Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (16 page)

M
att stares in disbelief at the people kneeling in silence in the tent. His gaze drifts over to Jessica, still lashed to the board.

Eva raises her eyes. “May I?” She looks at the black cords still wrapping Jessica and Matt.

“Yes, please,” Matt says. “I’d like to be able to stretch.”

She stands and approaches Matt, and then reaches to pull out a dagger from the vicinity of her ankle. With a few quick strokes, the cords fall away.

She walks a few paces to Jessica and cuts her loose as well.

“Thank you,” Matt says.

The rest of the people in the tent remain in kneeling position, heads bowed.

Matt looks at Jessica, his shoulders and eyebrows rising together, lips moving in silence.

What do we do now?

Jessica gazes out at the bowed heads and motions upward with her hands.

“All rise?” Matt says.

A few heads lift. By the look in their eyes, they aren’t sure whether Matt is giving a command or asking a question.

Jessica glares at him, making a fist at her side and moving her lips.

More authority!

Matt nods. “Everyone! Please stand up!”

Jessica shakes her head, trying to suppress a laugh. Her hand comes up to her face, hiding a smirk.

The people stand and look at Matt, as if waiting for further instructions.

“OK,” he says. “Now that we have this little misunderstanding all cleared up, I’ve got some questions that need answers.” He pulls out a couple of unused chairs from the row in front of him, one for Jessica and one for him. “Please, sit.”

Everyone drops into a chair, including Matt and Jessica.

“First of all, and this is urgent, did anyone pick up a little gray stone box about as long as my finger? I had it in my hand when we landed. I must have dropped it when you attacked me. It has an item of great importance inside, and it’s critical that I get it back as soon as possible.”

A lady with long blonde hair looks across the room and raises her hand, her face turning bright pink. She stands up and digs into a side pocket of her baggy jeans. Her trembling fingers slowly open to reveal the cloaking box.

“Thank you,” Matt reaches out an open palm. “Now if you’ll just pass that to me. I must have lost it when I came here.” He puts the monkey statue on the ground, walks forward and takes the box out of the woman’s hand, and then turns and returns to his seat.

But something isn’t right. He flips the lid open and slowly looks inside. Nausea instantly spreads through his gut.

The box is empty.

I
t would be so easy. I could do it right now. Kill them both and take their Stones.

Jhata makes sure the thought stays in a part of her mind that is off limits to Yarah. She looks at the two children, forcing a smile on her face. Better to wait.

They will lead her to
him
.

Her gaze moves to the little girl, not more than eight years old, and one of the strongest natural telepaths Jhata has ever encountered. Her little mind broadcasts itself so loudly into space that it was easy to find her. Impossible to ignore.

Jhata bends down. “Have you been a good girl, Yarah?”

The little girl straightens, mouth open, a look of awe on her face. “I’m trying.”

Looking Leo in the eye, Jhata stands up. “So, you want to create your own world, just like Yarah.”

“Yes.” Leo opens his palm, revealing a Stone. “I can do
other
things.”

“So I’ve heard. You’re a
healer
. A special gift. But who wants to spend all their time with sick people? It would be fun to do something for yourself once in a while, wouldn’t it?”

Leo looks at Yarah and then at Jhata, nodding. “It’s just that . . .” His voice trails off.

“I know,” Jhata says. “Yarah has
her
own world. Why not you?”

“And Matt has his world, too.” Leo’s eyes drop. “They can both do it. Why can’t I?”

Jhata’s eyes lit up. “Yes, my friend Matt. And Jessica. I’ve heard all about them from Yarah. She tells me they’re taking care of you. Sort of like parents. Are they here now?”

Yarah’s bright face goes dark. “They’re gone. But they’ll be back soon.”

“Gone?” Jhata’s pulse rate jumps. She waits until the pounding in her chest settles. “Where did they go?”

“Back to the world we came from,” Leo says. “They had some things they needed to check on, and it was too dangerous for us to go.”

“Dangerous?” Jhata says. “Why dangerous?”

Yarah cocks her head the side. “Because of Ryzaard, of course.”

“Ryzaard? Who is that?”

“An evil man.” Yarah shakes her head, and her eyes narrow. “He tried to kill us and get all the Stones so he can take over the world.”

Jhata takes a step back and mulls it over. A new world, rich in Stones. An intriguing thought. These two children are full of interesting information. It will pay to play along as long as she can.

“Does this Mr. Ryzaard have any Stones of his own?” Jhata tries hard to suppress her sudden interest. Yarah is no problem, but Leo might get suspicious if Jhata looks too eager to extract information.

“Three,” Yarah says. “And he’s trying to get mine, and Leo’s and Matt’s. And five more besides that.”

“Eleven Stones.” Jhata’s pulse spikes again and slowly drops to normal. “Rare indeed. Your world
has
been richly blessed. It must be a wonderful place. I’d like to visit it someday.”

Leo is shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to another. His eyes focus squarely on Jhata and then look away.

He’s growing restless.

Time to make my move.

Jhata clasps her white-gloved hands together. “But enough about that. How would you like to come visit me in
my
world.” Her eyes move warmly to Leo. “There’s so much I can teach you.”

Yarah starts jumping. “Can we go, Leo? Please?”

“I don’t know. We told Matt and Jessica that we’d stay here, at least for a month, until they come back.” Leo gets a worried look on his face. “I don’t think they want us to leave. They might come back any time.”

A huge smile forms on Yarah’s face. “I have a
really
good idea.” She runs up to Jhata and throws her small arms around the woman’s waist. “You could help us. You could help Matt. I
know
you’re more powerful than Ryzaard. Look at all the Stones you have.”

“Yarah.” Leo eyes drop to the ground and he shakes his head. “We can’t ask her to do that. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Taking a step back, Yarah’s hands go up to her waist. “But she’s
my
fairy godmother. I know she can help us.” Her brown eyes stare up into Jhata’s face. “You
will
help us, won’t you?”

“Of course, my child.” Jhata forces a huge smile on her face. She drops to Yarah’s level and opens her arms. “There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

T
he night sky is just beginning to give way to dawn. Miyazawa’s lips fall silent.

Since midnight, he has offered prayers at the base of a 700-year-old Japanese cedar tree not far from the main shrine. It towers over him like a protective guardian. A bulging
shimenawa
rope of twisted rice straw adorns its middle with fresh
shide
papers dangling like lightning. His eyes trace a line up its reddish-brown trunk until he’s staring at Jupiter, the last remaining star in the sky.

He stands and pulls his priest’s robes tightly on his chest. With each exhale, white steam boils out of his nose and mouth into the freezing mountain air, a subtle reminder that he was born in the year of the dragon.

As he moves down the mountain path to the shrine, a movement in the trees catches his attention.

A pair of red-crowned cranes, their bodies snow white with black-tipped wing feathers, swoops from the treetops, crosses the open courtyard and lands on the protruding roof beams of the shrine.

At last. The Kami have answered my request. It is to be as I wished.

He rushes down the trail as fast as his ankle-length priests robes will allow.

When he passes the last cedar trunk and enters the open courtyard, a
thump, thump, thump
sound comes out of the east across the valley below. A tiny light floats through the air over a ridge of mountains, twenty kilometers away.

He has five minutes at the most before they arrive. Just enough time to prepare the tea.

Running past the shrine to his personal quarters, he bounds up the steps and throws open the sliding door. Slipping out of his rice sandals, he steps up onto the main floor, rushes to the back room and busies himself with the preparations.

Five minutes later, the transport touches onto the courtyard. From a window, he sees a line of old men making their way to his front door.

The tea is ready.

“
Ohayou gozaimasu.
” Miyazawa bows deeply and invites his guests into his living quarters with a sweep of his arms. “It is a great pleasure to welcome you on this early morning. Please come in and refresh yourselves.”

Beyond the sliding doors, out in the courtyard, the twin rotors of the heli-transport spin to a stop, its wide landing pads sinking into the sea of white pebbles.

Seven elderly priests step up onto the main floor, the last one being Miyazawa’s father, and make their way in white
tabi
stockings across wood floors and through a narrow hall to a large room at the back.

When they enter the room, the surprise on their faces is clear.

Seven
zabuton
cushions are arranged in a line next to a low table on the tatami floor. The steam rises from seven cups of tea on the table. Each of them drops onto a cushion. No question of order. They all know their place and silently settle, oldest to youngest.

The most elderly of the men rises on his knees. “You were expecting us?”

“The Kami have smiled upon me.” Miyazawa bows once more. “And you.”

“Then you know the decision of the council?”

Miyazawa studies seven timeworn faces. Six of them stare forward, betraying no hint of emotion. One corner of his father’s mouth lifts up slightly. The opposite eyebrow does the same. It’s an expression he grew to love as a child.

“I believe I do,” Miyazawa says. “But please let me hear it from your own lips.” His pulse quickens.

The spokesman settles back into a sitting position. “The council has approved your plans.”

Miyazawa’s head drops with an audible exhale. “
Domo arigato gozaimashita.
”

“But hear our condition.” The old man reaches out to the teacup with slender fingers marred by bulging joints. “We must be clear on this point.” He takes a sip from the cup and puts it back.

Miyazawa looks up. “A condition?” One eyebrow rises.

“Yes.”

“What is the condition?”

“The council foresees that there will come a time when our benefactor, Ryzaard-
san
, will require a concession from us, or you. It will be a concession most difficult to grant.”

Miyazawa recalls a conversation with Ryzaard more than six months ago. MX Global was developing a technology to bridge the gap between the material and the spiritual. Ryzaard had requested that Miyazawa allow Shinto worshipers free access to that technology.

The young Shinto priest shakes his head. “I know of no such concession.” He hopes his downward gaze masks the lie.

“Let me be direct.” The old priest clears his throat. “It has been difficult for us to come to agreement. But we all concur on one point.” He takes another sip of tea.

All eyes are upon Miyazawa.

The old priest stares ahead. “We cannot allow our sacred spiritual tradition to be corrupted by corporate greed.”

Greed?

Miyazawa smiles, knowing that unlimited MX Global funds have enabled each of the men at the table to purchase large retirement estates on the Izu Islands south of Tokyo.

“Of course,” Miyazawa says. “We cannot and will not allow it.” He bows deeply.

“Then it is settled. We move forward with the plans for the expansion of Shinto, but no further requests by MX Global are to be approved. We must maintain our independence and purity.” The old priest nods curtly. “We will take our leave.” The teacup goes back to the table, steam still rising from the green liquid within. With effort, the old man gets to his feet.