by Jacob Whaler
Matt’s eyes flick back and forth between Ryzaard and the ball.
Then Ryzaard vanishes.
Matt is left alone in the silence. He stiffens his legs and grips his Stone tighter, watching the sphere slowly rotate. Its violet color turns to black and its transparency fades away, leaving a solid core in its interior.
It floats down to the surface of the street.
As soon as it makes contact, Matt senses a perceptible change in the air. Heaviness permeates the space around him. The sphere sinks into the pavement, like a baseball floating in water, until just the top is visible. Jagged cracks explode out through the concrete. Matt’s legs and arms feel like lead. Small pieces of glass and metal break free of the wreckage behind him and fly past him, disappearing into the interior of the ball.
He bends down, closes his eyes, concentrates on the Stone and tries to jump far away to the outskirts of the city.
When he opens his eyes, the sphere is still beside him. A three-meter section of pavement around it has disappeared, sucked away.
A sudden realization hits him.
Turning, he sprints away from the sphere, back into the pile, still with the protective covering of blue light, running through twisted steel girders, shattered glass and broken marble like it’s nothing more than low-lying fog on the ground.
As he runs, the debris begins to lift off the ground and float past him back in the direction of the sphere.
He keeps running and looks up. The air is choked with a black storm of churning metal. By the time he emerges from the other side of the pile, skyscrapers are bending past him like bamboo trees in a hurricane. A narrow structure in the shape of a cylinder breaks neatly in the middle, and the top section flies away behind him in the direction of the sphere.
Ahead of Matt, an entire block of buildings topples to the ground like dead trees and is sucked past him. He runs through them feeling nothing as they shoot by, the skin of blue light still clinging to his body.
As he leaves the last standing structure behind him on his way out of the city, he casts a backward glance and catches glimpses of the sphere, now a massive dark ball floating in air. The buildings of the city are entirely gone, the ground sucked away for hundreds of meters.
His movements slow. The air is thick and syrupy. Underfoot, the pavement is soft and unstable. He stumbles and falls, only to get up and run again. Ripples appear in the distant surface of the planet. The far horizon rises up so that he is running uphill. His arms and legs feel as if they are attached to long rubber bands that have reached the end of their elasticity.
Massive boulders and chunks of rock fly past. A wall of solid water washes through him just before he crosses a dry riverbed.
Then the ground below him bulges up and gives way. A huge section of the planet surface rips away below him, like carpet pulled up by an unseen hand. He is suspended in air, falling through empty space, a blur of dirt and rocks shooting past.
The movement of the dirt and rocks slows down until it stops. The realization hits him that he is being sucked in the same direction as all the debris. He reaches out and finds a handhold on a piece of basalt the size of a house, clinging to its rough surface. It reminds him of the boulders he and Jessica climbed back home in Powder Puff Basin.
Struggling to breathe, the air around him becomes thinner, losing its oxygen and filling up with dirt and silence.
An image of Jessica settles in his mind. They are sharing a dinner of gyoza and curry on the porch of the little Japanese house near the beach, in their own perfect world. She looks into his eyes and reaches a trembling finger to his cheek, then draws it down to his lips.
“No matter what happens, we’ll be together,” she says.
As the image fades, he turns to see the black sphere, closer and larger than before, suspended in space. A vortex of rock and debris swirls around it, disappearing into its center. Like a colossal demon with an insatiable appetite, it is devouring Ryzaard’s world, including Matt and the rock he’s riding on, whole and raw.
The blue suit of light still clings to his body.
He closes his eyes and grips the Stone. With all his remaining energy, he tries to imagine a force bathing him in a soft cocoon.
Rocks and dust pack close until he can’t move. He gasps for one last mouthful of air, but the oxygen is gone.
Jessica.
I tried.
I wasn’t strong enough.
I’m sorry.
CHAPTER 109
Leo isn’t having any luck.
The humidity and heat increase as the clouds clear and the sun climbs overhead. And then there are the bugs. Tiny gnats and mammoth-sized mosquitoes start to circle around his nose and eyes, making it difficult to think or meditate.
Doubts pour in. In his mind’s eye, he sees the three Stones on Ryzaard’s chest. Even if he finds Matt, what could he do against a man with so much power?
Soft footsteps on the ground come from behind. Tiny fingers drop down onto his shoulder and squeeze gently.
“Você já viu-lhe?”.
Leo opens his eyes and looks into Yarah’s face, shaking his head. “I haven’t found him yet.”
She gazes at him with parted lips, as if she doesn’t understand what he just said. Then, laughing, she takes Matt’s jax out of her pocket and puts it close to her ear. It emits a muffled voice, and her eyes drop to the ground.
He reaches out for the jax, brings it up to his mouth and speaks into it. “But don’t worry. I will. I promise.” He hands it back to her.
She presses it to her ears once again, and a tentative smile forms on the angelic face.
Heavy footsteps approach. “Sorry, Leo. She’s getting a bit antsy.” Jake bends down and scoops her up, swinging her up onto his shoulders in one smooth motion of his arms. “I’ll try to keep a better eye on her so she doesn’t bother you.”
Yarah giggles and sinks both hands into his hair, pulling back hard.
“How do you say ouch in Portuguese?” Jake says.
Their voices fade away, and Leo tries harder to see something in the darkness behind his eyelids.
CHAPTER 110
Ryzaard drops into the chair near the window and picks up the half-empty glass of champagne.
For the first time since coming to MX Global, he feels numb and empty.
It isn’t because of the absolute necessity of killing Matt. His refusal to submit to Ryzaard is justification enough. The foolish boy was actively working against all the plans that Ryzaard had so carefully put in place over half a lifetime. Anyone standing in his way has to be eliminated.
End of Story.
Perhaps part of it is his realization that so much about the Stones remains a mystery. He studied their lore for years before taking his own Stone and for decades after. He knows more than any other living person, especially now that Naganuma is gone. But there is still much that remains hidden.
The evidence of that made itself clear in the past few hours.
He has always known that it could be difficult to kill a Stone Holder. If history were a guide, most of them ended their lives through stupidity, choice or just plain bad luck. Direct attacks rarely worked. If an attack were to succeed, it required more indirect methods, such as the use of slow working poison.
But he learned something new today.
The Stones play a much more active role in protecting their Holders than he had supposed, especially Holders, like Matt, who have an unusually strong connection to their Stones. It is as if the Stones sense danger and defend their Holders against it.
How else can one explain how the monkey beast, a mere brute, was able to defend itself against him? How else can one explain Matt’s success in repelling a barrage of attacks from one with more skill and more Stones?
There is no other explanation.
In the end, Matt forced Ryzaard into a corner. Direct attacks, even with superior force, do not work against a fully alert Stone Holder, especially one as gifted as Matt. And so Ryzaard
was left with no choice but to sacrifice his own world and everything in it, everything and everyone that he created over long years of work, to finally kill the boy.
The only consolation is that Matt is gone with it, gone forever, destroyed by the one thing in the universe that consumes without remorse and never, ever gives back.
A black hole.
That was a comforting thought.
He picks up the old Boker blade he took back from Matt. It now has a deeper meaning for him.
The only remaining task is some clean-up at the old temple site, the collection of the two remaining Stones. Then he will come back and drink the other half of the champagne.
Ah, yes, he thinks. One task remains.
He picks up his jax and speaks into it as if it were a walkie-talkie. “Alexa.”
“Yes, Dr. Ryzaard,” she says. “What is it?”
“It’s time.”
There is a pause.
“Time for what?”
“Time to kill the girl.”
Alexa breathes out, long and slow. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Is the boy really dead?”
“No doubt.”
“When do you want it done? And how?”
Ryzaard takes a sip from the champagne glass. “Immediately. Quick and painless. No mess. No fuss.”
“What about the body?”
“The usual.”
“Jacob?”
“That’s right.” Ryzaard takes another sip. “Tell him there’s a new foundation being poured for one of the company’s casinos in Atlantic City. It should be a perfect for the job.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“I’m stepping out for a little cleanup work. I should be back in fifteen minutes. Then we will head home.”
He drops the jax into his pocket and puts down the champagne glass. After staring at it for a long time, something occurs to him.
It is half full.
The air flashes white around him, and he opens his eyes, standing on the grass of the old temple ruins in the exact spot where he grabbed Matt and made the jump. Looking at his jax, less than seven minutes have passed in the real world.
Twenty meters away at the base of a stone wall, the beast is still a crumpled heap on the ground, bleeding and still.
Ryzaard sees the Stone grasped between its massive fingers. That is the first order of business.
He breathes out slowly, reaching for the present moment and holds it in place, stopping time. The air turns milky white. Twenty steps later, he stops just in front of the beast’s face and looks into its eyes. The heavy eyelids droop down, leaving only a thin crescent of bloodshot whites visible. He bends forward to touch the Stone, watching for any movement or reaction.
When his finger makes contact with the Stone, the beast’s great eyelid flips open.
Ryzaard stumbles back, but it is too late.
With the Stone still grasped in its fist, the beast lifts its huge arm in a swing that catches Ryzaard under the chin, lifts him off his feet and tosses him a couple of meters onto his back.
A thought crosses Ryzaard’s mind in the brief second that passes after he lands on the ground and before he slams his head into a rock.
It was waiting for me to come back.
CHAPTER 111
“What have you done with my son!”
Kent stands over the body of Ryzaard, looking down, yelling.
But there’s no response.
Blood streams out of a deep gash on Ryzaard’s head. His arms and legs are splayed out in the shape of a giant X. The bow tie is crooked. All the buttons below the man’s sternum are ripped off, and the shirt lays open. One shoulder of the tweed jacket is torn open all the way to the skin, revealing pink flesh underneath.
So this is the mighty Dr. Ryzaard.
A black leather harness rests high on his chest, and Kent sees three claw-shaped rocks the color of obsidian stuck in slots made for that purpose. From what Jake has told him, these are Stones, and you can’t just walk away with them. Even if you do, they’ll go back to their Holder.
As long as he’s alive.
Kent kneels down and puts a finger on Ryzaard’s neck, hoping to feel nothing. But he’s disappointed. There is a pulse, strong and clear.
What if it’s possible to kill Ryzaard? Right here and now. Put an end to that pulse. Once and for all.
Is Matt alive? If Ryzaard dies, will Matt be forever lost?
Stretching out a trembling finger, Kent reaches for one of the Stones, not knowing what to expect. For all he knows, it might zap him with a million volts of electricity or suck out his life force and reduce him to a pile of dust and ash on the grass.
Nothing happens when he touches it.
It is unusually cold for a black rock on such a hot day. Drops of water from the high humidity are condensing on the surface of the Stones, adding to their shine. Slipping each one from its leather slot, Kent drops them into a large side pocket. They make no noise as they rattle together.
Ryzaard takes a deep breath, but is still unconscious.
It’s time to make a decision.
Kent looks at the far end of the field and yells out. “Jake, get over here.”
Jake comes jogging across the grass, dodging bodies and rocks, with Yarah squealing and bouncing up and down on his shoulders. When he arrives, he puts Yarah down on the grass and points at an old Buddha statue not far away, pulling his earlobes down and doing his best impression of its stone face.
She walks over to the statue, leaving Kent and Jake alone, her little fist tightly wrapped around a rectangular rock.
They talk in whispers.
“Did you get the Stones?” Jake says.
“Right here, in my pocket.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Kent sees the end of a black object protruding from Ryzaard’s tweed jacket. Flipping the jacket open, he instantly knows what it is. A vintage Nazi World War II dagger, the kind favored by SS soldiers. Kent recognizes it. It’s the very knife he threw into Ryzaard’s belly when rescuing Matt from Ryzaard’s office before. This time around, Kent has more time to think.
“I’m not sure we should kill him,” Kent says.
“Why not?” Jake kneels down beside the body and slides the knife out of its leather sheaf. “He tried to kill your son. Maybe he already has.” He scans the field. “He tried to kill you. He’s already killed a bunch of my friends and dozens of his own men. Who knows what he’s done to Little John. Who knows what he’ll do to the world if he has his way?” He turns his aviator glasses squarely at Kent. “He places no value on the lives of others. Do people like this deserve to live?”
“No argument there.” Kent takes the dagger out of Jake’s hand. He turns it around until he is staring at the refection of his own two eyes in its warm steel. “But what has he done with my son? He may be the only one that knows. If I kill him now, will I ever see Matt again?”
“I think you already know the answer.” Jake’s eyes drop to the grass. “Be honest with yourself. Matt must be dead. You’re kidding yourself if you think otherwise. You’ll be doing the world a favor if you end this man’s life right now, before you spend any more time thinking about it. I don’t know if it’s possible to kill him. Maybe his Stone will protect him. But this may be our last chance to try.”
Kent swings the dagger down and buries the blade in the grass a few inches from Ryzaard’s neck. “Should we kill him? Definitely.”
“Then do it now before you change your mind.”
“I’m good at what I do.” Kent sits down on the grass and crosses his legs, plucking up a handful of the green blades and holding them close to his eye. “I investigate corporate cheaters, polluters, murderers, all sorts of scum. I collect evidence against them, put it all together, get it all organized so that you can only draw one conclusion when you look at it. Then I drop it off at the prosecutor’s office and let the system decide what the punishment should be. Ma
ybe we could do that with Ryzaard?”
“He owns the system,” Jake says. “He is the system. It’s never going to punish him.”
“You’re right.” Kent puts a strand of grass between his lips and looks at Jake. “I shouldn’t hesitate. I should just pick up that blade and slam it into his chest and walk away. I’m sure that’s what he would do to me.” His fingers play with the black handle. They wrap themselves around it and slowly slide the knife up and out of the green sod, and then touch the tip to Ryzaard’s open chest. “Just a little push and it’ll be done.” He lingers over the body for too long.
“You can’t do it, can you?”
“I can.” Kent stares down at his own hand. “Just give me a minute to think about it.”
“We don’t have a minute. He could wake up any second. If you won’t, I will.” Jake takes the dagger out of Kent’s hand and looks over at Yarah, talking to the Buddha statue as she tosses pebbles at it. He cocks his arm back and takes aim at Ryzaard’s beating heart. Then he thrusts his arm down and releases the blade.
It bites into the ground a centimeter from Ryzaard’s ear.
“I can’t do it, either,” Jake says. “Not like this.”
“We’re going to regret this later,” Kent says. “You know that, right?” He opens his backpack and takes out a carbon fiber rope. With a few quick loops, he ties Ryzaard’s feet together at the ankles. Then he moves to his hands and ties them together.
Jake shakes his head. “As sure as I’m standing here, we will regret this moment.”
“At least we’re not murderers.”
They both look down at Ryzaard.
The blood has stopped flowing. The gash on the back of his head is gone.
CHAPTER 112
When the end is about to come, Matt isn’t afraid.
He doesn’t know much about black holes, but what he does know tells him the end will be quick and painless. The forces of infinite gravity will rip the atoms of his nerves apart before any sensations of pain travel to his brain.
