James Axler – Keepers of the Sun

Krysty was pointing out to sea, where the calm pewter surface was ruffled, as though a localized whirlwind had sprung up, churning the ocean to a frothing maelstrom.

“It is an underwater quake,” Mashashige said. “I think this might not be very pleasant. Sometimes there are tsunamis great waves. We should retire.” He raised his voice in an eerie shriek to order his war chiefs to return from their recce down on the rocky shore.

But the air was filled with noise.

It sounded to Ryan as if there were a dozen war wags at full throttle, roaring away just beneath his feet.

Now the very bedrock itself seemed to be turning to shifting liquid, sliding and moving, with long cracks running away under their feet.

“Holy shit!” Mildred shouted. “Oh, holy, holy shit!”

The sea was transformed.

Now it foamed and raged, with bubbles bursting from the deeps, kicking up a throbbing turbulence. Waves had sprung up from nowhere, raging in toward the promontory far below them, where the samurai were now fleeing for their lives.

“Let the horse go, Doc!” Ryan shouted, seeing that the old man was in serious danger of being dragged under the panicked pony’s hooves.

Now the ground was rolling like the waves on the sea, with a bedlam of dust and stones. Ryan glimpsed the corpse of the butchered pig tumbling into the ashes of the fire, sending up a spray of fine gray dust.

“Higher ground!” Mashashige yelled, “or we are all to be doomed!”

“Dark night!” J.B. was still staring out at the ocean, looking past the straggling doomed figures of the leading samurai. In their turn they were gazing behind them at the fearful convulsions of the water, where the waves were raging higher and higher from the center of the quake.

Only the first ripples were breaking over the rocks, but a mile farther out the first of the tsunamis was already gathering appalling momentum.

Ryan’s guess put the foam-topped tidal wave at between fifty and a hundred feet, racing shoreward, followed by several other, slightly smaller breakers.

All around him there was a barely controlled chaos.

Through the deafening cacophony he could hear orders being called out in high-pitched Japanese and glimpse the crimson-and-white soldiers running back up the hill, going for the higher ground, dropping their pikes and rifles behind them.

The few remaining samurai had abandoned their freaked-out horses and were running with the rabble, slowed by the heavy armor. Ryan noticed that none of the samurai had thrown away any of his weapons.

Hideyoshi, Yashimoto and Mashashige were all following their men, trying to strike a balance between dignity and fear, striding up the slope with an ungainly haste.

Far below them all, the other samurai had all but given up their futile efforts to escape, stopping on the slick rocks and looking hopelessly at the mighty wave that rushed upon them. Ryan wasn’t absolutely sure, but he thought he had seen a slash of crimson as at least one of them was hastily committing suicide with his dagger.

“Poor bastards,” Jak said.

“Should we not be making our own escape from this place?” Doc asked, a slight tremble in his voice. “Only that tsunami seems damnably high and”

“Won’t reach us,” Ryan said calmly. “We’re a good two hundred and fifty feet above sea level here. No way we’re in any danger from it.”

He almost crossed his fingers as be spoke. The tidal wave seemed to be growing larger with every few yards as it tore in toward the land. He guessed now that its roaring white crest was well over one hundred feet high and the weight of water was incalculable.

The movement of the land had eased down, though he still felt off-balance.

“Could always move a tad higher, lover?” Krysty suggested, having to shout at the top of her voice to be heard above the shrieking of the quake and the oncoming tsunami.

“Wouldn’t do any harm,” he conceded.

The noise had faded to a distant rumble, but the thunder of the oncoming wave was growing ever louder.

Doc was running for higher ground, elbows pumping, feet splayed out, the tails of his frock coat flaring out behind him. His mane of silver hair trailed like a bridal veil.