Stones: Theory (Stones #4) (29 page)

Ryzaard closes a fist around a golden Stone. “If you want to communicate, please compose yourselves.” He inhales deeply, holds it and exhales in a long, controlled stream. “I’m short on time.”

Visible rage flows through the Lethonen entities. The wails and howls get louder.

“I don’t have time for this.” Ryzaard begins to close his eyes. “Good day, gentlemen.”

No. Stop.

The multiple shapes collapse like a Japanese paper fan into one man standing directly in front of Ryzaard. He holds out both hands and moves his lips.

We need the power.

“We
all
need power.” Ryzaard’s eyebrow rises at an angle. “Unfortunately, there’s not enough of it to go around.” He holds up his Stone and smiles.

The man’s eyes flash bright orange. For an instant, his smooth outer skin morphs into scales resembling a cobra snake. It soon fades back to normal.

We had the power. It was stolen.

Ryzaard’s eyes narrow. “What
are
you talking about?”

She took the jewel planet. It is gone.

“The jewel planet?” Ryzaard shakes his head. “I have no idea what you’re talk—” He stops. A light of recognition flickers on in his mind. “Are you referring to the little blue jewel? The implant prototype you gave me? The one that I tested and found to be defective.”

It is gone.

Ryzaard nods. “Why, yes, it
is
gone.” He glances around, making sure the energy field enveloping his body is still secure. “I gave it to
her
. She’s going to perfect it, make it even better. Something I can’t get from you. As for the planet connected to the implant, if it’s gone, my guess is that she took it. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

The man floating in the blackness collapses in on himself like a melting wax statue and explodes into shards of dark color that surge around Ryzaard. A hundred thousand voices howl in helpless rage.

Ryzaard sits calmly in the eye of a hurricane, clearing his throat. “It was never really yours anyway. You simply found it. And now you’ve lost it. I’d say you have no one to blame but yourselves.” With the Stone firmly in his grip, the outer surface of the energy field discharges a hundred thousand tiny bolts of blue lightning.

Amid shrieks of agony, the hurricane of color dissipates into blackness, leaving Ryzaard sitting in silence.

No need to worry about Jhata,
he thinks.
It looks like she’s doing just fine.

I
nside the heli-transport, all foreheads are bowed, except one.

“I will not forget your inexcusable rudeness.” Miyazawa glares at the sea of black hair cowering before him.

“Please excuse my impudence, but the transport engine is in need of repair to keep it functional.” One of the crew members raises his head slightly, but still keeps his gaze to the floor. “We must repair it now or risk danger to your life.”

“Repair it while we are in the air!”

“I am very sorry.” The crew member’s body trembles as he speaks. “The engine must be stopped in order to carry out the internal repairs. There is no other way.”

Rage blasts through Miyazawa’s body. “There is always another way!” Spittle bursts from his lips as he speaks.

Each of crew members and priests drops to their knees and touches their foreheads to the floor. One of them looks up with swollen red eyes. “Please forgive us.”

Pushing through their rigid bodies, Miyazawa walks to the open door onto the pearl groundcover. Nausea threatens to overtake him, and he rushes across the courtyard to the single cherry blossom tree, pausing before its trunk. Its main branches spread out horizontally. Smaller twigs snake inward, filling the interior with lush green leaves.

Miyazawa stares up at the tree. “In the name of the
Kami
, I command you to blossom.” His eyes narrow as he waits. The mountain breeze stops. The leaves stand still in silent mocking. He takes a step forward and beats his fists against the bark. “You must listen to me! I am the
Kami
!”

His stomach retches and green liquid pours from the corners of his mouth. Stumbling backwards, he turns and runs to the cedar grove bordering the shrine courtyard.

“Your holiness!” An elder priest runs after him. “We have consulted with the doctors. They say you must stop the derm patches and begin eating food.” The priest drops to his knees. “I beg you. Please listen. Your health is failing.”

Miyazawa stops, wipes the green fluid off his lips with a thick white sleeve and turns. “Food is unholy and defiling.” He speaks calmly and clearly. “It is made of dead things. A
Kami
has no need for it.” Hearing the cry of a white crane in the trees, he stumbles into the darkness of the forest. “Do not follow me.”

After a long walk, he finds himself standing in front of the old cedar tree with the fat
shimenawa
rope looped around its midsection. Moving closer to it, quivering fingers stretch out and run along the soft surface of the moss-covered trunk. It is strangely comforting. His arms work their way around, and soon he is in a full embrace of the tree. Its branches pull his gaze up.

“You know the truth.” Tears stream from his eyes. “You have always known the truth. Come to me.” In the silence, he drops to his knees at the base of the trunk. Great sobs shake his body.

Far away, a single high chord plays inside his mind. His eyes shoot open and stare up at the tree. The singing grows louder and holds him in its sweet embrace. As he relaxes, his muscles go limp, and he falls backward onto a bed of soft ferns growing at the base of the mighty tree. Letting his eyes close, he opens himself fully to the sea of sound, confirmation of his godhood.

It may have lasted for hours or minutes. As he floats in a sea of music, a thought grows within his mind.

It is not enough to be a Kami. I need the power.

The singing fades. Miyazawa hears the silence and rises to his knees. As he faces the old tree, a chill runs down his back. He feels a presence behind him, staring at him.

You are the Kami. You need the power.

The words, as if spoken by a multitude, reverberate in his mind, like an echo in an enclosed room. He freezes and closes his eyes. The words come again.

We will give you the power.

He slowly turns to see the source of the words.

A man floats three feet above the forest floor, dressed in the white robe of a Shinto priest. His features are a perfect mixture of all races. The surface of his skin moves across his body, changing hue on the spectrum between marble white and chocolate brown.

Miyazawa is speechless. Shards of icy cold shivers shoot down his spine in the summer heat, covering his body in goose bumps. The floating entity sucks the warmth off his skin. He fights back the compulsion to jump to his feet and run away.

You need the power. We will give you the power.

Miyazawa musters the courage to speak. “Who are you?” His voice is nothing more than a thin whisper.

We are the Kami.

Miyazawa gazes at the face of the man. It’s difficult to tell whether the man is smiling or glaring. The emotions on his face are fluid, unstable, ever-changing. Leaning against the tree, Miyazawa gathers himself to his feet and fights back the nausea that rises in his stomach.

“They don’t believe me.” He gazes down at the man’s bare feet that stick out below the robe. Tiny dark spots crawl across them, like a mass of bugs. “But I know that I’m right. I am a
Kami
. Like you. Is that not right?”

You are the Kami. We are the Kami. We are One.

The man’s lips move out of sync with the sound that echoes inside Miyazawa’s head. He can no longer fight back the nausea. A bubble of warm liquid erupts from his stomach, and he turns and retches it out onto the forest floor. The bitter aftertaste lies upon his tongue.

“They won’t say it, but I know what they’re thinking.” He wipes his mouth with the same white sleeve. “That I’m crazy. All of them. They’re against me. They want me to fail.”

You are the Kami. We are One.

Miyazawa staggers forward, reaching his hand out to touch the man. To his surprise, there is
nothing
there. He stumbles and falls through the man. For an instant, his mind is a maelstrom of cold and darkness. Pulling himself up on a nearby tree, Miyazawa struggles to his feet and turns again to face the man from behind. But the man is gone. In his place, there is an amorphous mass of moving shades of black. The head appears to have a massive mouth with multiple fangs. Miyazawa reels backwards against the tree.

The form consolidates again into the shape of a man.

We are the Kami. You are the Kami. We are One.

Miyazawa stands and raises a shaky fist. “I will not fail. I am the greatest Shinto priest. They will believe. I am a
Kami
. I will make them believe.” He looks into the eye of the man. “Can you help me? Can you give me the power to make them believe?”

We have the power.

“Come to me.” Miyazawa grips the neckline of his silk tunic with both hands and rips the fabric apart, leaving it gapping open above his bare chest. “Come to me and give me the power. Let us be One.” He drops to his knees on the forest floor and opens his mind to the thought of union.

We will be One.

The smooth veneer of the man’s skin balloons out until he loses all resemblance to a human shape. Metal spikes burst through the surface. The face collapses into an immense fanged mouth. The entire creature breaks up into a cloud of black dust surrounding Miyazawa.

Unflinching, he opens himself. The black dust penetrates his skin and disappears into his body. The nausea immediately ceases. Miyazawa walks to the old tree, reaches up and rips the
shimenawa
rope from the bark. Stepping back, he wraps it around his own waist. His gaze rises to the top of the tree, a half-smile on his face. Turning away, he looks down at his fingers curling into fists.

With the voice of a hundred thousand, he opens his mouth and speaks.

“We are One.”

D
iego is the last to arrive at the staff meeting. He emerges from the top of the stairs and takes his seat to the left of Ryzaard.

The old man notices the confused look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Scratching his head, Diego drops into his chair and lets his slate fall to the table’s crystal surface. “
That
was
strange
.”

“What?” Kalani looks down the table from the other end.

“Miyazawa, the Shinto priest.” Diego picks up his slate.

Elsa Bergman yawns. “By all means, tell us, now that you’ve managed to completely dominate the meeting.”

Ryzaard smiles. “It’s good to see everyone back to their cheery old selves.” He turns to Diego. “Please lead off. What news do we have from Mr. Miyazawa?”

“I’ve been watching him the last few hours. I think he’s completely flipped out, and there’s still half of South America and all of Africa to cover with shrines.”

Jing-wei glances down at her slate. “He’s way ahead of schedule. What’s the problem?”

Diego shakes his head. “His god complex, I mean his
Kami
complex, has gotten a little out of control.”

“A little?” Kalani taps on his jax and a holo appears above the crystal table. “Check this out.”

The holo shows Miyazawa storming out of his heli-transport, leaving behind a cowering group of subordinates kneeling on its floor. He marches over to a cherry tree and shouts at it.

“Says here that he’s commanding the tree to blossom.” Kalani bends over with laughter. “In the middle of the summer?”

Diego leans closer to Ryzaard. “Sorry I wasn’t able to jump on this sooner. We implanted the new brain-trodes under his scalp only a couple of days ago, and I’m still learning how to use them.” He leans back in his chair. “Next time he needs a miracle, I’ll be able to make it happen, at least in his own mind.”

“No problem,” Ryzaard says. “Is that all?”

“I wish.” Diego stares as the holo slides back down into the crystal surface of the table. “Something happened to Miyazawa in the forest. I’m not sure what to make of it.”