Free The Initiate Brother Duology by Sean Russell

you may,” Shuyun repeated thinking the man had not understood.
    “First, allow me to bring you some cha,” and before Shuyun could answer, the trader in cloth was on his way to the charcoal fire amidship.
    Shuyun watched the man go, but his attention was diverted by the sight of the priest who was seated, almost hidden, in the shadow of the foresail on the ship’s bow. That priest bears watching, Shuyun thought. A man who feels he has been humiliated is a dangerous man. But he was confident that the priest was a physical coward. Ashigaru would never confront him again. Even so, Shuyun regretted the incident. If the girl’s life had not been in danger, he would not have allowed the confrontation to develop. There was enough tension between the two faiths as it was, and though everyone believed that the Emperor’s interest in the Magic Cults was for purely political reasons this still gave the Tomsoian priests an advantage. The Emperor was unpredictable and could use an incident between the faiths as an excuse to try to suppress the Botahists. For this reason, the Botahists restricted their activities and waited. It was only a matter of time. The followers of Tomso were without discipline or patience and their use to the Emperor was limited.
    Shuyun could see Kogami’s back as the man bent over his cha preparation. He was taking unusual care, it seemed. Gratitude, Shuyun thought.
    Finally the trader rose and started across the deck, which now barely rocked on the quiet seas, yet Kogami stared intently at the two cups he carried as though spilling a drop would mean the loss of all his family honor. The moon was obscured again by clouds and Shuyun had trouble making out the trader’s face as he approached, but Shuyun sensed
wrongness
in the man’s carriage. All his years of training came suddenly to focus on the man before him. Shuyun knew the feeling well and had been taught to trust it completely. He controlled his breathing and took the first step into chiten—time slowed and suddenly the trader seemed to float toward him, each step stretched to many seconds.
    It is there, Shuyun thought, in the voice of his body, the wrongness. The monk waited now, waited for the knowledge that would come from his focus. He made himself an empty vessel, easier for the understanding to fill him.
    And so it arrived, not like a flash, but like a long-familiar memory, one that had no surprise attached to it—and no doubts. It was there, in the merchant’s right hand, the wrongness, like a knife concealed in a sash. Yet it was only a cup of cha. Shuyun could smell the herb in the air.
    The merchant came floating to a stop like a man in a dream, while everything about him screamed fear and guilt and sorrow.
    Is it possible that anyone could not see this, Shuyun asked himself? Can people be that blind? The man’s fear was more obvious than the look of a lover for his beloved. Shuyun could smell the fear in the man—a pungent tang coloring his sweat. But it was not the monk that the merchant feared—at least not entirely—Shuyun was sure of that. But what was it?
    “My daughter has been…” the merchant started, words coming with great difficulty, “the greatest source of joy in all of my life, though I have not always known it. I can only offer you this small token, for there is no way that I may express the gratitude which I feel.” The merchant bowed and proffered a cup to Shuyun, but it was from his
left
hand!
    Shuyun did not return the bow but nodded at the cha Kogami still held. “Why have you chosen this?” The smell came to the monk now—faint, so faint—the poison.
    The merchant fought to maintain his control. Without answering, he began to raise the cha to his mouth, but the monk’s hand was there, stopping him. The fingers rested so lightly that Kogami could barely feel them, yet he could not raise his arm. His hand trembled with the effort.
    “Why have you chosen this?” Shuyun asked again.
    “Please,” the