by Jacob Whaler
Matt reaches inside.
The sound of approaching feet comes from the hallway on the other side of the closed door.
Panic sweeps through his chest, freezing his movements.
Still gripping the Stone in his left hand, he thinks of jumping away.
No.
Ignoring the sound, he plunges his right hand into the hole and gropes for the object he saw in his dreams. A cube.
Fingertips brush against a smooth surface, cold to the touch, and pull back.
Footsteps, crisp and clean, are now just a few meters from the door.
Hand sliding along the cold surface, he wraps his fingers on the cube, pulls it out, flips the metal lid back down and turns the key. In an instant, the key is back in its spot in the drawer.
Everything is back to where it was. Ryzaard will have no idea Matt was in his office.
Matt stands up, gripping the cube. His eyes drop to the small green jewel floating inside.
The footsteps outside the door go silent. Matt knows he should jump away, but can’t. Overcome with curiosity and adrenaline, he waits for the door to open.
The locking mechanism turns.
Matt is as still as the statue on Ryzaard’s desk. His mind is screaming at him to jump away, but his body refuses to move. All he needs is a glimpse.
The door cracks open, slowly, carefully. Delicate fingers appear. Then a blonde head. A body clothed in black glove leather pants and top. A woman, something familiar about her.
Her eyes look up, meeting Matt’s. For an instant, she freezes, then steps into the room, closing the door behind her. She folds her arms, shaking her head.
“If Ryzaard knew you were going through his things, Matt Newmark,” she says, a cautious smile on her face. “I’m sure he’d have a lot to say. Find anything of interest? Would you like to talk to him? Shall I call him now?” She pulls a slim cylinder of chrome and glass out of her pocket, fingers poised to tap its side.
“Wait.” Matt’s eyes scan the room, searching for a trap, anything that might present danger. “I remember you. Alexa, isn’t it?”
“Good guess,” Alexa says.
Matt brings his Stone up like a pistol. “Drop the jax.”
“Certainly.” Alexa leans back against the door, visibly relaxing her arms and crossing her legs. Opening her hand, the jax slips from her fingers, clatters to the floor and rolls away. “I’m all ears.”
“Where is he?”
“Ryzaard? He had business that took him away. I’m sure you don’t expect me to tell you where.”
“How many Stones does he have?”
Alexa smiles. “More than you.” Her eyes drop to the single Stone in Matt’s left hand. “And soon, very soon, he’ll have all the rest, if you know what I mean. I’m surprised you haven’t tried to stop him. Or at least go after the other Stones.”
The jax on the floor lights up neon green. Alexa nudges it with her foot.
The head of a young man with dark hair pops above it. “Alexa, I’m getting a strange energy reading from Ryzaard’s office. Almost as if—”
“Ignore it,” Alexa says. “I’m in his office now, doing some tidying up while he’s gone.” Her eyes go up to Matt. “There’s nothing here. Must be a malfunction with your equipment.”
“Got it,” the man says. “I’ll reset the parameters. Let me know if you see anything strange.”
“Will do.” Alexa lets a half-grin hang on her face.
The jax goes dark.
“You’ve been gone so long. You’ve missed so much. But it isn’t too late, you know.” Alexa draws her hands behind her back. “Ryzaard is forgiving. He’s going to win, in the end. He always does. He has foreseen everything. You should see what he’s already accomplished. His plans overlap and allow for every contingency.” She stops as if smelling the air. “From the looks of it, I doubt if you even have a plan.”
For an instant, Matt stays silent, transfixed by her words. “What is Ryzaard’s plan?”
“I’ll answer with three words. Resistance is futile, as they say. Take my advice. Bring your girlfriend and the two kids back here with you. Cooperate with him. Become his ally. He’ll welcome you with open arms. Any other way is suicide.”
“What about you?” Matt says.
“What about me?”
“Are you a true believer in his grand strategy?”
Matt sees the movement of her arm behind her back.
“I’m a realist. I like to be on the winning side. And, as much as you might like to believe otherwise, Ryzaard is going to win. He’s gotten too strong to lose.”
Her hand whips out a miniature pulse pistol, finger dancing on the trigger.
Matt is already engulfed in white light, jumping away, as the projectiles disintegrate against the energy field clinging to his body.
CHAPTER 5
Ryzaard is right.
The cool mountain air has an immediate effect on Miyazawa’s mind. He is wide awake.
“Increase our rate of growth by a factor of ten? Three thousand shrines a day? That’s impossible. Utterly impossible.” Miyazawa holds his hands behind his back and shakes his head.
Two parallel tracks in the light snow follow behind Miyazawa and Ryzaard. The sun is just dropping below the ridgeline to the west, casting a warm glow above the mountains.
“India is a huge country, with more interest in religion that China. But this time, I don’t have the luxury of waiting for you to take six months to convert it to Shinto.” Ryzaard lights another Djarum and sucks the March air through the black cigarette. A long tail of blue smoke flows behind him in the fading light.
“India?”
“That is where you will be going next.”
Miyazawa shakes his head. “It doesn’t make sense. We’ve built shrines throughout China. All its allies, Korea, Russia, Southeast Asia, Africa, will want shrines now. Shinto will spread naturally. Everyone knows China has buried secret nukes all over India. Why would we go there, to China’s arch enemy? Besides, I don’t see how we can move any faster than we are.”
“Nonsense,” Ryzaard says. “You can build new factories. Find new sources of cedar wood. Increase your production of shrines and torii gates. It’s simply a matter of scale.”
Miyazawa is careful to stay upwind and looks sideways at the filth curling out of Ryzaard’s nose and lips. “Yes, we can do all those things, but only if we have the funding.”
“That’s a given.” Ryzaard takes another pull on the cigarette and twists his lips to blow the smoke away from the priest.
“It’s not that simple.”
“What is the problem?”
“Priests.” Miyazawa’s arms spread wide out in a rare display of emotion. “Even if we can build the shrines, we won’t be able to find and train enough priests to run them.”
“Pardon my directness, but don’t be stupid.” Ryzaard exhales and lets the smoke drift into Miyazawa’s face. “I’ve already found a ready source of recruits. Enough to satisfy all your needs.”
“Our organization has a presence on every university campus in Japan.” Miyazawa takes a step back. “We are doing the best we can. It takes time—”
“That’s your problem. Looking in the wrong places.”
“You have a suggestion?”
Ryzaard moves closer, his face only inches from Miyazawa’s nose, cigarette smoke spewing from his lips.
Miyazawa holds his breath.
“Listen to me,” Ryzaard says. “I have a huge source of men and women ready to enter the Shinto priesthood today. All of them well-trained in ancient traditions. Good at handling people. Patriotic. Submissive to authority. And they love Shinto. The robes will cover all their tattoos. It is a perfect match.”
Miyazawa’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”
“It’s the only way.”
Miyazawa closes his eyes, trying to imagine a Shinto shrine run by Yakuza thugs.
“It’s never been done before,” Miyazawa says.
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“Don’t you remember what your predecessor, Naganuma-san, used to say?”
“Yes, of course. But—”
“I believe he said some compromises must be made if Shinto is to reach its full potential.” Ryzaard lifts an eyebrow. “Are you going to stand in the way of Shinto fulfilling its destiny to become the dominant world religion?”
“No, of course not! But Yakuza? Japanese mafia?”
Ryzaard drops his cigarette, stamps it out on the snow and grinds it into the sacred sea of white pebbles below.
“China and India are only the beginning.” He turns back to Miyazawa’s living quarters. “Buddhist connections will push you quickly through Thailand and the rest of Southeast Asia. Atheist populations in Russia and North America hunger for a new green religion. The Vatican will welcome the enthusiasm that Shinto creates. With their official support, you will move through the ossified Catholic communities of South America and Africa like a tidal wave. You cannot wait for all this to simply happen by osmosis. You must make it happen. With my help.”
Miyazawa’s tries to speak, but nothing comes out of his mouth except for a single word.
“Why?”
“As the leader of Shinto, you read the news, just like I do. You know the chaos that fills the world. The old alliances that used to bind countries have fallen away. New ones are forming. Japan’s not-so-secret treaty with China. China’s economic takeover of Russia. Europe is falling apart. What’s left of it hates America. India and its nuclear arsenal stand alone against everyone. The world is afraid of the massive armies flowing out of Africa. War is imminent.”
Shaking his head, Miyazawa’s eyes drop to the ground. “Yes, I read the news. And I know that MX Global supplies munitions to every country. On all sides. Global war is its business model.” His eyes come up and stare at Ryzaard. “Surely you don’t expect me to believe that MX Global now wants universal peace and is using Shinto to accomplish that goal.”
“Of course.” Ryzaard takes a step forward, his lips falling into a half-smile. “I should have known better than try to deceive you with such a simple explanation. As you have suspected, MX Global is anxious to support the spread of Shinto for another reason.”
“Exactly.” Miyazawa nods and follows behind. “I need to know, or I cannot move forward.”
“It is as I told you before.” Ryzaard’s pace quickens. “Just as many paths lead to the top of Mount Fuji, you and I have each found a different way to the same ultimate aim.”
“Yes, I remember your words. But I still don’t understand. What could there possibly be in common between Shinto and MX Global?”
“It’s simple. The restoration of Paradise to the Earth. Paradise for the human race. Paradise for the Kami. Even Paradise for large entities like MX Global. War cannot last forever. MX Global seeks a new, long-term business model. A new world where all can live and prosper without war and suffering.” Ryzaard raises his hand and points at the wooden shrine standing at the foot of the mountain slope a hundred meters away. “Shinto works through oneness with nature and its spiritual energy. MX Global works through technology. In the future, our paths will converge. Peace will come to the earth as a by-product of what we both do. The war-machine of MX Global will be replaced with a new approach to prosperity, one that is stable and sustainable.”
“I still don’t understand,” Miyazawa says.
“You will in time.”
“But how can Shinto spread worldwide? China is one thing. But the entire planet?” Miyazawa takes a step back, his gaze going up through the tree canopy to the sky. “How is it possible? What about finances? Government relations. Land acquisition. Legal considerations. Our dealings with—” Miyazawa hesitates to put the rest of the sentence into words.
Ryzaard does it for him.
“Your Yakuza brethren?”
Miyazawa stares at his feet.
“You will find that the way has been prepared ahead of you. Everything will be arranged. MX Global offices will work closely with your staff. We will increase our contributions by tenfold, ramping up quickly to a hundred-fold. Do not let the funds sit idle. Use them quickly. You should concern yourself with only one thing.”
“What is that?”
“Presiding over the greatest global religious movement in the history of humankind. To be known for the next ten thousand years as the revered founder of the world religion that established global peace. Paradise.”
Their walk brings them back to Miyazawa’s personal quarters.
Ryzaard extends his hand and urges Miyazawa to go up the steps first.
At the top, Miyazawa opens the sliding door and steps through with his back to Ryzaard. “I’ll need time to consider your offer.” He’s unsteady on his feet and reaches out to the door frame for balance. “It will require a discussion with the elder brethren of our priesthood. When do you propose that I start on this new phase?”
“You already have.”
Miyazawa turns from the doorway to stare at Ryzaard, but his eyes are met by a flash of light.
Ryzaard is gone.
He truly must be one with the Kami, Miyazawa thinks.
CHAPTER 6
I shouldn’t have gone back to Ryzaard’s office.
Fear settles like a black mist on the surface of Matt’s mind.
He stares at the tiny green jewel floating in the plastic cube on his palm. It’s Stone-like shape shouts at him, as if broadcasting a warning about Ryzaard.
No telling how many people he’s destroyed. The progress he’s made. The plans he’s put into action. The power he’s amassed.
Footsteps come from the adjoining room. He drops the cube to the floor and nudges it out of sight under the bed.
With gentle firmness, Matt inhales to the bottom of his lungs and pushes the gnawing thoughts away.
“We better hurry,” Jessica says. Her pink gown with the high mandarin neck matches perfectly with the straight brown hair that hangs down her back in a single braid. “You know how excited Yarah gets about these picnics.” Standing in front of a full-length mirror, her hands reach up to adjust the tiara on her head so its gold bands and glistening diamonds cross high on her forehead.
The dreams. They need me. I’ve abandoned them all.
A hand flicks across his cheeks.
“Hey, daydreamer.” Jessica pulls Matt’s chin, squarely facing her eyes. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, but—”
“I know your dreams haven’t stopped.” Jessica’s hand goes up to cradle the side of Matt’s face. “But I need you to focus on this party for Yarah.” She takes a step back and spins on one foot. “How do I look?”
He pushes the dark thoughts away, sealing them off in a far corner of his mind.
“You look simply charming, my dear.” Matt does his best to imitate an upper-class British accent.
Jessica shakes her head. “There’s more to it than simply not saying your R’s. You have to be a king. Not just look like one.”
“Like I always say, fake it ‘til you make it.”
“Come here,” Jessica says. “Let me look you over.”
With the air of a professional clothing designer, she inspects Matt’s billowy white shirt with ruffles on the front, the flowing red robe trimmed with golden fox fur, and the royal blue leggings tucked into burgundy leather boots with brass buckles.
“Didn’t you ever play dress-up as a kid?” she says.
“Can’t say that I did.” Matt sounds like a Southern gentleman trying to speak French this time. “But I do like this sword.” He picks it up and brings it close to his eye to study the intricate designs of lions and dragons etched into the blade.
Jessica lifts a golden crown off the dresser. It has five rising points topped with marble-sized rubies. She places it squarely on Matt’s head over the dark hair, and then steps back for a final appraisal. “Let’s see. Something’s missing.”
Matt’s eyes go to the floor. His mind starts to wander again.
How many more Stones has Ryzaard gotten by now? How many countries does he control? What’s the green jewel for?
“Hey, are you listening?” Jessica grabs Matt’s chin again and raises his head. “Your costume isn’t complete. I need your help.”
“I think I know what’s missing.” Matt finds a wide leather belt with silver studs and a dangling sheath. He passes it around his waist and buckles it in place. Then he puts the tip of the sword into the sheath and lets it drop into place with a satisfying click.
“Perfect,” Jessica says. “Let’s go.”
“Where’s Leo?” Matt says.
Jessica takes his hand. “I’m sure he’s already there, eating all the food. He’s growing so fast. Hungry all the time.”
They walk outside through an open double door of solid wood, not bothering to shut it, across a courtyard of neat cobblestones, under the portcullis, over the drawbridge and out into the long grass that covers the hill below the castle.
Children’s laughter floats up from the riverbank below.
“Now remember.” Jessica squeezes Matt’s left hand and rubs the ring on his finger. “It’s not enough to look like a king. You have to act like one. Right out of the fairy-tale books that Yarah loves. Is that clear?”
“By Jove, I think I’ve got it.”
Jessica rolls her eyes.
“Come on!” Yarah sprints up the hill and grabs Jessica’s hand. “We’ve been waiting for hours.”
They follow her to the riverbank where the picnic is set and ready to go under a massive apple tree.
“Maybe not nutritious, but definitely delicious.” Matt scans the quilt-sized blanket on the grass. “Let’s see. A leg of lamb for each of us. A lemon cake the size of a small automobile. Plum pudding. Turkish delight. Pink lemonade. Gallons of chocolate milk. Not a vegetable in sight. Perfect.” He laughs and lifts a wooden mug to his face. Brown liquid dribbles down the corners of his mouth.
“She is only seven years old.” Jessica chews on the lamb. “Kids that age don’t eat vegetables. Only meat, cheese, bread and sugar. Besides, it’s right out of the book.” She lifts up a well-worn copy of Snow White.