Stones: Experiment (Stones #3) (45 page)

Earth.

She stares at it. Bringing her finger close to its mother star, the pull of vengeance is strong. Billions of innocent inhabitants cry out for mercy, increasing the temptation to silence them. Matt will lose his beloved Jessica. Both he and Yarah will lose their home planet and be forever castaways among the stars. But she withdraws her finger. The time is not yet.

But it will surely come.

“A
anak told me Matt would come.” Jessica stares out through the thick windows of the sub at a sea of black. Now and then sparks of light, like stars in a night sky, appear in the empty void. “She said she had
seen
it and not to be afraid.”

Eve drops a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. “Looking back on it, she had a gift like Little John’s. She could
see
things.”

“What kind of things?”

“The whole village depended on her. She knew when to launch the hunting parties, where to find the few whales left. When the storms would come.” Eva drops her gaze to the floor of the ship. “We just thought she was old and wise. But if she said that Matt will come back, she must have seen that, too. I never heard her say anything that didn’t happen. No doubt about it. He will.”

Closing her eyes, Jessica tries to let the assurance of Eva’s words flow through her and calm her fears. “How did she keep her Stone hidden from you for all these years?” She leans back against the seat. It’s dark on the bridge of the sub. A good place to sleep.

Eva shakes her head. “I have no idea.”

“Too bad Ryzaard got her Stone.”

“Maybe it’s better we don’t have it.” Eva reaches out for a cracker and brings it to her lips. “He would have pursued us relentlessly until he killed us and got it. Maybe now we’re off the radar, and he’ll let us alone. At least for a while. Until Matt finds us.”

Saying nothing, Jessica fingers the walrus tooth on the silver chain on her neck. Her thoughts are drawn to Matt. The image of him on the ground with Ryzaard towering over him, from a recent dream, still burns in her retinas. Her body goes tense.

“Don’t worry. Believe in Aanak and what she saw. Matt will be OK.” Eva reaches a hand across the space between them and rests it on Jessica’s. “Aanak said he’d become our new leader. He’ll find his way back. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Time.” Jessica hates the bitter taste of the word in her mouth. “Time can be so cruel. It binds us together, and then tears us apart.”

“And it will mercifully end someday.” Eva brings another cracker to her mouth. “For all of us. Then we’ll be back together with the ones we love.”

Jessica lifts her head off the back of the chair. “Is there someone you love out there?” She reaches into the box in front and grabs a cracker.

“There was. He died when I was young. Whaling accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Jessica says.

Eva flips a switch on the ceiling. “Don’t be. We had a wonderful time together. Short, but wonderful.” The exterior floodlights come on, and the darkness outside suddenly comes alive with swarms of fluorescent plankton, like swirling galaxies in deep space. “Someday, I’ll be with him. Until then—”

The door to the bridge flies open. An out-of-breath captain comes in, followed by three more of the crew. Each of them drops into their chairs. The captain reaches up and flips off the floodlights. A black box with green and red dials drops from his hands to the floor beside him.

Jessica recognizes it as the radio Aanak operated back in the village.

“Listen to this.” The captain turns a dial on the box, increasing the volume.

Scattered fragments of voices interweave and interrupt each other, each of them speaking in panicked tones.

Jessica listens hard, trying to tease out individual strands of dialogue.

“Black ships dropping from the sky.”

“Laser cannons raining fire on our heads. Massive casualties. No warning.”

“Combat troops surrounding the camp, moving toward the center. Women and children lying everywhere.”

“All escape routes cut off. Camp leaders went forward, begging for mercy. All cut down. Rivers of blood.”

“Abomination.”

The captain bends forward, face dropping into hands. “It’s started. Just as Aanak saw. At least six freedom camps under full assault. Four of them on the West Coast of the U.S. One in Mexico. One in Hawaii. Who knows what’s happening in the rest of the world?”

The crew sits in stunned silence. All eyes turn to Jessica.

“Is it time?” The captain says.

I
t’s different this time.

Ryzaard opens his eyes in total darkness. The air is fetid and moist. A tiny light hanging from a cord on his neck switches on automatically, casting its glow in a small circle.

The Stone he is hunting, and whoever is controlling it, should be five meters directly in front of his face. Silently placing the green ball on the floor, he nudges it with his foot and rolls it forward into the blackness.

A few seconds pass before it comes rolling back out of the darkness and bumps into the toe of his shoe.

“I’m afraid your death machine won’t work in here.”

The voice sounds like a hundred people speaking at once and comes from every direction. Ryzaard notices that his protective bubble is gone, making him completely exposed to whatever might come at him from out of the darkness. Quickly bending, he picks up the globe and closes his eyes, concentrating on the Stones.

But they are distant and useless.

That’s when he notices they’re all gone.

“Six of Eleven. Never before have so many Stones from this world been collected by one Holder.” The voices are neither male nor female, but filled with weight, as if they’ve been deep in the rock since the beginning of time, watching and waiting. “You’ve come here to make it Seven.”

Ryzaard steps forward, extending the light. “Are you the Oracle?”

“Some have called me that. For obvious reasons.”

“Show yourself.”

“I decline.”

“Then return my Stones.”

Gentle laughter floats through the chamber. “You are in no position to demand anything.”

Ryzaard reaches into the pocket of his tweed jacket and pulls out a dagger. With the blade held high, he rushes into the nothingness in front of him.

And finds more nothing.

“What do you want?” Ryzaard swings, knife in hand, listening for any clue that might betray the location of the voices. In spite of the cool air, sweat beads up on his forehead and runs into his eyes.

“Calm down. Be still.” A single voice comes from behind him. “It’s not in my nature to cause harm. Or receive it. I simply watch and wait. You are a man of violence. Death follows wherever you go.”

Ryzaard stands still, chest heaving. “You don’t know anything about me.”

The voice is silent. A cloud of sweet aroma drifts by Ryzaard. For a brief moment, it replaces the stench of putrefying flesh that hangs in the air and calms him.

“I know what the Stones say.”

“How?” Ryzaard searches again for the source of the voice, slowly walking in a circle and seeing nothing but blackness.

“Every Stone keeps a record of its Holder. Nothing is lost. I simply read it. See it. No mystery to it.” The voice trails off.

Reaching out with his mind, Ryzaard tries again to divine the location of his Stones. But it’s as if they no longer exist. An idea comes to his mind. He tries to jump a short distance to another location within the cavern.

Nothing happens.

“Relax,” the voice says. “Sit. Let us talk.”

Laying the dagger on the floor within easy reach on his right side, and the empty green globe on his left, Ryzaard drops into a lotus position, his hands folded in front of him.

“What do the Stones tell you?” he says.

“Six people died that you might possess them. A young healer. A holy man who lived among the poor. A priest who embraced the hope that peace and harmony would cover the earth. A visionary whom you tortured sorely. A glutton and a murderer. A doctor for sick children. And most recently, only a few days ago, an old woman who watched over her people.” The voice stops.

Inhaling another scent of sweet smells, Ryzaard lowers his voice to a whisper. “I don’t enjoy killing, but—”

“You do this so you can build a new world, one free from suffering and pain.” The voice sounds almost sympathetic.

Ryzaard is taken aback. “Yes.” He turns his head in the direction of the sound of dry skin sliding over smooth rock.

“You think it important enough to kill for.”

“No price is too heavy to pay.” Ryzaard fingers the blade on his right and then pulls his hand away. “The Stones are a gift to the human race, the only path leading to peace.”

The sliding sound moves behind Ryzaard.

“This world has always been sick. That is why I and others like me have withdrawn. Many Holders of the Stones have burned with the same vision you have, the same confidence you display.” A touch of melancholy enters the voice. “They have tried, by force and through love, to bring Paradise to the earth. All have failed.”

“I will not fail.”

The voice breathes in and exhales. “You speak the same words as the others. None intend to fail. But the path is hard and requires a sacrifice few can make. Those who seek for power and glory
will
fail. Only one willing to lay all upon the altar and receive nothing in return can succeed. Are you that person?”

“The Oracle of ancient times had the gift of foresight. Many came to this temple seeking knowledge.” It’s time for Ryzaard to push back. “Do you also have this gift?”

“I have the same gift, and the same Stone, as those who have gone before.”

His heart racing, Ryzaard leans forward. “Then tell me, Oracle. What does your foresight tell you? Will I succeed?”

More sweet odors blow through the cavern, giving short relief from the stifling stench.

“Since ancient times, we have known the old world will pass away. All things will become new. Suffering will end. Peace
will
come.” The voice exhales. “But the time of its coming, and the one that will bring it, is hidden from our eyes.”

“Then you do not know that I will fail.” Ryzaard fingers the empty globe on his left and lets his gaze drop to the smooth floor. “You said it yourself. None have come to you before with so many Stones, with such promise of success.”

“But you are not alone.”

Ryzaard’s body tenses as his glance shoots up. “What do you mean?”

More sweet odors float past his face.

“I see another with a Stone,” the voice says. “Strong. Young. He also seeks a new world, a world without suffering and pain. Like you, he knows much of both. The Stone fills his mind with visions and hope. And fear.”

“Yes,” Ryzaard says. “I know of the young man in the Congo. We have been watching him for many weeks. That is my next stop.”

The sound of shifting linen robes circles to the left of Ryzaard and stops in the darkness directly in front of him. His instincts tell him it’s less than five meters away. His right hand drops to the floor where he finds the dagger, its blade cold and moist. Tracing a line along the metal, his fingers find the handle and wrap tightly around it.

“What else can you tell me of this last Stone Holder?” Ryzaard leans forward, listening intently.

“You may succeed in killing the young man in the Congo. That is none of my concern. I do not speak of the Congo.”

“What?” Ryzaard’s eyes narrow in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“You know the young man of whom I speak. You have tried to kill him many times. And you have always failed.”

The words are like a wall of steel slamming into Ryzaard’s body, pushing the air out of his chest. For an instant, he is lightheaded, on the verge of blacking out. Staggering backward, he tries to regain his balance and composure.

“The young man you speak of is dead. Not by my hands, but by the hands of another. One not of this world, but with many more Stones than I. He is nothing compared to someone so great and powerful as her. I tell you,
he is dead
.” Ryzaard throws the words out like a challenge to the voice. He bends forward, his body coiled like a cobra ready to strike. Rage builds from within, boiling up like a subterranean flow of magma racing to the surface. Trying to relax, he listens for any sound in the darkness.