by Jacob Whaler
They all stop and look to the young man with the stick in his hand.
“Leave the truck, for now.” The young man points his stick at the other kids, and they move back. “We’ll take you to Little John. He’ll know what to do.”
CHAPTER 39
Matt stares at the white Stone balanced perfectly on the palm of his right hand. He moves it to his left hand, and it feels unbalanced, awkward, as if it wants to be in the other hand. With no conscious effort, his right hand moves as if on its own and retrieves the Stone.
A clear image passes through his mind. He’s dropping the Stone into the garbage at the airport. It disappears into a pile of trash. No mistake about it.
He threw the Stone away, and now it’s returned.
His fingers close around it. Rushing to the window, he heaves it open and draws his hand back. Conflict rips at his soul. Part of him wants to get rid of it again, to throw the Stone into the pond and put its mysteries behind him. But another part yearns to learn its secrets.
He thinks back on the Woman in the dream. No matter how much he tries, he can’t get her image out of his mind. A being of surpassing beauty. An angel. Or a goddess.
And no matter how much he tries to deny or forget it, he knows it is the same Woman that came to him when he was sixteen years old under an avalanche of snow at the bottom of Skull Pass.
He wonders. Are the dreams just random hallucinations triggered by excitement or fatigue?
Or is there more to it?
The Stone itself, hard and cool in his hand, seems to scream out the answer, tangible proof of what he saw. His fingers squeeze it until the blood drains from his knuckles. Its color fades from white to sky blue.
Surprised at the calmness that permeates his soul, Matt stares down at the Stone that has magically come back. He should be running through the streets, stark raving mad. Yet it feels right and comfortable, the way things should be. He has a strong compulsion to record the dream.
But first he needs to clear his head.
Dressing in running gear, he goes outside for an early morning jog. With the Stone in his right hand and the jax in his left, he moves around campus as his fingers type out bits and pieces of what he saw. The darks shapes chasing him. The bare oak tree by the chasm. The billowing fog. Most of his dreams are forgotten within minutes of waking up, but this one is easy to recall in all of its details.
After recording what he saw, Matt stores it on his personal datasite and sends a copy to Jessica. They can discuss it later. He looks forward to her reaction.
He comes back to his room from a lukewarm shower and dresses in the usual cargo pants and T-shirt. The Stone goes into his pocket, and he heads across campus to the University cafeteria for an early breakfast. A film of sweat instantly coats his back and sticks to his shirt.
At 6:00 in the morning, the cafeteria is empty except for a group of students gathered at a table on the other side and speaking Chinese. Thanks to jet lag, he’ll be getting up early for the next week whether he wants to or not.
The rice, miso soup and pickled radish are good, but nothing special. It all has the look and feel of hospital food, and it takes more than a little courage to try the fermented soy beans called nato. Mustard and soy sauce help get it down. A single whiff of the fecal smell turns most gaijin away, but his mother used to say that you could never truly understand Japanese culture until you acquired a taste for nato. He tries to enjoy it but finds the going difficult.
After breakfast, he goes back to the dorm and empties the backpack by pouring its remaining contents, mostly clothes, out onto his bed. Then he puts a few old history books, a slate and some random climbing gear back in, hangs it off one shoulder and starts out across campus. The enormous size of his backpack stands out as he walks, but he doesn’t care. There’s no telling what he might need on his first day as Professor Yamamoto’s research assistant.
Wandering past the library, he picks up a copy of the Yomiuri Shinbun, one of the last print newspapers left in the world. There’s a soft chair near the window, and he drops his backpack on the floor and sits down to read the front page. The main article reports that Japan has sided with China in a trade dispute over rights to manufacture jax antennas. Just below that, he reads about their joint declaration to stop selling natural gas to Europe from the North China Sea. Then there is an update on the naval base on the Senkaku Islands that they operate together. His eyes scan the daily anti-American editorial that has become a fixture in the newspaper, at least the version he reads on the Mesh. He’s suddenly grateful for his Japanese looks and hopes it will save him from unnecessary harassment on campus.
At 8:30 in the morning, a clock chimes, and he realizes that Professor Yamamoto’s lecture is about to start.
He doesn’t want to be late on the first day of class.
Jumping up, he grabs the backpack, descends two flights of stairs and sprints across the open courtyard into a building on the other side, the one he looked up on his jax before he left the dorm. He enters the back of a large auditorium and sits down, out of breath.
The lecture is already in progress.
Professor Yamamoto paces back and forth at the front on a raised platform. When he sees Matt, his face breaks into a grin, and he pauses to nod.
Matt bows his head in reply and tries to pick up where the lecture is going.
“Amaterasu Omikami, the sun goddess, is the daughter of Izanagi no Mikoto, the creator of the eight original Japanese islands.” Professor Yamamoto points his jax at the big bluescreen on the wall behind him. The lights dim and a colorful image of a woman with bright rays of light streaming from her face appears. “This woodcut of Amaterasu was made near the end of the Edo period by the Japanese artist Utagawa Kunisada, famous for his ukiyoe paintings.”
In the darkness of the room, Matt feels the pull of sleep. His eyelids start to slide down. Undergraduate lectures at any university are a test of patience, but this is doubly hard because it’s all in Japanese. He struggles to pay attention, knowing that it will be an irreversible breach of etiquette if he lets his head slip down.
“In the Shinto tradition, Amaterasu is thought to be the source of beauty and light, as well as the ancestor of the imperial household of Japan.” Professor Yamamoto drones on. “According to myth, she had a battle with her brother, and then hid herself in a dark cave when overcome with grief and anger. All light disappeared from the earth. Darkness reigned.”
Matt wishes he could hide in the dark and go to sleep. Jet lag is slowly exerting its control over him. He knows he is losing the battle.
“The other gods tried in vain to persuade her to come out of the cave so the world would have light again. Finally, in desperation, they lured her out by hanging the Three Sacred Treasures outside its entrance.” Professor Yamamoto pauses and scans the classroom.
As near as Matt can tell, most of the students are busy with their jaxes, bobbing their heads to internal music or just sleeping. No one looks up except for one student in the back next to him.
“Can anyone tell me what the Three Sacred Treasures are?” Professor Yamamoto clears his throat with the hint of a smile on his face. He waits patiently, in no apparent hurry to answer the question himself.
Half a minute passes before the students become aware that Professor Yamamoto has stopped talking. The silence is broken only by the nervous looks of students and some feverish jaxing under their desks.
From the back of the room, Matt raises his hand. Professor Yamamoto motions for him to stand. The other students turn their heads to focus on the unlucky victim.
Matt coughs into his hand. “The Three Sacred Treasures are a sword called the Kusanagi, a mirror called the Yata no Kagami, and a jewel called the Yasakani no Magatama.” He looks back at Professor Yamamoto and raises his eyebrows slightly, doing his best to mimic the emotionless stare of the other students. And then he sits down.
“Impressive.” Professor Yamamoto points his jax at Matt. “You know more about Japan
ese mythology than our homegrown students. Does anyone recall what became of the Three Sacred Treasures?”
At this point, every student is searching the Mesh, obviously fearful of becoming the next victim. Professor Yamamoto gets a grin on his face and holds up his own jax. With nimble fingers, he plays a sequence on its side, and it emits a sound like a flushing toilet. In unison, the students raise their faces with a look of surprise mixed with desperation.
All jaxes in the room have ceased to function.
“I recently received a special gift from the University. It’s very convenient, as it turns out.” He holds up his hand and shows off his old-model jax. “Some new code only available to professors. I hear it’s called a jax-jammer. I thought I would try it out today, and I’m happy to see it works.” Professor Yamamoto walks across the front of the room. “Let’s see if Matt-kun, our friend from Amerika, can answer from memory without help from anyone.”
Matt thanks Professor Yamamoto for lobbing him such an easy pitch and stands again, hands thrust deep into his pockets. “According to legend,” Matt begins, “the Three Sacred Treasures were given to the first emperor of Japan, Emperor Jimmu, in 660 B.C. They have been passed down to each emperor in the Imperial House since that time as part of their enthronement ceremony.”
The other students look up at him with equal measures of admiration and contempt.
Professor Yamamoto takes a step forward. “So the Three Treasures still exist today?”
“Yes, according to legend, they exist and are under the control of Emperor Hisahito.”
“And what exactly do they look like, this sword, mirror and jewel?”
Matt fiddles with the Stone in his pocket. “No one knows. Only the Emperor and a few Shinto high priests are allowed to see them. No photos have ever been taken. None exist on the Mesh. I’ve looked and haven’t been able to find any.” Matt waits for another question.
Professor Yamamoto nods his head and motions for Matt to sit down. “Very good, Matt-kun.” The professor points his jax at the back of the room and the lights come back on.
After the lecture, they meet for lunch in the University cafeteria and sit in the section reserved for faculty and graduate students.
“You love curry rice too, I see.” Professor Yamamoto chuckles as he looks at the generous helping on Matt’s plate. “Perhaps that is why you have grown so tall.”
“Maa maa desu ne.” Matt does a short, quick bow with his head. “It’s not as good as my dad’s, but any curry is good curry.” Using the large spoon, he vigorously mixes the golden sauce on one side into the steamed rice on the other side of the plate.
“I must say you have a very interesting way of arranging your food.” Professor Yamamoto draws his spoon down the line that divides the curry from the rice on his plate. “I prefer to keep them separate and distinct.”
Matt nods.
Very Japanese, he thinks. Everything compartmentalized, packaged and neat.
“It reminds me of my mother.” Matt says. “She used to scold me for making a mess of my food.” He looks out the window at the green leaves of a sycamore tree against the sky. They flutter like butterfly wings in a gentle breeze.
“She was a good student.” Professor Yamamoto dips a large potato chunk out of his curry and balances it on his spoon. “I had her in one of my Chinese history classes when she was a freshman. So many years ago. I can see her in you.”
“My father says the same thing.” Matt shifts his gaze from the window back to his curry. “But no matter how many times I look in the mirror, I don’t see it.”
“You carry her in your heart. All that she was, all that she taught you. It’s there inside.” Professor Yamamoto raises his water glass and points it at Matt.
In spite of attempts to blink it away, Matt’s eyes mist over. “I miss her. I miss the life we had before she was taken away.” His fingers wander down into a pocket to touch the Stone.
“How is your father?” Professor Yamamoto bends forward.
“Still the same.” Matt grabs a mouthful off his spoon. “Always afraid of who or what may be watching us. Just like me.” His eyes scan the cafeteria.
“He is a good man. There has been much suffering in his life. He tries hard to protect you. It must have been hard for him to let you go.”
“It was,” Matt says. “But I needed to get away. It’s going to be great being here for the summer.” He takes a big bite of curry, hoping to change the subject. Professors and graduate students are sitting in groups on all sides, but they stay away from the table where he is eating, as if they don’t want to associate with him.
It must be because he’s an American.
Professor Yamamoto’s eyes follow Matt’s gaze. “Don’t worry. It’s not you. It’s me. They think I’m an old fool.” He dips a spoonful of the red pickled radish out of the glass container on the table between them. Bushy white eyebrows dance on top of his eyes. “After all, I do research on Japanese folk tales and mythology. That makes me an embarrassment to the University.” He laughs to himself and then takes another bite of curry.
Matt remains silent as he looks down at the leftover rice in his bowl. The curry has long since run out.
Professor Yamamoto picks up the last kernel of rice on the tip of his spoon. “Three years ago, I got funding for my research from an American corporation. That’s when I stopped publishing on more accepted topics and began focusing full-time on Japanese mythology.” He still has a large area of golden curry left over.
As they push their bowls away, they look at each other, and then down at their bowls.
Professor Yamamoto is the first to laugh. “You finish your curry before the rice. I do just the opposite. Perhaps this reveals a difference in our personalities. Ying and yang”
“For me, the rice is just filling.” Matt taps the bowl with his spoon. “The curry is the main attraction.”
“And for me, the rice is the source of sustenance. The curry is only a flavoring.” Professor Yamamoto stands. “I must say, you did very well answering the questions in class today.” A warm smile spreads across the professor’s face as they take their trays to a little conveyor belt that disappears through a hole. “But you were wrong about one thing.”
“What?” Matt says.
“The Yasakani no Magatama jewel.” Professor Yamamoto leads them out through the front door of the cafeteria. “The Emperor and the Shinto priests are not the only ones who have seen it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have seen it myself.”
CHAPTER 40
Ryzaard paces in front of his desk with the slate in his hand. From time to time, he stops, looks down into its holographic bluescreen, reads from the report and then stares up, shaking his head. Behind him, the neon Manhattan skyline blazes against the darkness of the night.
“Too fast,” he says. “It’s happening too fast.”
“What are you talking about?” Alexa sits on the red sofa and raises a lighter to a long, thin cigarette.
“The dreams.” Ryzaard stops midstride. “He’s having the dreams. And he’s writing them down. It should have taken much longer to get to this point. It took months for me. Only days for him. He’s moving too fast.” Ryzaard holds the slate in both hands behind his back and begins pacing again. “I fear I may have triggered them.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Stones are a bridge to multiple realities for the mind of a Holder. Some of those realities are like a dream state. I engaged in a little deep meditation to see if I could find him.” Ryzaard exhales through his nose. “It might have pulled him into a dream.”
“Did you find him?”
Ryzaard’s eyes drift out the window. “Yes.” He turns to face Alexa. “I found him, and I almost had him until he got away. It was foolish of me to try. It probably made his dreams more vivid and focused his mind more on the Stone. I’m an idiot for trying.”
“But he can’t know much about it. He’s only had it
a few days.” Alexa lays her head back on the red sofa and exhales a plume of pink smoke. It rises to the ceiling and breaks into fragments. “Besides, we have a bead on his girlfriend. He tells her everything. We can monitor her jax, watch their every move.”
“Yes, the marvels of modern technology.” Ryzaard casts a glance down at the slate. “Tells you everything except what matters.”
Alexa takes short puffs on the cigarette and lets the smoke roll out between her lips. “What do you mean?”
Turning, Ryzaard casts a glance at her. “He’s not telling the girl everything. We don’t know what he’s thinking, how much he really knows. Who else he may have seen in his dreams. We can’t see inside his mind.” His arm draws a long arc down and slams the slate into the hardwood floor where it shatters into plastic splinters. “He’s hiding things from her, and us.”
“Why so worried?”
“The longer we wait, the more he will learn.” Ryzaard sinks down in his chair and swivels so his back is to Alexa. “The more he’ll learn about them,” he mutters to himself.
“I think you overestimate him.” Alexa taps the cigarette. A stream of gray ash drifts to the floor. “He’s just a kid who wants to get away from his father. I think he’s more afraid of the Stone than interested in it. He tried to throw it away.”
“True. But something bothers me. Why can’t we trace him or his father. What are they hiding from?”
“Kalani’s working on that. Give him more time. He’ll figure it out.”
“Perhaps. In the meantime, what do we know about his girlfriend?” Ryzaard stands up and walks across the room to the couch. He drops down next to Alexa.
“Jessica Gibbons. Works in her father’s company during the summer. She just finished her junior year at the University of Colorado, studying for a degree in finance with a minor in photography. The oldest of six children. They have a condo in Maui and vacation there every August. Plays the violin and the ukulele.” Alexa blows a line of pink smoke in Ryzaard’s direction.
