The Initiate Brother Duology (40 page)

In the darkness on the lake the lights of Shonto’s fleet could be seen bobbing and swaying in the waves. They seemed far off now, far off and very small. He is a great general, Shuyun told himself; everything that could be done to insure our success has been done. If only the others do not fail. The plan depended on so many different elements, so many different people.

Shuyun pushed these thoughts from his mind as he came to the point he had looked for. He explored the cracks as far up as he could reach. They were smoother inside than he would have expected, older and more worn, but they were wider than he had dared hope. He thrust his hand into one and found it as wide as his fist and quite deep.

Now, Shuyun thought, we will see if the long hours of discussion with Lord Komawara will have been worth the effort. Shuyun retied the knot around his chest and made sure that Komawara had untied his. Taking a moment to compose himself, Shuyun searched his inner self to be sure that he had, as his teachers said, tranquillity of purpose.

He began to climb, twisting his cotton-wrapped feet and hands into the crack, forcing himself up the fracture in the stone. The rope was the length
of twenty-five men, as long as he dared carry without fear of tangling, and Komawara carried a similar length. If the window they climbed toward was higher than their estimate, they would be unable to drop the rope back to the waters. Shuyun climbed, emptying his mind of such doubts, filling it with the convolutions of the stone, with each measured movement.

The wind tried to grasp him, but he could not be pried loose. The skin on his knuckles tore and both his ankle bones seeped fluid from their contact with the stone. Shuyun felt as though he climbed up into the spirit world, and though he did not consider himself superstitious, he felt a presence, as though the long vanquished Brothers hovered about him, still clinging to the earthly plane.

There, there is our enemy, they would say. He climbs across the hip of Botahara’s Bride as though it were not sacrilege to do so! May he fall into eternal darkness!

The rock canted in slightly as he crossed the cold stone hip and he stopped to rest a moment before going on. A lifetime of Botahist training came into play, chi flowed into his arms and legs and, even against the unpredictable winds, his balance remained perfect.

He reached the point where the bodies of the Lovers joined. No amount of training had prepared him to meet this sight on such close terms.

“Heresy,”
Shuyun whispered to himself.

The very rock seemed to be stained with this crime. And yet he clung to it for his life.

It was only then that he realized he had stopped climbing, and this lapse shocked him. In his mind he began a chant to Botahara, attempting to regain his focus. The life of my liege-lord depends on my success, he told himself, and the lives of all his retainers and family.

“Lady Nishima.”
The whisper came to his lips unbidden. He leaned his head against the cold stone. I am unworthy of the efforts of my teachers, he thought. He began his chant again and started up the crack that led over the hip of the figure of the Perfect Master. In his mind he measured the rope that he had used and guessed that Lord Komawara still held half of it. The crack suddenly became deeper and wider, and Shuyun found that he could sink his arm in to its full length. It continued to grow as he progressed upward and he pushed his shoulder into the crevice.

Wind seemed to funnel down this widened fissure—a cold hand pushing him down—and he fought against it. Finally, after a long struggle, his fingers found the top of the stone hip and he realized then that it was formed
by a narrow ledge. He pulled himself up onto it, struggling against the rock which seemed to clutch at his clothes and snag the rope.

Peering into the darkness, Shuyun tried to follow the path of the ledge. The gray line of its edge seemed to rise up on a steep diagonal, but then it blended into the colors of the night and Shuyun was unsure of its direction. He searched his memory of the relief, but it made no sense to him. The back of Botahara? Could it be? What else could be rising at that angle? He had crossed the sculpture at its thinnest section, so it was possible. The window they hoped to enter was almost directly above him now, but perhaps this ledge offered unexpected possibilities.

Bracing his feet against the ledge, Shuyun wedged himself back into the crack and began to take in the rope. When he reached the end, he gave it two light tugs and waited to feel Lord Komawara begin his ascent.

The wind did not seem about to abate, but continued to scream and fly in every direction like a mad dragon. Komawara was only a few feet below Shuyun before the monk heard the sounds of his approach. It had seemed to take Komawara an age to reach the ledge, but Shuyun had not once felt the weight of the warrior on the rope.

With some difficulty Komawara found his way past Shuyun’s feet and levered himself onto the ledge. He fought to regain his breath and his muscles were trembling with the exertion.

“Where?” Komawara said, finally.

“You sit astride the back of the Faceless Lover,” Shuyun whispered.

“But what is this ledge?”

“The arch of His back. A ledge used long ago to drape material for festivals.”

“Does it lead to a window, then?”

“It is not likely, Sire, the ancient monks were too careful. The ledge would have been reached by ropes or ladders. There should be an opening below us, though farther to the left. It is a question of whether it will be easier and quicker to continue up as we are or to cross the ledge and lower ourselves to the opening which we shall have to find in the dark.”

Komawara was silent, thinking. “Surely, Brother, this opening to our left will be closer to the water and therefore will make an easier ascent for Shonto’s soldiers.”

Shuyun realized that in this darkness it was impossible to know which route would be easier. There was something attractive about the ledge, it
was there and substantial, and somehow not as intimidating as climbing up again into total darkness.

“I think we should explore this ledge, Lord Komawara. It is as you say; we shall be lower this way, and there is little doubt that our ropes will reach.”

With that, the monk stepped over his companion and set out along the ledge. He moved on his hands and knees at first, but as the ledge narrowed he dropped to his belly. The surface beneath him continued to shrink and Shuyun was forced to hang his leg and arm over the side. He crawled on, his eyes closed against the dust whipped off the ledge by the wind. Twice he was forced to climb past areas where the stone had cracked and fallen away, but these only slowed his progress and tested his skill.

The ledge ended abruptly in a small platform, confirming Shuyun’s theory that the monks had gained access to them by ladder or rope. Searching with his bleeding fingers, he found a crack that ran along the back of the ledge, but nothing wide enough for him to use as purchase or into which he could jam a knot.

Komawara will have to make the traverse alone. I cannot save him if he falls, or I will be swept from the ledge myself. Untying the rope from his chest, he pulled in the slack and gave Komawara the signal they had agreed upon—two tugs, a pause, and then one more. A second later the rope went slack, Shuyun took it in carefully, arranging it so he would not be tangled in it should Komawara fail.

Twice the intake of rope stopped, as Komawara found his way past the breaks in the ledge, and each time Shuyun controlled his urge to take the line around his waist. But then the line came in again as it had before.

They hardly dared speak when Komawara arrived on the platform, they were so unsure of the location of the opening they sought.

Komawara put his mouth close to Shuyun’s ear. “Is it not directly below, Brother?” Even in the darkness Shuyun could tell that the lord rubbed his eyes, trying to free them of the dust.

“I cannot be sure,” Shuyun whispered back. “It should be nearby, perhaps three heights below, but to the left.”

Komawara leaned over the edge, feeling with his hand. When he sat back he again whispered into the monk’s ear. “The rock seems sheer—without holds. How?”

Shuyun felt again into the crack along the wall. “Your sword, Lord
Komawara, it must be the anchor.” He took the young warrior’s hand and showed him the opening.

“
We must think of something else!
—my
sword!
It was my father’s—I cannot leave it.”

Shuyun put his hand on the other’s arm. “We have nothing else.”

The wind whirled about them, buffeting them on their small ledge. Deliberately, Komawara began to undo the harness that held his weapon. In a moment he had the sword and scabbard off and handed them to Shuyun without a word. Using the tip of the sheathed weapon, Shuyun explored the crevice, probing until he found the deepest spot, and here he pushed the scabbard and sword in the length of a man’s hand. He tied the rope carefully around the weapon, working the knot down as far as he could.

“It is best that I go first, Sire. Perhaps, without a weapon, I will have an advantage.” Not waiting for a reply, Shuyun took the rope around his waist and slipped over the edge of the rock.

The wind seemed far greater on the exposed face of the cliff. He put his feet against the stone and leaned back, but the wind seemed to rock him, pushing him first one way then another. Letting the rope slip slowly across the cotton wrappings on his hands, Shuyun swung himself downward, placing each foot with care.

The window must be nearby, Shuyun thought. He tried to peel aside the layers of darkness, but his eyes told him nothing. A smell came to him on the wind—salt, sweat, and oil. He turned his head, searching for the source of the scent. There! He smelled it again. Moving to the left, Shuyun tried to trace the odor. Yes, he thought, it comes from over here. He moved a step farther, but his foot began to slip and then stopped. As he moved off to the side of his point of attachment, like a pendulum he would tend to swing back toward the center. He forced himself over two more steps, but could go no farther. Was that a line there in the darkness—a hint of light?

Suddenly a voice drifted to him, though it might have been a trick of the wind. Lower, the monk thought, and let some rope slide through his hands. Again! He could almost make out the words now. He lowered himself farther, trying to grip the granite with his feet, forcing himself to the left.

“There is much movement on the plain tonight.” The voice seemed almost at Shuyun’s elbow!

“It is to do with Lord Shonto. Perhaps he will help our lord rid this land of those cattle thieves.”

“Huh! It will be a warm winter when the Shonto and the Hajiwara become allies.”

“Well, it has been a warm autumn, until today. Perhaps that is a sign. Please excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”

Shuyun could almost hear them bowing in the dark. He realized that he must go lower, but first he must return to the center of his pendulum.

It would not be possible to move across as far as the opening without chancing a slip which could alert the Hajiwara guard to his presence. There was only one sure way to reach the window.

Shuyun moved to his right, away from the opening, pushing himself as far as he could. And then he waited for the Wind God to favor him. He chanted silently and prepared himself as if to spar. What is good for the Shonto will be good for my Order, he told himself. Yet he felt apprehension—not fear, but an anxiety that he would be forced to do battle in earnest. May I be forced to hurt no one, he prayed. The Brotherhood has fought battles before, Shuyun told himself, and though they were to insure the safety of the followers of Botahara, this is no different. Lord Shonto supports the Botahist religion against the wishes of the Emperor and therefore he deserves our complete loyalty.

Shuyun had no way of knowing where the guard would stand, or if he was in the opening at all. It seemed likely that the weather would force him back into the rock as far as duty would allow.

He braced himself, feeling the wind backing. When it favored him entirely, Shuyun ran across the face of the rock, becoming a human pendulum. He judged his distance to the window by his steps, steps which seemed unbelievably slow to his altered time sense. The stone seemed rough against his foot, rough and cold. His momentum grew until it carried him far into the arc.

The door should be here, the monk thought, and there in the dark rock a line appeared. He grasped the line—a hard edge of stone, and pulled himself into the opening. He hit the stone floor and careened across it into the other side of the window. The sound of a sword coming out of its scabbard brought him to his knees. He could see the guard silhouetted against a dull glow that came from somewhere inside. Reaching out, Shuyun grasped the soldier by his armor, and, in one smooth motion, pulled the man toward him. The soldier fell forward, the blow he had aimed going wild, and then he was in the air. A scream seemed to come out of the wind, and the man
was gone. There was only the noise of the waves below. May Botahara have mercy on him, Shuyun prayed, and on me.

Shuyun crept back into the light of the tunnel. It opened into a large room with a high, round ceiling that had the signs of a typical guard station—the remains of a meal, weapons neatly arranged, a single lamp on the table. There was no one there. Shuyun went to the door carved into the back wall and found an unlighted stairway that led upward. He heard no sound but the rushing of the wind as it funneled through the rock.

The rope!
He had lost his grip on the rope! It was gone, lost in the darkness where Lord Komawara awaited his signal!

Shuyun ran back to the window. The wind made his eyes run with tears and he tried to shield them with his hand. In the darkness he could see nothing. Komawara must have my signal or it will be impossible for him to make a decision, Shuyun realized. He will not know if I have fallen or been taken.

Returning to the chamber, Shuyun looked for something, anything, that would help him reach the rope. A long spear with a barbed tip leaned against the wall. He took it up and felt its weight. Yes, he thought. A noise came from the stairway and Shuyun crouched, listening, ready to strike. It is only the wind taunting me, he thought.