James Axler – Keepers of the Sun

Ryan had been watching the grim procedure, seeing the way an occasional V-shaped fin appeared in the calm water. More and more of the sharks scented the feast and arrived to dine, turning the ocean into a pink, frothing maelstrom.

But there were so many bodies that even the hungry predators eventually went away, leaving most of the dead sec men to bob and rock around the weed-slick boulders.

Jak had suggested that the reason the sharks seemed to be less than enthusiastic to finish the feasting might have been because the corpses were contaminated by the gas.

THEY TRAVELED ON through the hours of darkness, under a sailing moon that gave them enough light to see the trail. The narrow and dangerous part of the track, where Ryan had nearly plunged to his death, was impassable for the wags, which had come around by a longer path. Now they had to return to the fortress by that alternative route.

Ryan led the group of six friends, riding ahead of the wags, behind Mashashige, Yashimoto and Hideyoshi. The second-in-command, Takei Yashimoto, had renewed his threat against the gaijin , picking a moment when his lord had ridden on to the front, joining the scouts for a while.

“I think that your life is now numbered in days,” he said darkly.

Ryan’s thoughts had been miles away, many mornings and a thousand miles back. He wondered about the last glimpse that he’d had of Trader, facing odds on a bleak and lonely beach, wondering if the old man had finally taken the high trail into the mountains, or whether they’d meet one day, somewhere further down the line. It was hard to think of Trader as finally dead.

“What?” he said to the samurai.

“What happened back there in motel was your fault. I have told Lord Mashashige that I believe you are bad luck to us. Probably working with ronin traitors.”

“And what did the shogun say?”

“He said yes to me.”

Ryan smiled. “Truly?”

“Of course.”

“He believes that we are helping the traitors? Even though Krysty and I came close to being chilled by the gas? And the few men who were saved were saved only by me and by Mildred Wyeth? Mashashige still thinks us evil?”

Yashimoto’s badly scarred face broke into a broad smile. “Yes, he does, gaijin .”

“I’ll go and ask him myself.”

The smile disappeared like good health in a rad hot spot. “Ask him?”

“Sure. I’ll just kick on and ride alongside and say that Yashimoto tells me you think we’re all traitors. See what he says then.”

“No. That is not good idea.”

“Why not?”

“He will think you mad.”

“Mebbe he’ll think you mad, Yashimoto,” Ryan said, grinning wolfishly.

The samurai shook his head, his armor and helmet glinting in the last shards of moonlight. Dawn was close around the corner, and they weren’t all that far from home.

“Do not say this thing.”

“Because it’s a damn lie?”

Yashimoto pointed a finger at Ryan. “You and I are linked together. I cast the stone in the mirror, and the face in the shards of glass is yours. I light the incense, and the eye in the smoke is yours. I spill blood, and the pattern spells your name. The protection of Lord Mashashige will not run forever. His great eagle’s shadow will not cover you, and you will run clothesless in the snow like a trembled hare.”

“You want to sort this, we can get down and do it right now,” Ryan said. “Knives or blasters or hand-to-hand. I don’t give a flying shit how and when.”

“Lord Mashashige would not allow me to fight. In any case I would lose honor in slaying a gaijin such as you are, an untouchable village scum peasant filth lower than dog.”

Ryan nodded. “Sure. And on top of all that, the real reason you won’t fight me is because you’re chicken-shit frightened. You know I’d chill you. Any of us could chill you. Doc or Jak or Mildred. Any of us. Braggart blowhard coward is what you are, Yashimoto. When we get back to the fortress, then I might just tell you that out loud, in public. See how you like them eggs.”