by Jacob Whaler
“He really does want to be like God.” The small twig snaps between Jessica’s fingers. “The God of this world.”
Yarah sits on the ground, stirring the dirt with her fingers. “And all the other worlds that Jhata had.” Her eyes move up to the icy dots of stars penetrating the dark sky. “His power will just keep expanding.”
“An unending nightmare.” Jessica grips the pulse rifle slung over her shoulder.
“Until someone stops him.” Matt takes a step out of the trees onto the courtyard in the direction of the small structure with the light burning inside.
Jessica follows him. “Where are we?”
“Northern Honshu.” Matt points at the building. “The old priest, Naganuma, used to live here. He was the head of his order. After Ryzaard killed him, a new, younger priest replaced him. Miyazawa.”
“The same Miyazawa that’s the head of the Earth United Shinto Alliance?”
“That’s right.” Matt says. “And it looks like somebody is home. It might be him.” He starts to walk out onto the courtyard. “I had a dream about him the other night. Maybe it was more than just a dream. Let’s go have a look. Maybe we can learn something about Ryzaard.”
Under the moonlight, they walk across a surface of fine white pearls that move and swim under their feet like a sea of ants. As they get closer to the building, they can see it’s a simple wooden structure with a porch and stairs on the east side. The stairs are solid and silent as they climb to the top.
Matt pauses and reaches out to touch the sliding door. Multiple voices come from inside. “Sounds like he may have visitors.” He turns to face Jessica. “I think you should wait here.”
“Think again,” Jessica says. “We’re in this together.”
To Matt’s surprise, there’s no lock on the door. It slides open without a sound, and they look into the genkan entrance where a single pair of wooden geta sandals is neatly arranged below a step up onto the main floor. A few feet in, they see a tatami room with a low table in the center. Behind it, a small refrigerator stands below a kitchen counter with a sink and overhead cabinets.
Long Japanese paintings with traditional landscape views hang on the walls. A hallway with a dark wood floor extends to the back of the building. At the end of the hallway, light bleeds through an open door out of a room on the left.
“This is where I sat with Naganuma after he found me.” Matt speaks in a whisper. “It might be Miyazawa in the back room. Are you sure you want to come?”
“Just keep us close,” Jessica says. “If anything happens, jump us out of here.”
Matt kneels down beside Yarah. “What do you feel?”
She closes her eyes and pulls in a deep breath. “He’s here. A man named Miyazawa. Crying out for help. But it’s difficult to find him. There are so many others.” Her eyes jump open with a look of fear. “Thousands of them.” She staggers back into Jessica’s arms. “They won’t leave him.”
More voices come from the back room. The sound of overturning furniture and shattering glass floats down the hallway. Shadows move across the open door.
“Close your mind!” Matt says. “Seal off your thoughts. Don’t let them know you’re here.”
“Who?” Jessica says.
“The Lethonen.” Matt steps up onto the main floor with his shoes still on. “If I’m right, they’ve infested him, like maggots digging into his skin. Using him to get to Ryzaard. And the Stones.”
Yarah’s eyes are wide. “So many of them. What are you going to do?”
“Help him.” Matt moves past the low table in the middle of the room and motions for Jessica and Yarah to follow. “Maybe he’ll help us in return, once he understands how Ryzaard is using him.”
With their shoes still on, Jessica and Yarah step onto the main floor and follow Matt into the hallway. Reaching behind her, Jessica pulls the pulse rifle off her back and holds it in the ready position, finger resting on the trigger.
Just before Matt gets to the open door, he turns and motions for Yarah and Jessica to wait. Their eyes are upon him as he moves in front of the door, and the light from the room shines in his face. He stands still and gazes into the room.
The priest sits calmly in the lotus position on the tatami floor, staring ahead. A low table behind him is face down with its legs sticking up. Fragments of broken glass are strewn around the room like diamonds. A single line of blood runs down Miyazawa’s neck onto his white undergarments.
“Miyazawa-sama.” Matt bows deeply. “O karada no guai ikaga desu ka?”
The priest’s head slowly turns to face him. His mouth opens, and white foam pours out. “Please help—”
As the words slip from his lips, his mouth opens wide and a high-pitched scream breaks from deep in his throat. Its volume decreases, and the scream drops down multiple octaves until it resembles the low rumble of a Zen chant. Miyazawa’s hand reaches forward to carefully grasp a large ceramic teacup on the tatami floor.
Matt steps into the room.
With an audible pop, Miyazawa’s hand turns into a fist, crushing the teacup. His arm swings up toward Matt and releases the broken fragments out of a bloody palm. Before Matt can react, the tiny pieces pelt him in the face, forcing him to stumble back through the door into the hallway, hands covering his eyes. Miyazawa’s body slams into him and, with animal strength, knocks Matt down.
Fingers reach for Matt’s neck. They find his throat and begin to squeeze, closing off his breath.
With no choice, Matt connects with his Stone in the open cloaking box in his pocket. The warm buzz of a thin membrane of blue energy jumps around his body.
A multitude of voices from Miyazawa’s throat cry out in sudden pain. Amid a hail of sparks and burnt silk, the priest is thrown off Matt and back into the room.
Quickly getting to his feet, Matt swings his head to the left to see Jessica and Yarah staring with wide eyes. He wipes the blood from his face and charges through the door, all his attention focused on the priest.
Miyazawa crouches in a corner. “We know you,” he says.
The priest’s eyes dart around the room, coming to rest on a ceremonial katana sword suspended on the wall to Matt’s right. A fine herringbone braid of purple cord wraps the hilt, and a single black tassel hangs down from the scabbard. Lunging like a shot from a pulse rifle, Miyazawa’s legs stiffen, and he launches himself across Matt’s line of vision to wrap his fingers around the sword and tear it from the wall.
“You have the power.” Miyazawa sways back and forth on the balls of his feet holding the sword to the side, the tip pointing on a diagonal at the floor. “Give it to us.”
The priest’s stance reminds Matt of Jhata.
“You can’t have the power.” Matt steps back and spreads his feet for maximum stability. “You’ll never have the power again.” Dropping his hands to the side, he kneels on the tatami Japanese style with his legs folded under, trying to look as vulnerable as possible, inviting attack.
Lunging, Miyazawa sweeps the blade in a great arc that ends just below Matt’s ear in a popping explosion as the blade makes contact with the thin blue membrane floating over his skin. The blade glows red, and Miyazawa lets it slip from his hands onto the tatami where it turns the rice straw black. He staggers back, staring down at his burnt palms.
Matt closes his eyes. “I can help you Miyazawa-san. Help rid you of this scourge. If you can hear me, I need you to fight it.”
Moving now like an animal on all fours, Miyazawa picks up the overturned table, raises it above his head and throws it down on Matt. It explodes into a pile of smoking splinters in a ring around him on the floor.
Enraged, Miyazawa rips off his upper garment, wraps it around the hilt of the katana sword and lifts it above him. Again and again, he thrusts at Matt. Sparks fly. Shrieks of pain from the priest fill the room. Finally, Miyazawa holds the sword in trembling hands, the tip pointing squarely at Matt’s chest, and runs forward.
Matt’s eyes snap open. With one hand
, he grabs the sword by the blade and holds it steady and strong. The blue film pours off his body and works its way up the steel.
When it reaches the handle, Miyazawa screams and lets go. Unintelligible words tumble from his lips. Slumping down, he bangs his head against the wooden floor.
Matt stands and moves closer. The priest whips around, his bloodshot eyes coming to rest on the open door.
As Miyazawa makes a break for it, Matt grabs the priest’s wrist and brings him to a sudden stop.
The priest struggles to twist out of the grip, but Matt swings him around and grabs the other wrist, holding Miyazawa firmly with both hands and staring into his wild eyes.
“I know you’re in there.” Matt fights against the flailing arms. “All of you have tormented this man long enough. Leave him. Now.” Changing the composition of the blue energy, Matt allows it to flow off his fingers up the priest’s arm until it envelopes the priest’s body.
“Let us go,” Miyazawa says.
Moaning voices crawl out of his mouth like snakes. He struggles as if a tight cord is being wrapped around him.
Matt pulls Miyazawa down into a sitting position, knee to knee, and then turns to the door. “I need your help, Yarah.”
Running into the room, Yarah stands on Matt’s right, her gaze on the squirming priest.
A voice like a woman’s explodes from the priest’s mouth as he looks up at Yarah. “We know you. Give us the power.”
“Jhata?” Yarah turns to stare at Matt. “How can she—”
“I think she—what’s left of her—may be part of the Lethonen infestation. It makes sense.” Matt places an open palm on each of Miyazawa’s temples and turns his head back so it’s facing straight. “We have to drive them out.”
Jessica approaches from behind, the tip of her pulse rifle two feet from Miyazawa’s head. “But doesn’t he work with Ryzaard? He’s spreading Shinto so everyone gets an implant. Are you sure it’s safe to do this? What if he’s not on our side?”
Small blue spheres of boiling energy rise out of Matt’s fingers. “If I were betting, I’d say he didn’t know about Ryzaard’s plan. All I know is I connected with Miyazawa a few days ago. It was like a dream, but not a dream. He was afraid and asked me to come and drive out the Lethonen.”
Spittle and foam pour from Miyazawa’s mouth as the lips move. “We will kill him if you try.”
“That’s why I need you, Yarah.” Matt’s eyes look up to meet hers. “Keep him alive while I do this. Stand behind him and put your hands on his head. I won’t let him hurt you.”
Slowly, Yarah nods and swallows. Walking behind the priest, her tiny hands come down on top of his black hair.
A tremor, like a ripple in his flesh, moves through Miyazawa’s body. His teeth grind together, and his eyes begin to bulge out.
Eyes snapping shut, Matt keeps his hands pressed against the priest’s temples. “I’m going in.”
Floating alone in the limitless darkness of his own mind, Matt senses warmth flowing off the Stone that now rests in his right hand. He raises his head and speaks to the black expanse in measured and precise words. “You will leave him. Now.” The sound of his voice twists as if through a long tube and comes back to him, louder, harsher.
Laughter explodes from every direction. Thousands of voices speak gibberish at once. Out of the chaos, a single high-pitched scream rises above the rest. The scream turns into a familiar voice that bores its way into Matt’s head.
He belongs to us.
Matt concentrates on his Stone. “You. Will. Leave. Him.” A perfect sphere of white light bursts from the Stone’s tip, enveloping Matt and illuminating Miyazawa’s body, floating in a horizontal position only a few meters away.
The darkness coalesces into a multitude of floating spheres, each morphing and bending through a random series of shapes. Matt can see gaping mouths with vampire fangs. Snake-like tongues and jellyfish tentacles. One shape that tends toward scorpions and spiders grows larger than the rest. It turns into a vaguely humanoid woman, but with multiple legs and arms. She stares at the body of the priest, and then her eyes move to the Stone in Matt’s hand.
“You’re dead, Jhata.” Matt says. “Leave him.”
He opened himself to us. He wants to give us the power.
In the darkness, Matt grips the Stone and moves closer to Miyazawa’s body. “You lost, Jhata. Lost everything. No life. No love. And no power.”
She explodes into the shape of a fat snake that wraps itself around the priest’s body.
He is ours.
As Matt stretches out his arm, the outer rim of the sphere of light emanating from his Stone brushes against the snake. It recoils back and rears its head, flashing a large cobra hood.
“No,” Matt says. “You have no power over me.”
All sound is sucked away, leaving behind a silent vacuum. The dark forms morph into shapeless mouths with dagger teeth. They lunge at the body of Miyazawa, entering and penetrating through his skin. His back arches at a grotesque angle.
Yarah’s screams pierce the silence.
Loosening his grip on his Stone, Matt lets it rest on the palm of his hand and concentrates on Miyazawa. Particles of light lift from the Stone like snowflakes and cover the priest’s body in a thin layer, a second skin.
It won’t be long now, Matt thinks.
Bits of dark matter pour out of Miyazawa like black blood from a sponge. The light picks them up and pushes them into the emptiness of space. Barely audible shrieks of pain rise and fade until all goes silent.
Matt closes his hand around the Stone. “Are you OK, Yarah?”
Her trembling voice stirs in his mind.
I’m alive.
Leaving the dark space behind, Matt opens his eyes and looks down. The palms of his hands still press against Miyazawa’s sweat-drenched temples. Yarah lies on the tatami a few feet away, breathing hard.
The priest’s eyes slowly open.
CHAPTER 100
“Have you been in the Mesh recently?” Kalani eyes his slate and tosses it onto the desk. “It’s turning into a fairground for gangsters and religious fanatics.”
Jing-wei lifts the bowl of ramen noodles up to her mouth and sips juice from the rim. “It’s been like that ever since I can remember.”
“But this is different. It’s getting worse.” Kalani stretches his arm and picks up a spear leaning against the table. Touching the tip with his thumb, he draws a spot of blood and licks it off. “Has he told you his final plan?”
“He told me the same thing he told you.” Jing-wei extracts a long string of noodles out of the broth with her chopsticks and slurps it up, quickly and efficiently. “He’s letting it run wild so that everyone gets sucked in, and then he’s going to clamp down. Pull the plug.”
Kalani rams the tip of the spear down on the wooden desk. “Like a trap, right?”
“That’s the idea.”
Digging a deep gouge in the table, Kalani draws the weapon to him before dropping it and reaching for the slate with his other hand. “Have you seen this?”
“Seen what?” Jing-wei drinks the last of the brown broth and puts the bowl down.
“I’ll put it on the holo.”
They both look at the white sphere floating in space at eye level, like a crystal ball. A long black ship with a segmented body floats by. It looks like a centipede, but with only small legs at the front and back. It approaches a massive castle resting on a foundation of clouds.
Kalani points at the building. “Just a random Mesh-point set up by the Swiss government to invite visitors to the Alps. You go inside and get a quick tour of local history and cuisine.”
“Sounds fairly generic.” Jing-wei points at the black ship. “What’s that, and what’s it doing here?”
As they watch, the ship docks at the base of the castle. A long slit opens up in its belly. Armored soldiers pour out like a black flood.
“Chinese,” Kalani says. “It’s got People’s Liberation Army wr
itten all over it. They’re already adapting the new Mesh for military purposes. The entire Red Army has received the implants. I intercepted a message with high quantum encryption. Control the Mesh, and you control the world. Something stupid like that.” He grits his teeth and punches his fist through the empty air where the holo hangs. “This is just a test run. They’re planning something big. Same with the Japanese.”
“And the Americans.”
They both turn in the direction of the voice and see Ryzaard standing behind them, gazing at the holo. “Yes, I know all about it. After all, I now spend most of my time in the Mesh.” He walks around the table to the other side of the holo so they can see him through its transparent interior. “And I could destroy their work at any time with less thought than it takes to tie my shoes.”
“Then why don’t you?” Kalani stands.
“Because it’s playing out exactly as I hoped.” Ryzaard drops into a chair, mouths a cigarette out of a pack of black Djarums and lights it with the other hand. The tip glows bright red with his inhale. “It’s the last dying breath of the old civilization. Let them play their idiot games while they can. They’ll be all the more ready when the new order comes.” Smoke pours out of his nostrils toward the holo.
As they stare at it, light flashes. The door of the castle is blown away. The hordes disappear into its interior.
“The new order,” Kalani says. “When will it come?”
“When the blue jewels cover every land, continent and island of the sea. When every man, woman, child and infant is securely within my grasp. When this singular instrument of freedom has cut the chains that hold humankind bound.” Ryzaard blows a long stream of smoke into the holo as the castle shakes and crumbles into a gray cloud. “Then the old world will pass away, and all things will become new.”
Jing-wei picks up her slate. “Final shipments of the implants will be ready in three days. Penetration will reach in excess of 98% two days later.”
“Five days,” Kalani says. “I suppose I can wait five more days.”
