by Jacob Whaler
“I’m not surprised,” Ryzaard says. “I paid them a visit a couple of hours ago just to have a look.”
“You did?” Diego stares up.
Ryzaard nods. “I’m sure it shook them up. They’re confused, not sure what to do. They’ve put the Stones back in the little box, and then taken them out again. Several times.” He yawns. “It’s Alexa’s problem, not mine. If she can’t deliver them to me, then it will come out of her hide. But keep tracking them. Let me know if the location changes.” Ryzaard yawns again. “I’ll be in my quarters getting some rest.”
“Did you hear the latest on Miyazawa?”
Ryzaard stops. “Tell me.”
“He’s accelerating the American campaign. He wants it done in less than a week. Making all sorts of unreasonable demands on his people.” Diego picks up a slate and starts looking at it. “Sounds like your plan is working. He’s gone off the deep end. Got a real god complex.”
“Glad to hear it,” Ryzaard says. “Exactly what we were planning for. Where is he right now?”
“From what Jing-wei told me, he spends most of his time in the air in his transport. I hear he sleeps there too, forcing the crew to refuel while flying. Hardly ever comes down. They say he thinks that Kami shouldn’t pollute themselves by letting their feet touch the ground.”
Ryzaard lets a smirk play on his lips. “See that I’m not disturbed. Now that everything is falling into place, I need a long sleep.”
He walks to the stairs and vanishes.
Diego stares at the location algorithm on the screen. The green light goes on again, showing the two Stones are on and functioning at the YMCA location. His eyes are glued to the screen for another five minutes until the light goes off.
Shall I call Ryzaard?
He decides against it. After all, it’s just more of the same. Besides, he’s feeling tired himself. The old man has a good idea.
Get some sleep.
CHAPTER 35
“Did you get it?” Matt comes back up to the surface and takes a deep breath as he emerges from the claustrophobic nightmare of opening himself to Yarah so she can access his Stone. It’s the third time tonight. No matter how many times he does it, it’s hard getting used to the feeling of being stuffed in a box and held under water.
Yarah opens her eyes. “Got it. It works so much better when I add your Stone to mine. Like a power boost.” She stands. “Alexa’s drug must have worn off. Her mind is an open book. I’ve been through it and found out where Ryzaard’s team is.”
Matt flips the lid on the cloaking box open. “They’re in the short building down the street without any windows, right?” The glowing Stones instantly go black. He turns to put some final items in a medium-sized backpack. “What about Ryzaard himself?”
“He lives on the top level, just below the roof. Sleeps in a small room on the northwest corner. The other levels of the building are for the other members of the team.” Yarah’s face drifts up to the ceiling and she closes her eyes, recalling the images she has just seen in Alexa’s mind. “A science lab is near the top. Lots of soldiers live in the bottom. The whole building is transparent on the inside. Walls and floors are made of glass.”
“Anything else?”
“Ryzaard looks different,” Yarah says. “He got younger. His shirt and pants can change colors. He has seven Stones and wears them in a weird necklace around his neck.”
“I knew he had a makeover. Younger. Stronger.” Matt closes the backpack and stood up. “What about Jessica? Any idea where he’s holding her?”
Yarah shakes her head slowly. “That’s what I was looking for, but Alexa hasn’t seen her and has no idea where she is. She doesn’t even know Ryzaard took her.”
“What is Alexa planning to do with us?”
“She promised Ryzaard to hand us over. He’s supposed to stop chasing her and killing her family in return.” Yarah picks up a small backpack and slips it on. “That’s her original plan, but she’s not sure what she’s really going to do.”
“What do you mean?” Matt throws on the backpack.
Yarah gets a puzzled look on her face. “She likes us, and she hates Ryzaard and what he’s doing. She hates herself for betraying us. I guess she’s just confused.”
Matt nods. “Anything else?” It’s hard to have sympathy for Alexa when she’s toying with the idea of handing them over to be killed.
“Yeah,” Yarah says. “Just before I pulled out, I left Alexa and wandered around the minds inside the new MX Global headquarters.”
Matt looks up, slightly alarmed. “But you stayed away from Ryzaard, right?”
“Yep. I could feel him there, but I kept far away. I found one of the men that work for him. I think his name is Kalani. His mind was the easiest to see. Wide open. It sort of sucked me in. I couldn’t help it.”
“Anything interesting?”
“He knows everything about the Mesh,” Yarah says. “And his mind is full of secret codes and stuff. He must be a computer expert. Just before I pulled out, he was working on a slate. I saw him reset the building entrance codes.”
Matt’s eyes grow large. “The entrance codes?” He goes on his knees in front of Yarah so he can look her in the eye. “Did you see them?”
The little girl’s gaze drops down and she nods her head. “He’s supposed to change them every few hours, but he’s only doing it once a day now. He’s kind of lazy.”
“Can you remember?”
“Remember what?”
“The codes.” Matt’s voice turns to a whisper. “The codes to get in the building.”
“Yeah,” Yarah says. “Once I see something, I never forget it.”
“You’re a genius.” Matt grabs a disposable jax and slips it in his pocket. Then he picks up the cloaking box and stuffs it in another pocket with the lid open. His eyes sweep the room to see if he’s missing anything. A small pulse rifle that Jessica brought from the mountains is standing up in the corner. He walks to it and picks it up. “We might need this.” He stuffs it in an outside loop on the backpack. “Let’s go. We won’t be coming back here.”
“Oh, yeah,” Yarah says. “There’s one more thing I forgot to tell you.”
Matt kneels down beside her. “You’re always full of good news. What’s up?”
“Ryzaard’s going to sleep for the next few hours.” Yarah yawns. “He doesn’t want anyone to disturb him while he’s resting.”
Matt stands and they both walk to the door. “Is that right?” His eyes swing past a clock on the wall. “Well, it might be past his bedtime, but I don’t think he’s going to sleep very well tonight.”
CHAPTER 36
Jessica makes the last drop a meter to the bottom of the cliff face and lands on the balls of her sore feet. She instantly stoops down and cradles them in her hands while venturing a glance back up to the top. She is relieved when she sees that no one is staring down.
She thinks for a minute about Matt. By now, he will know she is missing. He will guess that Ryzaard has jumped into the room and taken her. She knows what will happen next, as surely as she feels the cuts on her toes. A tingle runs the length of her spine.
Matt will go after Ryzaard.
Surely, Ryzaard knows this. The more she thinks about it, the more it smells like a trap.
Don’t think about it.
Ripping cloth strips off her pants, she ties them around her feet, wincing at the pain but grateful that she hadn’t been wearing shorts when she went to sleep. Her only regret was that she hadn’t tied the strips to her feet before making the descent.
The sun is dropping near the horizon. It looks like mostly even ground between her and the village she saw from the top of the cliff. If she hurries, she might be able to make it there before dark. Then what?
That’s a question for later. Jessica jumps to her feet and takes off across the prairie landscape.
The sun drops below the horizon faster than she thinks. By the time she stumbles past the first low mud huts o
n the outskirts of the village, she can feel the throbbing rush of blood pushed by her pulse into her toes. In the dusk, she can see that her feet are swollen and red. Like it or not, she will have to find a place to rest.
She limps another hundred meters into the village and sits with her back to the wall of the nearest building. From the low lights visible through the openings of the huts, it appears that most of the villagers are inside. A few move between buildings with bulging skins or pots. Some look like they are carrying large flat disks, perhaps dried animal dung for burning. That might account for the brown smoke and the heavy smell of moss mixed with coal that hangs in the air.
Jessica’s feet feel like they are going to burst from pain and swelling. She reaches down and touches the skin. It’s hot and sensitive to any pressure, like it’s on fire. The inflammation is traveling further up past her ankles toward the knees. A burning thirst tears through her throat. She starts to cough. The air is hot and dusty. A wave of sleepiness crashes down. Her eyes drift shut.
The dreams begin.
Matt is standing on a dark street holding Yarah’s hand. The sheer walls of towering buildings rise up on either side. A Stone glows white in his fingers.
Don’t go after Ryzaard. It’s a trap.
Shadows pass over her eyes. The world falls into blackness. Agitated voices drift over and around her. First a man, and then a woman. Jessica tries to make out what they are saying, but the words are foreign, vaguely reminding her of French and Japanese. She hears shouting. Running feet. Children laughing. Fingers run in lines over her body, stopping at her ankles and bare feet. More women’s voices, this time more urgent. Jessica tries to look up, but her eyelids are too heavy. Powerful arms slide under her back and knees. She feels a warm breath that smells of butter and cheese.
It all ends with a sensation of floating away from her body.
CHAPTER 37
Miyazawa dreams.
He smiles at the shouts of adulation floating up from the throngs below him. A sea of white robes stretches out on a broad plain extending away from him to the foot of the low green mountains into the distance. Directly beneath him, the white sea ends in a crisp line where it merges with the blue waters of the Pacific Ocean.
His worshipers are gathered on the beach to pay homage and to seek his blessing.
He stands in front of the glass door of the transport. With a wave of his hand, the glass parts into the open air. The smell of sand and seaweed fills the cabin. A breeze lifts and plays with the stray locks of black hair on his forehead. The crowd bows before him in humble reverence. They begin to look up, infused with intense joy. Their arms reach out to him. They are filled with hunger for his presence.
Then the singing within his body begins. It is the same sound he felt coming from the tree. It starts to resonate in his chest, almost imperceptible beneath the white tunic. Like a river, it flows out through his body. As it increases in a gentle crescendo, the white-capped waters of the ocean below become as still as a single mirror spreading out to the right and left.
A hush falls on the mass of people. They hear the singing coming down from above. It fills their hearts with rapture. Tears flow from their eyes.
Miyazawa reads their hearts. They are filled with desire for him to come down and become one with them. He feels himself drawn out of the transport through the open doors.
He floats in the air above them, arms outstretched.
“Sir, we just arrived in the airspace above Rio De Janeiro. The mayor of the city awaits your presence.”
His assistant’s voice filters down into his consciousness as Miyazawa awakes from the dream.
Eyes slowly opening like the soft petals of a blooming chrysanthemum, Miyazawa smiles and raises himself to a lotus position on the bed, the palms of his hands coming together just above the belly. Several deep breaths later, he stands and stretches out his arms in the shape of a capital T. Attendants move to his side with the robes of a master Shinto priest, the head of his order. He waits patiently as they fit the vestments to his body. The soft blue undergarment, the bilious white breeches, the stiff outer tunic with its knee-length sleeves, the wooden geta sandals, the black cap sailing atop his head.
All of it will only be worn once on this occasion. After the dedication ceremony, he will make a contribution of the entire wardrobe so that it can be displayed in a Shinto museum to be constructed next to the main shrine. Future generations will rejoice in seeing the garments of a living god.
When he has been properly clothed and perfumed, Miyazawa walks to the glass doors of the transport. Just as in his dream, a sea of worshipers dressed in white cover the open spaces from the city down to the edge of the water on the beach. The sun hangs in the sky above the emerald mountains. The faint smell of the ocean comes through circular air filters on the side.
He allows his gaze to drop to the throngs below. The faint sound of adulating voices penetrates the outer skin of the transport. Miyazawa recalls his dream.
I could do it, if I wanted. Walk out the door. Float in the air above them.
They would be amazed.
Better to wait.
“Take us down,” Miyazawa says.
The transport floats in silence down to the water’s edge above the heads of the waiting crowd. Miyazawa wonders where they will land in the sea of people. AS they drop below 500 meters, police in white uniforms work their way into the crowd and push back the white-clad supplicants with lithium-alloy rods pulsing purple with live electric current.
“Rather barbaric,” Miyazawa mutters.
An aid standing on his left nods. “We were told that there might be problems with crowd control. It seems that our offer to build a shrine has been met with an overwhelmingly positive response from the Catholic population. Everyone wants to see you. Local law enforcement will be employing methods of crowd control that are customary for this part of the world. Please don’t be alarmed.”
Miyazawa nods.
The ship gently touches down on the sand. Police stand shoulder to shoulder and forcibly open up a long corridor in the crowd from the beach to the torii gate and shrine fifty meters away.
The transport rotors slow and stop.
“When you’re ready, sir.” The aid moves back from Miyazawa so that he is the only one standing in front of the closed glass door.
Miyazawa takes in a long, deep breath and lets it slowly come out. His chin drops down a centimeter in a subtle nod. The glass doors of the transport part, and the heavy, wet air of Brazil floods into the interior, carrying with it the smell of a mass of humanity.
He steps out onto a white path made entirely of pearls.
All whispering and chatter ceases. Even the seagulls soaring above the throng seem to understand the importance of the moment. Their usual cacophony of cries goes silent.
Miyazawa moves forward and gracefully pulls a flat wooden stick from the inside of his sleeve. Grasping it vertically in his right hand, he walks over the white path of pearls, never venturing a gaze to the right or left. Focused solely on the form of the torii gate, he observes its two vertical beams and two horizontal crossbeams gleaming vermillion and black in the morning sun.
There will be no other dignitaries taking part in the dedication ceremony. Miyazawa has turned down the offer from the Pope to share the stage.
As he walks through the corridor of humanity, faces bow in reverence and look up. Miyazawa is well aware of the tears streaming down onto the sand. A hand ventures through the cordon of police officers to brush his robe. It is immediately met with a sharp blow from a purple rod. The sound of electric shock on skin floats up into the priest’s ears, followed by a whimper and muffled cries.
Miyazawa hears it all, is aware of it all, but doesn’t flinch or pause until he stands exactly below the crossbeams of the torii gate. Bringing his black wooden sandals together, he bows deeply and moves under the gate, going from the world of the profane to the world of the sacred in one step.
He enters
alone. Strict instructions have been given that the ten meter square containing the shrine and gate is to be kept ritually pure during the ceremony. It is off-limits to all others, even to the priests that will take over administration of the shrine after the dedication ceremony ends.
At the foot of the granite stairs to the shrine, he pauses once again. Palms come together in front of his chest. Then he ascends the stairs, slowly and gracefully, until coming to rest at the top where he turns to face the gathered faithful.
White smoke from incense burning around the outside of the shrine premises fills the air with a sweet odor. The fresh cedar wood of the shrine, raw and unpainted, gives off its own unique aroma.
Inhaling the air, Miyazawa bows to the crowd. Reaching into his left sleeve, he pulls out a two-inch wide strip of rice paper folded like a fan. Grasping each side in his fingers, he pulls it apart and gazes down at the Japanese characters written in rich, flowing calligraphy. Reading from top to bottom, right to left, his lips move as he chants the ancient writings in a robotic monotone voice.
The sea of white bows and claps their palms together.
When the chanting stops, Miyazawa brings the two ends of the paper together as it folds itself back into a perfect white strip. Placing it in his sleeve, he turns away from the crowd and faces the shrine. One by one, he touches long black tubes of incense sticking out of a beam at waist level. As his fingers make contact, the incense bursts into flame and settles down to a slow burn. White smoke wafts up to the shrine roof.
Murmurs of amazement ripple through the gathered humanity to his back.
With his left hand, he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a silver bell mounted on the end of a black stick. Shaking it in rhythm to more chanting, at predetermined points, his body shoots forward in deep bows as he calls to the Kami enshrined in a golden box.
His skin tingles as excitement builds behind him.
Miyazawa replaces the bell in his robe and picks up an incense stick in each hand. Slowly turning, he holds them in his hands out to the crowd. White smoke drifts up from their ends, blown out across the masses by a subtle breeze. Arms and fingers reach up through the thin smoke, cup it and bring it down upon their bodies.