He raised his hand. “Stay where you are!” he shouted.
She kept walking. “Or what?”
“Or I’m out of here before you can blink twice.”
She stopped walking and looked around. “Who is with you?”
“Nobody.”
She stared at him. “Where is the sword?”
“Hidden.”
“No sword, no Ghost.” Behind her, Goda held his katana under Ghost’s throat.
Cormac’s heart beat so wildly in his chest he could barely speak. “No Ghost, no sword!”
Kiko smiled. “So I will bring Ghost and you will bring the sword. That is honest.”
“You’re kidding! There’s nothing honest about you, Ami.” Cormac was surprised by his own courage, but then, if you couldn’t be brave when everything was on the line, when could you? The sight of Kiko also fueled his rage. She had betrayed him and the Black Lotus. She was the enemy.
Kiko nodded, as if impressed by his guts. “What do you suggest?”
“Send Ghost over, and when he’s a safe distance away from you, I’ll give you the sword.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t. But you and I both know that if I don’t give you the sword, you’ll come after me and kill me.”
“That’s true,” said Kiko. “But we’d make you watch Kate and Ghost die first.”
Cormac swallowed. That was no idle threat.
The sunrise filled the sky with glorious oranges and flaming pinks. Its rays speared through the gaps between the skyscrapers, banishing the predawn gloom. A gentle breeze ruffled Kiko’s kimono and blew a strand of hair over her face. She moved it aside and nodded to Goda, who released his captive.
Hesitantly, Ghost walked toward him with labored steps. Cormac was tempted to run out and meet him, but he wanted to maintain a safe distance from Kiko. And so he waited.
Ghost’s face was pale and his eyes blank.
“Are you OK?” asked Cormac.
Ghost nodded.
Cormac glanced over his friend’s shoulder to where Kiko and Goda stood side by side, watching closely. “I want you to run as fast as you can up the street. Don’t stop until you reach the soldiers. They’ll protect you.”
Ghost nodded. “What about you?”
“I’m going to run the opposite way with the sword.”
Ghost looked him up and down. “Where is it?”
“In the taxi.”
Ghost thought for a second, then nodded. “Good to see you, man.” He held his arms out for a hug.
Cormac frowned, wondering what his friend was playing at but moving into the embrace all the same. And that’s when Ghost’s head shot forward, smashing into Cormac’s nose.
He staggered backward, feeling blood pump out of his nostrils. Ghost followed up with a kick to the groin that doubled Cormac over in excruciating pain. A knee in the face finished him off. His world spun, then dimmed. Then darkened completely.
Ghost stepped over the boy and pulled open the taxi door. After hunting around, he removed the sword from under the seat and held it up to show Kiko, who, along with the man in red, was running toward him.
She took the Moon Sword, gently separating the hilt from the scabbard to check the blade within.
Well done, Ghost. He felt the insect in his brain squirm and twist. You have proved your worth.
He watched her tie the scabbard to her waist before unsheathing the blade again. She stepped toward the boy and raised the katana in the air. Something in Ghost snapped.
Wait!
What? The voice in his head sounded surprised.
Don’t kill him.
Why not?
Ghost looked down at the bloody-nosed boy. He was sure he recognized that face but couldn’t think who it was. He was beginning to feel stronger, his own voice louder inside his head. Let him go. He can’t harm us now.
Kiko looked at Ghost, her dark pupils probing him for something: a reason—a reason to kill the boy, a reason not to? He could feel the insect wriggling in his brain, as if reaching for something. Perhaps Kiko looked a little nervous, as if she didn’t want to do anything to upset Ghost … I’ll do this for you, Ghost, she said eventually, lowering the sword.
The boy was conscious again and trying to stand. Ghost helped him to his feet. “Run.”
The boy wiped his bloody mouth and glanced at the two adults before returning his gaze to Ghost. “What have you done?”
“Go!” shouted Ghost, pushing him away.
The boy stumbled away from them, stopping once to look back before disappearing down the street.
Let’s go.
He followed the adults to an empty part of the area. Kiko and the man looked at each other and nodded.
It is time. Take this.
Kiko handed Ghost the Moon Sword. He felt its weight in his palm, its energy against his skin. The two adults unsheathed the other blades. The man barked a command.
On three, we cut.
Something in Ghost rebelled, but Kiko’s mind grasped at his own, stopped him from thinking.
The man waited with his Butterfly Sword raised. Now Kiko spoke aloud, a faint tremble in her voice. “One. Two. Three!”
The man screamed and together they cut into the air with the three swords.
Ghost was aware of a blinding white light and the sensation of flying through the air.
CORMAC OPENED HIS EYES. HE lay facedown on the hard ground. A throbbing pain pounded in his head. He peeled himself off the street. Something wet ran down his neck. He put his hand to the back of his head. Blood. An armored car lay upturned beside him, completely mangled, as if it had been chewed by some great beast, then spat out. Holding onto the vehicle’s crumpled frame, he pulled himself upright.
Somewhere, bending metal groaned. Nearby, glass shattered, shards tinkling on the ground. A distant rumbling was followed by a muted explosion. Around him, human groans filled the air.
Cormac hobbled through the mess, kicking aside a rifle, now corkscrewed into a piece of modern art. As he picked his way through the debris, he remembered what had happened.
Ghost had saved his life and sent him running. Cormac had raced toward the army barricade at the edge of Times Square, shouting for help. The soldiers had spun around to face him, a dozen guns pointing straight at him. Then there had been a giant flash of light from behind him and his body had lifted into the air …
He staggered up the street. Cars lay overturned or on their sides, crushed by some invisible force. Signs, traffic lights, and lampposts—everything made of metal—was twisted and bent. The once sleek and shiny skyscrapers leaned drunkenly in the sky. Windows that normally reflected the sun had been replaced by thousands of dark holes. A pillar of smoke rose from one of the crumbling office towers.
Glass crunched beneath his feet as he turned into a side street. He almost tripped over the body of a dead soldier. The man lay crushed beneath an overturned car, his face the same color as the sidewalk, a pool of dark blood around his head. Cormac turned away from the horror, overcome with nausea, and leaned against a misshapen trash can. He retched. But nothing came out, just a loud bark and the bitter taste of bile.
Kate!
Feeling dizzy, he tapped his chest and spoke into his comm but received no reply. He pulled the device from his ear to check it. The plastic casing had ruptured and its internal organs were a fried mess of melted wires and transistor chips. Flinging it aside, he teetered up the street. He had to find her.
Some buildings had collapsed entirely, spilling rubble onto the streets, and everywhere crooked vehicles littered the avenues as if they’d been dropped from the sky. As he passed the smoldering remains of a burned-out car, his legs gave way and he fell to his knees. Blood loss, fatigue, and shock brought his body to a standstill. He would have flopped forward onto his face if a pair of strong arms hadn’t caught him.
GHOST SAT UP AND WIPED a thick layer of dust off his face. He looked around him at a scene of utter
destruction.
He had seen Times Square on TV many times. But now it was barely recognizable. The skyscrapers, normally radiant with flashing lights and neon advertising, hunched over like old men, gray and lifeless. Their windows were empty eyes, staring out at a city covered in broken glass. And all around, paper and dust fell like snow.
A noise diverted his attention. A man in a red kimono knelt on his hands and knees, coughing and spitting.
I know him. Goda. President of the Samurai Empire.
When Goda had cleared his lungs, he looked about frantically, reached under the wreckage of a car, and pulled out a gleaming sword. He struggled to his feet, put the blade in a dark scabbard, and rushed over to an inert body lying under a pile of green silk. From beneath the silk, he pulled out another sword and sheathed it before lifting the person up and pulling dark tresses from a pale face. Kiko.
The memory of what had just happened came surging back.
Ghost glanced around at the carnage. They had done this. With their swords. The Empire was taking America.
But that was as far back as his memory reached. How he had gotten here was still—
Ghost.
His body froze, as if turned to stone. She stared at him, her black gaze penetrating his mind, becoming a poisonous serum coursing through his body, ready to attack. He remembered that insectoid presence she’d planted in his head, the one that gave her full control over him. But now he couldn’t feel the wiggle of its legs or the squirming of its scaly body. It seemed to be gone. Perhaps the explosion had gotten rid of it? Her voice was still in his mind, but Ghost could think, remember, and move on his own. Though Kiko didn’t seem to know this—and Ghost wasn’t about to tell her.
Come here. Bring the Moon Sword.
He looked around and found the blade nearby. When he brought it to her, she sheathed it in the scabbard at her waist.
The force unleashed by the three swords had blown everything into heaped piles at the edge of Times Square. Contorted cars and crushed concrete surrounded them in a ring of disaster.
Goda looked around as if getting his bearings. He took a step forward, then adjusted his position by shuffling sideways on his feet. He kept glancing around as if searching for something. When finally satisfied with where he stood, he swept away the glass on the ground with his foot.
He drew one of his swords, held it above his head, and smiled at his wife. She smiled back. Goda’s scream echoed around the area, bouncing off the shattered skyscrapers. He cut down with the blade, slicing another dark hole in the air. It contorted and contracted, its edges wobbling like jelly.
Kiko moved to the hole and pulled at its edge, stretching the opening.
Grab the other side.
Ghost obeyed, curling his fingers around the gelatinous rim.
Wider.
The opening wanted to close, but Ghost pulled harder until it was wide enough for two men to pass through.
And that’s what happened.
Two medieval samurai, dressed in red armor, stepped out of the black hole. They bore Empire banners and carried extra armor in each of their hands. They bowed to Lord Goda and began dressing him in leather and iron. More followed, carrying a helmet and other paraphernalia. Soon Goda was dressed for war. He ordered two samurai to replace Ghost and Kiko at the portal.
Warriors continued to stream through the hole, two carrying green armor for Lady Kiko. As she dressed for battle, samurai formed a protective ring around Times Square, spears and swords pointing outward toward the ruined skyscrapers.
Ghost looked to see who was coming through next, then jumped out of the way.
A horse galloped through, covered in chain mail and leather. The rider had swords on his hip and a banner on his back. His horse vaulted over a smashed taxi and disappeared behind the rubble. Then another came, and another, as a stream of riders emerged from the portal to form regiments across the intersection and in the surrounding streets. Times Square was soon filled with the sound of iron-shod hooves on stone and the snorting of warhorses.
The cavalry was followed by archers, two at a time, jumping through the opening and running off in orderly lines. Ghost was dizzy watching the torrent of men pouring into the city. Soldier after soldier emerged, clad in iron, armed to the teeth, all marked with the Empire’s insignia.
When the last soldier had stepped through, the samurai released their hold on the portal and it snapped shut. Goda surveyed his troops. Times Square and countless streets around it were filled with samurai in their divisions. Their bright banners, glinting steel spearheads, and quivers full of red-feathered arrows brought color to an otherwise bleak scene.
Kiko asked her husband a question in Japanese. Ghost didn’t understand, but for some reason he understood Goda’s reply: “Ichimannin.” He had a vague memory of learning Japanese numbers in a classroom.
Ichiman meant “ten thousand.”
“Come with me.”
Cormac looked up at the man who was helping him to his feet. “Makoto! How did you get here?”
Makoto smiled. “Same way as you.”
Cormac remembered hearing a plane in the sky when he was on top of the skyscraper. “You followed us? But how?”
“Your shōzoku contains a tracking device.”
“What about Renkondo?”
“It’s gone.” He bowed his head, but quickly he pulled himself together, his face grim. “Most of us escaped, but there were casualties.”
“Who?”
“You can’t stay here,” said Makoto, ignoring the question. “It’s too dangerous. Come with me.”
Makoto put Cormac’s arm over his shoulder and led him down streets strewn with wreckage. A woman holding her bloodied arm emerged from a doorway. Her face was pale and her eyes desperate. She started to hobble toward them, but Makoto drew Cormac away. They walked on through the chaos. It was as if someone had picked up the city, shaken it, and then dropped it on its head.
They eventually stopped in a doorway to rest. Cormac sat on a crate.
“Are you OK?” asked Makoto.
Cormac nodded. But he was far from OK.
Makoto put his hand on his shoulder. “Tell me what happened.”
Cormac gave Makoto a quick summary of events, telling him how Goda, Kiko, and Ghost had entered through a portal in Times Square and how Ghost had taken the Moon Sword. “The last thing I remember was the explosion. What was that?”
“Goda combined the power of the three swords to produce an electromagnetic pulse that affects anything electrical or metal.”
“He’s invading the USA,” Cormac said. “It’s really happening.” He looked up at Makoto. “But America has a massive army, right?”
“You saw what the pulse did to their weapons and tanks,” Makoto replied. “Without them, and without aircraft and communications, they’re powerless.”
Cormac had a sudden thought. “Have you found Kate?”
Makoto shook his head. “We were tracking her shōzoku, but the pulse disabled all our equipment.”
“We? Who else is here?”
“Come, and I’ll show you.”
Makoto led him around the corner to a large plaza surrounded on all sides by dark and lifeless towers. Words full of irony looked down at them from above the doorway of the GE Building: WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE SHALL BE THE STABILITY OF THY TIMES.
But the place was empty.
And then something by one wall caught Cormac’s eye. A figure emerged from the stone—a shōzoku-clad shinobi, only visible because of his movement. Others appeared from hiding, rolling out from under tables, dropping down from trees, slinking out of the shadows. They approached Makoto, bowed, and stood before him in neat rows. Two of them stepped forward and pulled down their hoods.
“Bear!” exclaimed Cormac. “Sensei Iwamoto!”
The two men bowed.
Cormac looked past his teachers to what must have been two hundred shinobi. “You brought an army?”
Makoto shook his head. “
Once the Renkondo students had been taken to safety, myself, the Bear, and Sensei Iwamoto flew here. We have Black Lotus agents all over the world. This is the New York division.”
“More are on the way,” said the Bear. “With all communications down, it’s been difficult to rally the troops.”
“Situation report?” ordered Makoto.
“Goda’s forces have entered Times Square through a portal. We estimate their numbers to be in the region of ten thousand.”
Makoto was silent for a moment, his face drawn.
“After Goda’s video message, the US Army stationed troops at all well-known national landmarks. They’ve spread themselves thin.”
“And rest of troops are at border,” added Sensei Iwamoto. “They expect external attack, not attack from interior.”
“It’s up to us, then,” said Makoto. “What sort of weapons have we got?”
“We have over two hundred firearms,” said the Bear, “as well as swords, knives, and spears for another three hundred.”
Makoto turned to Cormac. “The guns are all plastic or ceramic so they haven’t been affected.”
“You knew this electromagnetic thing would happen?” asked Cormac.
“We had to be prepared for the possibility that it could happen again.”
“Again?”
“It happened once before, in sixteenth-century Japan.” He looked at Cormac severely. “As you know from your trip to the map room.”
Cormac winced. There’d been no secrets at Renkondo after all.
Makoto faced the troop of shinobi. “Agents of the Black Lotus, we face grave danger. Goda has led an army ten thousand strong into Times Square via a sword portal. He plans to take control of the city to allow an Empire invasion. He wants to turn the world into medieval Japan.
“If we can defeat this army, the city has a chance to defend itself against an invasion. We have firearms, but we lack personnel. Seek out the people of New York City, convince them to join us and meet me at Times Square. You’ve spent your lives in a country free from the shackles of the Empire. You’ve been our dormant force of resistance in the free world. But now the time has come to wake, to defend your homeland.” He clenched his fists, his single eye burning. “The time has come to show Lord Goda that he cannot win.”
The Black Lotus Page 18
