Sean Russell - The Initiate Brother 1 - The Initiate Brother

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Book Information:

Genre: Fantasy

Author: Sean Russell

Name: The Initiate Brother

Series: Book one of a Duology

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The Initiate Brother

By Sean Russell

The practice of condemning messengers, the Supreme Master thought, had not developed without reason. The old

man looked down at the scroll he had received from the Floating City that very morning and he shook his head. A

lifetime of dedication and effort and still he received messages like this. It seemed a great injustice.

Brother Hutto, the Primate of the Floating City, wrote that Botahist Brothers were being accosted on their travels by

criminals and ruffians: accosted by the people of the Empire!

The Supreme Master slowly began to roll the mulberry paper scroll. The attacks were not the true problem—one would

have to search a lifetime to find someone more able to defend himself than a Brother of the Faith—it was what these

attacks said about the situation in the Empire and the attitude of the new Emperor. This was the Supreme Master’s real

concern.

He set the scroll on the corner of his writing table. Brother Hutto had written that several of these robbers had been

injured recently, but this did not seem to be a deterrent. If anything, the attacks were increasing. The old monk reached

for the scroll as if to read it again, but stopped himself. There could be no doubt of what it said.

If only the Emperor would turn his attention to the roads! That would be an indication that this new dynasty was

capable of something more than ambition.

The Supreme Master took a deep calming breath. Emperors, he reminded himself, come and go; the Faith

is eternal. It was important to keep the proper perspective.

Of course, Brother Hutto had recommended that a display might be appropriate. It was an old solution but

one that had not been employed for many years. The Supreme Master lifted the scroll again and hefted it as

though it were Brother Hutto’s suggestion he weighed. Perhaps a Brother of the Faith should enter the

Emperor’s kick boxing tournament during the River Festival.

Yes, the Supreme Master thought, he would allow a monk to enter, but not a senior Brother; no, that would

not have the desired affect. He would allow a junior Initiate to compete—the smallest, youngest looking

Initiate that could be found. That would be a message neither Emperor nor subjects could mistake, a

message to spread down all the roads of the Empire!

Fortunately, it appeared that finding the boy would not be difficult. The Supreme Master felt satisfied with

this idea. Not only would it fit his purpose, but there was historical precedent for such an act. The Lord

Botahara himself had first been a warrior and, in his time, had entered the Emperor’s tournament—though

the other fighters would not compete against him.

Lord Botahara had crossed the cobbled courtyard to the fighting ring and the cobbles had broken under his

feet. The story was no longer believed by the population at large, such was their lack of faith, but the old

monk knew it to be true. The Supreme Master himself could… Well, it was wrong to be proud of one’s

accomplishments—after all, what were they compared to the Enlightened One’s and he had overcome

pride altogether.

Addressing the problem in Brother Hutto’s letter had been the first difficulty of the day. Difficulty two had

just disembarked at the monastery’s wharf. Sister Morima; Botahist nun, acquaintance of forty years (could

it be that many?), would grace him with her presence as soon as she finished her bath. Days like this were

sent to try him! The Supreme Master had always hated surprise visits. That was one of the many beauties

of the monastery

on the island. There were almost no visitors at all, let alone any coming unannounced.

His mind drifted back to the report from Brother Hutto. What was that ass of an “Emperor” up to now?

The old fool had lived on past all predictions. It happened sometimes, and not always to everyone’s

advantage. The only benefit of this Emperor’s long life was that he did not leave a mere child to follow him,

which invariably meant succession struggles. But then, the heir was no prize either, and not friendly to the

Botahist Order. Well, the Brotherhood had plans and plans could be adapted to changing situations, just as

one adapted one’s strategy at the gü board. Botahara taught patience as a principal virtue and the Supreme

Master adhered to the principal virtues whenever possible.

The old monk let his eyes drift over the design set into the opposite wall in polished woods. Such a perfect

pattern—abstracted from the blossom of the Septfoil, one of the ninety-four healing herbs. Seven petals

within a septilateral, within a circle, the design intersected by the seven lines of power. So simple. So

complete. The work of Botahara was a constant source of joy to him.

I am a fortunate man, he thought, and then realized that someone was approaching down the hallway. Sister

Morima.

There came a tap on the frame of the shoji.

“Please enter,” the Master said, his voice the model of quiet dignity.

The shoji slid aside, revealing the great bulk of the Botahist nun. She was dressed in a long, unpatterned

kimono, in a most unbecoming shade of yellow, gathered at the waist with the purple sash of the Botahist

Orders. Her hair was cut short like a boy’s, offering no softness to relieve the square line of her jaw. She

was, the Supreme Master noted, tanned like a peasant.

“Sister Morima. We are honored that you would come so far out of your way to visit us.” He rose from his

cushion and bowed formally. The nun returned the bow, though only equally.

“The honor is mine, Brother Nodaku. To visit the mon-

astery of your sect is a privilege granted to so few…“ she stopped, as if at a loss for words.

As he had planned earlier, the Supreme Master moved his writing table aside, but the nun did not apologize

for interrupting. He offered her his cushion and took a second one from a wall closet.

“I bring you greetings and wishes of long health from Sister Saeja,” Sister Morima said as the Supreme

Master seated himself opposite her.

“And how is Sister Saeja? Well, no doubt?” Brother Hutto’s report had mentioned that the head of the

nun’s Order had recently returned from her annual pilgrimage to Monarta, the place of Lord Botahara’s

birth, and the old nun was slowing down noticeably.“

“She is as constant as the river and as supple as the willow wand, Brother Nodaku, a continual inspiration to

us all.”

He always found this ploy of hers—using his common name—disconcerting, as though the Initiate Nodaku

had suddenly been caught impersonating the head of the Order.

“That is good news, Sister. Do you have other news you can share? We are so isolated here!”

She flashed an amused smile. “I’ve just returned from the island of the barbarian, Brother. I’m sure your

news is more recent than mine.” The Supreme Master remained silent, but the nun offered nothing more.

Lifting an ivory hammer that sat before a polished bronze gong, the monk asked, “Cha?”

“Thank you, yes, Brother, and some food, if it is not too much of an imposition.” She bit off the last words.

The Supreme Master almost laughed as he tapped the gong. He knew the nun’s weakness. Brother

Nodaku, indeed! Footsteps sounded in the hall and then, as a knock was heard on the screen, a second set

of footsteps joined them.

“Please enter,” the Supreme Master said with understated authority. The face of Shuyun, the senior

Neophyte who was causing all the fuss, appeared and before the Supreme Master realized what was

happening, the

face of the Neophyte servant came into view also. The two boys were startled by the unexpected presence

of the Botahist nun. For an instant they stood in awkward silence and then they both bowed, bumping each

other in the half opened doorway.

“Do you need me to serve you, Supreme Master?” the second Neophyte asked.

“That is why I sound this gong,” the old monk said evenly. “Please, bring cha for Sister Morima and me.

And some food. The Sister has not yet eaten due to an unforgivable lapse in our manners!”

“Immediately, Supreme Master.” The boy bowed and hurried off.

“Shuyun-sum?”

“Excuse me for interrupting, Supreme Master. I was told to come here at this time to discuss my

Seclusion.”

The Supreme Master had forgotten.

“Have you completed your term, Initiate?” Sister Morima asked suddenly.

Shuyun bowed to the nun, while watching his master out of the corner of his eye. He decided it would be

impolite not to answer.

“I’m only a senior Neophyte, honored Sister, but yes, I have just finished my Seclusion.”

“Good for you, senior Neophyte. Did you stop the sand?” she smiled as she asked this question.

“No, honored Sister,” the boy said, his tone serious, “I failed to stop the hour glass from measuring time. I

can count the grains and name each one as it falls, but that is all.”

The Botahist nun was unable to hide her surprise.

By the Lord Botahara, the Supreme Master thought, what karma has arranged for the Sister to be here

now!

“Shuyun-sum, Sister Morima has graced us with her presence, so our interview must be postponed. I will

call for you at another time.”

Shuyun knelt, touching his head to the floor, and backed out of the room. “Thank you, Supreme Master.”

Then, suddenly emboldened, he asked, “May I join the junior Initiates in chi quan? They’re about to begin.”

r

The Supreme Master nodded his assent and made mental note to speak with the boy about addressing him after being

dismissed.

As soon as Shuyun was out of hearing, the woman asked, “Is this true?”

“Yes, Sister, the junior Initiates train in chi quan every day at this time.”

“You know what I mean, Brother!” She allowed impatience into her voice. “Is his chi ten ability so far developed?”

The Supreme Master shrugged. “I have only spoken to him just now.”

The nun adjusted her posture, sitting more erect, forcing herself into a studied calm. “I believe he was telling the

truth.” She drew a deep breath and then almost whispered, “By the Lord Botahara!”

The sounds of the chi quan class drifted in from the courtyard and filled the silence in the study.

“And what do you plan to do with such a one, Brother?”

“If he learns to walk the Seven Paths, he shall serve Lord Botahara, as do all of our Order.”

“Which is to say, you will indenture one with such abilities to some power-hungry lord, and draw him into the

intrigues of the Empire for your own gains.”

The Supreme Master was surprised by Sister Morima’s sudden attack, but forced himself to remain calm; his voice, as

always, was controlled. “We should not forget that the Lord Botahara was a peer of the Empire, born a ‘power-hungry

lord,’ as you say. The political intentions of our order, such as they are, have always been aimed at maintaining a

climate in which the following of Lord Botahara can grow. We have no other purpose. Your Order benefits as much

from our ”intrigues“— which amount to nothing more than giving sound advice—as does my own, Sister Morima.”

“I am not a Neophyte in need of instruction, Brother Nodaku. I choose my words with great care. So, you will take this

boy and thrust him into a society of decadence where even the best training may not save him? Three

of your Order died of the Great Plague—don’t deny it! Botahist monks died of disease! Could you really be

willing to risk one with such talent? What if he could learn to stop the sand?“

The Supreme Master fought to maintain his outward calm. How did she know about the plague deaths?

Everything possible had been done to keep them secret. What a world! Spies everywhere! “To serve a

peer of the Empire is a great test, Sister. If a member of our Order cannot pass it…” the old monk

shrugged, “that is his karma. Stopping the sand is much more difficult than serving among the peers.”

“Who was this one in his former life?” Sister Morima asked, pushing what she sensed was an advantage.

The Supreme Master shook his head, “We do not know.”

“But he was a monk or perhaps,” the nun touched her tongue to her lip, “perhaps a Sister?”

“That seems probable, Sister Morima.”

“He chose from among the objects offered?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you say it is probable that he was a monk?”

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Huh.”

The Supreme Master realized he was revealing more than he intended. The truth was that he had no idea

who the boy had been in his former life. As a child, when Shuyun had come to the Order he had been

tested in many ways. One of these tests was to choose, from among a random array of objects, those

commonly used by members of the Order. Shuyun had chosen all the correct objects—a feat almost

unheard of—but subsequent tests to discern who the boy had been were unsuccessful. This had never

before happened. Perhaps Shuyun had been a Sister! The Supreme Master found this thought unsettling.

“When will you give up this meddling in the affairs of the world, Brother, and concern yourself with the

perfection of the spirit, as my own Order does?”

“I assure you, Sister Morima, that we are as concerned with the spirit and its perfection, as you are.”

“But you are more concerned with perfecting the spirits of the wealthy, yeh?”

“Our temples and retreats deal with the less fortunate also, Sister, or have you forgotten? It was our Order

that found the cure for the Great Plague, saving peasants, merchants, and peers alike.”

Footsteps sounded in the hall and then came a tap on the shoji.

“Please enter.”

Two Neophytes bowed and came into the room carrying trays.

“I will serve the cha,” the Supreme Master said.

A small wooden table was moved to the center of the room. The servers moved with studied precision,

anxious not to bring shame to the Supreme Master or the monastery.

The Supreme Master prepared the tea according to the practices of a thousand years, while the servers laid

small platters of rice and vegetables on the table.

“Please, serve our guest first,” the ancient monk instructed, and then, with fascination, he watched the nun

select from each dish offered, her pupils wide with pleasure. Such a foolish weakness, the Supreme Master

thought. If she were a Brother of our faith, she would be required to live on water and air three days out of

seven for the rest of her life to show mastery of her desire. He dismissed the servers and poured the

steaming cha, offering the first cup to his guest.

“I am not deserving, Brother. Please take this cup yourself.”

“Your presence honors me; please, I insist.” He proffered the cup again and this time she received it with a

bow which he returned. Outside, on the small, private porch, a cricket began to chirp. The chi quan training

continued in the courtyard. The Supreme Master poured his own cha and tasted it. Perfect! The cha leaves

were grown in the monastery’s own garden and overseeing the cultivation of the cha plant was one of his

continuing

pleasures. He ate a small portion of rice, to be polite, and watched the nun as she tried to hide her

gluttony… and failed.

The Supreme Master knew that, when the food was gone, Sister Morima would reveal the true reason for

her visit—and he wouldn’t need to guess what that reason was. He sipped his cha.

He could hear the swallows building a nest under the roof of his balcony. They would make a terrible mess,

but he loved to watch them and make friends with them. Such beautiful fliers!

Looking at the running time glass on its stand, the Supreme Master began to exercise chi ten, stretching his

time sense until the sand appeared to slow as it fell. He looked down at the steam rising from his cha in

languid swirls, like impossibly fine curtains moving in a breeze. He smiled inwardly.

What if this young one could stop the sand, as the nun had asked? What if he could do more? Since Lord

Botahara, no one had stopped the sand—not in a thousand years! Why did they all fall short of the Perfect

Master? The old monk’s own teacher had had more highly developed chi ten abilities than any of his

students and he had claimed to have fallen short of his Master.

The Supreme Master felt the warmth of the cha bowl in his hands. Such a simple pleasure! He pondered

the secret that, for so long, only he had known, and wondered who else might have this knowledge now.

The sand, the sand. He turned his gaze to watch the grains as they fell.

Lord Botahara, the Perfect Master, through the discipline of chi ten, had learned to control his subjective

sense of time until the world slowed around him. All Botahist monks could do this to greater or lesser

degree. But the Enlightened One had gone far beyond this. It was written that Lord Botahara would

meditate upon the running sand until it not only stopped but, to His eye, it ran backward. The mere idea

awed the Supreme Master. It was said that Lord Botahara could move through time like a swimmer

through water. The monk had meditated

upon this every day for as long as he could remember, but still, the meaning of it eluded him. He knew that it had been

wise to make this part of the secret knowledge to be passed from one Supreme Master to the next. How was he to

explain what even he could not understand? There was no answer.

Sister Morima had finished eating, and he noted how well she hid her sense of shame. The Supreme Master lifted the

lid of a porcelain bowl and offered her a steaming, white cloth. She took one to clean her mouth and

hands.

“More cha, Sister?”

“Please, Brother Nodaku. The food, by the way, was

delicious.“

He poured, holding back the sleeve of the long kimono worn by all Botahist monks. Loose fitting pants that came to

mid-calf, sandals, and the purple sash of the Botahist Order completed their clothing. . I

Sister Morima took a sip of her cha, replaced the cup on the table, and composed herself. The moment had

come.

“Sister Saeja has again instructed me to ask you, in all humility, if members of our Order may come to study the scrolls

written by Lord Botahara.”

The Supreme Master stared into his cha, turning the cup slowly on the table. “Sister Morima, I have assured you that

the scrolls you study are the same as those studied by my own Order. The last time we spoke I offered you my

personal scrolls and I offer them to you again. The words you have are the words of Botahara as transcribed by the

most well versed monks of any age. They are, I assure you, the most perfect copies possible.”

“We don’t doubt, even for a moment, the abilities of the scholars who have transcribed Lord Botahara’s words,

Brother. For us, this is a matter of spiritual interest only. You have come to be the guardians of this treasure, yet it is

the legacy of all of Lord Botahara’s followers. We wish only to look upon the words of the Enlightened One, as you

have. We don’t wish to remove them from your excellent care, Brother, but only to send

a delegation—perhaps two or three of our most learned Sisters—to examine the scrolls—under your supervision, of

course. There is no reason for you to protect the scrolls from us. We revere these treasures as do you.“

“Sister, the scrolls, as you know, are very old. They are handled but once in a decade, when we unseal them to inspect

for the slightest signs of degeneration. They are resealed almost immediately. All of us make do with our transcribed

copies. All of us. I can say nothing more. I have an oath and a sacred trust which I will not violate. Please do not ask

me to waver in this area of duty, Sister

Morima.“

“I would never ask that you break your trust, Brother, but you… you are Supreme Master. You may alter decisions

that were made when the world was not as it is now. This is wisdom. Botahara taught that change was inevitable and

to resist it, folly.

“Perhaps two or three of my sisters could be present at the time of one of your examinations? We would not hinder

you in your duty, I assure you. Certainly it is allowed for the followers of the Word to attend this

ceremony?“

Cunning old cow! How, the Supreme Master wondered, was he to get around this? “Let me consider your words and

take counsel with the seniors of my Order. To do as you suggest would be to break the practices of a thousand years,

Sister Morima. You must realize that such a decision cannot be made quickly. I will say no more and, please,

understand that I can promise

nothing.“

“Ah, Brother Nodaku, your reputation for wisdom is indeed well deserved. I thank you, a thousand times over! You

honor me to listen to me for so long.” She bowed to him. “If you were to decide to allow us to be present at a time of

examination—and I realize you have not promised this—but if; when would this be?”

The Supreme Master looked up for a second as though he needed to calculate when such a momentous day

would come.

“It will be nearly nine years from now, Sister Morima.”

“A short time, Brother, the days shall fly!” she clapped her hands together like an excited child. “How close

to nine years, Supreme Master?”

He paused again, “Eight years from now on the seventh moon.”

She drained her cha and then said with emotion, “May you attain perfection in this lifetime!”

And may you attain perfection tonight that I might be done with you, the Supreme Master thought.

“The ship did not have a large cargo to unload here, Brother, I’m sure they must be waiting for me. May I

ask one more thing before I leave? When might we expect a decision on this matter?”

“I cannot say, Sister.”

“Perhaps you could give me some estimation, that I might allow my Sisters a time to which they may look

forward?”

“I cannot say, Sister Morima,” the monk repeated, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

She bowed. “As you say, Brother, it was not my intention to impose upon you.” She rose from her cushion

with surprising grace and bowed again, the old monk rose with her and bowed simultaneously.

“I have kept you too long, Brother. You have honored me with this interview. I am in your debt.”

“It is I who am honored, as your visit has graced our monastery. There can be no debt in such a matter.”

The nun bowed a last time and backed out of the room. At the door she stopped for a second, catching the

Supreme Master’s eye. “What if this young one develops a perfect ear for truth?”

The Supreme Master ignored what was implied in this question, answering without hesitation, “Then he

shall see not only the truth of Botahara’s words but also the truth of our sacred work.”

A senior Neophyte came down the hall to escort the Sister through the maze of Jinjoh Monastery. She

nodded as though acknowledging the wisdom of Brother Nodaku’s answer, turned on her heel, and was

gone.

The Supreme Master stood for a moment, staring at

the closed shoji, and then slid aside the screen that opened onto his private porch. A swallow flitted off the

almost completed nest, protesting the intrusion in a high voice. The Supreme Master did not step out onto

the wooden deck but instead hung back in the shadow provided by the roof. In the courtyard below he

could see the junior Initiates practicing the Form. He took a half step forward, bringing more of the

courtyard into view, until he could see all of the students, each standing in his own Septima—the geometric

design identical to the one set into the Supreme Master’s wall.

The instructor moved slowly and with perfect grace before the rows of pupils. They had come to the end of

the sixth closure now and most of the students were faltering, though an untrained eye would never have

been aware of this. Shuyun was in the second row, conspicuous for his small size and for his confidence.

The boy’s movements were precise and flowing, executed without hesitation.

Sotura-sum had not exaggerated. The senior Neophyte’s form made the more advanced students look

clumsy; indeed, he rivaled the instructor in his control. The Supreme Master watched, fascinated by the

spectacle.

“Never before have I seen such a sight,” he whispered. “Who could this child have been?”

Beyond the courtyard wall, of white plaster and wood, he could see Sister Morima being escorted down to

the waiting ship. She moved with a light step for one so large of frame. The woman was far more clever

than he had given her credit for. He would have to be more careful in the future—far more careful.

He had no intention of letting her, or anyone else, see the scrolls. Not now, not in a hundred years. The

matter was no longer within his control. He felt his body slump, ever so slightly, and he fought this sign of

resignation. How could this have happened? he wondered for the ten thousandth time. Every precaution

had been taken. Every precaution! But it didn’t matter now. Nothing mat-

tered. The scrolls were gone. Stolen from under the sleepless eye of the Sacred Guard of Jinjoh Monastery.

The twenty junior Initiates, including one senior Neophyte, came to the end of the seventh closure and

stopped, absolutely motionless, in the ready position. The senior chi quan instructor stood looking at the

students before him, all of them barefoot and stripped to the waist. When none of them wavered in their

stance, he nodded, satisfied.

“Take a partner,” he said quietly. “We will spar.”

The boys broke into pairs and resumed the ready position.

“Shuyun-sum,” the instructor beckoned. “You have never sparred?”

“No, Brother Sotura, senior Neophytes only push-hands.”

The instructor seemed to consider for a moment. “You will learn soon enough. Today we will both watch.

Begin!”

Sotura walked among the combatants, stopping to watch each pair. The sparring started slowly, following

the stylized movements of the form and then gained momentum until all movements became a blur, as each

student sought a point of resistance against which he could push or to which he could deliver a blow.

Shuyun began to stretch his time sense, practicing chi ten to allow him to analyze the sparring as it

increased in speed. The motions of the combatants became fluid and endless, each movement leading into

the next without hesitation.

Brother Sotura held up his hands suddenly. “Cease!” he ordered, and walked to a position in front of the

class. The silence was perfect.

“I see that some of you still believe that you can gain an advantage by using bone and muscle. Perhaps you

secretly wish to be kick boxers?

“To move within the form is not enough. You must become insubstantial. No one can kick the wind. No one

can push water. It is of no value to make even the most

perfect soft-fist if, at the moment of impact, you tighten the muscles. Chi is the source of all of your

strength—direct it into your hand as it is needed. Remember that you hold a caterpillar in your curled fist.

Its hairs tickle your palm.“ The monk paused as a tiny, blue butterfly drifted by and settled on Shuyun’s

shoulder. The instructor smiled. ”I will demonstrate.“

He took a step forward and reached out to Shuyun, gently removing the butterfly from his shoulder. Closing

his hand over the insect, the instructor moved to the wooden gate that led into a walled garden. Pausing for

a split second to take a stance, the monk suddenly drove his hand through one of the gate’s thick planks,

which splintered and broke with a loud crack. Pivoting gracefully, Brother Sotura held his hand out to the

class—a perfect soft-fist—and then released the butterfly, unharmed, into the air. All of the class knelt and

touched their heads to the stones.

“That will be enough for now. Go and meditate upon chi. Try to become a breeze so soft that even a

butterfly would be unable to perch on your will.”

Shuyun opened the gate with its broken board and went into the large garden beyond, a garden known for

its many paths and private bowers overlooking the island and the sea. He found a nook formed by flowering

rhododendrons and settled cross-legged onto a flat stone. For a moment he contemplated the display of his

chi quan instructor—basking in the perfection of it.

The boy, Shuyun, had emerged from his Seclusion that morning and felt both a vast sense of freedom and at

the same time a loss of freedom like none other he had known. Perhaps at no other time in his life would

Shuyun have the opportunity to spend so much time totally alone. The Supreme Master had been right; six

months could be a lifetime. A lifetime alone to meditate upon the Word of the Perfect Master.

The routine of his Seclusion had been relentless. Rise with the sun and practice chi quan on the pattern set

into the floor of his one-room house. At midday he took his only meal and was allowed to meditate or

compose

poetry in the enclosed garden. Then came an afternoon of chi ten. Sitting within the Septima, concentrating

all his being upon the Fifth Concurrence where the sand glass sat. Then, again in the afternoon, chi quan

practiced before his wall-shadow until dark, followed by meditation on the Seven Paths. He was allowed

three hours’ sleep before sunrise.

Each afternoon Shuyun had sat, as he was sitting now, on the pattern and practiced the discipline of chi ten.

Controlling his breathing, feeling chi drop to his Ooma, the center of being, he had reached out with his chi,

sending it into the lines of power in the Pattern. And each day the sand ran more slowly in the glass as

Shuyun learned to alter his subjective time.

The ability to alter one’s perception of time was not unknown beyond the walls of Jinjoh Monastery. The

kick boxers could do it, to a degree, and some of the best tumblers and dancers spoke of it. Shuyun

wondered if perhaps everyone experienced the stretching of time in brief moments of complete

concentration. But only the Botahist Orders had discovered the keys to its mastery: chi quan and chi ten,

the disciplines of movement and meditation represented in the pattern of the Septima, the Form which

taught perfection of motion and total concentration.

“Entering the mind through the body,” Lord Botahara had called this. Shuyun was beginning to understand.

It was as though he had finally begun to do that which he had only understood before in words.

Sitting on the rock overlooking the sea, Shuyun felt chi drop and he began to push it out from his body,

imagining that it rushed out into the infinite space around him to slow all motion.

A leaf fell from a ginkyo tree and spiraled endlessly downward. Anxiety touched the young monk and he

felt his focus waver, but the leaf kept falling ever so slowly and Shuyun’s confidence returned. He was able

to concentrate on the play of sunlight on the planes of the leaf’s surface as it fell against the background

depths of a blue sky. Finally it touched the surface of a small pond and

sent ripples out in perfect circles. Shuyun counted the tiny waves and named each one after a flower as it

died at the pond’s edge. A poem came to him:

The spring has blossomed Yet a ginkyo leaf Falls endlessly Into the lily pond.

Shuyun released a long breath. Relief swept through him and it felt like an endless, powerful wave. Twice

during his Seclusion he had lost control, or so he thought. Twice his altered time sense had seemed to distort

and he had found himself somewhere… somewhere he could not describe. And when he had returned to

the usual perception of time, it was with a crash which he knew indicated loss of all control. His teacher

had never warned him of this and the young monk felt a strong fear that he was failing to learn what he

must learn to become a senior of his Order.

He had intended to speak of this with senior Brother Sotura but did not, deciding it would be better to wait.

And he felt now that he was gaining control. There had been no reoccurrence of this strange experience in

several months.

A memory of the time before his Seclusion came to him: kneeling before his teacher, listening.

“You must always move within the pattern, you must even breathe within the pattern. Chi will strengthen in

you, but you must never try to become its master. Offer it no resistance, only allow its flow. Chi can never

be controlled. You can only make your will synonymous with it.”

If his master had not said this, Shuyun would not have believed it possible. But now that his Seclusion was

complete, he began to understand. He also began to see the wisdom of his teachers.

I must meditate upon chi. Shuyun thought. I must become a breeze so soft that even a butterfly cannot push

against me.

After a timeless time a bell rang and Shuyun brought himself out of his meditation. He rose and walked

calmly through the garden. It was time to bathe in the hot spring and then partake of the evening meal.

He paused at the gate to look again at the splintered board and his earlier joy at his teacher’s demonstration

became complete. The shattered board had been replaced and into the new board a monk had carefully cut

a hole the shape and size of a butterfly. From his position, Shuyun could see the blue sky through this hole.

With a last look, the young Neophyte hurried off. All the senior Neophytes would want to hear about the

butterfly-punch which he alone among them had seen.

Brother Sotura, chi quan Master of Jinjoh Monstery, mounted a stairway which ended in a hall leading to

the Supreme Master’s rooms. He had bathed and changed into clean clothes, taking time to compose

himself before meeting with the head of his Order. The instructor knew of the nun’s visit and was

Sean Russell - The Initiate Brother 1 - The Initiate Brother

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