony.
Elaborate rituals involving the Imperial Governors of the Empire’s
nine provinces were not performed, for there was not a single
governor in the Capital. Swearing of oaths by lords and officials
and the giving of gifts and favors and ranks—all of these things
were left to another time—all present hoping there would be such a
time. Only the short, final ceremony was to be performed and this
was a great relief to the Empress-to-be.

Nishima was borne to the doors of the Great Audience Hall in the
sedan chair she had rejected earlier and here she was allowed to
step down to a carpet that stretched the length of hall to the steps
of the Dragon Throne.

To each side of this knelt the counselors and senior officials and
behind these men, instead of the ceremonial guard, stood men in
Shonto blue. In truth, many of the members of the Great Council
and of the guard had fled the city and those remaining had been
forced to make do as best they could. The Major Chancellor, the
second most powerful person in the Empire, had escaped some
days earlier. To the dismay of the court Nishima had appointed
Kamu to this position temporarily. He knelt at the foot of the steps
to the dais, his ceremonial robes spreading out around him like a
fan, the gold scroll of his office held in his only hand.

As Nishima entered, the assembled officials bowed their heads to
the stone and remained there for some

moments. A slow chant of great beauty began as the new
Empress slowly progressed the length of the hall, the Ministers of
the Right and Left following three paces behind on their knees.

Walk beside me, father, Nishima prayed, / have not the courage.
She felt as though her spirit had wrenched itself free and she both
walked on the carpeted floor and floated up to the heights of the
hall, watching herself as she progressed, a small uncertain child in
the immense hall.

Do not let my spirit escape, she prayed, not yet.

Shokan knelt with his forehead pressed to the stone at the end of
the first row of officials and this touched some part of her and
called her spirit back, for with his face hidden, Shokan looked for
all the world like his father. Her father’s presence seemed to be
there and this gave her strength.

Before the throne a silk cushion had been set and the Ministers of
the Right and Left assisted her in kneeling here and then retreated
to their places. Nishima’s robes spread out around her, Imperial
Crimson bearing the five-clawed, golden dragon. At her insistence
a tiny shinta blossom had been embroidered on her right sleeve,
the flower of the warisha on her left. Kamu knelt three paces off,
his head touched to the floor. Nishima bowed to her ancestors on
the empty throne.

The chant continued, rising in volume, reverberating in the great
hall. The Minister of the Right came forward and laid the sword of
office across the arms of the throne and retreated. An ancient
bronze gong was brought forward by the Minister of the Left and
this was set at the foot of the throne to one side.

There were no words to be spoken by the ascending
sovereign—far too many Emperors had been children barely out of
the cradle—but the Major Chancellor rose to a kneeling position
and recited the sovereign’s oath of office. Kamu’s voice gained
strength and authority with each phrase.

“It is the duty of the Empress to care for her children, the people of
the Empire of Wa, to care for the lands and the forests and the
waterways. In time of famine the Empress will give food to her
charges; in time of war, provide shelter and restore peace to the
people who are the children of the Empress. In gratitude the
subjects of the

Empress will attend each to their duties, giving their loyalty only to
the sovereign of Wa. May Botahara bless the most revered
Empress, Shigei, of the Imperial line of the Fanisan House.“

The courtiers rose to their knees, making a sign to Botahara. As
the chant came to an end, Nishima bowed once more to the
throne. She was to rise and take her place now, but she could not
will her legs to move.

This is wrong, Nishima thought. What is it I do? She could not get
up.

Kamu opened his mouth to whisper. She saw “Nishima” begin to
form on his lips, but he stopped himself. She looked over at him,
imploring him to help, and he could only stare back, unable to
speak or move.

There was utter silence in the hall then, all eyes turned toward her.
The carved dragon that curved around the back of the throne
seemed also to stare.

/ must, Nishima said, / must.

Willing herself to rise, Nishima found her feet under her and, with
great deliberation, placed a foot upon the first jade step and then
the second and finally the third. Two steps to the throne. She lifted
the sword of office with both hands and turned to face her court.
Stiffly she lowered herself to the cushion cm the jade throne. The
Great Council of State knelt before her, each official reflected in
the polished stone of the floor.

And now I must rule, Nishima thought, and the realization was like
waking in a cold room. The warmth of the dream she had lived had
vanished and her feelings seemed distant, confused.

As one, the entire assemblage bowed again and then rose to the
kneeling position. Kamu took the place of the Major Chancellor on
the first step and reached over and sounded the bronze gong. It
was not loud in the massive hall, but in seconds it was answered by
all the bells on the grounds of the Island Palace and this in turn was
echoed by the bells of the city, the bell-keepers having been found
or replaced.

It was a sound of great hope and joy and as she looked down the
Empress saw tears on the cheeks of the old Shonto steward. No
sound could be heard above the great din of the bells, but Nishima
could see that he cried freely

like an unashamed child and the new Empress felt a tear streak her
own cheek in response.

The ringing of bells seemed to be endless, and Nishima sat
attempting an appearance of tranquillity. At last the bells ceased
and Nishima took a long breath and nodded to Kamu.

He raised himself up as though the increase in height would project
his voice farther. “The Empress requests the presence of the
following that we may discuss a solution to the problem of the
barbarian army gathering beyond the Capital’s gate.”

The assembled officials looked stunned, but they did not
understand the meaning of this and so sat, casting glances to their
allies in the hall.

Kamu read a long list including General Hojo, the Lords Butto,
Taiki, Komawara, most of the senior lords of Wa who remained in
the city, and Initiate Brother Shu-yun.

All of those listed filed in through side doors, approaching the dais
on their knees and bowing low to their Empress. Lord Komawara
and Lord Butto had just come from the city walls and wore armor
still, their helmets tucked under one arm.

Nishima nodded again and Kamu turned to the gathering.

“Due to the machinations of the late Yamaku Emperor, a barbarian
army sits beyond our walls, their intention being to place their own
chieftain upon the throne of Wa. The Empress will hear the advice
of her counselors regarding this matter.” To the dismay of the
gathered officials, Kamu turned to the Botanist monk. “It is the wish
of the Empress that the Spiritual Advisor of Lord Shonto Shokan,
Brother Shuyun, make his thoughts known.” Kamu nodded to
Shuyun.

Performing his double bow, first to the Empress and then to the
gathered officials and guests, Shuyun sat back, his hands together
as though he would meditate.

“Empress,” he said, his soft voice surprisingly calm in the hall full
of upspoken tension and emotion. “Honored ministers. I have
learned that the plague has begun to spread among the army of
the Khan. The great fire seen on the fields in the night was an
attempt to cleanse

the barbarian army of this disease, but plague is among them and
cannot be cured with fire.“

Everyone present leaned forward to listen now and Nishima heard
the word “plague” whispered down the length of the hall. The
reaction of the council was obvious—relief, elation, joy. Many made
signs to Botahara. Shuyun continued. “It is my recommendation,
Empress, that we send emissaries to the Khan bearing an offer to
bring Botanist Brothers to heal the barbarians, if, in return, the
invading army will lay down its arms. Only this will prevent the
plague from being spread among the people of the Capital.”

The reaction was not so controlled this time. Nishima heard voices
of protest. She looked down at Hojo and the other Shonto allies.
They sat in stolid silence. Now you must keep your word, she
thought, or we are lost. Shuyun had been right—they would prefer
to see any number dead if it would mean the destruction of their
enemies. Nishima gave a subtle hand signal to Kamu. “The
Empress wishes to express great concern for the people who
have gathered in the Capital hoping that the sovereign and the
Great Council would protect them. Therefore, it is the wish of the
Empress that this mission be carried out immediately. Brother
Shuyun, you speak the language of the tribes?” Shuyun nodded.

The very portly Minister of the Right bowed to the throne and Kamu
fixed him with a withering glare as he nodded for the man to speak.

The Minister’s voice came out very small. “Certainly a decision
such as this should be considered by the senior officials, Major
Chancellor.‘’ He looked directly at Sho-kan. ”The course Brother
Shuyun suggests—saving those who have caused so many such
grievous loss—I fear that the very people we hope to save would
not choose this course.“ Shokan did not make eye contact with the
Minister. He sat looking toward the foot of the throne, his face
composed and unreadable.

Nishima started to answer herself but stopped at a look from
Kamu. Instead she whispered to the Major Chancellor. “There is no
time for this,” she almost hissed.

Kamu turned back to the Minister. “The barbarians prepare their
attack as we speak, Minister, there can be

no time lost in lengthy discussion. This embassy will be carried out
immediately. If you wish to join Brother Shuyun, your wisdom and
council would be welcome.“

The Minister looked around attempting to gather support, but no
one met his eye. To walk out onto the field before an army of
eighty thousand? The Minister shook his head and then bowed low.
His next words came from a dry mouth. “Certainly, the wishes of
the Empress will be carried out immediately. We should, however,
be proceeding to remove the Empress to safety.”

“I will not leave,” Nishima’s voice rang out in the hall. All stared
open-mouthed. The voice of a woman in the Great Hall had not
been heard in many years, and what it lacked in volume it made up
for in sheer uniqueness. “I will not leave until Brother Shuyun has
spoken to the leader of the tribes,” she said quietly, “nor shall any
of my council. The safety of the population is your charge.” There
was no mistaking the strength of her decision. The Minister of the
Right cast a final look at Shokan, bowed and sat back, his dismay
obvious to all.

Nishima nodded to Kamu again. “Brother Shuyun, please, there is
so little time,” he said.

Nishima rose from her throne, placing the sword across the arms.
Stepping around the throne, she left the hall by a small door, her
heart beating wildly. Shuyun came after her, followed by Shokan
and several other Shonto allies.

Nishima stepped aside as the hall widened, waving the others past.
“You must make all haste, Brother,” she said, resisting an urge to
embrace him before the others. “I will follow. May Botahara walk
beside you.”

The monk bowed then and turned and ran, followed by the others,
each bowing as he passed.

Shonto guards fell into step around her and they passed through a
door into the main hallway of the palace. Everyone in the hall
dropped to their knees as she passed, pressing their foreheads to
the floor.

One bowing woman caught her eye as she passed.

“Kitsura-sum? Come with me please.”

Her cousin rose quickly and fell into place three paces behind.
Nishima reached back and pulled her forward by her sleeve.

“Please, cousin, hurry.”

* * *

The army of the desert had formed outside the Capital’s northern
walls and this had drawn the foolish and the curious within the city.
They came to see a spectacle, but once they had mounted the
walls or roofs the sight left them with little to say. The men of
Shonto’s army who had survived the terrible retreat now busied
themselves with improving the city’s defenses, though the Capital
was never designed to weather a conceited attack, and their
attempts were largely futile.

Between the barbarian army and the walls of the city a dais had
been erected under a yellow silk awning. Upon this dais a large
wooden chair, almost a throne, was placed and, on either side, the
gold banners bearing the Khan’s crimson dragons hung from
standards. Frames of bamboo had been built behind the dais and
crimson silk was laced to these frames, creating an effective
screen.

It was not clear to anyone in the city if this seat was meant to be the
place where the Khan would accept the surrender of the city or if
this was merely the position from which he intended to watch the
city’s fall. Perhaps it was meant to perform either function, but
there were many inside the Capital’s walls who hoped a peaceful
surrender was possible.

Shuyun mounted the steps to the top of the gate he had so
recently used to enter the city. Lord Shonto Shokan, Lord
Komawara, and General Hojo were only a few paces behind and
they all stopped to look out at the army, clearly preparing its attack
not far off.

Hojo nodded. “In Denji Gorge, Brother Shuyun, I opposed your
plan to scale the walls and was proven wrong. It is my hope to be
proven wrong again. If the Khan does not agree to this plan,
Brother, I do not think we will move our army out of the city without
terrible losses. Our Empress will have no force with which to regain
her throne.” Hojo looked down at the small monk, the warrior’s
discomfiture obvious.

Shuyun said nothing for a moment. “Pray to Botahara, General
Hojo. I put myself into His hands.”

The monk turned and descended the stairs. He was given the
green flag of peace and a guard opened a small portal in the city’s
wall.

Lord Komawara caught up with Shuyun as he was about to pass
through. “I would go with you, Brother Shuyun. Perhaps I may be of
some assistance.”

The monk hesitated for a second, meeting the young lord’s eye.
Shaking his head, Shuyun reached out and touched Komawara’s
arm. “It would be my honor, Lord Komawara, but this plan is my
own and has little support. It is my desire to risk as few as
possible. I thank you.”

Komawara bowed, the short double bow he had learned when the
two had gone into the desert. Bowing in return, Shuyun stepped
through the arch and heard the door close behind him.

Stairs led down to the canal where a sampan tugged at a line.
Shuyun stepped aboard and sculled quickly to the other bank
where a ruin of stone was all that remained of the bridge that had
been torn down at first light.

Tying the sampan to a rock, Shuyun ascended the bank, unfurling
his flag of peace as he went. A few paces took him beyond the
plum trees that grew along the canal—in leaf now, the glory of
spring blossom having been stripped from them by the winds.

The massive army of the desert did not seem distant now, and
Shuyun found himself unconsciously performing a breathing
exercise to calm his spirit.

So much depends upon me, the monk thought, performing an
instinctive sign to Botahara. The green flag fluttered in the light
breeze as Shuyun held it high, moving it slowly back and forth so
that it would be seen.

He made his way across a green field, walking deliberately but
without haste toward the waving banners of the pavilion. Horsemen
broke free of the great mass of humanity before Shuyun and
galloped out toward him. They stopped at some distance and
examined the monk, and then one turned and spurred his horse
back toward the barbarian position. The remaining three riders kept
their distance, matching Shuyun’s pace and not taking their eyes
from him.

Fifty paces from the dais Shuyun stopped and waited. As this Khan
aspired to the throne of Wa, Shuyun was unsure what protocol
might be expected and so decided it was best to wait and see how
the barbarian responded

to his presence. He chanted quietly to himself, a prayer for
tranquility of purpose.

Perhaps an hour passed and then there was a sudden stirring on
the perimeter of the barbarian position. Warriors in crimson-laced
armor rode out toward the dais, forming two lines facing in. Every
second rider carried the Khan’s golden banner on a lance.

Time passed and then a group of horsemen appeared at the far
end of the path formed by the mounted guards. In a rustling of
many silk banners the riders came forward, their pace unhurried.
Shuyun held his position. Meditation had focused his will and he
felt no reaction to the Khan’s approach. He waited.

The riders halted behind the dais and it was a moment before they
emerged. Six armored men appeared from behind the awning and
knelt upon the dais to either side of the throne. Guards appeared
then, kneeling on the ground in straight rows. One of these took
two steps toward Shuyun and waved him forward.

As he walked toward the dais, a man in a robe of Imperial Crimson
and black and gold stepped around the dais and mounted the
throne. All present bowed but for two guards who watched Shuyun
intently as he approached their leader.

Moving closer, Shuyun could see that the men who knelt on the
dais were barbarian chieftains, armored in the style of warriors of
the Empire but with surcoats of tiger skins and ornate helmets.

The man who sat upon the throne was bearded and wore his hair
pulled back in the style of the desert. His face was dark and lined
like all men who lived in the harsh world north of the border of Seh,
but as Shuyun came closer he realized this was a young man,
older than Komawara, perhaps, but certainly he had not seen thirty
years.

The face was handsome in its way, and not unpleasant to look at,
with a strong jaw and a full mouth. A few paces more and Shuyun
realized that what he thought was an ornament was in fact a patch
of white hair at the temple—the sign of the Tokiko blood, the same
mark that Prince Wakaro had inherited from his mother.

Sitting with a sword across his knees the Golden Khan

regarded the small monk who approached, contempt obvious on
the chieftain’s face.

Shuyun walked until a guard signaled him to stop ten paces from
the dais. As there was no mat set out, Shuyun decided that he
would stand and bowed from that position, placing the butt of the
flag standard on the ground at his side.

The Khan sat for some moments staring at the monk and then
nodded to one of the chieftains who knelt on the dais.

The man cleared his throat and then addressed Shuyun in the
language of the Empire, though heavily accented. “The Khan
wishes to know why so few have come forward on such an
important occasion. This displeases him.”

Shuyun addressed his answer to the Khan, speaking the tongue of
the tribes almost without flaw. “I have been charged to speak for
the Empress of Wa. It was not thought that more than one was
required—our message is simple.”

The Khan looked at Shuyun for a moment and then spoke himself,
his voice deep and strong and at ease in the language of the
tribes. “The ringing of bells— Akantsu no longer possesses the
throne?”

Shuyun shook his head.

The Khan cast a glance at one of his chieftains. “Who sits the
throne now, monk—Shonto’s daughter?”

Shuyun nodded again. “The Empress Shigei,” he answered
quietly.

Shaking his head, the Khan spat out, “The council of Wa are fools
if they believe I will be satisfied to be the consort of a Shonto
Empress.”

The monk said nothing.

The Khan waved his scabbard at Shuyun. “Komawara—does he
still live?”

“He does.”

“This man is a formidable swordsman… for a man of Seh. He
felled a warrior—a chieftain of great deeds, and drove into my own
guard before disappearing into the fog. My warriors call him the
Cloud Rider.” The Khan fixed Shuyun with a long stare from which
the monk did not flinch. “I will have Lord Komawara’s head brought
to me when the Empress formally surrenders the

Capital. Have her come to me in person to offer me her throne. I
am told she is a great beauty, this Shonto daughter. Is this true?“

Shuyun said nothing but stood returning the Khan’s stare.

*‘I have not come to arrange the surrender of the Empire,“ he said
softly. ”I have come to save you from the plague, which is silently
killing the men of your army as we speak.“

The Khan glanced at the men around him and then addressed
Shuyun, changing to the language of Wa.

“We cleansed our army with fire, monk, unless you have been sent
to carry the disease to us again as the nun was sent among us
bringing disease to every man who touched her and a thousand
more besides.” Tesseko, Shuyun thought, Botahara protect you.
Shuyun nodded to one of the men sitting to the Khan’s left. “That
man,” he said, still speaking in the language of the tribes, “he has
contracted the plague. Look at the flush on his face. He struggles
to control his cough, but he will not succeed for much longer.” The
other chieftains cast uncertain glances at the man Shuyun singled
out. “You cannot cleanse the plague by fire, it is among you and
can only be stopped by the ministrations of my own Order. You
may take the throne, but it will not be yours for more than a few
days.” Shuyun let his words have their effect, seeing the arrogance
of the men around the Khan quickly dissolve. There was no honor
or profit in death by disease.

“The Empress has sent me to offer you your lives, for you will
certainly lose them if you do not listen. In return she asks only that
you lay down your arms. Your safe conduct to the northern border
is guaranteed.”

The Khan pointed the tip of his sheathed sword at Shuyun. “I sent
an emissary to the walls of Rhojo-ma before it fell. He carried a
flag of peace as you do now—and this man was murdered with an
arrow because the lords of Seh did not like to hear the truth of their
own blunders. Does the Empress expect to save her throne with a
simple lie? She must believe I am some barbarian huntsman who
has never seen the inside of a city’s walls. When I have taken all of
Wa and sit upon the Dragon Throne she will know differently—will
become one of my con-

cubines willingly. I had hoped to begin my reign by sparing the
Imperial Capital.“ The Khan shrugged. He looked over at the
chieftain who had first spoken and nodded.

The chieftain hesitated for the briefest second, then rose, drawing
his sword. The guards who knelt nearby did the same. Shuyun
reached up and tore the banner from his staff, lifting it to a guard
position, pushing himself into a meditative state.

The guards spread out to either side and then one leapt forward,
aiming a blow at Shuyun’s hands, but the monk’s staff moved in a
blur and the man lay still on the green field.

The men hesitated then and Shuyun pounced upon their doubt.
“Your Khan will sacrifice you to the plague so that he may sit upon
the throne for the last few days of his life. The Brotherhood can
save you…”

Another man lunged at Shuyun, but his attack was thwarted brutally
as another guard cut him down, then turned on the man beside
him. The barbarian chieftains leapt off the dais and joined the
struggle. Shuyun saved the man who sided with him from a sword
blow that would have meant his end. Suddenly the chieftains and
the guards rushed him at once.

The flag staff hummed as it cut the air. Shuyun disarmed a man
and rendered another unconscious. A barbarian stepped inside his
guard and Shuyun was forced to drop the staff. He clutched the
man’s sword as Ko-mawara had seen in the desert and deflected
the blow, driving another man back with what appeared to be a
blow that never landed. Another barbarian warrior was dealt with in
this manner, and suddenly the attack came to a halt. The barbarian
warriors stood staring at the monk as though he were a ghost.

A cough escaped one of the chieftains and then, as all stood
frozen, this man stepped forward and drove the point of his sword
into the Khan where he stood before the wooden throne. The man
who had gathered the tribes sagged slowly to his knees, staring
forward at Shuyun, his eyes losing focus. A guard stepped forward
and plunged his own point into the Khan’s chest so that he fell back
and to the side, his body limp.

No one moved to avenge this action, and the chieftain

who had struck the first blow was suddenly racked with a fit of
coughing. The others took a step away. Several fled then and
horses were heard at a gallop.

When the man had recovered, he turned to Shuyun. “That is the
end of the man who brought us here to die in a strange land for his
greater glory. The others may do as they choose, but my own
people will lay down their arms, Brother. How will I know that the
army of Lord Shonto will not fall upon us once we are
defenseless?”

Shuyun did not answer for a second, and then he reached into his
robe and pulled out the jade pendant on its chain. “I will swear by
the Botara denu. The Empress will give you safe passage to the
border of Seh.” Shuyun gestured to the ground. “Bring your
weapons here. Separate the sick from the well and the monks of
my Order will come. Do not cleanse again with fire, it will save no
one. Tomorrow Brothers will begin to arrive. Others must come
from there.” Shuyun gestured toward the Mountain of the Pure
Spirit. “It will take some few days.”

The chieftains looked on, saying nothing. An occasional glance
was cast toward the Khan, but it was obvious the men were
stunned into inaction by what had happened. Shuyun took a step
forward, then hesitated. “I would see to your Khan,” he said quietly.
No one moved, so the monk knelt beside the fallen leader.
Immediately, he made a sign to Botahara. “His spirit has fled,”
Shuyun said. Pulling the robe off the man’s shoulder, he exposed
the skin and pointed there to three small lesions. “Your chieftain
had the plague and did not yet know it,” Shuyun said and then rose
slowly.

“I will return at sunrise. The Imperial army will not be allowed onto
these fields, but do not be alarmed if you see small patrols of
armed riders. We must be certain that the plague is not spread.”
Shuyun bowed then and turned back toward the city. As he went,
he chanted a long prayer of thanksgiving.

A great cry went up suddenly behind him and the monk spun
around. The sounds of clashing steel echoed across the open
ground and Shuyun almost covered his eyes. The barbarian fought
among themselves. He could see the great army of the desert, a
seething mass of horses and men writhing like a great dying beast.

Footsteps sounded behind him, but Shuyun did not turn.
Komawara and Hojo arrived at his side and still others stopped
nearby.

“What has happened, Brother,” Hojo asked, great wonder in his
voice.

“Step away, General, Lord Komawara, I have been in contact with
the plague.” The others did as Shuyun asked. “The Khan is dead,
killed by one of his own chieftains. They war among themselves
now—those who would lay down their arms and be cured and
those who would avenge the death of their leader.”

“At least they expend their energies upon each other.” Hojo said.

“It is the saddest of days, General. The Kalam has always
maintained that most of the tribesmen followed the Khan against
their will.” He pointed out toward the raging battle. “The innocent
are dying in numbers as great as those who came to murder and
burn.”

Komawara waved toward the city. “We must retreat to the walls,
Shuyun-sum. There is nothing we can do and it is possible they
may turn against us yet.”

Reluctantly Shuyun turned and followed the young lord back toward
the city.

Shonto guards held boats at the canal and Shuyun waited while the
others were whisked across the canal to the open door, the sound
of battle echoing off the walls. He would need to bathe himself in
the appropriate herbs and destroy his clothing.

The monk stood among the trees, unable to block the sounds of
the fighting from his ears. He knelt upon the grass but an attempt to
chant came to nothing so he was left, battered by the sounds of
the terrible battle. ‘ I have accomplished that which any warrior of
Wa would have willingly sacrificed his life to achieve—I have
caused the enemy to destroy themselves. Botahara forgive me, I
meant only to heal them and save the people of the Capital.

Shonto guards spread out around Shuyun suddenly, keeping their
distance, staring out at the raging struggle. A light step stopped
three paces away.

“Shuyun-sum?” the Empress said softly. “Even a selfless act of
charity may bring about utter calamity. Know-

ing this cannot stop us from being charitable. These tribesmen
have their own karma which even the Teacher may not control.“

Someone came forward then and set the monk’s trunk a few paces
away. Shuyun looked up to see the Kalam, his face drawn as
though in pain.

“Shimeko-sum,” Shuyun whispered. “It was she who carried the
plague to the tribes.”

The Empress slowly sank to her knees, covering her mouth as she
did do. “She could not have done such a thing… not knowingly.”

Shuyun shook his head sadly. “She could hardly have acted so out
of ignorance. The Botahist trained…” He left the sentence
unfinished.

“I cannot think what karma this will bring,” Nishima said. “Life after
life after life…”

Shuyun nodded.

“Excuse my interruption, Empress.” General Hojo stood some
distance off. “This is not a secure place. The battle is spreading
over the fields. We must allow Shuyun to perform his purification
so that we may all find safety inside the walls.”

The Empress nodded. “Shuyun-sum. Only you tried to save the
tribes. Do not forget the purity of your intent. All others would have
let them die, taking the population of the Capital with them. Your
purpose was pure.”

“Thank you for your council, Empress,” Shuyun said.

The woman in crimson robes stopped as she rose. “No one can
hear our words, Shuyun-sum. Please, do not banish Nishi-sum
from the world entirely. I—I must exist somewhere,” she said, her
voice growing small, “in your company, if I may.” She retreated
then and guards surrounded her quickly.

Shuyun went to his trunk and opened the lid.

By the time Shuyun entered the Capital, the barbarian tribes had
divided themselves into distinct camps and, for the most part, the
fighting had ceased although it flared up again for brief moments
between one group and another.

Shonto guards escorted the monk into the nearby guardhouse
where he found the Empress accompanied by Lady Kitsura. Lord
Komawara, Lord Shonto Shokan,

Hojo, the Kalam, and Rohku Saicha had appeared, taking charge
of the Empress’ personal guard.

All bowed low to Shuyun as he entered and he found this
disturbing, considering the results of his recent action.

“We have a boat awaiting in the nearest canal, Empress. It is a
short walk. I apologize, we have no sedan chair,” Hojo said.

“Apologize only when you have a sedan chair, Masakado-sum,”
Nishima said. “I will have the council pass an edict ordering all
sedan chairs in the Capital be put to the torch.” She nodded toward
the door.

Guards formed a tight circle around the Empress, Kitsura and
Shuyun, and the monk found himself hemmed in and close to his
sovereign.

Out in the avenue two long lines of warriors held back the jostling
crowds. Shuyun saw the black of Imperial Guards, Shonto blue,
Butto purple—the remains of Lord Shonto’s army assuring the
safety of the woman they had placed on the throne.

Once the Empress was seen, the people bowed low and a whisper
passed down the street like a cool breeze. Both the name of the
Empress and his own became almost a chant. Suddenly flower
petals of all colors were strewn before the party as they made their
way to the quay.

Lord Butto stood at the head of the stairs where several boats
were moored, and he knelt and bowed low as the Empress
approached. Quickly the small group embarked, Kitsura and
Shuyun into the same craft as the Empress, the others into boats
both before and behind.

Shuyun felt Nishima breathe a sigh of relief as the boats gained the
center of the canal. The banks were thick with the thousands who
had hoped to flee the war, and had come to its very center. They
began to cheer suddenly, their respect for their new sovereign
momentarily overcome by their relief at being delivered from the
barbarian army.

Shuyun heard his name chanted now as he had heard the crowds
chant Komawara’s name for the many lives he had taken in battle.
He felt a warm hand take his own and looked over to see his young
Empress turned toward him—a look of understanding, of
compassion.

The lords of Wa were wise, he found himself thinking. Here sits the
woman deserving to rule the Empire. And yet her subjects will
never understand that she has given up her own peace so that
theirs would be assured.

Sixty-two

In a small audience hall near the Imperial Apartments the Empress
had gathered her closest advisors, which meant the only
functionary of the Empire’s government present was the Major
Chancellor, Kamu.

It was late and the sounds of movement on the fields outside the
city had finally ceased. For the second time an enormous fire
burned outside the city as the barbarians burned all those who had
fallen that day. At last light it appeared the barbarian army had split
utterly and though this had caused a flood of relief throughout the
Capital, anxiety had not disappeared. Everyone waited to be sure
the barbarians would not reform their vast army under a new
leader. First light would see crowds gathered on the northern walls,
there was no doubt of that.

General Hojo bowed low. “The barbarian army has split into three
parts,” he began, addressing his remarks to the Major Chancellor.

Nishima almost grimaced and waved a gold silk fan at the Shonto
officer. “Masakado-sum, please, I cannot bear this custom. We are
not in a council of state… do not speak to Kamu-sum as though I
were not present.” She tried a small smile.

“Excuse me, Empress,” the soldier said bowing. He returned to the
kneeling position and took a second to gather his thoughts. “Since
the fall of the Khan this morning, the barbarian army has split. One
company, the easternmost tribes according to Kalam, have begun
to move north, some on the canal but many by foot and on horse.
This is perhaps a fourth part of those who survived the battle
between the tribes. A much smaller group has broken off and
makes its way northeast—we are not certain of their intent,
Empress, but Brother Shuyun has suggested they may make their
way toward the temples

on the Mountain of the Pure Spirit. They know the Bo-tahist
Brothers possess a cure for their disease. The third group—the
majority by far—remain in the fields north of the city, awaiting the
healers we have promised.“

Nishima nodded at this. “What is your advice, General Hojo. Large
armed parties wandering through our lands is a matter for
concern.”

Hojo considered a moment. “Combining all the men who remain
from the Imperial Army and our own, Empress, gives us a force of
perhaps thirty thousand men. Certainly enough to meet the threat
of any of the three barbarian armies, though hardly enough men to
deal with them all at once. The barbarians outside the city have
disarmed, but we cannot leave them unwatched. If they do not
receive assistance soon…” Hojo shrugged. “Thirty thousand
barbarian warriors, well armed or not is a significant force. They will
also need to be fed.” Hojo stroked his graying beard. “The
companies making their way toward the Botahist temples are of
concern. We have sent messages to the Brothers so that they will
be prepared, but still it would be best if these barbarians could be
reasoned with, though I would prefer to send out a force of some
size to emphasize the prudence of finding a solution that does not
require swords.

“The army moving north is of greater concern to me, Empress. It is
both larger and its intent less clear. Do they plan to take Seh and
hold it as their own? Is it their wish to simply return to the desert?
The Kalam believes they hope to escape the plague and do not
trust the people of the Empire sufficiently to lay down their
weapons. Brother Shuyun is certain the plague will begin to show
its hand among these men very soon. We have sent patrols out to
warn any citizens who are on the barbarian’s path, but who knows
what dying men might do? If the Botahist Brothers agree to
minister to the barbarians, then perhaps we will be able to take
some number of Brothers north in the wake of the retreating
barbarians in hopes that the men of the desert will see the futility of
what they do and allow the Brothers to help them.” Hojo bowed and
fell silent.

Nishima nodded. “I thank you, General.” She looked around at the
others, raising an eyebrow as they had often seen her father do.

Komawara touched his head to the mats. “Empress. I agree
entirely with General Hojo. May I suggest that with the force that
travels north we might send the Kalam? He is of an eastern tribe
himself and may gain their trust more easily than the leader of a
well armed force.”

Nishima looked over to Shuyun who sat between Komawara and
the tribesman. “Brother?”

Shuyun bowed low before speaking. “I will ask the Kalam,
Empress, if I may?”

She nodded and the monk spoke quietly to the tribesman who
responded in a whisper. Shuyun turned back to Nishima. “The
Kalam asks me to say that he will do anything within his power to
serve the Empress.”

Nishima gave a half bow to the tribesman who touched his
forehead to the floor in return, his embarrassment obvious.

“General Hojo, we remain in a state of war, so I do not feel the
need to consult the Great Council in this matter. Who would you
suggest to carry out each of these tasks? We must send no one
who is bent on revenge upon the tribes—we have had a thousand
years of raids and war because of a barbarian vendetta, let us do
nothing to fuel their anger.”

Hojo looked over at Kamu as though the two consulted silently. “I
would send Lord Butto to pursue the barbarian army north on the
canal. The lord has his own interests to consider there and I must
say, Lady Ni… Empress, that he is a young man of great political
skills. Kamu-sum has made the same assessment.

“Certainly Lord Taiki would be the correct choice to defend the
temples, his devotion has been great since Brother Shuyun saved
the life of his son. If I remain in the Capital, I will see to the
barbarians beyond the walls, with Brother Shuyun’s counsel, if he
will be so kind.”

Nishima looked at Shuyun who nodded. Lord Butto and Lord Taiki
were out in the fields patrolling beyond the barbarian encampment.
“General Hojo, I will leave this in your hands. I wish to be kept
constantly informed. We must restore peace and security to the
Empire before we can begin to address the other ills the Yamaku
have left us.”

Nishima turned to Kamu who consulted a small scroll.

“The matter of the Brothers, Empress,” he said. The young
sovereign turned to Shuyun.

“I have spoken to the Primate of the Imperial Capital, Empress.”
Shuyun said. “Brother Hutto and the Supreme Master of the
Botahist Order sailed from Yankura recently. They should arrive in
the Capital very soon, perhaps tomorrow.”

“The Supreme Master?” Nishima opened her fan. “Does he not
sequester himself on an island in the sea?”

“He does, Empress.” Shuyun answered. “Events in the Empire
may have convinced him his presence would be required.”

“How are we best to proceed to gain their support?” Nishima
asked.

“I would speak with the Supreme Master and Brother Hutto myself,
Empress, if that is acceptable.”

Nishima nodded. “I will concern myself with this matter no more,
Brother Shuyun, if I know that it is in your capable hands.” She
turned back to the Shonto steward. “Kamu-sum?”

“There is a shortage of grain in the Capital, Empress, and many
other things as well. Crowds have begun to gather at the gates of
the palace asking for food. As of yet they have been orderly, but if
they grow desperate this will change.”

“They must be fed,” Nishima said. “Certainly we did not destroy all
the grain in the Empire as we came down the canal?”

Kamu nodded in response to this, glancing over at Hojo, whose
face remained grave but whose eyes smiled. “There is perhaps
someone more suited to dealing with this matter than any present,
if you will excuse me for saying so,” he hastened to add,
addressing his remark to all present. Turning back to Nishima; “We
have had word from Tanaka, Empress. He comes from Yankura
even now.”

Nishima greeted this news with a great smile, something her
retainers had not seen in recent days. “The barbarians did not find
him after all!” she said happily. “Colonel Tadamoto was mistaken.”

“No, they did not,” Hojo said. “Our good merchant is unscathed, or
so he says. There is certainly food in the Empire despite the
attempts of many to hide it away.

Tanaka will know the best method to bring it forth, and he will not
empty the Imperial Treasury to accomplish it, either.“

Nishima looked over at Shokan who shook his head in mock
dismay. “My steward, my senior general, my guard captain, and
now my merchant. Will you leave my personal servants at least,
and perhaps my gardener? But what do I say? Anything for my
Empress.”

“Lord Shonto,” Nishima said gravely. “I wish only to borrow Tanaka-
sum—for indeed I shall raise his rank so that he is addressed as
he deserves, as my father always addressed him. In a brief time
I’m sure he will have rooted out all of the corruption in my
government. For this service I will pay you well, brother—and I
shall pay Tanaka-sum well also. As to your gardener…” Nishima
said, as though this thought had not occurred to her. She moved
her head back and forth, weighing the idea. “Perhaps not at this
time, thank you.”

Shokan nodded.

Nishima turned to Kamu who became serious immediately. “My list
is without end, Empress, but may I suggest that we have all done
much this day. Brother Shuyun must prepare for his meeting with
the senior members of his Order, for their cooperation is crucial to
the peace we have arranged. We have, after all, pledged the
Brotherhood’s assistance without consulting them. This may
please them less than we hope, Empress.”

Nishima tapped the edge of the low dais with her fan. “You are no
doubt correct, Major Chancellor. There are so many matters to
consider and so many who have risked so much in these last days,
yet I can hardly begin to think of this until we are assured of peace
and the plague is contained.” She nodded to all present. “I thank
you. Brother Shuyun, I wish to discuss your coming audience with
your superiors, if it is convenient.”

Nishima rose and everyone bowed their heads to the mat as she
left.

Nishima did not feel a desire to live in the apartments that had
been the quarters of the Yamaku nor was she comfortable with the
thought of moving into the abandoned rooms of the Hanama
Emperors—ghosts or no— they had fallen to bad luck in the end
and Nishima did

not want be reminded of that. Fortunately the palace had any
number of rooms to choose from and she was soon settled, if only
temporarily, in apartments meant for visiting relatives of the
Emperors. These apartments had been left in the Hanama style,
uncluttered, almost austere in their simplicity and Nishima had the
rugs she had brought from Seh spread over the straw-matted
floors. With her own servants and retainers about, her situation did
not feel as strange as she expected. Occasionally she even forgot
that her father was no longer part of this present in which Nishima
found herself, though these moments were brief.

A warm evening had arrived, creeping silently up the river from the
sea, and with it came cloud. The sound of falling rain seemed
comforting to the new Empress as though it formed a protective
barrier from the world beyond. Outside her rooms a terrace with
small trees situated carefully about it looked out to the west. The
soft cadence of the spring rain on the terrace stones and the
leaves of trees—a sound in harmony with the mood of the young
aristocrat.

Nishima wore her own familiar robes, avoiding Imperial finery,
though her clothing was of white—not of her choosing. She sat
near a partially open screen that led onto the terrace and rubbed a
resin stick over the blackened surface of her inkstone. A bead
curtain of water drops had formed from the rain as it ran off the tile
roof, and this caught the light from her lamp and glittered like
strings of bronze colored jewels.

So many things had occurred in the past two days that Nishima did
not feel as though she were part of it somehow—her life was
changing more rapidly than she was able to change herself, there
was little question of that. Only the day before she had been lost in
the fog with Kitsura and Shuyun and the Empire had been poised
on an edge, about to slide into the abyss of the complete unknown.
That morning Lady Nishima Fanisan Shonto had lit a torch to the
pyre of Lord Shonto Motoru. She closed her eyes tightly. And now,
miraculously, the Empire had been delivered. A half-barbarian
chieftain who had been destined for the throne had fallen to the
sword of one of his own followers… and Nishima had as-

cended the throne left empty by the passing of the Ya-maku.
Ascended against her most profound desires.

“I am the Empress,” she whispered, as though saying these words
aloud would force her mind to accept this information, help her
understand the truth, for she did not feel like an Empress, she was
sure of that.

Certainly she had heard the crowds repeating her name as though
it were a litany. Nishima could not remember an experience that
had left her feeling so cold, so isolated.

Closing her eyes she tried to conjure up another time, and an
image of walking along the cliffs above the sea on the Shonto fief
came to her. She could see the bleached copper grasses, their
color so carefully complimenting the blues of the summer sea and
the whites of the lazy, drifting clouds that spread across the far
horizon. The breeze was soft and warm, welcoming her to the
shore.

Eyes still closed, Nishima rubbed her inkstone, reaching out to that
time, trying to hold it—but she could not. The chanting of the crowd
came back, mixed with the sound of the funeral pyre as it began to
blaze.

Opening her eyes Nishima picked up her brush, dipped it in ink and
with great care selected a piece of mulberry paper.

The wind blows

And the grasses bow to my passing.

Perfect golden grasses

What do they know of my thoughts?

Or of the heart

They have torn asunder.

For some time Nishima sat looking at the lines she had written,
wondering, for they seemed to have come unbidden, as poetry
often did. The rain washed the world outside her rooms.

A knock sounded then and Nishima swirled her brush in water and
set it on its rest. “Please enter,” she called out.

A woman bowed low in the opening and then rose. The round,
girlish face of Lady Kento appeared, looking more serious than
Nishima had ever seen it.

“Kento-sum!” Nishima broke into a smile. “It lifts

my spirits to see you. Miracle after miracle has occurred this day.
How is it you are here?“

Kento bowed. “It is a brief story, Empress, and less interesting
than one might think especially to one who has experienced what
the Empress has these past months.” Kento cast a glance over her
shoulder. “I would certainly tell my tale though at the moment Lord
Shonto awaits your favor.”

“Cha and a tale you must certainly tell me. Please, invite Shokan-
sum to join me.”

Nishima set a small jade paperweight on the edge of her poem
and moved her cushion a pace away from the table. The screen
slid aside and Shokan knelt in the opening, head bowed low. Even
my stepbrother must offer obeisance, Nishima thought, for an
Empress has no equals—how very sad.

“Shokan-sum, please, enter.” Nishima gestured to a second
cushion as her brother rose.

The lord had the powerful build of his father and a similar talent for
making his presence felt in a room, even when he was not the
center of the situation. Dressed in rich robes of white with the blue
edges of under-robes showing at his sleeves and neck and hem,
Shokan struck Nishima as a handsome figure. The sadness she
could see in his face and the white robes of mourning only added
to his nobility.

Taking his place, Shokan regarded his sister with a look of
concern. “It has been a day that will occupy the historians for a
hundred years. May I say that the Empress has begun her reign
auspiciously, showing both skill and wisdom.”

“You may say that but only if you will stop calling me Empress with
each breath. We are in the privacy of my rooms. Nishima, please,
Shokan-sum, Nishi would be preferred though I hold little hope that
you will breach this foolish etiquette to such a degree, no matter
how much I desire it.”

Shokan gave a half bow. “Excuse me for saying so, Empress, but
these formalities have been the tradition in the Imperial Palace for
our entire history. It is difficult for me to ignore that.”

Nishima stared at him in exasperation. “In the Great

Council,“ she said with deadly seriousness, ”I shall insist upon
referring to you as Shoki-sum.“

The young lord broke into a smile and bowed low— the name
Nishima had called him as a child. “The Empress has proffered a
most convincing argument… excuse me—Nishima-sum.‘’

“Nishi-sum.”

“Nishi-sum,” Shokan said, his voice suddenly thick.

Reaching out, Nishima took her brother’s hand. They were silent
for a moment.

“He saved my life, Shokan-sum—my life and my mother’s also,”
Nishima said, addressing what was unspoken in both their minds.
“It is wrong to say this, but he was more dear to me than my true
father who was distant and formal. Your father—our father, did not
just save the Fanisan House from destruction, he brought me into
your family. I treasure the time I spent in his company, treasure
it…”

“You were his delight, Nishi-sum,” Shokan said, his voice subdued
though under control now. “It was you who were closest to his
heart, who brought him joy.‘’

Nishima looked down, she brushed her fingers over the shinta
blossom embroidered in white on Shokan‘s sleeve.

The two sat, not speaking, listening to the rain, each lost in their
own memories, comforted by the other’s presence.

A bell sounded the hour of the owl and both stirred. Nishima
looked up at her brother. “You are the senior lord of the Shonto
now, Shokan-sum. You are a lord of great influence and wealth. I
shall have to consider who it would be best for you to wed. We
have alliances to think of, entire provinces of young women to
consider.‘’

Shokan smiled again. “Entire provinces… it gives me hope, Nishi-
sum. Perhaps, with your guidance, I shall not live my life a lonely
man.”

Nishima laughed and squeezed his hand. “Your adventures are not
as secret as you may think, brother. Never forget that every young
woman in the Capital pours out her heart to Kitsu-sum. And I have
recently been told that you have come from the mountains in the
company of young woman of the mountain race.” She looked up
slyly at her brother. “This cannot be true?”

Shokan shook his head. “Quinta-la.”

“Quinta-la?”

“She has been sent by her elders… I confess I do not know why,
but she has come to the lowlands for some reason… perhaps she
is an emissary from her people. Certainly she has come to learn all
she can, there is little doubt of that.”

*‘You have not asked her?“ Nishima said, surprised.

Shokan smiled. “I have, but convincing a dweller to speak of
something they are not inclined to discuss is more difficult than
one might think. There is also a language problem—we understand
each other imperfectly.”

Nishima nodded. “Shuyun-sum speaks their tongue. Perhaps we
can arrange to have them meet. I would be most curious to meet…
Quinta-la?—to meet her myself.”

“Anticipating the Empress’ desire, I asked Quinta-la to wait
nearby—Nishima-sum,” he added.

“You have left her waiting this entire time?”

“The dwellers are very patient, sister.”

“Still… we cannot leave her waiting like this. She is your guest,
brother.”

“Guest is perhaps not the word she would use herself, Nishima-
sum, but certainly, I will call for her.”

A maid was summoned and sent to ask Quinta-la to join them.
Almost immediately the maid returned, accompanied by a young
woman who bowed her head to the floor, obviously nervous,
perhaps even frightened.

“You may rise and come forward, Quinta-la,” Shokan said,
speaking slowly and with exaggerated clarity. Nishima thought
Shokan’s voice wanned perceptibly when he spoke to this young
woman.

Quinta-la was dressed in the robes of her people, too warm,
Nishima thought, for the weather. She was very small but well
formed and appeared healthy and strong. Delicate of feature could
hardly be said of this woman from the mountains, but despite the
roundness of her face she was fair and her mouth was beautifully
formed. Nishima immediately wanted to see her smile.

“Empress,” Shokan said, “it is my honor to introduce Khosi Quinta-
la.‘’

Nishima nodded.

‘ ’Quinta-la, the Empress of Wa.“

The young woman bowed stiffly.

“We are honored that you would come so far, Quinta-la-sum. There
is so little commerce between our peoples,” Nishima said.

“La is an honorific, sister,” Shokan said quietly making Nishima
smile at her mistake.

Shokan gave the dweller a tiny nod.

“The honor is mine, Empress, entirely,” Quinta-la said in the
studied manner of a child reciting lines. “You live in a lovely
village.”

“You are kind,” Nishima said with all seriousness. She had never
heard the Capital or the Island Palace referred to as a village.

Shokan shrugged. “My language lessons have not all

been successful.“

Cha was brought by servants and Nishima felt a pang when she
realized it would not be correct for her to serve this herself—they
were entertaining a guest from what amounted to a sovereign
nation.

Though the mountains in which Quinta-la dwelt were contained
within the Empire, only the mountain people lived there and the
people of Wa did not think of the lands beyond the foothills as
being their own. Only a few passes were used by the lowlanders
and there was a lake here or a spring there that, due to its ease of
access, was thought of as part of the Empire proper.

A servant ladled the cha into bowls, retreating a few steps when
she was done and sitting absolutely still.

“I am told there are many springs in the mountains and some are
very hot and healthful,” Nishima said,

sipping her cha.

Quinta-la smiled and darted a glance at Shokan. The lord said the
word he had learned for the springs and the young dweller nodded.

“Hot,” she agreed. “Shokan-li red like an Emperor’s flag.” She said
gesturing to the lord and then touching

her own chest.

Nishima cast a look at her brother who sipped his cha

deliberately.

“I see,” Nishima said. “I hope my brother has found

suitable quarters for you?“

Shokan said another word in the mountain language and Quinta-la
smiled again, which pleased Nishima. “Dragons and clouds,
Empress.”

“One of the rooms the Yamaku decorated,” Shokan said. “She
likes the painted screens.”

A tap on the door frame preceded Lady Kento’s reappearance.
“Excuse me, my Lady. Were you expecting your Spiritual
Advisor?”

“Of course. Please bring him to us.” Nishima turned to Shokan.
“Please, brother, I’m sure Quinta-la would enjoy an opportunity to
speak her own language. Stay a while. Shuyun-sum is your Spiritual
Advisor now, Shokan-li. He is a remarkable young man. Someone
you would do well to know.‘’

The lord gave a half bow. “Brother Shuyun is dedicated to the
Empress, there is little question of that,” Shokan said and smiled,
“like so many others who traveled the canal from Seh in your
company.”

Shuyun appeared in the doorway, saving Nishima from having to
answer. “Please Brother Shuyun, be at your ease.”

At the sound of the monk’s name Quinta-la’s eyes went wide. She
turned half around toward the approaching Brother but then
prostrated herself on the rug, causing the monk to stop as though
he confronted a terrible sight.

“Quinta-la,” Shokan said, “please. This is unseemly. You are in the
presence of the Empress.”

Unaffected by the lord’s entreaties the young woman remained
facedown on the rug, mumbling rapidly in her own language.

Nishima looked over to Shuyun, her question unspoken.

“I do not understand, Empress.” Turning to Shokan he asked,
“This is the young woman from the mountains?”

Shokan nodded as he tugged gently on Quinta-la’s sleeve.

Shuyun spoke softly to the woman in her own tongue. Her
mumbling stopped, but she did not answer nor did she move from
her position on the floor. Whispering again Shuyun reached out
and touched the girl’s wrist, causing a shiver to pass through her.

“Will you not rise up, Quinta-la?” Shuyun said. There was no
response. “You are making the Empress and Lord Shonto most
uncomfortable and I myself am somewhat disturbed. Please, will
you not rise?”

A whisper so low it could almost have been a sigh escaped the
young woman.

Nishima raised an eyebrow at the monk.

“She says she is not worthy, Empress,” Shuyun said his face
showing the tiny signs of strain that Nishima had come to
recognize.

“Excuse me, Brother, Empress,” Shokan said, “I had no reason to
expect anything like this. I apologize.”

Shuyun spoke again in the woman’s tongue, a bit more forcefully
this time, and very slowly she rose to a kneeling position where she
sat with her eyes cast down.

“Will Quinta-la not explain this?” Nishima asked the monk.

Shuyun spoke a few words in the mountain language but the young
woman only closed her eyes and remained silent.

“Quinta-la,” Shokan said. “The Empress would like you to answer
Brother Shuyun’s question. Will you not?”

The young woman from the mountains opened her mouth as if to
speak but no words came forth. After several seconds of effort
she managed, “Cah Shu-yung.”

Nishima looked up at Shuyun, but it was Shokan who translated.
“The bearer.”

The monk nodded.

“Do you understand this, Shuyun-sum?” Nishima asked. The young
woman’s reaction disturbed her deeply, though she was not sure
why. Nishima realized she felt an inexplicable anger toward Quinta-
la.

“I do not, my lady, I apologize. The bearer: that is my name, taken
from the mountain tongue, as you know. What it means to Quinta-la
or why she has reacted in this way, I cannot say.”

“When I traveled in the mountains, Brother,” Shokan said, “I met a
woman—an elder of Quinta-la’s village, perhaps of her people. It
was my impression at the time that this woman was considered a
seer among her people. They were somewhat afraid of her, though
in awe would perhaps be a better description. I sensed no
animosity toward her. It was very unusual. As I do not speak their
tongue nor understand their ways, I did not know what to think of
this woman. Alinka-sa, for that was her name, questioned me about
the situation in the Empire. She also

asked about you, Brother Shuyun. She knew you by name.“

Shuyun sat for a moment, his face unreadable even to Nishima
who believed she was learning the tiny signs that betrayed what he
truly felt. “Alinka-sa,” he said quietly. “Sa is an honorific: a sign of
the greatest possible respect. There is no equivalent in our
language.

“Alinka means ginkyo, more specifically, the leaf of the ginkyo. This
tree, though common to us, does not grow in the mountains and is
thought to be almost a legend to the mountain people. Alinka is
also the word for fan. I remember our fortunes being cast in your
garden, my Lady,” Shuyun said to Nishima. “The coins of Kowan-
sing have descended to us from the same race that Quinta-la’s
people call their ancestors. The meaning of Alinka is somewhat
similar to the prime Kowan; the fan: that which is hidden. In our
world it also means temptation or desire. To know the future is one
of our greatest desires.” Shuyun turned to Shokan. “This woman,
Lord Shonto, did she speak of what was to come?”

Shokan shook his head. “No, Brother. If she saw the future, she did
not tell me of her vision.” The lord fell silent, lost in thought. Finally
he looked up at Nishima. “If she knew of our father’s fall, she said
nothing to me though now I am left to wonder. She released me
from my debt—the debt I owed her people for rescuing me in the
snows—but I do not know why.”

Cha had grown cold in everyone’s bowls and Nishima suddenly
remembered the servant kneeling nearby. She gestured to the
maid to leave.

Shokan looked up, slight embarrassment showing. “Excuse me, I
was lost in my thoughts.” He glanced over at Quinta-la. “Perhaps it
would be wise for me to take Quinta-la back to her rooms for now.
Alone she may speak of this.”

Nishima gave a slight nod and Shokan bowed accordingly,
touching Quinta-la’s sleeve. She prostrated herself before Shuyun
once again and backed to the door at Shokan’s urging, forgetting
to bow to the Empress entirely.

Nishima looked over at Shuyun. She wanted to speak of what had
happened with Quinta-la, but she could not. What she might learn
frightened her.

“Must everything change?” she asked quietly instead.

“Botahara taught that change was inevitable and to resist it…” He
did not complete the quotation. “Sadly, it appears to be so,
Nishima-sum. You are an Empress now. A great empire is
dependent upon your wisdom.”

She almost asked the question that grew in her mind but could not.
/ have become an Empress, Shuyun-sum, and what of you? What
have you become?

She reached out and took his hands in hers. I cannot bear it she
thought. Let us not speak of it. Warm arms encircled her and she
pushed her cheek up against Shuyun’s own. Nishima closed her
eyes and the image of Quinta-la, prostrated on the floor, came to
mind.

That young woman was far more in awe of Shuyun than of the
Empress of Wa, Nishima thought. She had been worshipful.

Sixty-three

Sister Sutso walked slowly beside the sedan chair bearing the
Prioress. The scale of the halls that led through the Imperial
Palace was more impressive than the largest temple she had seen
and the materials and design infinitely richer.

Palace officials, Imperial Guards, lords and ladies, and soldiers in
blue passed the Sisters or stood aside to let the party by, though it
was hardly necessary, the halls were so wide. Looking into the
faces of the people she saw, Sutso realized there was a mood in
the palace that she could not quite describe. Elation and sadness
seemed to dwell under the same roof and the people who
inhabited the palace appeared to be caught up in both at once.

She glanced back and found Sister Gatsa watching the passage of
two ladies of high birth. Gatsa-sum looks no less regal than they,
Sutso thought, perhaps more: would they look as regal dressed in
the plain robes of the Bo-tahist nuns? Of all the nuns in the party
Gatsa certainly looked the least out of place here.

Morima, on the other hand, looked terribly lost and at odds with all
around her. Sutso cast a look at the large nun who brought up the
rear of their party. Morima’s appearance may not have been due
entirely to her present situation, however—the nun’s crisis had not
yet passed and Sutso had begun to wonder if it ever would. It was
a surprise to Sutso that Morima-sum had been invited at all.

Sutso resisted an urge to open the curtain to assure herself that
the Prioress was well. The pretense that the Prioress was stronger
than she actually was must be maintained, especially here.

The Empress had summoned the Sisters the previous evening
after the Sisterhood had sent their official bless-

ing to the new sovereign. It was only upon their arrival in the palace
that they had learned the Supreme Master, Brother Hutto, and other
senior members of the Botahist Brotherhood were to attend the
same audience as the Sisters.

Only the Prioress had taken this information calmly, smiling her
beatific smile and closing her eyes as though she would sleep and
dream dreams of great peace and beauty. May Botahara walk
beside her, Sutso thought.

Outside the palace wall the barbarian army, or part of it, had lain
down their arms and now they waited, watched from a distance by
patrols from Lord Shonto’s army. Rumors flew through the city. It
was said that Lord Shonto’s Spiritual Advisor, Brother Shuyun, had
gone out into the field and defeated the Golden Khan in single
combat and the tribes had then battled among themselves, some
retreating north, others surrendering. This young Initiate monk had
become an even greater object of speculation among the Sisters.
Sutso knew the Prioress’ hopes regarding this young man and this
worried the Prioress’ secretary. She was concerned with the effect
it might have if the Prioress’ hopes were dashed entirely. Desire,
Sutso thought, it is as Botahara said. And the Prioress is so much
closer to Perfection than any I know.

The official who led them turned to the right into a hall that ended in
a set of double doors. Shonto guards knelt in two rows before the
doors and two young neophyte monks swung incense burners
before them.

The guards and the neophytes all bowed as the Sisters passed.
The official had the doors opened, and gestured for them to enter.

Beyond the heavy doors was an audience hall of medium size, no
doubt, by Palace standards, though it was as large as the largest
hall of the priory. The entrance to the great room was not at the end
opposite the dais, as Sutso expected, but to one side of the hall.
Perhaps a dozen senior Brothers knelt in a row directly across
from the opened doors and as Sutso entered she saw a single
ancient monk sitting to her right, opposite the dais. Brother Nodaku,
she thought, the Supreme Master of the Botahist Brotherhood. The
identities of the others she could not guess.

As the official directed them to silk cushions laid out

on the polished wooden floor, the Brothers bowed. Sutso returned
this gesture and then tapped lightly on the sedan chair that bore
her superior.

“Open my curtains, child,” came the dry voice of Sister Saeja.

Sutso slid the silk curtains aside and found the Prioress propped
up on her pillows. The old woman bowed to the Supreme Master
and then his party who all did the same in return. Sutso moved a
cushion and knelt close to her superior. The official who had
brought them to the hall retreated and the doors were closed
behind him. No one spoke—no one showed a sign of the surprise
or resentment they felt at being forced into this situation. All waited
patiently.

A door opened to one side of the dais and an official wearing the
dragon fan of the Empress’ staff entered. He shuffled quickly to a
place directly before the dais and bowed to the assembled
followers of Botahara.

“Supreme Master,” he said with great dignity. “Prioress, Sisters,
Brothers: the Major Chancellor of the Empire of Wa.‘’ He bowed
again and moved off to one side.

Sutso watched as an old man with one arm entered. He wore the
elaborate ceremonial robes of his station but somehow did not
seem to belong in them. Despite his age this man would have
looked more at home on horseback. To add truth to this, Sutso
noticed that the man’s face showed signs of having recently been
exposed to the wind and sun.

Kamu, Sutso realized. This is the Shonto steward. A capable man
by all reports and completely loyal to the Shonto. She wondered
how many other key positions in the government were now filled by
Shonto retainers. The Yamaku nightmare had come true.

Kamu bowed to all present and took up a place kneeling just
before the dais as his position dictated. He produced a scroll from
his empty sleeve and unrolled it with obvious skill against his thigh
using his only hand.

“I regret to say that the Empress will not join us. As you might
imagine, the situation in the Empire at the moment requires much
of her attention.” It was the closest thing to an apology one
received from a sovereign. People of lesser position in the same
situation would be expected to apologize for arriving when the
Empress had

pressing business elsewhere—despite the fact that they had been
summoned.

Kamu consulted the scroll. “The Empress has instructed me to
assure you that the attitude of the previous Imperial Family toward
the Botahist Orders will not continue. The Empress Shigei is a
devout follower of Botahara and, as you know, the Shonto have
long employed Spiritual Advisors of the Botahist faith and, until
recently, the Empress’ personal secretary was a former Sister.
There will be no untoward taxes upon property held by either Order
and the Yamaku laws restricting public religious ceremonies will be
rescinded.” Kamu lowered the scroll.

Brother Hutto, the Primate of Yankura, bowed to the Chancellor.
“May Botahara smile upon the Empress Shigei and her line. May
the Perfect Master walk beside the Daughter of Heaven in these
difficult times.”

Kamu acknowledged this with a half bow.

Sister Gatsa took her cue. “It was with great joy that we received
the news of the investiture of the Empress, Major Chancellor.
Botahara has answered our prayers for a sovereign who will
protect the followers of the Way. In our prayers we will ask
Botahara to bless the Empress Shigei and the reign of the Fanisan
House. May we also express our regrets for the Empress’ recent
loss. Our prayers will not fail to ask the Perfect Master to look with
favor upon the spirit of Lord Shonto Motoru who was a great lord
and a friend to the Botahist Orders.” She cast a cold glance toward
Brother Hutto as if to say, that is fair speech, Brother.

Kamu nodded to Gatsa. “Both your blessings and your prayers are
welcome in this troubled time. It is the desire of the Empress to
make the Empire secure again so that all may travel the roads and
canals safely and all may come freely to the temples of your
Orders with the blessing of the sovereign. This is the desire of the
Empress, though it is a great task and one which cannot be
accomplished without the contributions of many.”

Ah, Sutso thought, they have summoned us to ask for money. She
did not smile. This new Imperial family may be easier to deal with
than the Sisters had hoped. Money was never given without
expectations of return.

“The Empress has asked Lord Shonto’s Spiritual Ad-

visor, Initiate Brother Shuyun, to speak of the needs of the
Empire.“

Kamu nodded over toward a screen which opened immediately.
Sutso’s eyes moved there as did the gaze of everyone in the
room. A small monk, almost a boy, entered. If not for his pendant
chain she would certainly have mistaken him for a Neophyte. She
glanced over at the Prioress, but the old woman did not notice. Her
focus was on the young monk, and nothing else. The old woman
made a sign to Botahara.

Sutso turned back in time to see Shuyun complete his bows and
kneel before the dais, facing the Supreme Master. She glanced
over at the head of the Brotherhood and then back to the boy who
sat so calmly across from him. It is impossible to say whose eyes
are more ancient, Sutso thought, and she felt the smallest surge of
wonder.

Shuyun gave a half nod to Kamu and then began to speak. His
voice was as soft as the wing of a butterfly. “It is a great honor to
be here among those who are charged with the protection of the
Way. If I may quote the Perfect Master to those who have studied
His Words longer than I have lived this life: Lord Botahara said that
the beginning of wisdom was compassion. And so I was instructed
by my teachers.” He gave a half bow to Brother Sotura who sat with
the other senior monks.

The words Brother Shuyun speaks have been chosen for
simplicity, Sutso thought, though not as a child selects from a
limited vocabulary but as an artist chooses the simplest lines and
yet renders complexity.

“I do not claim to have achieved wisdom, but I am learning
compassion and therefore I have made a beginning. Recently
Botahara tested my compassion in a manner I would never have
expected. It was written in the sacred scrolls that compassion
could not be limited to one’s family or to one’s fellow villagers.
True compassion would encompass strangers. True compassion
would be extended to one’s enemies. Remembering this, I was
able to act as Botahara had written. I was able to act
compassionately toward the enemies of Wa.” Shuyun looked at
each face in turn, holding everyone’s gaze for a second. It was an
act of some disrespect from one so young, yet no one seemed to
notice.

Touching his palms together as though he would pray,

Shuyun continued. “Among the barbarians outside the gates of the
Capital the plague has begun to work its terrible destruction. In
return for laying down their arms, I promised that we, the followers
of Botahara, those who practice compassion, would heal them of
this disease.” He let his words hang in the air. “The Empress has
asked that you assist me in this endeavor,” he said simply.

Silence in the hall. And though many looks were exchanged, no
one spoke a word. Finally, after a long awkward moment, the
Supreme Master deigned to speak.

“These are not followers of the Way, Brother Shuyun. You have
promised much without the consent of the seniors of your Order.
Initiate monks do not speak for the Botahist Brotherhood. Even
Initiates who have the ear of the Empress. You may have learned
something of compassion, but you have certainly forgotten much
of humility.”

Before Shuyun could respond, the Prioress spoke, her voice
rasping out into the tension that charged the air. “We will assist you
Brother Shuyun, in any way within our power, but the cure for the
plague is the guarded secret of the Brotherhood.” She looked over
at the Supreme Master, an eyebrow raised.

He did not respond to her but kept his attention on Shuyun as
though the head of the Sisterhood had not spoken. “Brother
Shuyun, we would do much to assist the new sovereign. It is our
sworn duty to minister to the followers of the Way. But caring for
barbarian invaders who have put many followers of the true path to
the sword… This will not be a popular act of charity among the
people of the Empire, let me assure you. The Empress asks much
of us.” The ancient monk turned his attention to Kamu, dismissing
the Initiate who sat opposite him.

“Major Chancellor, the Empress understands the ways of the
Empire, as do her advisors who have many years of experience in
such matters. It is difficult for me to believe that the Council of the
Empire expects Botahist Brothers to cure barbarians when so
many of our own faith are in need of our ministrations…”

Sister Sutso did not miss the fact that the Supreme Master let the
sentence hang in the air, the implications clear. What coin is the
Empress willing to exchange for

such a service? And the Sisterhood has nothing to bargain with in
this exchange, she thought. Only the Brothers will gain
concessions from the throne and we will sit silently and bear
witness to this. What a moment of triumph for the Brothers.

Karnu did not respond or even acknowledge that he had been
spoken to but only looked over to Shuyun.

“Prioress?” came the soft voice of the Initiate. “Do you mean what
you say: in any way within your power?”

“Yes, Brother Shuyun, but we do not know the secret of the cure.”

“I know the cure,” Shuyun said simply.

“I forbid it!” the Supreme Master almost shouted. “I forbid it! You
break the laws of the Botahist Order.”

Shuyun stared at the old man who had gone red with anger.

“If I act according to the word of Botahara, how is it possible to
break the laws of our Order? I act according to the dictates of
compassion, Supreme Master.”

“Where have you learned such arrogance, Shuyun-sum?” Brother
Sotura asked quietly. “The well-being of all who follow the Way
must be considered here. Do not attempt to make decisions that
are beyond your ability. Pride, Brother Shuyun, will hinder you on
your path. Please apologize to the Supreme Master and let the
Major Chancellor speak.”

Sister Sutso’s heart sank as she watched Shuyun bow in
deference to this monk. But then Sister Saeja spoke. “They do not
know who you were in your previous life,

Brother Shuyun. It is unheard of that a Brother with your

skill so young cannot be identified.“ Sutso could hear

the controlled excitement in her superior’s voice. “Do

you know what this means, Brother?“ Shuyun turned back to the
woman propped up in her

sedan chair. “It could mean many things, Prioress Saeja.

How quickly can you gather the Sisters to minister to the

barbarians?“

“You will be expelled from our Order,” the Supreme Master said
loudly. “Stripped of your sash and pendant.”

“Immediately, Brother,” Sister Saeja answered quickly. “Some will
come this very day. Two hundred

will arrive tomorrow. Three hundred more in three days, if you
require it.“

“Expelled from our Order,” the Supreme Master said with finality.
“The light of Botahara will be hidden from you.”

Shuyun nodded. “May Botahara walk beside you, Prioress.” Saying
this he lifted the pendant on its gold chain over his head.

“You will be shunned by all who follow the Way.”

“Shuyun-sum,” Sotura said, his voice rising. “Think what you do…”

Sotura watched as Shuyun dropped the pendant and chain into the
palm of one hand. The young monk stared at the gold and jade in
his hand with a look of deep sadness.

“You will be cursed by the Perfect Master,” the Supreme Master
intoned.

Shuyun looked up at these last words. With a look of great regret
he set the pendant on the floor and the chain slid out of his hand to
make a pile beside it.

“I will be blessed by Botahara,” Shuyun said, and Sutso felt the
conviction of these words, saw even the Supreme Master hesitate
when he heard them.

Shuyun rose slowly to his feet so that he stood above all the senior
members of his Order. Sotura watched as he did the unthinkable:
Shuyun pointed at the Supreme Master.

“Pray that the compassion of Botahara encompasses you, Brother,
for if it does you may yet be returned to the wheel.”

Brother Sotura was on his feet, lightning quick. Three blindingly fast
strides toward the young monk and then suddenly he stepped back
off balance for an instant as though he had been struck. Shuyun
stood with his hand raised, palm out, yet he had not touched the
senior Brother.

“Forgive me Sotura-sum,” Shuyun said quietly, his voice full of
compassion. “Separate yourself from those who have lost the
Way. Do you remember the lesson you taught when I was but a
child? The butterfly enclosed in your chi strong fist?” Shuyun
reached into his sleeve and removed something. When he opened
his hand a white blossom lay upon his palm. “Brother Sotura, your
Order

has lost compassion—the beginnings of wisdom. To find the True
Path you must leave them.“

The Senior Brother stood looking at the blossom in Shuyun’s hand.
“You did not touch me…”he said.

Shuyun nodded once.

Brother Sotura looked up from the blossom into the eyes of his
former student. The chi quan Master’s face was deeply troubled.

Sister Sutso heard a noise to her right and then a thin hand gripped
her shoulder. The Prioress stepped out of her chair and came to
her knees beside Sutso. The secretary turned and saw the
Prioress was crying. The old woman bowed her head to the floor
and began to chant the prayer of thanksgiving.

Shuyun turned at the sound of this and Sutso thought she saw a
look of horror cross the Botanist mask. The young monk turned
back to his former teacher, holding his gaze for a second, and then
almost fled from the hall.

Sutso looked down at her superior who still bowed her head to the
floor, and then she realized that others did the same—both Sisters
and Brothers.

Botahara help me, she thought, have I been in the presence of the
Teacher and not known?

Sixty-four

The Empress of Wa stood alone on a balcony looking north across
the small part of her vast Empire that could be seen from the
Island Palace. The morning’s rain had let up, leaving the air clear
and the sky hung with retreating clouds that twisted slowly in a
clearing breeze. The shadows cast by the clouds flowed slowly
across the fields and flanks of distant mountains creating an ever
changing pattern no artist could hope to capture.

The barbarian encampment spread in mottled grays and browns
across the green grass and came by turns into shadow and light.
Outside the protective circle maintained by the Shonto soldiers,
people from the Capital and surrounding areas had begun to
gather. Nishima could see knots of them collecting here and there,
staring with fascination toward the encampment. Many brought
food, Nishima had been told, and she was surprised to hear this for
there was still little enough to be had in the Imperial Capital.

This sudden generosity did not necessarily indicate a great change
in the attitude of the people of Wa toward their invaders: the rumor
was spreading that the Shonto Spiritual Advisor, the gifted monk
who had defeated the barbarian army, was the Teacher so long
awaited. Only the Shonto soldiers and the fear of plague kept the
people away from the man they hoped was the one foretold.

Nishima felt a deep uneasiness when she looked down at the
gathering crowds as though they were another force intended to
keep her and Shuyun apart.

For three days now the monk had been away tending to the
barbarians and Nishima had grown more and more restive as
though each day took him farther away and made his return less
likely. She paced across the short balcony to its end, stopped, and
looked out again. Fore-

ing herself to give up the futile searching of tiny figures moving
through the barbarian encampment, Nishima fixed her gaze on the
northeast.

Kamu had said that the barbarian army that traveled there would
begin to raise a dust cloud once the wind dried the land, but there
was no sign of this yet nor of Lord Taiki’s pursuing force. This part
of the shattered barbarian army had razed a village the previous
day though the villagers had fled before the tribesmen descended.
Nishima pressed her fingers to her temple. No one was really
certain of the purpose of these barbarians, loose upon the land as
they were. The suggestion that they made their way toward the
Botahist temples on the Mountain of the Pure Spirit still appeared
the most likely explanation. Obviously these barbarians could not
know that the Brothers would never succumb to force, nor would
they be likely to simply offer a cure.

Shuyun had said that the plague would take hold among the fleeing
barbarians by the third day so that only a few would remain strong
when they arrived at their probable destination. Lord Taiki, she
hoped, would convince these to surrender.

Her attention was taken by a line of men on foot who passed the
Shonto soldiers who guarded the barbarian. Botahist Brothers,
Nishima realized. A growing number were leaving their Order to
come serve the one said to be the Teacher—to practice
compassion rather than politics.

The Botahist Brotherhood, her advisors surmised, were locked in
internal struggle. They had stripped Shuyun of his pendant and
turned their backs on him, and only after this rash decision had they
realized their error. They had alienated the new sovereign,
surrendering the advantage of Imperial favor to the
Sisterhood—and they might have forced the Teacher from their
Order.

Nishima shook her head. As her father often noted, Brother Satake
would never have acted so foolishly had he become the leader of
the Botahist Brotherhood. It made her wonder if it was not as
Shimeko said—the Brotherhood had become decadent.

A full report of the meeting between Shuyun and the Seniors of the
Botahist Orders had been supplied by Kamu. He spoke of
Shuyun’s actions and speech with

pride. The Brothers made few miscalculations as great as that. It
must have been impossible for them to imagine that a young
Initiate could act independently, ignoring their gravest threats,
offering one of the Order’s greatest secrets to their rivals. Only a
few months away from Jin-joh Monastery and Initiate Brother
Shuyun had rebelled against them—far more openly than Satake-
sum ever had. In part, Nishima viewed this as almost a personal
triumph, but it also filled her with fear. Brother Shuyun appeared to
be under no one’s spell.

Shokan was utterly convinced that the Brotherhood would recant
their refusal to assist the barbarians and would scramble to
preserve some shred of the advantage they had surrendered when
the Sisters offered their services to Shuyun and the throne. It was
perhaps a sign of how fractured their Order had become that this
had not yet occurred.

A knock on the screen that led from the balcony startled Nishima,
and a Shonto guard appeared at her response. “The audience,
Empress,” he said, keeping his eyes cast down.

Nishima took a last look out to where Shuyun ministered to the
army of the desert and then left the room she had begun to use so
that she might look out over the barbarian encampment. Her guard
fell into step around her immediately.

She had managed to break the tradition of the sedan chair, though
this shocked more than just a few officials. To ameliorate this
somewhat, she agreed to use the chair for ceremonies—the
struggle now was focused on semantics—which events could be
considered ceremonial? There was, Nishima was sure, a definite
move afoot to broaden the strict definition of the word.

As Shokan had suggested, Nishima tried to view the situation with
humor, but it was difficult. The officials of the Island Palace were
completely obsessed with tradition and ceremony and matters too
trivial to believe. It was obvious that the running of the Empire had
not been their concern for a very long time—not since the days of
the later Hanama Emperors. This would have to change, if it meant
replacing every senior member of the government.

She descended a massive set of stairs, courtiers and

officials bowing as she passed. A private audience hall off
Nishima’s official rooms was their destination. Until Nishima had
peopled the Great Council to her liking, there were still a number of
things that needed to be done beyond the view of the officials.
Their interference in certain things would not be helpful. Nishima
was beginning to realize that she had learned more than she ever
realized about leading men from years of watching her father.
There was no one more skilled than Lord Shonto at winning loyalty
and achieving ends through the efforts of others. It was the
intention of the new Empress to bend Imperial protocol as much
as possible so that she could run her administration upon the
Shonto model— something she knew was effective.

Returning the Empire to a state of stability was her immediate task
and to do this she would need the assistance of many. Shokan and
Kamu had pointed out that rewarding those who had followed her
father from Seh, and supported him when it meant defying the
Emperor, was the beginning. Let it be said that the new Empress
understood and rewarded loyalty. It was the Shonto way.

She had been informed that there were rebellions in Chou, and a
Yamaku cousin there had declared himself Emperor and began to
gather an army—a fool’s rebellion, Hojo assured her, but it
indicated that speed was necessary to establish the validity of her
rule beyond contesting. The previous day a report had come that
the Yamaku Imperial family dwelt no more on this plane, caught by
the people who fled the barbarian invasion. It was a sad thing and,
though Hojo had breathed a sigh of relief, Shokan had told Nishima
privately that this was not as significant as others hoped.
Pretenders could easily arise claiming to be Yamaku sons or
daughters or cousins— even distant relatives of the Hanama might
make claims, for that was the basis of Nishima’s own. Imperial
blood was not terribly rare among the peers of Wa.

They reached the rooms that Nishima had made her own and the
Empress nodded to bowing Shonto guards as she passed. The
audience hall was empty and Nishima took her place on the low
dais, arranging her robes with care—white over crimson. She was
glad that she had not met resistance from Shokan or the others to
this. It was customary for those who performed great deeds for the

sake of the Empire to receive their rewards in great ceremony, but
Nishima did not feel such a ceremony was appropriate at this time.
Perhaps when the Empire was more settled. The people she
would speak with this day were not courtiers or officials of the
Palace. They would not demand that the smallest of their actions
receive public recognition. As callous as it sounded, some part of
Nishima knew that to strengthen the ties to those who had
supported her father she needed to treat each as a private favorite
of the Empress. This knowledge embarrassed her somewhat, but
it did not stop her from acting accordingly.

I have a rule to consolidate and legitimize, Nishima told herself, but
may I not walk too far down the path of the cold manipulator.
Botahara save me from that.

Kamu entered and knelt before the dais, bowing his head to the
mat. The Empress nodded to her Major Chancellor. The officials of
the palace were no doubt still stinging from Kamu’s appointment
but, along with the other stands she had made, this was having its
desired effect—the officials were realizing that they would not rule
the Empress.

“Kamu-sum. It is my hope that the constant whispers of the Palace
officials do not make the performance of your duties too difficult.”

“The buzzing of flies, Empress. I have long since learned to ignore
such things.”

“Perhaps it is another of your many skills that I may one day
acquire myself, for I confess this buzzing sometimes drives me to
the ends of my patience.”

The old man smiled, the great wrinkled raincloud of his face
creasing in a thousand small lines. “Patience was not something I
learned in my youth, Empress, it grew slowly as the years passed.
Thus it was that, in my younger years, I fought more duels than
perhaps even Lord Komawara.” Kamu gestured to his empty
sleeve. “Here is my great teacher of patience, Empress, otherwise
I may have been too foolish by nature to have ever acquired this
most valuable of traits. But you are wiser than I, my Lady,” he
hurried to add, embarrassed suddenly by what he implied.

Nishima hid a small shudder. “Let us hope that I may learn from
you, Kamu-sum. I would certainly live with

my loss less skillfully and with less grace than my Chancellor.“

Kamu looked down, perhaps embarrassed. He consulted a scroll.

“I am ready to begin,” Nishima said, giving her father’s steward a
small smile.

“Lord Butto Joda of the province of Itsa, Empress,” Kamu said.
“The lord readies himself to go north in pursuit of the barbarian
who retreat along the great canal.”

Nishima nodded. Kamu clapped his hand upon his thigh once,
producing a surprisingly loud sound, and the doors to the hall
opened. It was a small hall, chosen intentionally so that those
arriving for their audience would not have to traverse a vast room
on their knees to approach the sovereign. But despite its size it
was a room of some beauty. The posts here were not lacquered
but left a rich natural red-brown, and the sweep of the ceiling
beams that supported the massive tile roof gave the otherwise
static space a feeling of motion. Painted screens of courtiers
walking in the Palace gardens decorated one wall, and Nishima
was thankful they were not scenes of battle.

The small figure of Lord Butto bowed in the doorway and then
approached the dais. At an appropriate distance he stopped and
bowed again.

“Lord Butto, please be at your ease,” Kamu said quietly. The old
man withdrew then, slipping quietly out through a screen. Nishima
was paying Lord Butto the ultimate compliment of favor and
trust—meeting the sovereign of the Empire privately.

Nishima turned her attention to the young lord kneeling before her.
Like a boy, Nishima thought, all of his features are small though his
eyes are very fine. But belying this look of youth was the lord’s
great poise. He was as sure of himself as many of her officials.
Here will be a great man, the Empress found herself thinking,
trapped for now in the body of a child. She smiled warmly.

“Lord Butto,” she began, and was surprised to find her voice
become thick with emotion. She paused for a few seconds. “Lord
Butto,” she began again, “it is my honor to express to you and the
Butto House the gratitude

of the government and the people of Wa. In the recent turmoil in
the Empire you have shown the greatest wisdom and exemplary
judgment, placing the interests of the Province of Itsa and the
Empire of Wa before those of your House. To have fought beside
my father against the invading barbarian army, and to have risked
being judged a rebel House for this, displayed both courage and
conviction. In the subsequent battles, Lord Butto, your courage did
not falter nor did the warriors of your House ever shrink from their
duty.“ Nishima took a long breath. ”If there is anything within the
power of an Empress to provide, you have but to ask.“

Lord Butto stared down at the floor.

The young warrior looked up, meeting his Empress’ eyes for a
second. “Empress. It was my greatest honor to ride at the side of
Lord Shonto Motoru as he fought, unsupported by the Imperial
government, to stay the barbarian invasion. It is a tale equal to any
in our long history and shall be told for a thousand years. The Butto
name shall ever be sung in that tale, though in truth my part was
small. What greater gift could I ask? I am honored by your words,
as is the Butto House.”

Nishima bowed low in response. “You are fair spoken, Sire, and
your words touch me. Please, Lord Butto, accept these tokens of
our regard.” She clapped her hands twice.

Shonto guards appeared, carrying a saddle of beautiful leather. It
was not decorated with silver or stones but was a saddle a warrior
would choose, perfectly made of the finest materials. Upon the
right side below the pommel a shinta blossom was embossed and
on the left the flower of the warisha. Resting upon the seat was a
bridle, also of leather, but with silk reins woven of crimson and
blue. An armor chest was borne forth on a pole and set beside the
saddle. Guards opened the lid and revealed a suit of armor laced
in Butto purple and trimmed in the same pattern of crimson and
blue.

Finally, a guard carrying a silk cushion, upon which rested a
warrior’s helmet, emerged and laid this before Lord Butto.

“It is my father’s helmet, Lord Butto,” Lady Nishima said. “May the
crimson and blue always remind you of the gratitude and loyalty of
the Shonto and of the Fanisan

House. May the shinta blossom and the warisha symbolize the
growing bonds between our families and the great esteem in which
you are held.“ Servants set a low table beside the Empress and
from this she removed a brush.

“Lord Butto, Itsa Province needs a governor of great wisdom to
repair the ravages of the invasion. I would offer this position first to
you, for there is no other I would trust more.” This was a formality
only, for the governorship of Itsa had been offered to Lord Butto, in
private by Kamu, so that he could have refused without rebuffing
the Empress.

Lord Butto bowed again. “Empress, this is a great honor for the
Butto House. I accept and hope only that I may prove myself
worthy of your great trust.”

“Lord Butto,” Nishima said warmly, “of this there is no doubt.” With
a flourish Nishima signed the scroll of investiture, making Butto
Joda the Imperial Governor of Itsa.

A memory of the Emperor speaking to his new governor of Seh in
the Palace garden appeared in Nishima’s mind and she hesitated
before setting the brush down.

Pushing this thought from her mind, she forced herself to continue.

“You will pursue the retreating barbarian army, Lord Butto?”

“I set out in the morning, Empress.”

Nishima nodded. “May Botahara go with you, Lord Butto.”

The young man bowed low. “I thank you, Empress,” he almost
whispered.

Kamu had returned almost silently, nodding to Lord Butto who
retreated back to the great doors. The old man gave Nishima a
smile of reassurance and then looked at his scroll. “General Hojo
Masakado,” he said, clapping his hand to his thigh once.

The senior Shonto general knelt in the open doorway and came
forward at a gesture from Kamu.

Nishima noted that Hojo looked rather less at ease here than she
had seen him appear before a battle. The General wore robes of
white embroidered in the palest shades with falling cherry
blossoms—a man in mourning for his liege-lord.

With his gray beard neatly trimmed and his hair drawn

back Hojo was a man of great presence despite his lack of ease in
such formal surroundings. This man will be less happy in the new
Empire, Nishima thought, for if Botahara smiles upon us the
Shonto will have little need of his warrior’s skills.

“Masakado-sum,” Nishima said as Kamu retreated again. “Were I a
great poet, I could not find words that would convey my gratitude or
do you the honor you deserve.” Nishima felt her heart begin to
break as she looked at the face of the man kneeling before her.
These are the men who loved my father, she thought, glancing
over at Kamu’s retreating back. These are the people who share
my loss and have walled their feelings away for the sake of the
Empire and their new Empress. She remembered both these men
from her arrival in the Shonto house—massive, intimidating
strangers they had been then. But how quickly that had changed.
They teased me as a child and indulged me and adored me as
though I were a member of their own families. She closed her
eyes tightly and took three slow breaths.

“General, your loyalty to Lord Shonto Motoru and the Shonto
House and its causes has been as unwavering as the loyalty of
Fugimori to his outcast prince—as constant as the seasons.
Without your wisdom and bravery, my lord’s effort to slow the
barbarian advance would have faltered, I have no doubt. Anything
you ask of me I will grant, Hojo Masakado-sum, for the Empire’s
debt to you is great.”

“Empress,” Hojo began but his voice came out a whisper and he
cleared his throat before beginning again. “Empress, I have served
two Shonto Lords and it is my wish to serve a third. I believe this is
what I am meant to do. If I may, I will go with Lord Shonto Shokan.”

“But this is a small thing, General—it is your present position. Is
there no other favor an Empress may grant?”

Hojo shook his head. “I thank you, Empress. I am honoured by
your words—that is enough.”

“Masakado-sum, my father would never see you go unrewarded
and I cannot change the tradition of my family.” As before, she
clapped twice and a Shonto guard appeared carrying a small stand
upon which sat a single scroll. This was set before Hojo.

‘ ’It is the deed for a house in the Capital near to the

home of your liege-lord, General—a property I have been told you
admire. This, so you may visit the Capital often and so come to the
Palace that I may not lose the pleasure of your company.“ Before
Hojo could respond, a second guard appeared bearing a sword in
both his hands as though it were a valuable artifact.

Nishima beckoned the guard to her and, to his great surprise, took
the sword into her own hands. With the grace of a Sonsa she rose
and descended from the dais. Holding the sword in both her
hands, she offered it to Hojo who was so taken aback he hesitated
for a moment.

“It was my father’s favored weapon,” Nishima said as though to
reassure him.

“My Lady, it is the Mitsushito,” Hojo said, still not reaching for it. An
Empress did not descend from her dais to offer a soldier a gift
from her own hands—it was unheard of.

“So it is, Masakado-sum. My brother and I hope that you will accept
it.” She held it out again.

Hojo took it gently from her hands, and Nishima saw him close his
eyes. She thought tears would appear, but the general was a
warrior and maintained control with effort. Nishima reached out for
a second, touching his hard wrist, and then she returned to the
dais, unable to bear his discomfort any longer.

Hojo bowed but no words came, and he retreated even before
Nishima had called an end to their audience.

Nishima sat for a few moments before she would continue.
Nodding to Kamu, she again followed a breathing exercise taught
to her by Brother Satake.

“Captain Rohku Saicha,” Kamu said quietly.

Nishima nodded. The Captain of the Shonto Guard approached.
He wore the light duty armor she often saw him in and carried his
helmet under his arm. A white sash was worn for Lord Shonto and
in this he wore no sword, making Nishima realize that the Shonto
Captain had not been granted permission to wear a sword in the
presence of the Empress. A grievous oversight with a man so
proud.

Except for the white sash and the missing sword Rohku had been
dressed exactly so when he had argued against Nishima’s
decision to journey to Seh.

What a position I placed this poor man in, she thought.

“Saicha-sum,” Nishima said, “Though unintentional I assure you, I
have paid you a terrible insult.” Clapping her hands a guard
appeared, for the second time bearing a sheathed sword. “Of my
father’s extensive collection of blades there were only three that he
chose to carry into battle. The Mitsushito I have given to General
Hojo. This is a Kentoka, Saicha-sum. It is my wish that you will wear
it in my presence.”

Rohku Saicha set his helmet gently on the floor and took the sword
in both his hands. “My Lady, I did not for a moment believe you had
lost trust in me but only focused on affairs of the Empire and
struggled with grief. I will wear this always for your protection.”

Nishima nodded. “That is my hope, Captain Rohku, for I have
spoken long with my brother of this very matter. Too many rulers
have been deposed by disloyal guard commanders and in an
unsettled Empire this is a matter of grave concern. Lord Shonto
has suggested, if you would agree, that you take command of the
Imperial Guard, Saicha-sum, and, if you do, I will sleep easily. It is
a choice left entirely to you. If it is your wish to stay with the Shonto,
it would be with my blessing.” Nishima found her mouth suddenly
dry. She had said Shonto as though they were another family—not
her own.

Nishima watched the captain’s face as he considered this offer.
Neither she nor Shokan had been sure of his decision. Certainly
she had proven a difficult charge in the past, but Nishima needed
someone she could trust completely and that left very few with the
proper experience—it was not enough to be a warrior or a great
general, a guard captain must be born suspicious, and yet reveal
this to no one. He must have the mind of an assassin for this was
how security was created without weaknesses.

“Empress, I am concerned for Lord Shonto… He is my liege-lord
and my charge. It is difficult for me to abandon him.”

“If your heart cannot, Saicha-sum, then you must stay with Shokan-
sum. I will say only this—your lord has said that Shonto security
could best be served by making the Imperial household
completely safe. Please consider this. I will accept either decision
in your own time.”

Nishima waited, trying to read the look of the captain,

but he kept his face hidden by staring at the floor, cradling his
sword across his knees.

“Saicha-sum. My father chose to ride into the midst of a battle. You
did not make this choice for him. An arrow—in a battle there is no
way to guard against an arrow. No one bears responsibility for Lord
Shonto Mo-toru’s death.”

Rohku nodded. “Thank you, my Lady.” He did not look up.

Nishima had more to say, more praise for the guard captain for his
part in the war against the barbarian and compliments for his son
as well but she thought these things better said at another time.

She gave a signal to Kamu, who watched through a crack in the
screen and the Major Chancellor returned, clearing his throat and
then nodding to Rohku who retreated.

“Kamu-sum, if giving rewards is this difficult, how will I survive
making even the slightest criticism?‘’

“Empress, if I may say… this is a difficult thing you do. These men
supported your father while the rest of the Empire watched the
Yamaku attempt to bring about his fall. They fought a barbarian
army of a size never before seen with a small force and acquitted
themselves in a manner that can only be cause for awe. They have
become figures in our history.” Kamu gestured out at the empty
hall. “This audience signals an end of sorts. How will these warriors
live up to the reputations that have been created? The captain who
knelt before you will be a greater figure in history than all but a few
lords who live in our Empire today. Hojo Masakado-sum will be
mentioned in the same breath as the Emperor Jirri. I believe that
they no longer know who they are, Lady Nishima. Until only a few
days ago they were the men who resisted a barbarian invasion
against impossible odds. Their lives had no other purpose. And
now?

“You are releasing them from the purpose that has guided them,
Empress. They do not know where they will go or who they will be.
Not one had previously thought of himself as becoming a character
of importance in our history. You praise them, Empress, and rightly
so, but also you send them into the unknown. How does one act as
a living historical figure, a legend?”

Nishima nodded. “I do not know, Kamu-sum,” she said quietly. “In
this matter I know as little as they.”

Kamu smiled. “My Lady, excuse me for saying so, but Lord Shonto
always said that you have long denied your place in our Empire.‘’

Nishima nodded slowly. “If you will lecture me regularly with
quotations from my father, I will give you the wealth of a province in
return, Kamu-sum.”

“Excuse me, Empress, I did not mean to step out of my place.”

Nishima looked up at this remark, unable to hide her distress.
“Kamu-sum, I did not intend to criticize. To hear my father’s words
spoken by a true friend… It breaks my heart and is a comfort at the
same time.” Nishima looked over at the peaceful scene depicted in
the screens. “Please, Kamu-sum, ask Lady Ken to if she will join
me for my meal.”

Kamu bowed low and retreated almost silently.

Nishima rose from the dais and crossed the room. There was no
balcony, but unshuttered windows looked out to the west as did her
own rooms. The sprawling barbarian camp could not be seen from
here and this bothered her. What does he do now? Nishima
wondered. What are his thoughts of me? More and more the last
days she had begun to admit the true question to herself. How long
will he stay? Shuyun is no longer a Botahist monk, she told herself,
but this provided little comfort. He is something more, she was
forced to admit. Who am I to interfere with the course that has
been set for him? It was not a question she could answer.

A knock behind her brought Lady Ken to into the hall, followed by
servants bearing tables and trays.

“Kento-sum,” Nishima smiled at her lady-in-waiting and then held
up her hand to stop the woman from her deep bow. “If you
address me or treat me as an Empress in any way, I shall throw
myself off the balcony.‘’

Kento gave a slight nod. “As you wish, my lady, though may I point
out that this room has no balcony?”

“I shall throw myself from the spiritual heights I have attained, then.
With such a small distance to fall, I shall not risk much injury.” She
smiled again and then gestured suddenly to the painted screens.
“We have been invited to join these fine and generous people.”

Kento broke into a broad smile. “Have we, indeed? How kind of
them.‘’

Like girls playing at make-believe the two women moved their
tables closer to the screen and ate their entire meal as though they
were in the company of the people depicted in the painting. Many
received absurd names and Nishima and Kento gossiped about
them shamelessly, attributing the most shocking behavior to one
and all.

In the midst of this a letter arrived from Kitsura that contained a
poem, written in a mock romantic style, which made the women
almost howl with laughter. The guards outside the doors must have
wondered what their Empress and her lady-in-waiting could be
doing.

It was as though a dam had burst in Nishima’s spirit and released a
flood in the form of laughter, though it was not necessarily joy at
this river’s source.

Only toward the end of the meal did the tone of the conversation
become sober.

“When Lord Shonto was declared a rebel lord,” Kento explained,
“the Imperial Guards broke down the doors to the house and took
the servants to be questioned. I had escaped before they arrived.
The gates were guarded by the Emperor’s men and it was not until
it became apparent that the battle had been lost that they
abandoned their post. Our own brave guards returned to the house
as soon as it seemed possible to do so, Lady Nishima. I cannot
criticize them—no one was certain what transpired in the Capital
and if they had come out of hiding too soon… Less was lost than I
had feared though more than I hoped. Even so, the house will
soon be much as it always was.” Kento toyed with her cup, looking
down as she spoke. “There for your pleasure whenever the Palace
does not enhance your harmony, my Lady.”

“Kento-sum, I would move back tomorrow if I could, but it is truly
Shokan-sum’s home now.” Nishima reached out and touched the
woman’s sleeve. “But Kento-sum, you are a lady-in-waiting to one
Nishima Fanisan Shonto, presently masquerading as an Empress.
You would be welcome to join me here, though I can say little to
recommend this place.” The corners of Nishima’s mouth turned
down. “It is devoid of humor and joy, bound by senseless
conventions, inhabited by men and women

whose concerns and thoughts,“ Nishima gestured at the painted
figures, ”have a depth not unlike our present companions‘.“

“Lady Nishima,” Kento said, “I do not presume to involve myself in
matters of the Empire, but as to this campaign we must wage
against convention and…” she searched for a word, “the
stultification of the spirit, I will take up my sword by your side.‘’

Nishima clasped her companion’s hand. “Kento-sum, you lift my
spirit. I will make you the unofficial Minister of Joy, and for this
service you will earn my undying gratitude.”

“To begin, in my new capacity, I believe we should find a husband
for your cousin. This will make her more joyful, I’m certain.”

“Kitsura-sum?”

“Of course. She does not grow younger, my lady,” Kento thought
for a second, “though it does appear she grows fairer. A husband,
unquestionably. She will be searching for a consort for you even as
we speak. This is self-defense.‘’

“Huh,” Nishima said—her father’s response. “Who would be
suitable, do you think?”

Kento replaced her cup on the table. “Your brother is certainly the
most appropriate of the lords I know, my lady.”

“But Shokan-sum has known Lady Kitsura all her life,” Nishima
protested weakly.

“Does he not find her enchanting?”

Nishima weighed this for a second. “It would seem unlikely that he
is the only man in the Empire unaffected by her charms. Certainly
he does not confide such things to me.”

“If not Lord Shonto, then perhaps Lord Komawara?”

“Really, Kento-sum, that is not likely.”

“But Lady Nishima, consider—Lord Komawara is the hero of the
barbarian war. Certainly he will be rewarded richly for this; larger
estates, Imperial Favor, a governorship one day. Every young
woman in the Empire will be burning incense and chanting his
name at sunrise each first day of the month. I have only met him
briefly, but is he not noble and kind and quick of mind? So
everyone says.”

Nishima smiled. “Less than a year ago our brave hero was thought
to be the most provincial lord in the Capital.”

“In less time one can change from a lady into an Empress, my
lady. I have seen it myself.”

Nishima laughed with delight.

“Then he was thought provincial, Lady Nishima, but now he is
viewed as having been an innocent—noble of spirit, perhaps even
pure.”

“Botahara save us!”

Kento laughed now. “You do not seem disposed to let Lord
Komawara go, so I return to Shokan-sum.”

A bell sounded and Nishima threw up her hands, relieved to end
this conversation. “I must return to my duties. I will meet with the
hero of the barbarian war this very hour. It is my belief that, offered
anything he would desire, rather than ask for Kitsura’s hand, a
sword, a suit of fine armor, and the greatest horse in the Empire
will satisfy Lord Komawara.”

“Certainly the Empress knows best,” Kento said humbly.

Nishima favored her with a look of exasperation.

Returning to her dais as the servants cleaned away all signs of the
meal, Nishima sat considering the words of both Kamu and Lady
Kento. It seemed to be true—the men who followed her father and
fought the barbarians when the odds were impossible had become
heroes on a scale that one found only in scrolls of ancient history
and tales of times beyond history. To think, she said to herself,
Komawara has become the object of desire for the women of the
Empire. Komawara.

Kamu entered and bowed, kneeling before and to one side of the
dais as his office required. “A letter has come from Lady Okara,
Empress.” He took it from his empty sleeve and went to place it on
the edge of the dais, but Nishima intercepted it. As always, she
was surprised by the simplicity of the great painter’s hand. Nishima
slipped the letter into her sleeve pocket—my reward for
completing my duties, she thought.

She raised an eyebrow at Kamu.

“Colonel Jaku Tadamoto, Empress.”

Nishima nodded. Ah, yes, the brother of Katta. Tad-

amoto had been the subject of a lengthy debate among Nishima’s
advisors.

As one known to have had the ear of the Yamaku Emperor,
Tadamoto certainly warranted exile from the inner provinces, or at
least the Capital. Yet his case was not that simple. Jaku Tadamoto
had corresponded with his brother Jaku Katta when the Black Tiger
was ostensibly a Shonto ally and, according to Katta, was the man
who had convinced the Emperor to raise an army when the
barbarians invaded. Many thought him a man loyal to the throne,
even though he had grown to despise the Emperor. In the end,
Tadamoto had tried to stop his brother from committing regicide
and then had thrown himself between Katta and a sword blow that
was intended to end Katta’s life. This Tadamoto was a man of
many contradictions, Nishima realized. Rohku Saicha was of the
belief that the young colonel’s knowledge of the machinations of
the Imperial Government alone made him too valuable to lose.

Nishima did not yet know what should be done with this man. She
was not ready to trust him, yet there was no evidence that he was a
threat.

Shonto guards entered and stationed themselves close about the
dais just as the doors at the hall’s end opened.

A man in the black uniform of the Imperial Guard knelt in the
opening. When he rose, Nishima felt a catch in her breath. She had
seen Tadamoto before, the night of the Emperor’s death, but he
had been injured and in a daze and she had been much occupied
with other things. She was surprised to find that he looked so much
like his brother Katta.

But Tadamoto was Katta refined. His features were certainly not
weak, but they were significantly less strong than his older
brother’s. His presence was also unlike his brother’s. Where Katta
was all instinct and desire and strength, Tadamoto appeared to be
a person deep in thought, caught up in things that had little
connection with the everyday world. In truth he looked like a
scholar, handsome and sincere. And then there were the famous
Jaku eyes: and here the difference was profound. Unlike the cold,
gray gaze of his famous brother, Tadamoto’s eyes were the green
of the earth—warm and verdant.

He bowed low before the dais and knelt with his hands

resting on his thighs. Nishima could read nothing on his face
except perhaps a sense of sadness, which was so common
among her subjects that it seemed normal. Here is one who has
learned to wall his true self away, she thought, and she wondered if
life in the Palace would soon make her the same.

“Colonel Jaku Tadamoto,” Kamu stated formally. The old steward
stayed in his place for this audience.

Nishima hesitated a second, trying to catch the young man’s eye,
but she could not. He seemed like a man defeated—incongruous
in one so young.

“Colonel Tadamoto,” Nishima said softly, for gentleness seemed
the tone needed here. “I hope you received my letter?” She had
sent him the death poem, unopened, that Jaku Katta had entrusted
to her.

He stirred himself to speak but did not look up. “I did, Empress. I
am in your debt.”

“Certainly that is not so, Colonel. General Katta was an ally of my
father when few believed there was a barbarian threat at all.” She
paused but saw no reaction. “Colonel Jaku, may I express my
regrets at your loss.”

Tadamoto nodded. “You are very kind Empress. I thank you.”

“If there is anything that I may do… You are the brother of my
father’s ally.‘’

“Empress, I was the loyal servant of the late Emperor. I accepted
the surrender of Lord Shonto’s army and would certainly have
fought my own brother’s forces if I had been so ordered. In the
end Katta-sum and I crossed swords.” She saw his shoulders sag.

“Loyalty, Colonel, is something the Shonto understand. Honor and
loyalty cannot be split apart, but that is not so with love. One can
honor one’s liege-lord but not love him—I have seen it many times.
One can love one’s own brother, but honor may not allow you to act
in a manner that would indicate loyalty. I must ask you,
Colonel—were you loyal to the throne or to the man, Yamaku
Akantsu?”

Tadamoto hesitated for some seconds. “I began with loyalty to
both, Empress, but I could not maintain my loyalty to the man. In
the end, I am not certain that I remained loyal to the throne, for how
can one be loyal

to the throne when the man who possesses it has thrown the
Empire into ruin? What is the loyal act then?‘’

“When you went to the rooms of the Emperor the night he died,
what did you intend?”

Tadamoto shook his head, pain written across his face. “In truth,
my lady, I do not know. To face him, to face the Emperor with his
treachery, his betrayal of his office. I do not know beyond that. I do
not know.”

Nishima regarded the young man before her. “What you have said
is wise, Tadamoto-sum. Loyalty to the throne and loyalty to the
person who sits upon that throne are synonymous—until the
sovereign betrays his office. I do not criticize you, Jaku Tadamoto-
sum, for you acted from intentions that were honorable. Few would
have acted with more wisdom.”

Tadamoto bowed. “These are comforting words, Empress.”

“My father’s vassal-merchant has spoken highly of you, Colonel.
Tanaka-sum believed that you suffered much from the Emperor’s
betrayal of his office. Tanaka-sum is a man whose judgment I
value.”

“He is a remarkable man, Empress. If the Emperor had been as
wise as your merchant, the Empire would have been well
governed, indeed.”

This almost made Nishima smile. “I have no doubt that would be
so, Colonel. I have many questions, Colonel Tadamoto, if you
don’t mind. Many things have occurred that are not entirely clear to
me.”

“I am the servant of my Empress,” he replied like a reflex.

“As you are aware, no one knows the circumstances under which
the Emperor died. The woman who was found with him—she was
his mistress?”

Tadamoto took a long breath before answering. “Yes, Empress.”

“She was a Sonsa dancer, was she not? I believe I saw her dance
in a program created for Lady Okara’s paintings.”

“That is correct, Empress.”

“How very sad,” Nishima said, obviously touched by yet another
death. “She was a beautiful dancer.”

“Very beautiful, my lady.”

“Did they go to their end together? A lovers’ ending?”

Tadamoto took a long unsteady breath as though he fought down
physical pain.

“Are you well, Colonel? You were badly injured.”

“I am well, Empress.” He paused again. “There were signs in the
room that the Emperor was about to escape. A suit of Imperial
Guard armor. The Emperor himself was dressed as a guard
without rank. Those who guarded him said a boat was being
prepared to leave the Capital.” Tadamoto stopped again and
Nishima wondered if he indeed spoken the truth when he said he
was well. “It is my belief that Osha-sum pushed the Emperor from
the balcony and he dragged her after him. I do not believe that she
intended to make her end with the Emperor.”

Nishima was quiet for a moment. “But she was his lover, Colonel.
Do you know something that my advisors are not aware of?”

Tadamoto sat stiffly, controlling pain, certainly, but Nishima realized
now that it was not physical pain. He met her eye briefly and
Nishima herself looked away.

“She did not love him, Empress,” he said quietly but with great
certainty.

Nishima gave a single nod. “I see. Her family, where are they?”

“I do not know, Empress,” he moved a hand in the tiniest gesture.
“The Empire is in chaos, everywhere. It is difficult to know where
anyone might be.”

“Sadly true, Colonel. Someone must see to her ceremony. Is there
someone you might suggest? Did she have friends in the Capital?”

Tadamoto clasped his hands together on his knees. “I would see
to Osha-sum’s final needs if that would be acceptable, Empress.”
He fought to keep his tone even, but it was not a successful battle.

“That would be acceptable, certainly.” She looked at Kamu who
gave a small nod.

Nishima gave Tadamoto a moment to recover his surface of calm.
“I will tell you honestly, Colonel Jaku, that my advisors do not agree
on what should be done about you. Most of those who supported
the Yamaku do not pose this problem—they will be exiled to far
corners of the Empire and their power stripped away. Opportun-

ists are not to be trusted. But you, Colonel, there are some who
believe you were loyal to Wa and to the throne and, as I have said,
the Shonto value loyalty. You are also a man renowned for your
intellect and knowledge of the court and its intrigues. Was it you
who convinced the Emperor to restore order to the roads and
canals?‘’

Tadamoto nodded.

“Why?”

“The dynasties that provided stability have invariably held the
throne longest, my Lady. It is as though history has passed its own
judgment, sweeping away those Imperial families that do not care
for their charges, though often not quickly enough, I fear.”

Nishima produced a fan from her sleeve and tapped it in slow
rhythm against her palm. ‘ ’If you were offered a position in the new
government, Colonel, would you accept it?“

Tadamoto did not hide his surprise, though his deep sense of
sadness did not lift. “I am honored that you would ask, Empress.”
Language failed him for a moment and Nishima spoke to cover his
lapse.

“You have suffered great losses, Colonel. You have sacrificed love
for loyalty to principles. Your brother…” She did not complete the
thought. “If the principles of the sovereign were the principles you
were loyal to, it is unlikely that you would find yourself in this
position again, Colonel. Let us speak of this when you have dealt
with the other matters that occupy you. If you will swear loyalty to
me, Colonel, I will not require guards to be present when next we
speak.”

Tadamoto’s head rose, Nishima could see the surprise in his
green eyes. The look on his face said that he had not expected the
world to ever bestow another act of kindness upon him. “Empress,
I have knelt before the ruler of Wa more often than I am able to
count, yet only today have I heard words of wisdom and
compassion. I will swear loyalty, Empress—I would lay down my
life that your rule may not falter, for the people of Wa need wisdom
and compassion no less than they need food and water.‘’

Nishima gave the scholar a half bow. “We will speak again, Colonel
Tadamoto. If you would offer the benefits

of your experience to Captain Rohku Saicha of my guard, I would
be in your debt.“

“Empress, I will be in your debt, always.” Bowing low, Tadamoto
retreated from the room.

“She who renews,” Kamu said softly, “renews honor and hope.”

Nishima pretended she did not hear, but Kamu’s words gave her
pleasure. “This Sonsa dancer was his lover,” Nishima said.

Kamu nodded.

“Have I let compassion blind me, Kamu-sum? I fear it is my
weakness.”

“I believe, as you have said, that Jaku Tadamoto was an honorable
man torn between honor and loyalty and love. In a lifetime of
service to the Shonto I have never once felt so torn.” He made a
sign to Botahara that would have been out of place if Nishima had
not known him so long. It was for her father and she did the same.

“May I suggest that, once you have spoken to Lord Komawara, it
would be appropriate to speak with others tomorrow or at a later
date.”

“You coddle me, Chancellor,” she said.

“Not at all, Empress. One cannot rebuild an Empire in a day and, if
driven to the point where one’s tranquillity is destroyed, one can do
no good at all.”

“You sound now like Brother Satake.”

“It is a compliment I shall always cherish, Empress.”

She smiled. “I will meet with Lord Komawara, please, Major
Chancellor.”

Kamu slapped his thigh once and then retreated, the Shonto
guards in his wake.

The doors opened and Lord Komawara, dressed in white robes,
knelt with his head touching the floor. His hair has grown back
sufficiently, Nishima thought, and then smiled at the triviality of this.

The hero of Wa came forward stiffly as though he suffered from
the performance of his deeds. The agony she had seen in his face
at her father’s funeral had not faded and there was no doubt in
Nishima’s mind that this pain had no physical cause. So shaken
was Nishima by what she saw that she could not speak
immediately. The hero of Wa, she thought, his spirit destroyed by
the horror of his own deeds. Suddenly she was ashamed of what
she

had said to Lady Kento—a sword, a suit of fine armor, and the
greatest horse in the Empire will satisfy Lord Komawara. I have
given up the life I dreamed of, Nishima thought, but, Botahara save
him, Komawara has sacrificed his soul.

“Lord Komawara,” Nishima began, intending to express the
gratitude of the Empire, but suddenly she found it was a pose she
could not continue. Her voice quavering unexpectedly, Nishima
said, “Your spirit, Samyamu-sum, it is like a stone in water. How
has this happened?”

“Have you not heard, Empress?” he answered, his voice as cool
as rain, “I have become a great hero. To accomplish this I have
written no poetry, played not a song, nor proposed laws indicating
great wisdom. Instead I have become the greatest butcher in ten
generations. And so I am honored throughout the Empire.”

Nishima put her hand to her face. It will be easier to rebuild an
Empire than to heal the wounds of this man, she thought. Oh,
father, look what we have done.

“Samyamu-sum,” she said as gently as she could, “what may I
do?”

A bitter smile passed across his face like the shadow of a quick
flying bird. ‘ ’I am told Lord Butto prepares to pursue the barbarians
who retreat north. I would accompany Lord Butto, Empress.“

“Do you not feel you have done enough? Will you not leave this to
others now?”

Komawara moved his shoulders. “But Empress, there is not a
warrior in all of Wa more suited to this than I. There is not a trace of
my humanity that has not been washed away, washed away by the
blood of others.”

“Lord Komawara, I would ask you to stay in the Capital. Please,
you have done more than any sovereign has a right to ask.”
Shuyun, she thought, perhaps he would know what to do for this
man. But Shuyun could not be reached and Komawara knelt before
her asking to be sent back to war—sent to search for his own
death, she was sure.

“Empress,” Komawara said firmly, meeting her eye, “it would be
better if you gave me a blade, as you have the others, and sent me
north.”

She felt her face grow hot at this but forced herself to

meet his gaze. He did not look away. Are you unreach-able, then,
Nishima asked silently. Is there no trace of the young man I knew
that I can appeal to. “Lord Ko-mawara,” Nishima began, “I will not
order you to stay in the Capital… but I will beg you to remain.”

“Empress,” Komawara said, taken aback by this. “You cannot say
such a thing. You do not understand— it is what I am intended to
do.”

Nishima shook her head, a tight gesture. “I will beg you. I do beg
you. I will bow my head to the mat before you…”

“My Lady, you cannot!”

Nishima stepped down off the dais into the space between them,
placed her hands on the floor, and began to bow.

Komawara leaned forward and caught her shoulders. “You are the
Empress. This is beneath you.”

Nishima came back to her knees facing him, catching his hands. “If
I let you go, you might find the death you are seeking or you will
complete the destruction of your spirit. I could not bear it,
Samyamu-sum, I could not bear it.”

As though overcome by turmoil he did not speak for a moment.
“Lady Nishima, I am of no use to you here…”

She felt a tear streak her cheek at these words and he stopped at
the sight of this. “I will stay. If it is your wish, I will stay.”

Nishima squeezed his hands. “I know you have seen terrible
things…”

He shook his head as though there were something he tried to cast
off. “No,” he said, and the word came out like a moan. “I have done
terrible things. You should not even touch my hands.”

Hearing this, she took the hand that wielded his sword and raised it
to her lips and then pressed it against her cheek. “You have a fine
and noble spirit—we will find it,” she said, “I do not know how, but
we will.”

“I do not know myself, Empress,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

Nishima returned his hand gently to his lap. “I do know how we will
begin,” she said suddenly. Turning

back to the dais she removed the brush, inkstone, and brush-stand
from the table.

She pressed the inkstone into his hands. “This belonged to my
mother,” she said.

“Lady Nishima, I could not accept this.”

She stopped him as he tried to return it, saying firmly, “I am not
above begging.”

“But it is a treasure.”

“Nonsense,” she said with a sly smile, “I gave Hojo a palace and
Lord Butto a province. You can certainly accept a much used
inkstone.”

It did not bring a smile to his lips, but there was something different
about his eyes for a second as though whatever haunted them had
released its grip briefly.

She held out the brush-stand on the palm of her hand— a swan,
delicately carved of jade. “This was a gift from my adopted father.”

Almost timidly, Komawara took it up, turning it slowly from side to
side.

“And this brush,” she said pushing it into his hands, “is a gift from a
woman who might have been a poet had not duty forced her into
other pursuits. If you write poems to me, I will answer them.”

“Empress, you have more important things to do than trade verses
with a poet of little ability.”

“I remember your poem in my father’s garden, Samyamu-sum. Do
not speak to me of your lack of skill. And I have nothing I would
rather do. Will you not help me keep a tiny part of my former life
alive?”

Looking down at Nishima’s writing implements, he nodded. “I thank
you, Empress.” Komawara did not look less distraught, but she
thought the hard edge of bitterness and the struggle with
suppressed rage were less evident.

Sadness is not destructive to the soul, she told herself. We all
have reasons for sadness.

“Everything that can be restored to you, Samyamu-sum, I will
restore, ten times over.”

He nodded. “Thank you, Empress.” His discomfort was acute,
Nishima could see, but she was also sure she could see signs that
he responded to her words. He cares for me, this young man, she
realized. And this touched her.

“You have duties,” Komawara said, quietly, bowing low. Nishima
thought it best not to protest and let him go, clutching her mother’s
inkstone. When the doors closed, she sat staring at them for a
moment before rising and crossing to the windows again. She
expected Kamu to enter; when he didn’t, she remembered that this
was the last of her official duties.

The day’s interviews had not been what she had expected. She
had been so young during the Interim War that she had been
shielded from its effects—had not seen the cost. I thought I would
give out accolades and rewards. The faces of Tadamoto and
Komawara were not easily erased from her thoughts. They were
too young. Not hardened veterans like Hojo.

She wished Kamu had returned. His council had been wise.
Another who must be thanked for his part in this mad war, she
thought. Touching the frame of the window, she felt Lady Okara’s
letter in her sleeve and took it out. Returning to the cushion on the
dais, Nishima broke the seal and read.

My Empress:

Upon hearing the news of your ascension my heart sang, for I
knew the Empire would need the wisdom of your open heart if it
was to heal. If I do not presume too much, my heart then became
heavy for I was aware of your desire for a life of contemplation and
art. This is a great sacrifice you have made, and greater so for it is
no small talent that you have been given. How is it that fate would
call a great artist to govern the Empire?

It is my belief, Empress, that Wa requires your artist’s soul to heal
from the betrayal of the Yamaku and from the loss and ruin of the
war. Art, true art is a force for compassion and tranquillity. Let us
have an Empire ruled by compassion rather than greed and
warfare. Let us have art in the fabric of our lives.

And then, Empress, came the sad news of your great loss. Motoru-
sum was an old and trusted

friend and his passing is a loss to all of Wa. May Botahara protect
his soul.

Out of the gray winter mists

An Empire in blossom

Spring

Drawn from the pigments of the soul.

May Botahara walk beside you, Okara

Nishima folded the letter with great care, and then offered a prayer
asking Botahara to protect all those she loved.

Sixty-five

Brother Sotura moved slowly through the barbarian encampment,
and though he searched with a practiced eye there were no signs
that Shuyun had made even the slightest error.

He is a marvel, Sotura thought. He was never taught to manage an
outbreak of plague such as this, and yet… The tribesmen the
senior monk saw appeared well, if somewhat underfed.

Tents off to the west housed the sick. Sotura made his way in that
direction, receiving many bows from the barbarian warriors who
lazed about in the warm sun. Among some crude shelters he found
a Botahist Sister praying with three tribesmen. She is making
converts here, he thought, not sure why this bothered him.

Nearby, men cooked by a dung fire, apparently impervious to the
smoke and the smell. Horses were being moved about the area
and staked where there was less-trampled grass. Nowhere was
there evidence of weapons—skinning knives were all the monk
saw. Quiet, Sotura realized, it is so strangely quiet here. And it was
true any who spoke did so in subdued tones; there was no
laughter, no calling out. A military camp and it was as silent as a
temple.

The population of the camp thinned noticeably as Sotura
approached the tents of the sick, but there were tribesmen
standing guard here, watching him warily.

Why would they guard the tents of the sick, Sotura wondered and
then realized the answer. It was Shuyun— some would brave the
plague to meet the Teacher.

Many Brothers of the Faith had forsaken their vows to come to
Shuyun and minister to the barbarians, so the tribesmen who stood
guard did not question Sotura as a stranger in the camp.

The sound of men coughing came to the monk as he stepped over
ropes guying a barbarian tent. A Sister hurried past and Brother
Sotura spoke to her. ‘ ’Brother Shuyun, Sister—where may I find
him?“

She stopped and eyed him carefully, suspiciously even, and then
pointed toward a tent across an open area. He bowed his thanks.
To Sotura’s surprise he found himself nervous as he crossed the
sward.

Four barbarian warriors bearing staffs guarded the tent and
stopped Sotura as he approached. Speaking in their tongue, he
asked for Brother Shuyun.

“The Master is at his labors, Brother,” one warrior answered. “If you
require instructions it is best to speak to Sister Morima.”

Morimal Sotura almost said aloud, she has become Shuyun’s
shadow.

“I have come with a message from the Botahist Brotherhood. It is
important that I speak with Brother Shuyun.”

The tribesmen exchanged glances. “I will ask,” one offered and
retreated toward the tent. In the dim light inside the door Sotura
saw the man gesturing to a young Sister. She stared out at Brother
Sotura for a second and then hurried off.

A moment later Shuyun appeared, drying his hands on a scrap of
cotton. If he was surprised to find his former teacher, he did not
show it.

“Brother Sotura,” Shuyun said, bowing low. “This is a surprise and
an honor. Please.” Shuyun gestured off to one side and ushered
the senior monk away from the tent, out of hearing of the young
Sister.

A breeze ruffled the heavy fabric of the tents and overhead a
plague banner fluttered on a tall staff, adding its staccatto to the
eerie silence of the encampment. Once assured of privacy Shuyun
did not hesitate, as though matters of great importance required
his attention. Yet he was unfailingly polite.

“Do you truly bear a message, Brother Sotura, or have you found
compassion in your soul?”

Sotura gave a small frown, not easily adjusting to being addressed
as though an equal. “I do bear a message, Shuyun-sum—a
message of compassion.” He met the younger man’s eye. “The
Supreme Master will send our

Brothers to meet the barbarians who ride toward the Mountain of
the Pure Spirit. We will offer to heal them if they, too, will lay down
their weapons.“

Shuyun gave the senior monk a deep bow. “May Bo-tahara chant
your name, Sotura-sum.”

Sotura remained impassive. “I was also instructed to give you this.”
He held out his clenched fist. Shuyun hesitated for a moment, then
extended his open hand. He half expected Sotura to release a
small blue butterfly into his palm, but instead he felt the cool weight
of a jade pendant and chain.

“Never before has one been returned, Shuyun-sum. It is my hope
that you will not refuse.”

The young monk looked down at the pendant in his palm. “Why,
Brother?”

“Many felt the Supreme Master may have acted in some haste,”
Sotura said, embarrassed to be admitting fallibility on the part of
his Order. “We have swayed him in this matter.” Sotura waved a
hand at the camp. “Think of the other Brothers who have followed
you here. If they see you wearing your pendant, Brother Shuyun, it
will cause them to reconsider their decision. I am concerned for
their souls, Shuyun-sum—for theirs and yours.”

The younger monk broke into a smile that seemed to arise from
joy. “Your concern would be better focused elsewhere, Brother.
Those who have come here to cure the barbarians of the plague
live the word of the Perfect Master.” He held the pendant up by its
chain so that it hung between them. “No stone can change that.”

“Brother Shuyun,” Sotura said, his voice carrying an edge of
desperation, “they come because they believe you are the
Teacher. What do you tell them?”

Shuyun reached out and took the senior monk’s hand, lowering the
pendant into it and then closing Sotura’s fingers, holding the
Master’s hand thus as though expressing great affection. “I tell
them I do not believe I am the Teacher.”

Sotura shook his head in confusion. “If this is true, what will you
do? You have turned your back on the Bo-tahist faith.”

“But the Teacher is among us, Sotura-sum. I will go to him and
hear the Word from one who has attained that which we can only
dream of.”

Sotura reached out and gripped the younger monk’s shoulder,
staring steadily into his eyes. “Do you know where the Teacher
dwells?”

Shuyun nodded.

“Where?”

Shuyun shook his head slowly. “When the Teacher wishes you to
find him, he will send you a message, Brother Sotura.”

Sotura gave Shuyun a gentle shake. “You have had such a
message?” he almost demanded.

“I believe I have, Brother.” Shuyun, stepped back so that Sotura
released him.

The older monk stared down at the grass for a moment. “How can
this be true, Brother? Why has he not sent for the Supreme
Master, for Brother Hutto?”

“Their karma is their own, Brother,” Shuyun said with great
gentleness, his face full of concern. “Ask why he has not sent for
you, Sotura-sum. It is the question that will lead you to wisdom.”
Saying so, he bowed to the senior Brother and returned to the tent
where he labored to heal the enemies of Wa.

The following day Shuyun was interrupted in his work by Sister
Morima. She stood silhouetted by the sun as Shuyun bowed over a
young tribesman who lay on blankets on the grass.

“Brother Shuyun?”

Like all the Botahist-trained in the encampment, she still called him
Brother though the tribesman called him the Master.

He looked up, squinting. Though he could not see her against the
light, he knew and was glad that Sister Morima had returned to her
previous appearance of good health. Her step had grown light as
she went about her work—her crisis of spirit had been resolved by
an act of compassion.

“Sister?”

“On the edge of the encampment,” she waved to the south. “The
Prioress, Sister Saeja, has come. She asks for you, Brother, and
will come to you if you will allow her to enter the camp.”

Shuyun said a few words to the tribesman and then rose quickly. “I
will go to her, Sister.” He hurried off

across the encampment, nodding to the many bows he received.

Emerging from the edge of the camp, he saw that a small pavilion
had been erected on the invisible border maintained by the Shonto
guards. He set out toward this immediately, unprepared for the
reaction. There was a surge among the people who had been
gathering around the encampment. He heard his name over and
over and people offering prayers of thanksgiving. The soldiers
were not caught off guard by this, appeared to have anticipated it,
in fact, so the crowd was restrained.

Steeling himself, he moved forward. Looking at the press of the
crowd and the hope in the faces Shuyun thought, this will become
my life, I cannot turn away. Approaching the Sisters, Shuyun
noticed some of the faces he had seen in the Palace. The one with
the strong jaw and the haughty manner, the small one who tended
the Prioress.

When Shuyun was three paces away, the Sisters knelt and bowed
low. The Prioress stayed in her sedan chair this time but managed
a bow all the same.

Before Shuyun could speak, the dry rasp of the Prioress’ voice
broke in. “It is our shame to admit that we do not know how to
address you.”

“I would be honored if you would call me Shuyun-sum, Prioress,”
Shuyun said without hesitation.

The ancient woman considered this for a moment but then rejected
it as inadequate. “Master Shuyun, we seek the Teacher,” she said
simply.

Shuyun looked into the ancient eyes and saw the hope there and it
saddened him. “He will be found by few, Prioress,” Shuyun said,
his voice carrying a note of concern.

The Sisters exchanged uneasy glances.

“Master Shuyun,” the old woman said, the hope in her eyes
replaced by growing uncertainty, “are you the one who was spoken
of?”

Shuyun slowly shook his head, sorry that he must do so.

The Sister took a long breath, her face growing soft, like a child
whose hopes have been dashed—who would dissolve into tears.
“Then how is it that you have powers unheard of in all our history?”

Shuyun looked down at the grass and when he raised his head his
eyes seemed moist, his voice almost overcome with awe. “I am
the bearer, Prioress. I will serye Him.”

There was a long silence then, the nuns not taking their eyes from
the monk as though he were a myth come to life. “The few who will
find the Teacher… who?” the Prioress asked, her question
tentative as though she feared the answer.

“I am not certain, Prioress.”

The Prioress nodded. “Master Shuyun, will you not take one of us
with you?”

Shuyun looked down again, but only for a brief second, and then
he raised his head, saying, “If I may, I will send word to Sister
Morima, Prioress. I will ask her to join me, if it is possible.”

In some of the faces Shuyun saw a hint of anger, resentment, but
the Prioress smiled suddenly, like the sun emerging from behind a
cloud. “I have not been wrong in all things, at least. Botahara bless
you, Brother. I will pray for you.”

“Prioress?” Shuyun said, deeply serious. “Shimeko-sum—the one
whom you called Sister Tesseko—it is her soul in need of your
prayers.”

The Prioress paused for a second, her face grave. And then she
nodded once and the smile returned.

The Empress sat on the balcony overlooking the vast barbarian
army. She had finished reading a letter written by Tanaka—a report
on the state of the Imperial Treasury. The situation was not as
desperate as her worst fears had whispered it might be. Hojo had
secured so much of the Palace when the Yamaku fell that few
officials were able to slip away with stolen fortunes. Over many
years Tanaka had made an exhaustive study of corruption in the
Imperial Government, though it had never been his intention. The
Yamaku way of governing had forced him to it. Tanaka had paid for
information, bought influence when necessary, bribed Ministers
and bureaucrats. As a result he had a long list of those who could
not be trusted and was quickly purging the civil service. It was an
irony her father would have appreciated, Nish-ima thought.

The Empress smiled. She had talked with Shokan regarding
Tanaka and discovered the poor man was consumed by guilt. He
had given Colonel Tadamoto a detailed list (though incomplete) of
Shonto holdings and now felt he had betrayed every trust he had
ever been given. As this ploy had quite possibly kept the merchant
alive, Shokan applauded it as wisdom. But Tanaka was not
reassured and suffered all the same.

Duty, Nishima thought. He thinks he has failed in his duty, though
absolutely no harm came of his action and much good—he
preserved his very valuable life. It occurred to her to send the
merchant a charter, raising him to a minor peerage, and citing his
betrayal of Shonto trust as the reason for this. She was not sure he
would see the humor in this, however.

A knock on the frame of the open screens drew her attention
inside.

Lady Kento knelt in the opening.

“Kento-sum,” Nishima said, smiling, for pleasure came to her
easily that day.

“My Lady. Captain Rohku is satisfied with the security in the block
of your apartments, the private Audience Halls, and the Imperial
guest chambers. He feels it is perfectly safe for the Empress to
move through these areas without guards.”

“This is good news indeed, Kento-sum. I was going mad being
followed everywhere. Please commend the Guard Commander for
his diligence.”

“And, Empress, Lady Kitsura has arrived.”

“Please, do not keep her waiting.”

Lady Kento bowed and disappeared.

Nishima quickly rolled the scroll and pushed her work table to one
side. She gazed out over the fields again. A message had arrived
from Shuyun earlier that morning. He would come to the Palace
that evening and Nishima looked forward to this visit with both
excitement and dread. How long will he stay? she asked herself
again. The question had become a litany.

Kitsura appeared, bowing in the opening to the inner rooms.

“Kitsu-sum, you are as welcome as the arrival of spring and as
lovely.”

“Empress, it is good to see you well.” The eleventh

day of mourning had passed and the only white Kitsura wore was a
sash, in memory of those who were lost during the recent turmoil
and for Lord Shonto, of course. Her robe was deep green
embroidered with a pattern of gold-edged sea shells.

“You have seen your family, I am told. I trust they are well?”

“It is kind of you to inquire, cousin. They are indeed well. My family
send their highest regards to the Empress.”

Nishima leaned over and squeezed her cousin’s arm. “Kitsu-sum,
your father—how is he truly?”

Kitsura gave her cousin a tight smile, thanking her for her concern,
and began to turn a ring on a finger. “It is true that he is less well
than he appeared when I left for Seh, but he is a miracle, truly,
Nishi-sum. Speaking of your ascension, he told me that Wa has
lost a great artist but gained a greater Empress. I think he wanted
you to hear that.”

“Lord Omawara is too kind.” Nishima felt her heart go out to her
cousin, for she had twice lost a father and knew what it meant. She
did not press the matter further.

“Cha, Kitsu-sum?” Nishima asked, moving the conversation away
from the area that caused her cousin pain. “Or shall we sample
some of the Palace’s fine wines. There is a trove of rare vintages, I
am told. Shokan-sum has said the wine cellar is of greater value
than the treasury.”

“Cha would be lovely, cousin, thank you—though I would gladly
sample your rare wines another time.”

Nishima clapped for a servant and asked for cha.

“I was able to speak with Lady Kento when I arrived,” Kitsura said
casually. “She is determined to find you a suitable husband,
Nishima-sum.”

“Me!” Nishima said, taken aback. “It is you she is searching for.”

“As I suspected,” Kitsura said, laughing. “I tease, cousin. She said
nothing of husbands for you.” Kitsura tried not to look too pleased
with herself. “Who has my Empress chosen for her loyal and
humble servant.”

“Your Empress has not yet decided.” Nishima answered, shaking
her head at how easily she had been

tricked. “It will depend on how loyal and humble the Lady Kitsura is
able to demonstrate herself to be.”

Kitsura laughed. “I fear for the happiness of my marriage, cousin.”

They both laughed.

“I will admit that we had not progressed beyond the obvious
choices: Shokan-sum and Lord Komawara.” Nishima eyed her
cousin as she said this, wondering what her reaction might be, but
Kitsura showed no sign of what she felt.

Cha arrived and Nishima shooed the servant out so that she might
complete the preparations herself.

“The hero of Wa, Empress? I did not realize you thought me that
loyal and humble.” She considered for a moment. “Though I would
have to live in Sen, far from my beloved Empress.”

“… and the pleasures of the Palace,” Nishima added, ladling cha
into bowls.

Kitsura’s face turned suddenly serious. “Meeting Lord Komawara
here in the Palace garden only last autumn, I would never have
believed his name would one day be on everyone’s lips. People
kneel down and bow to him in the streets—peers! I have seen it.
Lord Tbshaki, who almost forced Lord Komawara into a duel in
Seh, is now his shadow. And all the young women of the Empire
are mad to meet him. Your first social events will be attended by
more lovesick young women than either of us can imagine.” She
held out open hands and shrugged. “Our shy Lord Komawara.
Who ever could have guessed?” Kitsura sipped her cha. “Of
course I tell all the women who ask that I—that we—saw this in him
from the beginning. I admit that I am a most shameless liar,
Empress.”

Nishima stared into her bowl of cha. ‘ ’Does this mean that you will
accept Lord Komawara, Lady Kitsura?“

Kitsura laughed, but Nishima thought it was somewhat forced. “I
believe our young hero must make his own choices, Empress.”

Nishima looked out over the barbarian camp. “Lord Komawara has
suffered a serious wound to his spirit, Lady Kitsura. I am not quite
sure what can be done for him.”

“I can think of a number of things,” Kitsura smiled, “if I am not
being too bold.”

“I was thinking of something more spiritual, Lady Kitsura.”

“He is a warrior, Nishima-sum. A spiritual cure may not be what is
required.”

Nishima shaded her eyes and looked out toward the mountains.
Was that a dust cloud? She had received news that morning: the
Brothers had met the wandering barbarian army and, with Lord
Taiki’s assistance, convinced them to lay down their arms. Shokan
had been right, the Brotherhood were scrambling to recover from
their mistake.

The barbarian force retreating north on the canal was not faring so
well. They were dying in numbers, leaving a trail of burial mounds
behind them. There would not be a handful left when they crossed
the border into their own lands. It was a terrible thing. The Kalam
had returned to the Capital the previous day, sent by Lord Butto.
He was convinced the barbarian army would not surrender.
Imagine such pride, Nishima thought.

Kitsura was speaking again, and Nishima had not been listening.

“… everyone says it is so, Nishi-sum. Is this true?”

“I’m sorry Kitsu-sum, my thoughts wandered. Please excuse me.”

Kitsura looked at Nishima with some concern but must have been
reassured by what she saw, for her concern faded. “Brother
Shuyun? Is it true, as everyone says, that he is the Teacher?”

Nishima took a moment to ladle more cha and stir up the embers
of the burner. It was the question she had been avoiding for days,
though somehow late at night it became more persistent and
troubled her both waking and dreaming.

“I do not know, Kitsura-sum. Brother Shuyun denies it, but
Tesseko, may Botahara rest her soul, believed he might be the
Teacher and not yet know.”

“What is your own belief, Nishi-sum? What does your heart tell
you?”

“My heart?” Nishima said, with the tiniest hint of resentment in her
voice. “I am an Empress, cousin, I am not governed by my heart.”

Kitsura was quiet for a moment, watching her cousin

who stared out toward the fields, her mood suddenly changed.

“Excuse me, Kitsu-sum,” she said turning back, catching Kitsura
looking at her closely. “Please accept my apology. It is unworthy of
me to become bitter because of the part I have chosen to play.‘’

Kitsura reached out and took Nishima’s hand. Her skin was so
perfect and soft. “Where will Shuyun go now? Will he go with Lord
Shonto?”

Nishima shook her head. “Shokan-sum has released him.”

Kitsura pressed Nishima’s hand. “Then surely he will stay with you.”

Nishima squeezed her eyes closed.

“Cousin?”

Nishima wanted to give a neutral answer, but she could not and she
felt Kitsura move closer. A hand rested on her shoulder, stroking
her gently. Then Kitsura came still closer and embraced her. They
stayed like that for some time.

“If you marry, Kitsu-sum, you must promise to remain in the
Capital. I cannot bear to lose anyone else.”

“You have my word,” Kitsura whispered. “Shuyun-sum is out
among the barbarians?”

“He returns this evening.”

“What may I do, cousin?”

“Nothing. You have done so much already. Often, when we
traveled on the canal and in Seh, you were my strength. I have not
forgotten.”

“Do you know,” Kitsura said, and Nishima could hear the smile in
her voice, “Okara-sum told me that we must learn not to compete
with one another?”

“Us, cousin?”

Kitsura nodded. “But, of course, now you are the Empress and
therefore have won everything. There is nothing left to compete
for.”

Nishima did not smile. “I feel that becoming the Empress has
meant more loss than gain.”

Kitsura nodded.

“Okara-sum is wise, cousin.”

“I agree,” Kitsura said after a few seconds, “I agree entirely.‘’

Gently they disentangled.

“I am certain that sovereigns are not supposed to require such
coddling,” Nishima said.

“They require nothing but, cousin. Have you not read the histories?
You are the exception in that you don’t require such treatment all
the time.”

The tea had grown cold and what was in the cauldron was too
strong. “I will call for more,” Nishima said.

“Thank you, cousin, but—I know it is improper to excuse one’s self
from the presence of the sovereign… My father often awakes in
the late afternoon and is strong enough for a visitor.”

“You must take him my warmest regards.”

Kitsura bowed low and with a squeeze of her cousin’s hand slipped
into the inner rooms.

Nishima stood and paced across the balcony. She sat on the rail
for a moment, looking out over the encampment, but then rose and
returned to her work table suddenly. Rubbing a resin stick over her
inkstone Nishima began to breathe in rhythm.

When Shokan heard that Nishima had given her mother’s inkstone
to Komawara, he sent her a stone that had belonged to Lord
Shonto. She recognized it immediately. The inkstone was very old
and had seen much use and she adored it.

Nishima added a few drops of water. Shuyun would not come for
some hours. As she had not yet received a poem from Lord
Komawara, she decided to force a response. The Empress would
write to him.

By the time dusk arrived, Nishima was pleased with the poem she
had,composed. But after making many drafts she chose to send
one that showed less skill than the final version. She did not want to
intimidate him entirely. And then she laughed at her own vanity. A
few moments later, however, she convinced herself that she was
simply being considerate of Komawara’s present state. In the
future, when the lord had begun to heal, this would not be required
of her.

Nishima read the poem a last time. She hoped her memory for the
verse Komawara had composed in her father’s garden so long ago
was correct.

Distant horizons glimpsed in the autumn garden

Casting the ancient coins

Among the mist-lilies and new friendships.

The Boat setting forth

Into uncertain winds

As unwavering as the constant heart.

Does the Open Fan of temptation

Appear to you

Spread against a white sky ?

We all stare into green water

Seeking the passing cloud

Knowing it appears only to the tranquil soul.

Calling for a lamp and wax Nishima folded and sealed the poem,
then hesitated before she stamped the soft wax. After a moment
of consideration she chose the shinta blossom rather than the five
clawed dragon circling the sun—she had asked Komawara to help
keep a part of her former life alive, after all.

The sun had sunk into a line of clouds above the distant mountains,
appeared briefly in a blaze of copper between the cloud and the
peaks, and then dissolved into embers, leaving the clouds glowing
like hot coals. Nishima turned and watched the scene slowly fade.

A maid knocked on the frame to the opening, bowing low.

“Yes,” Nishima said, distracted.

“Brother Shuyun, Empress.”

Nishima returned from her brooding immediately, trying to hide her
pleasure from the maid. “Please, I will see him here.” Quickly she
reached over to the cushion Kitsura had used and pulled it closer.

Although it was hardly expected of an Empress, Nishima could not
stop herself from staring at the opening, waiting for a glimpse of
the monk. She could barely wait to see his face, as though the
answer to the question that had become her litany might be seen
there even before they spoke.

Coming through the opening, kneeling, Shuyun bowed
immediately, hiding his face. The last light of the day lit the room in
a warm, golden light and when the monk rose, his features
appeared softer, less severe than Nish-

ima had come to expect. And the light seemed to illuminate him,
light him from within.

Something has occurred, Nishima thought. Look at him—he has
had a revelation. A feeling akin to panic began to rise inside her
and she struggled not to give in to it.

“Shuyun-sum,” she said, trying to give her voice warmth, but the
words came out of a constricted throat and sounded so. “Please
join me.”

Shuyun came forward with the grace that always delighted her, and
though his manner was as serious as usual, she sensed a
lightness in him that she had not seen before. To her surprise,
Shuyun reached out and took her hand in his own. For a moment
she found herself carefully scrutinized by those eyes that seemed
at once ancient and innocent.

“You are well, my lady?”

Nishima nodded, her voice suddenly deserting her. She did not
take her gaze away from his eyes, still looking for the answer to her
question.

Shuyun took her hand between both of his suddenly and she felt a
warm tingle of chi-flow. ‘ ’Has something distressed you?“

With effort she found her voice. “I am well, truly. Learning to
govern has taken some toll, perhaps.” She made a gesture as
though dismissing this as minor. ‘ ’The barbarians have been
cured?“

“The healing takes some time, Nishi-sum. It will be many days yet.
But it is not too soon to consider what will be done with them when
they are well.”

Although the conversation led away from the discussion she
desired, Nishima found herself taking it up with some relief—the
news she feared would be delayed. “Kamu-sum has begun the
arrangements. We will send the barbarians north up the canal,
returning them to their own lands.”

Shuyun nodded. “Excuse me for saying so, but I believe we should
do more. We must establish regular commerce with the tribes and
open relations. We must send ambassadors and gifts when
chieftains are named and allow the barbarians to trade across our
border more freely. If we do not…” Shuyun bent his head toward

the barbarian army, quickly disappearing in the growing darkness.
“We shall have another Khan one day.”

“I am sure you are correct, Brother.” Nishima responded. “It will be
difficult to convince the Council that this is the path of wisdom—the
anger toward the barbarians is great—but I will speak to my
advisors. There must be a way to convince the Council.”

“May I also suggest, Nishima-sum, that the Kalam could become
an ambassador between the tribes and Wa.”

This surprised Nishima and she felt herself drawn further away
from the true questions that she must ask. “Is it not true that he is
obliged stay with you until death ends his servitude?”

“It is true, Tha-telor is a strict law, but so much has changed in the
world now. I have spoken to the Kalam at length and he has agreed
to act as I have suggested, if it is the wish of the Empress.” Very
quietly Shuyun continued. “The Kalam realizes now that he cannot
follow me on my journey.”

Nishima let out a long breath, looking down at his hands around her
own. “In your eyes I see that you have made decisions, Shuyun-
sum.” Nishima said quietly. “You will make a journey?”

Shuyun stroked her hand. “What you see, Nishi-sum, is tranquillity
of purpose. Though I have been told to seek it all my life, it is only
now that I have found it. I will seek the Teacher. It is my place to
serve him, as it is yours to rule an Empire.”

Nishima felt her senses swirl into confusion—it was like numbness
creeping through her body, but it was not lack of feeling—it was too
much. Too much and all at once and she could not sort those
feelings or control them. The reaction was not unfamiliar, for it felt
as though she had learned of yet another death.

“Will we never meet again?” she managed to say.

“I do not know, Nishi-sum,” the monk answered. Nishima could
hear how gentle his tone had become. He reached out and took
her into his arms, but she remained limp as though this last blow
had robbed her of all remaining strength.

“You are not the Teacher, then? You know this?”

Nishima felt Shuyun’s head nod, close beside her own.

“When I first met Quinta-la, when she prostrated herself and
recited a prayer in her own language. Later I realized some of what
she said: he who bears the Word. Among the mountain people
there is a seer—an ancient woman. Your brother spoke to her. She
questioned him about me. ”In the ancient scroll that speaks of the
coming of the Teacher it also says that one will come bearing the
Word. Botahist scholars have long agreed that this was another
reference to the Teacher, but it is not so.‘’ Nishima felt the monk
take a long breath. “It is a reference to me, Nishima-sum. I will bear
the Teacher’s Word. He has sent for me. He sent for me some
time ago and I did not realize it.”

Part of Nishima wanted to offer an argument, dispute the logic of
what he said but another part of her believed he could not be
wrong in this matter.

He walked out into the fields alone and stopped the barbarian
invasion, Nishima told herself. Among the senior Brothers he
inspires both awe and fear and the Sisters have followed him since
the day he arrived in Wa. And now he goes to meet one who has
attained perfection—as though Botahara has been reborn. It is no
wonder that I have become unimportant in his life. How could I
think that he would stay with me?

“It is without question, then,” Nishima said, trying to keep the
feeling that she had been slighted out of her words, “you must
leave to seek the Teacher.”

“Perhaps I have not yet achieved perfect tranquillity of purpose,”
Shuyun said, his voice tender, “for I do not know how to leave
when my heart is here with you.” Nishima reached up and put her
arms around him now, holding him close. “Then you must stay until
you know.” He wants me to release him, she told herself in a flash
of insight.

Shuyun reached up and traced the curve of her neck with a finger.
He did not speak as she expected him to. Stars were beginning to
appear in the sky, and even in the west the light was all but gone.
Nishima began to feel a deep sadness rising out of the confusion
of her emotions, overcoming all else.

It was completely dark before they spoke again and it was Shuyun
who broke the silence. “I wish to take a gift

to the Teacher, but the gift I desire is not within my power.“

“If it is something I may provide, Shuyun-sum, you have but to
name it,” Nishima said without hesitation.

“Then I would ask you to write a poem.”

“This is the gift you will take to the Teacher?” She pulled back
slightly so she could see his face in the light of the lamp.

He smiled. “Yes. It is the gift he will desire, I am certain.”

“Shuyun-sum, this man is the living evidence of the Way. He is as
close to being a god as one can come. Certainly he does not want
a poem from me.”

Shuyun touched his forehead against her own. “A poem from you
is what he desires,” the monk said firmly.

“But what would I write? What words could I send to the Teacher?”

“It does not matter. Write about the sunset or becoming Empress
or about your garden. It only matters that it is from you and that it is
signed Nishima-sum.”

“Really, Shuyun-sum, this is an unusual request, to say the least.”

“Have I asked too much of you?”

This stopped Nishima for a second. “No. If it is a poem you desire,
I will attempt to write a poem worthy of one who has reached
perfection—as impossible as that may be.”

Shuyun pressed her close to him and then, to her surprise,
released her, waving toward her writing table.

“You don’t expect me to do this now? Really, Shuyun-sum, I must
have time to think.”

“You do not need time to think. Three lines would be adequate. I
would venture that one would be enough.” He smiled again and
she began to wonder if he was serious. This did not seem like an
occasion for humor to her.

Throwing up her hands in resignation, Nishima turned to the table
and began to prepare her ink. As she did so, she felt Shuyun’s
fingers begin to explore the intricacies of the fastenings that held
her hair in place. Though this made concentration almost
impossible, Nishima did not want to ask him to stop, for to her it
was a sign that he

felt some sense of intimacy as she always he hoped he would.

Her hair fell about her shoulders and cascaded down her back,
bringing a smile to her face.

“You are not focused,” Shuyun said close to her ear. “Your teacher
would be disappointed.”

“You are not helping, I must tell you.”

He laughed. “I will leave and let you work in peace.”

“You certainly will not! You must sit close to me and try not to be
too much of a distraction.”

“I can be as still as a stone,” he said, and she felt the smile in his
voice.

“Well that may be more than is required.” It took a great deal of will
power, but Nishima removed a piece of mulberry paper from a
folder and dipped her brush in ink.

Even a few years without change

Lull the mind

And then in a day

The world changes utterly.

Heroes appear

And legends come to life.

Things immutable are transformed:

War turns to peace, despair becomes joy

The living die

And are born again.

“You are finished?” Shuyun asked.

“Finished? I have hardly begun.”

“Let me see,” the monk said and then leaned forward to read over
her shoulder. “Nishi-sum, it is perfect.”

“It is perfectly awful. I will need hours to make this a poem.”

“No. Do not change a word. That is the poem I will take to the
Teacher. You must sign it as I said.”

“But Shuyun-sum, I would be ashamed to have anyone see this.
And now you ask me to sign it in a familiar form. This seems most
unconventional.”

Shuyun put a hand on her shoulder. “The Teacher is not as other
men. Do not judge him according to the standards of the Empire.
Please, sign.”

Shaking her head, Nishima did as he asked, wondering

if the culture of the Botahist monks was perhaps more different
than she had formerly imagined. She blew gently on the ink until it
dried.

“Now you must fold it as gateway,” Shuyun instructed.

Through resisting, Nishima did as she was asked, handing it to
Shuyun as she finished. “I hope your Teacher will not think me as
poor an Empress as I am a poet.”

Shuyun smiled, putting the poem into his sleeve pocket.

The night was growing cool, as nights usually did in the late spring.
Nishima reached out, touching Shuyun’s wrist, then slid her hand
up his sleeve past the elbow, feeling the warmth there.

“Now you must do a favor for me,” she said.

“I am your servant,” he answered, his tone serious.

Rising, Nishima drew the monk up with her and, taking him in tow,
she walked into the inner room. She opened a screen and entered
the sleeping room. There was no lamp lit here and only the starlight
through the open shojis gave the scene light.

Releasing Shuyun’s hand, she undid the complex knot at her back
and unwound her sash. When she had done this, the monk helped
her remove her outer robes until she wore only a single layer of
silk. She felt the questions that consumed her being pushed aside
by growing desire. When she reached out to untie Shuyun’s sash,
her fingers were not inclined to obey and her breath was short.

Pulling back the quilts, they almost tumbled into bed. Nishima
slipped out of her robe almost immediately and pressed herself as
close to him as she could manage.

“If you did not spend the night resisting me,” Nishima said close to
his ear, “I’m certain you would not be in such a hurry to leave. You
might spend a few days more, at least.”

“I fear that this is so,” Shuyun answered.

They lay close for a moment more and Nishima realized that she
was not alone in having lost her breath. She kissed the soft place
at the corner of his eye and his mouth found hers. For the first
time, he returned her kiss. Nishima thought she felt a strange
sensation, almost vertigo, and then she realized that a kiss became
endless

and her skin was alive to the touch as it had never been before.
Strong currents of emotion and energy and chi seemed to flow
through her. For a second she felt panic begin to touch her, but it
was swept away by a wave of tenderness and she abandoned
herself to the feeling without hesitation.

Much later, Nishima lay bathed in the warmth of her companion.

“I do not want to sleep. I want to say everything that is in my heart
though I do not know where to begin to find the words.”

Shuyun kissed her neck. “There are no words. Everything has
been said.”

Despite her desire to stay awake, Nishima could not and she fell
into an untroubled, dreamless sleep.

A breeze moved her hair and this finally awoke her. It was early
morning, but completely light. She lay completely still for a
moment, lost in memories and pleasure, and then turned to find
her lover.

But Shuyun was not there. Where… she began to ask herself when
awareness came. Burying her face in the quilt she lay very still, as
though moving would alter everything for ever. If she could just not
move…

A bell sounded and Nishima opened her eyes to the light. On a
table at the bedside lay a brocade bag containing something
angular. She sat up and found the most delicate blue seashell on
top of this and in the cup of the shell a bit of white paper had been
placed so that it could not blow away. On this was written a single
character which meant she who renews. My heart will break, she
found herself thinking, my heart will surely break.

Setting the shell upon the pillow, Nishima took the brocade bag
and opened it, finding a plain wooden box inside.

It is the blossom of the Udumbara, she realized. For a moment she
did not know what to do but then, with great care, she set the box
aside and rose from the bed. She found her robes and slipped
them on, belting them loosely. Taking up the box in both hands,
Nishima went out onto the balcony.

She perched herself on the rail with her back against

a pillar and forced herself to be calm. Performing a breathing
exercise taught to her by Brother Satake helped.

Finally, when her spirit was as calm as she could make it, when the
pang of Shuyun’s leaving was a sweet sadness not a sorrow, she
opened the box.

To her great surprise she did not find a sacred blossom inside but
a white butterfly, tinged with the faintest purple. It fanned its wings
slowly and then, in a single motion, took to the air. It circled about
the balcony once, then rose on a current, descended again, and
then fluttered off into the garden where it was soon lost from sight.
Nishima watched long after it had gone, hoping for a last glimpse,
but it did not reappear and she leaned her head back against the
pillar and closed her eyes.

My heart is both broken and full of joy, she told herself. I do not
know whether to cry or laugh.

Opening her eyes she realized that a perfect paper shinta blossom
lay on the silk of the wooden case and she set the case on the rail
and took it up. After a moment of searching, she found the key and
began to unfold the blossom. In the heart of the paper flower she
found a single line of characters written in Shuyun’s beautiful
flowing hand.

Beyond the future lies a future in which we cannot be separated.

She thought of the butterfly flying out of the case and she smiled.

“Things are never what one expects,” Nishima said to herself, and
she laughed. She laughed until tears ran down her cheeks.

The guards led the Empress along a path paved in stones. They
stopped at a simple wooden gate under a small arch and tile roof.
Very quickly, one of the guards passed through the gate and when
he returned four other guards came with him. This man nodded to
the senior officer who in turn knelt and bowed to the Empress. The
garden was secure.

Nishima went through the open gate and heard it close behind her.

It is a day for partings, she told herself.

A few steps into the garden Nishima stopped to look out to the
north over the large encampment of the tribes. She knew he was
not there, but still her eyes searched for a moment among the
thousands of tiny figures before she turned away.

A few more paces brought her to the shrine and she knelt on a mat
that had been placed for her. Into the face of an uncut stone had
been chiseled the name character Shimeko.

Nishima offered up a silent prayer to Botahara and then one also to
the Teacher.

We will never know, Nishima thought, we will never know if you fell
into their hands without intending to or whether you chose to take
your terrible weapon out among our enemies so that others might
live. When I think of your fate, Shimeko-sum, I am gripped by its
horror. Among all the brave, all the heroes of this pointless war,
you alone went into battle without armor, without protection. Only
you risked the destruction of your spirit. May Botahara rest you and
protect your soul.

Nishima offered up a long prayer for forgiveness and then rose
and went to her duties.

Sixty-six

They had slipped out of the city at dawn, all three in disguise, and
set out across country until they found the narrow road they sought.
Only then did they throw back their hoods to the sunlight—a warrior,
a monk, and a barbarian tribesman.

There was no indication that they hurried to an appointed time or
place—in truth, their pace seemed almost leisurely. They stopped,
it appeared, whenever whim struck and often finished their day’s
travel before sunset. In a time when a significant portion of the
population of Wa were on the roads and canals, returning or
moving to places where they would begin their lives again, these
three travelers hardly stood out. Except that they did not seem to
be driven to reach their destination as others did.

Of course the area the three traveled through was not flooded with
refugees the way the northern canal and roads were aswarm with
people returning to homes, or even the way the roads to the south
and the west were filled with people seeking places to begin anew.
The three set their course north by east and encountered few as
they went.

Shuyun knelt cross-legged on a mat by the edge of the stream. He
had spent an hour in meditation upon the sunlight falling through
the leaves as the wind moved among the trees. He watched the
beauty of the movement and patterns as though they were dance.

Two dozen paces up the stream bank Komawara sat bent over a
letter, reading. Shuyun had seen the lord take this same paper
from his sleeve several times, to pore over it as he did now, but
Komawara did not speak of this and Shuyun felt it would be the
worst manners to inquire.

Shuyun was certain he saw the beginnings of healing in Komawara,
just a glimmer, but there, nonetheless. He carries wounds as deep
as any cut by a sword, Shuyun thought. One cannot expect him to
heal overnight.

What Nishima had done, the gifts that she had given the young
lord, showed great wisdom, Shuyun thought. There was no
question in Shuyun’s mind that Nishima was the ruler that Wa
needed in this time. Thinking of the Empress brought a sense of
warmth and joy. She was my teacher, he thought, though she did
not know it.

He turned his attention back to the light dappling the ferns and the
forest floor across the stream. The Illusion, he had been taught
and it had taken some time to learn what that truly meant. He had
labored under so many misapprehensions—it made him wonder
what was truly written in the scrolls of Botahara.

The sound of the lightest of footsteps sounded in the soft
undergrowth and Shuyun turned to find the Kalam bearing bowls of
cha. With a bow, the tribesman set one on the edge of Shuyun’s
mat and then turned and took a second bowl to Komawara.

Shuyun caught the lord’s eye then and waved an invitation. Folding
his letter, Komawara came and found a place on the corner of the
monk’s mat. Yes, there it was, around the eyes and the mouth,
signs that Komawara was emerging through the bitterness and
anger.

Shuyun noticed that the lord did not carry a sword in his sash, and
had not during their journey—highly unusual for a warrior of Seh. Of
course, Komawara did keep a blade strapped to his saddle, but
Shuyun had not seen him touch it yet. The Kalam removed the
sword at each stop and kept it close at hand for the lord’s use.
There were brigands abroad in Wa, and many inclined to honesty
were being forced to this life. But all the same Komawara chose
not to carry a blade.

“We might reach the foot of the mountain this afternoon, Brother, it
is not as far off as it appears.”

Shuyun nodded. “Yes. In the morning I must proceed alone,
Samyamu-sum, though I will miss your company.”

“I fear my company has been poor, Shuyun-sum. I apologize for
this.”

Shuyun met the lord’s gaze for a moment, searching

his eyes. “Lord Komawara, do you suggest that one who will serve
the Teacher would speak anything but the truth?” he said, his tone
mock-serious.

Komawara grinned. “Please excuse me, Brother. I meant to imply
no such thing. But, in truth, I think my company has been less than
joyful.”

“Perhaps, but it has given me great joy even so. After our other
journeys together, this one has certainly been the most pleasant.”

Komawara gave a short laugh. “What, Brother, you did not feel
great joy climbing the walls of Denji Gorge in the darkness? The
legends will no doubt say that you did.”

Shuyun grimaced. “It is your legend, Lord Komawara, that will
speak of fearlessness.”

“Huh,” Komawara sipped his cha. “That is one of the many things I
fear, Brother. On the walls of Denji Gorge I was as terrified as I can
remember being, yet no song will tell that part of the tale.” And then
quieter. “No play will show the regret I feel for the lives I have
taken.”

Shuyun stared at the lord’s face, watching the anguish return. “I
have taken a life as well, Samyamu-sum. Lord Botahara was once
a great general. The spirit can rise above all things—it is possible.
Do not think that your soul will carry this stain forever—it can be
cleansed. You are not a simple warrior, Samyamu-sum, able to
follow the way of the sword without question. It is the terrible thing
about war; it sends the most innocent into the field and strips their
souls bare of this innocence. We have both seen it. Lord Shonto,
Lady Nishima, Jaku Katta, you—we have all played parts in this
terrible war. None have escaped unscathed.

“Duty requires much of us all. Of some it requires a life of
drudgery. To rise above that is as difficult as it is to rise above what
you have done in the performance of your duties. Yet souls of
great enlightenment have arisen from the poorest circumstances. I
have faith that you will rise above this, Samyamu-sum, though it
may be as difficult as all the other feats you are celebrated for.”

Komawara took a long breath. “Thank you, Shuyun-sum. It is my
hope that you are right, as you have been in so many other
matters.”

The Kalam came and sat on a rock a pace away, sip-

ping his cha silently. The three stayed like that into the afternoon,
preserving their company as long as possible.

The next morning found the three travelers at the base of the
Mountain of the Pure Spirit. They rode along a road that wound
through a woods of birch and pine and golden slip maple.

They did not speak as they rode, for there was little left to be said.
They had survived their travels in the desert and the war fought the
length of the Grand Canal-words could not begin to say what these
things meant. Riding out with Shuyun on the beginning of his
journey said all that was required.

At length they came to a shrine at the road’s edge. The road
narrowed here and began to rise more steeply. As though this was
a sign, Shuyun stopped and turned his horse so that he faced his
companions.

“I must go alone from here, Samyamu-sum.”

The monk could see the young lord struggling as he had often
watched the Kalam do—looking for the correct words. In this case,
Shuyun thought, none would be found.

“May Botahara journey at your side, Samyamu-sum,” Shuyun said.

With an effort, Komawara managed to speak in a whisper. “May
Botahara chant your name, Brother.”

Shuyun reached out and touched the lord’s arm. “He has, Lord
Komawara. He has.” The monk smiled.

Turning to the Kalam, he spoke to the tribesman in the language of
the desert, the tribesman bobbing his head at almost every word.
The monk reached into his sleeve then and removed something
that he placed in the Kalam’s hand. The final words Shuyun said
left the tribesman utterly still and silent.

With a bow that the others returned, Shuyun turned his horse and
began to climb up into the trees. At a point where he was about to
disappear into the woods, Shuyun turned his horse and waved
once to his companions. And then he was gone from sight.

It was a small gesture, but it gladdened Komawara’s heart more
than he could have guessed.

The lord and the tribesman turned their horses back the way they
had come, riding knee to knee. It was sev-

eral rih before Komawara’s curiosity got the better of him.

“If I may ask,” the lord said, “what was Shuyun-sum’s gift?”

The barbarian dug into a pouch at his waist and held out his hand.
On his palm lay a deep blue stone, the kind one might find in the
bed of river—smooth and regular in shape.

“It is the soul of a butterfly, Lord Komawara,” the Kalam said with
apparent awe. “Brother Shuyun said to me I would one day see
that this was so.”

“Then that is no doubt true,” Komawara responded and the two
men rode on through the late spring day, lost in their own thoughts.

Shuyun gave his horse to three monks that he met, and this
unexpected generosity allowed him to pass on without also giving
them his name. The road wound up through the trees, past
temples and monasteries belonging to both the Sisterhood and the
Order to which Shuyun had once belonged. There were many
shrines and, like all good seekers, Shuyun stopped at each one
and offered a prayer.

Rather than sleep in the lodgings provided for seekers near the
monasteries and temples Shuyun slept out under the sky, wrapped
in the single blanket in which, during the day, he carried a bowl and
a few things required for him to act as a healer.

With each step up the sacred mountain the monk felt he was
breaking free of the earth, rising up onto a different plane. Summer
clouds sailed in from the ocean and occasionally one seemed to
attach itself to the mountain, clinging there until it stretched itself
out in the wind like a torn banner, then it would break its bond and
sail free.

They come to me, Shuyun laughed to himself, the Gatherer of
Clouds. Like the Brother in the ancient play, it is my place to gather
together the nebulous, the ambiguous. I will dispel the Illusion, if
only for a few.

On the second day Shuyun came to the shrine he sought—the
place where Botahara had given up his army and renounced all
property, the place mentioned in the scroll Shuyun had received
from Brother Hitara. Here the

monk found a place on a large rock and began to fast and
meditate. The shrine was just above the tree line and only a few of
the most hardy trees survived here. Though few in number, these
mountain pines were very old and each had been given a name, for
they had been there a thousand years before when the Perfect
Master had walked over these very stones.

Many seekers came to this shrine but few spoke to Shuyun, for
most had taken vows of silence and assumed the same of others.

On the third day of Shuyun’s fast, the monk he awaited appeared at
last. Seeing Shuyun, he approached, bowing in the manner of the
Botahist Brothers.

“May the Perfect Master walk beside you, Brother Hitara,” Shuyun
said.

“May the Teacher greet you by name, Brother Shuyun.”

The monk Shuyun had met in the desert perched on the edge of
the rock.

“It is my hope, Brother Hitara, that you have come to show me the
Way.”

“Only the Teacher can do that, Brother—the Teacher and his
bearer. But I will guide you some short distance.”

Shuyun gave a deep bow in answer. They set off, passing between
two tall stones set like gate posts on the stark landscape. The gray
bones of the mountain were exposed here and interrupted only
occasionally by dusky-green lichen beds.

As they passed the western shoulder of the peak itself, Shuyun
was given a view of the Empire stretching off into the distance. He
was above the clouds now and could see the masses of white,
each trailing a shadow across the land, as they rolled off toward the
western horizon. The Grand Canal was a silver thread pulled
straight across the landscape and the Imperial Capital was a
mound of white stones, stark against the greens of the land and the
blues of the lake. Shuyun stopped for a moment, and Brother
Hitara walked on a few paces to leave him in peace.

It was an easy thing to fill himself with the presence of Nishima and
he did so now—her humor, her tenderness, her open spirit.
Raising his hand at last as though

he waved to someone far off, the monk turned and followed Hitara.

“Good-bye, my teacher,” he whispered, “I go to meet another.”

At dusk they had passed around the shoulder of the mountain and
Shuyun felt that they were in the mountains proper now, for there
was no sight of the Empire. They made a camp after dark and
meditated on the stars until a moon appeared and then they
continued, walking a narrow ridge that twisted and rolled like a stem
of lintel vine. By daylight they had gone many rih.

Brother Hitara was also fasting, so they stopped only occasionally
to drink. The late-spring sun beat down, but the air remained cool
and there was always a breeze from the sea, making their
relentless pace bearable. Toward the end of the second day
Shuyun realized that only his Botahist-trained memory would allow
him to retrace their route, so twisted was it, so devoid of
distinguishing marks.

Working down a scree slope late in the day, Brother Hitara began
to search along the face of a cliff. After some searching he located
a break in the rock that could not be seen from even a few feet
away. Through this they came upon a ledge wide enough for two to
walk abreast. It wound up around the side of the cliff, its slope
gradual, disappearing into a white cloud that clung to the mountain
side. The stone here appeared to have seen so many generations
of men pass along it that it was worn completely smooth.

Hitara stood gazing along the pathway with a look of satisfaction as
though reassured somehow that it was still here or that he had
been able to find it. “You must not wear your sandals here, Brother
Shuyun—for you this is the beginning of the Way. Give a prayer of
thanks each time your sole touches the stone, for few have walked
this path.”

“Brother Hitara,” Shuyun said. “My gratitude cannot be expressed.”

Hitara looked at him oddly then, almost quizzically. “Brother
Shuyun, certainly the honor is mine. I have taken some small part in
the completion of a prophesy. With each breath I thank Botahara
for this. Few can say

as much.“ He raised his hands to encompass the whole world.
”What more can I ask of this life?“

He knelt down and kissed the smooth stone that began the path,
then rose and bowed to Shuyun. “We shall meet again, Brother
Shuyun. May the Teacher bless you.”

“I must thank you for delivering His message, though I confess it
took some months before I realized.

‘ ’It grows dark, Brother, will you not make camp with me until
morning?“ Suddenly Shuyun felt it odd to be abandoned. The path
he had sought for so long seemed more daunting than he had
imagined.

Hitara waved up the slope. “The moon will light my way, Brother
Shuyun, for I have many tasks to perform. I would suggest you wait
until daylight before you proceed, however. The Way is narrow.”
Bowing again, Hitara began to make his way lightly up the loose
rock.

Finding a flat stone, Shuyun sat and began to meditate. Later, in
the moonlight, he chanted, his voice echoing among the mountains
as though he were a hundred men.

At the first hint of light he rose and removed his sandals. Like
Hitara, he knelt and kissed the stone before placing a foot upon it.
If there had been water, he would have bathed his feet.

The pathway led up the shoulder of the mountain until it entered a
draw between that mountain and the next. Shuyun passed over the
ridge that lay here, glad to find a stream of cool water. The path
then followed the narrow ridge, the stone sloping off on both sides
into green valleys far below. To his right Shuyun could see a small
lake the color of turquoise.

At the end of the day the monk found a tiny rivulet of water that
wound down the steep mountainside. A rough stone shrine stood
here and Shuyun spent the night as he had before, in prayer.

He set out again at dawn and followed the narrow path as it wound
its way deeper into the ancient mountains. Here and there a twisted
pine sprang up impossibly from the desert of stone, and now and
then he found a pond of clear water. Nowhere did he see signs that
others had passed this way, no remains of fires or camps, yet the
pathway remained as obvious and clear as a road in the

Capital. Who has passed this way? Shuyun asked himself. How
could there have been so many?

On the third day, the sixth of his fast, he came into a hanging valley
suspended between three mountains, and here there was enough
accumulation of soil that both grass and trees grew—tall narrow firs
of a type Shuyun had never seen. Rounding a massive boulder
Shuyun surprised a Botahist Sister. Immediately she recovered.
She smiled and bowed, making signs of welcome, but she said
nothing. In a basket she gathered the cones of the pine trees and
some small plant that Shuyun did not know. Obviously, she had
taken a vow of silence, so the monk smiled and passed her by,
following the pathway.

This valley is my destination, he realized, the awareness surfacing
in him as though it was knowledge he had always possessed. The
Teacher is here.

He skirted the shore of a tiny lake, and walked through a stand of
trees. Here, without warning he came upon a small, roughly built
house surrounded by a fence of un-planed boards.

Two Brothers knelt at the gate and they bowed low when Shuyun
came into view, showing less surprise at the arrival of a stranger
than had the foraging Sister. One rose immediately and slipped
through the gate.

The Order’s missing Brothers, Shuyun said to himself. Brother
Hitara is one of these. The great mystery to the Botahist
Brotherhood. They came to serve the Teacher. But how did they
know? How did they find Him? Had they received messages like
the one Shuyun had received from Hitara? Knowing where the
Brothers had come did not solve the mystery.

Realizing the remaining monk did not intend to speak, Shuyun
turned and gazed out over the lake, breathing in the scents of the
valley that drifted on the cool breeze. It was a fine perfume.

/ have found Him, Shuyun thought, feeling his spirit lift as though it
took wing on the breeze. We have waited a thousand years…

“Brother Shuyun.” It was a woman’s voice.

The monk turned to find a Sister regarding him with obvious
interest. She was older, though nowhere near as old as the
Prioress, and her bearing was that of a woman Shuyun’s age.

“May you be welcome in our home,” she said in a voice as youthful
as her movement. “It is a place of great peace.”

“I feel that I have arrived, Sister, but I do not know where.”

When the woman smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes
made them appear delightfully mischievous and Shuyun could not
help but smile at this contrast.

“This valley, this lake, they have no names.” She waved up the
slope behind the house. “Nor is this mountain named. It is the
home of the Teacher, kept ready for hundreds of years. And now
he has come. Please, Brother, walk with me.”

Shuyun followed her into a garden, stretching his time sense as he
stepped through the gate to make the moment last. A gravel path
led to the porch of the house but the nun did not go there. She took
a second path, that wound among trees Shuyun could not name,
and came to a second gate. She opened this gently, peering
inside, then held it wide for her guest. “He awaits you, Brother.”

Shuyun was suddenly light-headed and he forced control over
himself with great discipline. When he passed through the gate,
the nun did something he did not expect—she reached out and
touched him. It was not a gesture of affection or reassurance, she
simply wanted to touch him. / am the bearer of the Word, Shuyun
thought. I am part of a prophesy.

Stepping through the gate, Shuyun swept the garden with his gaze
but saw no one. He stood for a moment, offering up a prayer, and
then he began to walk along the path, his bare feet alive in every
nerve as though the holiness of the earth flowed like chi.

The garden was small, large stones set among trees and unusual
shrubs. The elevation no doubt imposed limits on what could be
grown, giving the garden a sense of sparseness. All the same, this
was a garden of great artistry and Shuyun drank in every detail.

Rounding a boulder, he found a man sitting on a cushion on a low,
flat stone that formed a natural dais. Before this was an area of
raked gravel. Shuyun stopped suddenly, unable to proceed. The
Teacher bent over a scroll. He dressed in the man-

ner of Shuyun’s own Order including a pendant and purple sash.
He was not as old as many monks Shuyun had known and this was
a surprise, though it should not have been. The Teacher appeared
to have seen perhaps seventy-five years in this lifetime, though
Shuyun was sure that was at least ten short of the truth. He was of
average size with little about him, physically, to mark him. Perhaps
his eyes were wider apart than most and his cheekbones higher,
making his face appear less round than common among the
people of Wa.

The Teacher looked up and smiled at Shuyun, a smile like the
Prioress Saeja’s—full of compassion, though touched by humor
and the perspective of great age—many lifetimes in this case.

“Welcome,” the Teacher said, his voice melodic. In that single
word Shuyun was certain he heard an echo of both Lord Shonto
and Lady Nishima.

Gesturing as he began to roll the scroll, the Teacher invited Shuyun
to come forward.

Unsure of what was expected, Shuyun chose to walk, though he
knelt and bowed three paces from the rock dais.

For several minutes the Teacher did not take his eyes off the
young monk before him and his expression of great pleasure did
not change. Somehow Shuyun felt like a favored son returning after
a long absence.

“Brother Shuyun, it is with great joy that we welcome you into our
home.”

“The honor is mine entirely… Brother Satake.”

The older man’s face lit up in a great smile. “Motoru-sum would
never have told you.”

“He did not, Brother.”

The Teacher laughed. “You will be most welcome. I only regret that
I will stay but a short time.”

Not quite sure what was meant by this, Shuyun searched for
something to say. “I bring you a gift, Brother Satake,” Shuyun said.
He felt his spirit calming as though he were in the presence of
someone he had known a very long time.

“It is most kind, Brother Shuyun, though I have need of nothing.”

“It is a poem, Brother.”

“Ah! A poem is always welcome.”

Reaching into his sleeve, Shuyun found the mulberry paper. He
leaned forward to place it on the dais, but Satake reached out and
took it from his hand. Slowly the Teacher unfolded it and read, the
look on his face made Shuyun believe that never had the Teacher
received anything that delighted him more. He finished reading,
and then he laughed his laugh of great joy.

“Nishi-sum, Nishi-sum,” he said, as though the Empress were there
in the garden with them. Brother Satake looked up. “This gift brings
me great joy, Brother Shuyun. I thank you. She is well?”

Shuyun nodded.

“How I miss her at times,” the Teacher said with feeling.

Shuyun nodded. “I fear I shall say the same.” The Teacher
regarded him again, unembarrassed, it seemed, to do this. “It has
been many centuries since a follower of the Eightfold Path walked
the roads of Wa, Brother Shuyun.”

Shuyun broke away from the man’s gaze with some effort. “I am
not sure what the Eightfold Path is, Brother Satake, but I have
wandered far from the path taught by my Order.”

The Teacher’s face became grave. “You rode to war beside my
former charge, Motoru-sum; were stripped of your pendant and
ejected from your Order; met the barbarian threat; and took an
Empress as your lover—all in the few months since you left Jinjoh
Monastery?”

Shuyun did not know what to answer. Though the charges were
most serious, the Teacher’s tone seemed to lighten with each
word.

Satake laughed suddenly. “I spent decades accomplishing less,
Brother.” He smiled his beautiful smile. “Perhaps only Botahara
has lived more fully before finding His true purpose.” The Teacher
laughed again. “Nishi-sum, Nishi-sum,” he said as though he
chastised a favored child, “my own bearer.”

Brother Satake regarded Shuyun again and the humor in the man’s
eyes seemed to shine through. “Here we have labored on other
pursuits, Brother.” He gestured to the scroll he had been reading.
“We true-copy Botahara’s great work.”

Shuyun looked up, certain he had let his surprise show. “How,
Brother?”

He was not sure this question did not bring a glint of pleasure to
the old man’s eyes. “There are Faithful even among the Botahist
Brothers, Shuyun-sum. Even among the hypocrites and liars. The
scrolls have been in the possession of the faithful for some years.

“So we have labored. It is a task more difficult than one would
think, for the language has changed and grown—but my special
knowledge of the past has allowed us to come near to the end of
this. The Word of Botahara as it must be known.” He smiled at
Brother Shuyun. “And the word of Satake as I have written it.” He
hefted the scroll he had been reading as if demonstrating its
weight. “The word you will bear. Your way will be hard, Brother,
never doubt it.”

Shuyun stared openly at the scroll in Satake held. The hand of
Botahara, so close I could reach out and touch

it.

Suddenly his face became serious. “You have not yet stopped the
sand, Brother Shuyun.”

“I have not, Brother Satake,” Shuyun admitted. “I confess that I am
afraid.”

The Teacher nodded, understanding in his eyes. “As was I,
Brother Shuyun.” He set the scroll down gently and wrapped it in
brocade. “Tell me what it is you have learned from your teachers,
the Shonto.”

Yes, Shuyun thought, it is as I believed. Nishima was my teacher
as was her father. “I have learned much, Brother Satake… and
perhaps I have learned nothing. I do not know.‘’

The Teacher did not answer but gave his full attention to the young
monk, waiting.

Shuyun stared down at the gravel for a moment as though studying
the patterns there, looking for order among the randomness of the
world. “It is the Illusion, Brother Satake: what I was taught did not
ring of truth. The world, it is not illusion, it is a plane on which our
spirits take form. I was taught that believing in the Illusion would
lead to great sorrow, and that joy and pleasure were not
real—things meant only to trap us in an endless cycle of rebirth into
the world of Illusion.” He looked up suddenly. “But I now believe
this was wrong. Joy and

pleasure are as real as pain and sorrow and one must learn what
they have to teach, just as a Neophyte Brother must learn the
Form. The Illusion exists in the minds of those who do not truly
believe they can progress beyond that plane onto another, who do
not know that there is a lesson to be learned. To progress beyond
the world one must give it up, finally. It will not disappear the day
this is done—one must still come to completion before one leaves
it behind. The world will exist for all the souls to come. But one
must break free of the Illusion, perceive the path to the next plane.
I say this though I have not done so, Brother Satake.“

The Teacher smiled and Shuyun felt like a student who had
pleased his Master. “You have other duties, Brother. Your time will
come.” He waved toward the mountains. “When I am no longer
among you, Shuyun-sum, you must go to the faithful. The mountain
people await you as the tribes of the desert await the rains. It will
be the beginning of your long task, Brother Shuyun. Your path will
eventually lead you among the hypocrites and liars-some whom
you will know by name.” He looked up at a passing cloud. “You will
be the Bearer, Shuyun-sum, you will be the Gatherer.” He smiled
upon Shuyun, a smile of great peace. “Botahara will walk beside
you.”

I have gone to the base of the Sacred Mountain And watched him
ride up among the clouds, He of the tranquil soul.

Turning back then, My soul was a raging torrent But tonight I dream
of dark eyes Above the fan’s edge.

If peace can restore an Empire Will it not a man’s spirit?

Lord Komawara Samyamu, Consort to the Empress Shigei

The End

I

I