by Jacob Whaler
It is gone.
Ryzaard nods. “Why, yes, it is gone.” He glances around, making sure the energy field enveloping his body is still secure. “I gave it to her. She’s going to perfect it, make it even better. Something I can’t get from you. As for the planet connected to the implant, if it’s gone, my guess is that she took it. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
The man floating in the blackness collapses in on himself like a melting wax statue and explodes into shards of dark color that surge around Ryzaard. A hundred thousand voices howl in helpless rage.
Ryzaard sits calmly in the eye of a hurricane, clearing his throat. “It was never really yours anyway. You simply found it. And now you’ve lost it. I’d say you have no one to blame but yourselves.” With the Stone firmly in his grip, the outer surface of the energy field discharges a hundred thousand tiny bolts of blue lightning.
Amid shrieks of agony, the hurricane of color dissipates into blackness, leaving Ryzaard sitting in silence.
No need to worry about Jhata, he thinks. It looks like she’s doing just fine.
CHAPTER 52
Inside the heli-transport, all foreheads are bowed, except one.
“I will not forget your inexcusable rudeness.” Miyazawa glares at the sea of black hair cowering before him.
“Please excuse my impudence, but the transport engine is in need of repair to keep it functional.” One of the crew members raises his head slightly, but still keeps his gaze to the floor. “We must repair it now or risk danger to your life.”
“Repair it while we are in the air!”
“I am very sorry.” The crew member’s body trembles as he speaks. “The engine must be stopped in order to carry out the internal repairs. There is no other way.”
Rage blasts through Miyazawa’s body. “There is always another way!” Spittle bursts from his lips as he speaks.
Each of crew members and priests drops to their knees and touches their foreheads to the floor. One of them looks up with swollen red eyes. “Please forgive us.”
Pushing through their rigid bodies, Miyazawa walks to the open door onto the pearl groundcover. Nausea threatens to overtake him, and he rushes across the courtyard to the single cherry blossom tree, pausing before its trunk. Its main branches spread out horizontally. Smaller twigs snake inward, filling the interior with lush green leaves.
Miyazawa stares up at the tree. “In the name of the Kami, I command you to blossom.” His eyes narrow as he waits. The mountain breeze stops. The leaves stand still in silent mocking. He takes a step forward and beats his fists against the bark. “You must listen to me! I am the Kami!”
His stomach retches and green liquid pours from the corners of his mouth. Stumbling backwards, he turns and runs to the cedar grove bordering the shrine courtyard.
“Your holiness!” An elder priest runs after him. “We have consulted with the doctors. They say you must stop the derm patches and begin eating food.” The priest drops to his knees. “I beg you. Please listen. Your health is failing.”
Miyazawa stops, wipes the green fluid off his lips with a thick white sleeve and turns. “Food is unholy and defiling.” He speaks calmly and clearly. “It is made of dead things. A Kami has no need for it.” Hearing the cry of a white crane in the trees, he stumbles into the darkness of the forest. “Do not follow me.”
After a long walk, he finds himself standing in front of the old cedar tree with the fat shimenawa rope looped around its midsection. Moving closer to it, quivering fingers stretch out and run along the soft surface of the moss-covered trunk. It is strangely comforting. His arms work their way around, and soon he is in a full embrace of the tree. Its branches pull his gaze up.
“You know the truth.” Tears stream from his eyes. “You have always known the truth. Come to me.” In the silence, he drops to his knees at the base of the trunk. Great sobs shake his body.
Far away, a single high chord plays inside his mind. His eyes shoot open and stare up at the tree. The singing grows louder and holds him in its sweet embrace. As he relaxes, his muscles go limp, and he falls backward onto a bed of soft ferns growing at the base of the mighty tree. Letting his eyes close, he opens himself fully to the sea of sound, confirmation of his godhood.
It may have lasted for hours or minutes. As he floats in a sea of music, a thought grows within his mind.
It is not enough to be a Kami. I need the power.
The singing fades. Miyazawa hears the silence and rises to his knees. As he faces the old tree, a chill runs down his back. He feels a presence behind him, staring at him.
You are the Kami. You need the power.
The words, as if spoken by a multitude, reverberate in his mind, like an echo in an enclosed room. He freezes and closes his eyes. The words come again.
We will give you the power.
He slowly turns to see the source of the words.
A man floats three feet above the forest floor, dressed in the white robe of a Shinto priest. His features are a perfect mixture of all races. The surface of his skin moves across his body, changing hue on the spectrum between marble white and chocolate brown.
Miyazawa is speechless. Shards of icy cold shivers shoot down his spine in the summer heat, covering his body in goose bumps. The floating entity sucks the warmth off his skin. He fights back the compulsion to jump to his feet and run away.
You need the power. We will give you the power.
Miyazawa musters the courage to speak. “Who are you?” His voice is nothing more than a thin whisper.
We are the Kami.
Miyazawa gazes at the face of the man. It’s difficult to tell whether the man is smiling or glaring. The emotions on his face are fluid, unstable, ever-changing. Leaning against the tree, Miyazawa gathers himself to his feet and fights back the nausea that rises in his stomach.
“They don’t believe me.” He gazes down at the man’s bare feet that stick out below the robe. Tiny dark spots crawl across them, like a mass of bugs. “But I know that I’m right. I am a Kami. Like you. Is that not right?”
You are the Kami. We are the Kami. We are One.
The man’s lips move out of sync with the sound that echoes inside Miyazawa’s head. He can no longer fight back the nausea. A bubble of warm liquid erupts from his stomach, and he turns and retches it out onto the forest floor. The bitter aftertaste lies upon his tongue.
“They won’t say it, but I know what they’re thinking.” He wipes his mouth with the same white sleeve. “That I’m crazy. All of them. They’re against me. They want me to fail.”
You are the Kami. We are One.
Miyazawa staggers forward, reaching his hand out to touch the man. To his surprise, there is nothing there. He stumbles and falls through the man. For an instant, his mind is a maelstrom of cold and darkness. Pulling himself up on a nearby tree, Miyazawa struggles to his feet and turns again to face the man from behind. But the man is gone. In his place, there is an amorphous mass of moving shades of black. The head appears to have a massive mouth with multiple fangs. Miyazawa reels backwards against the tree.
The form consolidates again into the shape of a man.
We are the Kami. You are the Kami. We are One.
Miyazawa stands and raises a shaky fist. “I will not fail. I am the greatest Shinto priest. They will believe. I am a Kami. I will make them believe.” He looks into the eye of the man. “Can you help me? Can you give me the power to make them believe?”
We have the power.
“Come to me.” Miyazawa grips the neckline of his silk tunic with both hands and rips the fabric apart, leaving it gapping open above his bare chest. “Come to me and give me the power. Let us be One.” He drops to his knees on the forest floor and opens his mind to the thought of union.
We will be One.
The smooth veneer of the man’s skin balloons out until he loses all resemblance to a human shape. Metal spikes burst through the surface. The face collapses into an immense fanged mouth. The ent
ire creature breaks up into a cloud of black dust surrounding Miyazawa.
Unflinching, he opens himself. The black dust penetrates his skin and disappears into his body. The nausea immediately ceases. Miyazawa walks to the old tree, reaches up and rips the shimenawa rope from the bark. Stepping back, he wraps it around his own waist. His gaze rises to the top of the tree, a half-smile on his face. Turning away, he looks down at his fingers curling into fists.
With the voice of a hundred thousand, he opens his mouth and speaks.
“We are One.”
CHAPTER 53
Diego is the last to arrive at the staff meeting. He emerges from the top of the stairs and takes his seat to the left of Ryzaard.
The old man notices the confused look on his face. “What’s wrong?”
Scratching his head, Diego drops into his chair and lets his slate fall to the table’s crystal surface. “That was strange.”
“What?” Kalani looks down the table from the other end.
“Miyazawa, the Shinto priest.” Diego picks up his slate.
Elsa Bergman yawns. “By all means, tell us, now that you’ve managed to completely dominate the meeting.”
Ryzaard smiles. “It’s good to see everyone back to their cheery old selves.” He turns to Diego. “Please lead off. What news do we have from Mr. Miyazawa?”
“I’ve been watching him the last few hours. I think he’s completely flipped out, and there’s still half of South America and all of Africa to cover with shrines.”
Jing-wei glances down at her slate. “He’s way ahead of schedule. What’s the problem?”
Diego shakes his head. “His god complex, I mean his Kami complex, has gotten a little out of control.”
“A little?” Kalani taps on his jax and a holo appears above the crystal table. “Check this out.”
The holo shows Miyazawa storming out of his heli-transport, leaving behind a cowering group of subordinates kneeling on its floor. He marches over to a cherry tree and shouts at it.
“Says here that he’s commanding the tree to blossom.” Kalani bends over with laughter. “In the middle of the summer?”
Diego leans closer to Ryzaard. “Sorry I wasn’t able to jump on this sooner. We implanted the new brain-trodes under his scalp only a couple of days ago, and I’m still learning how to use them.” He leans back in his chair. “Next time he needs a miracle, I’ll be able to make it happen, at least in his own mind.”
“No problem,” Ryzaard says. “Is that all?”
“I wish.” Diego stares as the holo slides back down into the crystal surface of the table. “Something happened to Miyazawa in the forest. I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“Do you have it on video?”
“Yes, but—”
Ryzaard slides a cigarette in his mouth. “Then show us.”
The holo comes back up out of table.
“There’s an old tree in the forest.” Diego works his fingers on his slate as he talks. “Miyazawa often goes there to commune with the Kami. Kind of a Shinto thing.”
Kalani leans close to Elsa Bergman. “Kami means god.” He whispers loud enough for everyone to hear.
She slaps his face.
His hand drops down and pulls the knife from the sheath strapped to his thigh.
“Enough,” Ryzaard says. “I won’t have this meeting descend into chaos. Everyone listen. We have other matters to discuss and little time to do it.” He nods at Diego. “Continue, but make it quick.”
Diego clears his throat. “There’s an AV unit on the tree so we can monitor Miyazawa when he goes there. Sometimes I use it to play music inside his head. He thinks he’s connecting with the Kami. That’s what happened a few minutes ago. I played the music. He thought the Kami were singing to him. So far, so good.” He brushes his fingers across the slate. “Now watch this.”
As they watch the holo, Miyazawa is lying down at the base of the tree. He stands and turns around, as though staring at a ghost and hearing voices. Then he lunges and stumbles to the ground. Finally, he stands again, raises a fist in the air, rips his robe down the front and remains motionless for more than a minute. Then, with a big smile on his face, he turns and walks away.
“Looks to me like he thinks he saw a Kami,” Diego says. “Or felt its presence. Only this time, I wasn’t doing anything to him.”
Across the table, Jerek raises an eyebrow. “He probably did see something that’s not really there. We have a word for that. It’s called a hallucination.”
Diego nods. “It’s possible. Miyazawa’s been using a lot of derm patches lately. And he’s stopped eating. His hormonal imbalance is off the charts.”
“We all saw the vomiting.” Jing-wei points at the holo. “Looks to me like a classic case of derm overdose. It’s put him in a state of delirium. I’d say he’s in very unstable mental condition right now.” She looks at Ryzaard. “If we want to keep him as the head of the Earth United Shinto Alliance, we better take action. Before he dies.”
“Agreed,” Ryzaard says. “What do you suggest?”
Jing-wei’s eyes wander the table. “Transdermal nutrient additives, at the very least. If he won’t eat or drink when he’s awake, we’ll give him TNAs when he’s asleep.”
“Right,” Ryzaard says. “Good solution.”
Diego raises his hand. “Hold on, what if he’s not hallucinating?”
Swinging around to look at him, Jing-wei shakes her head. “What do you mean? We all saw the video. It’s clear that—”
“Just look at this.” Diego taps his fingers across his slate, and the holo image floating above the table moves backwards to the beginning. “OK, now look carefully.”
They all stare at the image.
“I still don’t see anything,” Kalani says.
“Look more closely,” Diego says. “At the bottom of the holo. On the ground, a couple of feet from Miyazawa.” Diego moves a fingertip across the slate and enlarges the holo to high magnification.
A faint moving shadow like a round blob darkens the flowers and ferns. They bend slightly, as if a weight were pressing down on them.
“I don’t know,” Jerek says. “Without further analysis, it’s impossible to say it’s not just an artifact of lighting.”
“That’s what I thought, too,” Diego says. “So I went back and pulled the source data for this shot from the AV unit up on the tree. Unfortunately, the unit didn’t have full spectrum capabilities. It’s got the basics. Infrared, ultraviolet, sonic and magnetic. I did overlays with the first three and came up with nothing.” Diego pauses and looks around the table.
“Enough theatrics,” Ryzaard says. “Show us.”
“All right.” Diego nods, swiping and taping his finger on the slate. “This is what it looks like if you filter out everything but magnetic resonance.”
The holo switches to a black and white image. Miyazawa looks like a stylized skeleton, every bone, muscle and tendon standing out in stark relief. The eight lobes of his brain, four on each side, dance above the ladder-like structure of his spine.
Diego points at the holo. “Now look carefully at the area in front of the priest.”
The faint outline of a humanoid body, complete with a head, arms and legs, hangs suspended in the air a few feet off the ground. The priest lunges, passing cleanly through the shape. Then he turns and rips the front of his robe. The suspended body disintegrates into millions of tiny black grains.
Miyazawa absorbs them into his body like a sponge.
There’s silence at the table.
“Interesting,” Ryzaard says. “I’m not sure what it proves, but it is interesting.” He turns to Diego. “What do you make of it?”
Diego’s eyes drop to his slate. “I’m not a religious person. But if I didn’t know better, I’d say Miyazawa just got possessed by thousands of demons.”
“You may be right,” Ryzaard says. “You may just be right.”
CHAPTER 54
They move forward through the
darkness across a barren landscape under a pitch-black dome of cloudless, starless sky.
“I feel so alone.” Yarah stares up at the emptiness above their heads. “No stars anywhere.”
Matt pauses to look up. “Jhata must like it this way. She put this planet in the farthest reaches of her domains, so far away that not even the light of stars can reach it.”
“Never heard of this Jhata you’re talking about.” Alexa stumbles along behind them. “To tell you the truth, I don’t even know if I’m really here. Maybe I’m back in the hotel room relaxing in the glow of my derm collection. Maybe all of this is just part of the ride.”
Glancing back, Matt shakes his head. “I’d give that stuff up, if I were you.”
“I’ve tried.” Alexa laughs. “If this Jhata person wants to be so alone all the time, why is there a village down here in the valley?”
Matt looks up from the ground at the flickering lights just a kilometer ahead. Jessica’s tracks are still leading directly to it.
“No idea,” he says. “As lonely as she is, maybe she needs someone to worship her.” He drops his eyes back down to the dirt and moves forward. “Just hope she doesn’t discover we’re here. Trust me, you don’t want to meet her.”
With Yarah bent close to the ground with a flashlight, they push through the desert landscape between prickly bushes and through a groundcover of thorns that spots the dirt. A hundred meters from the first hut, Matt pauses and drops his backpack to the ground. He pulls out the barrel and stock of a small pulse rifle, snaps them together and hands it to Alexa.
“What am I supposed to do with this?” she says.
“Don’t use it,” Matt says. “Unless I tell you to.” He pulls out another pulse rifle barrel twice as large and clicks it to a triangular stock. “Stay behind me, Yarah.” He turns to Alexa. “You’ll bring up the rear. Keep your finger off the trigger.” Standing up, he balances the pack on his shoulders and moves ahead.