CHAPTER NINE
Jake sat quietly on a large flat rock in one of the meditation gardens at the Sensoji Temple, thinking about his earlier conversation with Father McLanahan and wondering what to expect from the man he was meeting.
McLanahan had not given much information about him, saying he’d only met him once, briefly during a conference of brothers, shortly after Murotomi had been initiated into the brotherhood. The feeling that McLanahan had gotten after talking to him for a few minutes was that Murotomi was a quiet man and appeared to be a good listener. That was all he could convey to Jake, in addition to a physical description so that Jake could easily identify the man.
Jake couldn’t imagine how a Christian could also be a Buddhist. He shook his head and thought back to his days in the military, before the combat deployments after 9/11, of how he’d travelled all around the world and had encountered many people with strange beliefs. He’d always been able to accept those people at face value. He figured he could keep an open mind and accept Murotomi also.
Jake took a few breaths and changed the direction of his thoughts to his surroundings. He looked around.
A few hundred meters away, the fabled five storied pagodas stood out among the bamboo and other plants. Jake had read a brochure that a monk had given him when he’d first entered the temple grounds saying that the temple was one of the oldest in Japan, and the pagoda, the main hall and front gateway had been rebuilt after being burned down during World War II.
The grounds surrounding the Temple were filled with local vegetation, small streams, and a lot of pigeons. The birds seemed to be everywhere. Jake watched them as they flew around and cavorted. He smiled to himself and sighed, letting go of the tensions that had been building up in him since he’d woken. He enjoyed the peaceful sensation for a few minutes then looked at his watch. It was a little after 9:00PM. The sun had just gone a little while ago and the moonlight and lights of the surrounding area outside the Temple’s grounds shed enough illumination for him to see clearly for hundreds of meters. He saw a figure coming towards him from the main hall. It was a man wearing the robes of a monk.
Jake waited for a few moments until he could distinguish the facial features of the man, then he stood up.
“Mr. Murotomi?”
The monk stopped a few feet in front of Jake and bowed. Jake returned the bow. When he straightened, the monk replied to Jake’s question.
“Yes, I am. Are you the person that my brother mentioned?” His voice was quiet but Jake sensed an underlying strength to it. Jake looked at the man for a moment, assessing him.
The wasn’t anything distinguished about him. His head was shaved, which made it hard to determine his age. He average height for an oriental man, about five feet six or seven. Jake couldn’t guess the weight because of the loose, flowing robes, but the skin around the monk’s face was tight and his neck muscles bulged slightly. When he’d walked up to Jake, Jake had seen the fluid strides of a dancer or martial artist. When he reached out to shake hands, his guess was confirmed. Shaking the monk’s hand was like grasping a piece of granite. Jake looked at his eyes and saw a soreness there that he had not seen in many others before. Surrounding his eyes many wrinkles and laugh lines that became more pronounced when the monk smiled.
“Yes,” Jake answered. “My name’s Jake Steele.” He said a code word that Father McLanahan had told him, and the monk replied with the correct corresponding word and gesture. He also reached beneath his robe and showed Jake a necklace with a green stone similar to McLanahan’s. The rest of the tension he’d been holding left him, although he still remained cautious.
“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Steele,” the monk said.
“Thank you, Mr. Murotomi. It’s nice to meet you too, although I wish the circumstances were better. Oh, and please call me Jake. I don’t think we should stand on formality.”
A momentary look of surprise flickered across the monk’s features then was gone. “Alright, Jake. And you can call me Kaji.”
“Good. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, shall we talk business?”
“If you wish,” Murotomi replied. He gestured to a bench about fifty yards away that sat beside a small gurgling stream.
“Let’s sit down.”
They walked to the bench and sat. Jake looked around. There was a clear view all around them for hundreds of feet. They were completely alone. He saw that Kaji observed his movements but didn’t look around. It was a good bet that he’d picked this spot specifically because of its isolation and clear fields of view. That was good; even though he did not know what this meeting was about or who Jake was, he still took elementary precautions. Jake looked at the monk, who sat there, waiting patiently for Jake to begin. Well, Jake thought, there’s nothing to do but jump in with both feet. He took a deep breath.
“Do you know what a Demon Stalker is,” he asked.
The monk gasped, then another flicker of surprise crossed his face for a moment. He leaned back on the bench and placed his hands in his lap.
“Yes, Jake, I’ve heard of Demon Stalkers.” He stopped and Jake waited for a moment to see if he would continue.
When he didn’t, Jake said, “Well, I’m a Demon Stalker. I appeared in a Tokyo hotel a few hours ago and called Father McLanahan to find some help and he put me in touch with you.” Jake gestured to the monk with his hand. “And here we are.”
Murotomi stared at Jake for a moment, his face expressionless, then he bowed deeply. “It is an honor to work with you, demen stoker.”
Jake was slightly embarrassed. He held up his hand. “Please, I’m just Jake, ok? I’m a man who has to do a job, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Alright, Jake,” the monk replied. “Can you tell me a little more about your experience? How you met Father McLanahan and what kind of demons you have fought, I’m assuming you’ve fought at least one?”
“Yes.” He gave the monk a brief description of his life before his death, and of the encounter with Moroni in Purgatory, then the first encounter with McLanahan and the fight with the demon that had ended in Jake’s surrogate dying. When he got to the point, Jake’s throat tightened and he paused a moment to wipe the tears from his eyes.
Kaji placed his hand on Jake’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry that you had to experience so much loss, Jake,” he said sympathetically. I hope you know that God will never lay on you more than you can bear, and that perhaps it was meant for you to fail the first time in order to make you stronger and better prepared for your next battle and all of the battles after that.” He paused for a moment to let Jake regain his composure then asked a question.
“Jake, where did you learn to speak Japanese?”
Jake was startled. “What are you talking about?”
“You said you were born in America, yet your Japanese is perfect, and your accent is from the Tokyo area. Did you learn the language when you were in the military?”
“Uh, no.” Jake replied. “I-uh-I’ve never spoken more than rudimentary Japanese. I was stationed here for a little while, and I’ve practiced some Japanese Martial Arts for about twenty years, but I’ve never had the time to study the language in-depth, although I’ve wanted to. Have we been speaking Japanese the whole time? It sounded like English to me.”
“Yes,” Murotomi replied. His facial expression brightened. You must have been given the gift of tongues, understanding and speaking other languages.” He looked at Jake. Have you had any other gifts?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said. He was a little non-pulsed, trying to come to terms with this new revelation.
“Yeah,” he repeated. “McLanahan told me I had the gift of discernment after I killed Crocell, then I healed McLanahan too, but he said that might have been a temporary thing.”
“Can you tell me what happened the first time you died, Jake,” Murotomi asked.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I kinda skipped ahead there.” He told the monk everything he experienced after the demon king had killed Jake’s surrogate; the wait in Purgatory, followed by the talk he had with Moroni about the demon kings, his return to earth in a new surrogate. He left out the intimate details of his encounter with the Marine Captain’s wife, then explained about the encounter at the cemetery. When he mentioned seeing the angels after crying out to God and the defeat of the demon, the monk said, ‘Praise God,’ in a low voice. Jake continued, telling of his discussion with McLanahan. When he finished, he looked at the monk and said, “And that leaves me here.”
“Wow,” the monk said. He sat back on the bench; he’d been so engrossed with Jake’s story, he’d unconsciously leaned forward and was so close to Jake, they’d almost bumped together. He took a few moments to gather his thoughts.
“Jake, you have been truly touched by God. I would be honored to help you to defeat whatever demon king has come here. Are there any questions you have before we prepare?”
Jake took another deep breath before replying.
“Yes, Kaji, there are. Can you tell me a little bit about yourself? How can you be both Christian and Buddhist? Also, I can tell you’ve had some martial arts training. Have you ever fought any demons or had any specific training to fight them?”
“Well, Jake, all the Sons of Solomon are taught the basics of how to fight demons, in addition to our other training. Not ever Son however, gets the advanced training that is made to those who prove to be adept during the assessment period. I was chosen for the advanced training, and since completing it, I have fought and killed two demons.” He said this matter of fact, without any obvious pride, nor with false humility. Jake liked that. Most of the men he’d fought beside while in the special forces had similar traits.
“As for being both Christian and Buddhist,” the monk continued. “My mother taught me about Buddhism when I was a child and I did not become a Christian till I was thirteen years old, when my mentor contacted me and told me about my heritage. At first, I struggled with the two different philosophies, but I eventually found that they actually complement each other, which allows me to practice both. Of course, my interpretation may not be as understandable by someone else, but works for me.” He grinned widely and chuckled for a moment. Jake grinned with him. He could see how it would be easy to like this man. They talked for another fifteen minutes or so, getting to know each other, until Jake decided it was time to get ready to go find the demon. He asked the monk if he had any sanctified weapons they could use to kill the demon. Murotomi chuckled again and stood up.
“Come with me, Jake,” he said. Jake took a few strides until he was beside him, then they walked away from the Temple at an angle. They passed a small gurgling stream and a few other meditation gardens that were empty. Jake guessed the temple had closed up the gates and all of the tourists had left.
After about five minutes of walking, they passed under the branches of a huge willow tree and entered a small clearing with a small stone hut in the centre of it. Night sounds echoed around the clearing as the two men followed around the foot path toward the hut. Insects buzzed, bats swooped out of the sky to collect them, and frogs chirped from a nearby pond. It almost felt as if they were far out in the country. The only thing that dispelled that illusion was the distant sound of traffic from the always busy Tokyo streets.
As the two men reached the hut, the monk paused for a moment and bowed his head. Jake assumed he was praying. So he said a quick prayer of thanks himself, then lifted his head and waited until Murotomi was through. He followed the monk through a plain wooden doorway and left the door open so that Murotomi could see.
The monk moved to the left, where Jake could just make out a wooden shelf over a small fireplace. The monk lit a match and without thinking, Jake automatically closed one eye while squinting the other to preserve his night vision.
Murotomi lit two oil lamps, one on each side of the room, then motioned for Jake to close the door and come in. Jake closed it, noticing while he did that there was no lock on it, then looked around the room.
It wasn’t very remarkable. It was the size of a small bedroom, about fifteen feet by fifteen feet, with a stone floor and no windows. There was a little bit of furniture all made from rough-hewn wood; a bed fit for one, against one wall with a dozen or so books and some clothes on it. The bed with everything else in the hut, was tidy, the sheets and dark blanket folded neatly and the thin pillow placed precisely, so that it was positioned exactly between the edge of the blanket and the head of the bed. The whole place was perfectly neat and clean. It even smelled fresh. It reminded Jake of his military days, in a good way. He smiled to himself, briefly, then watched as Murotomi moved toward the bed. When he got there, the monk knelt down by the head of the bed and for a moment, Jake thought he was preparing to pray, but then he reached under the frame and Jake heard a scratching sound, followed by a click.
Murotomi stood up and pulled the bed away from the wall. Jake noticed that the wood didn’t make any noise and didn’t see any scrapes on the stone. He must have felt the material, or some other type of padding on the feet, he thought. The bed looked fairly heavy and sturdy too. When Murotomi walked around the bed to the outside wall, Jake leaned over and tried to move it. It didn’t budge. His guess was correct. The monk was a lot stronger than most people would think when looking at him.
Murotomi bent down, put his fingers in two holes about three feet apart, and pulled a slab of stone about the width of the bed out of the floor and placed it on the bed, then motioned for Jake to come around.
When Jake came around the end of the bed, he saw the hole, with stone stairs leading down into darkness. He grinned at Murotomi and said, “Lead on Mcduff.”
Murotomi grinned back at him, reached up to the lamp and walked with it down the stairs, turning sideways to fit his shoulders through the narrow gap. As his head came level with the stone floor, he thought of something.
“Is there any chance of someone coming in and seeing the floor like this,” he asked.
“No,” the monk’s voice came up came up from beneath him. “This is my hut, and the other brothers won’t enter without permission. And,” he continued as Jake took a few steps downward. “If the enemy somehow makes it in here, they will have much more problems than they could ever anticipate.” He chuckled again.
“That’s good to know,” Jake said, then moved down the stairs. There were only twenty stairs, and Jake estimated they had only gone about fifteen feet below the foundation when he stepped down off the last stair. The light from the lamp illuminated the area pretty well. He looked around.
They were in a very small cave that was close to the same size as the dwelling up above, maybe a little larger. The ceiling was definitely higher, Jake thought. He could tell that it was man-made because it was squared. The rock was dark-coloured and the floor was just as clean as the hut above. Again, Jake found nothing remarkable about the place; at least not until the monk moved to the wall, put the lamp on the floor, then took what looked to Jake like an old iron key from his pocket, placed it in the natural looking crack in the wall, then turned it counter clockwise nine times, and Jake heard a ratcheting sound, like what an old clock sounded like when it’s gears were wound up.
When he was through turning the key, he moved about two feet to his left, took a small metal rod about the size of a new pencil form another pocket in his robe, showed it to Jake long enough for him to see the symbols raised on the surface. Symbols that were similar to those on Murotomi necklace and McLanahan’s ring. He then placed it in another crack in the wall.
When the rod was in the crack all the way, with about two inches still showing, Jake heard another click, then saw the iron key turn in the opposite direction from which the monk had spun it. The winding sound came again, but this time it was accompanied by a short grinding sound.
Jake watched as a seam appeared a few inches from both cracks, and then a section about six feet tall and a foot thick moved inward. He looked at the floor and ceiling of the doorway and saw that there gleaming metal tracks on both to guide the slab. He whistled at the simplicity and the craftmanship of the device. The slab had been so precisely cut that he had not seen the seam until it had been ‘unlocked,’ and then it had very smoothly slid back about five feet almost soundlessly. He stepped to the side to let Murotomi past, then followed the monk through the entrance, then down another set of stairs and into another cavern.
The cavern was a lot larger than the other one. Jake estimated its size at about twenty by forty feet, with a twelve to fifteen-foot ceiling. He smelled and felt a slight dampness in the air and heard the slight sound of moving water.
On wall, there were about two dozen wooden crates, each about one meter cubed, with Japanese lettering stencilled on the outside. When he got close enough to read them, he saw that they were different types of freeze-dried food. Most of them were the types that campers and outdoors enthusiasts used, and Jake also saw that there were three crates of U.S. Army M.R.E., or meals ready to eat, the freeze-dried combat rations the U.S. had been using for almost thirty years. Jake grunted quietly as he remembered all of those meals that he’d eaten while in the service. When he turned to his left, Jake saw five beds, identical to the bed upstairs, empty and neatly made, lying headboard first against the wall. He turned to ask Murotomi why he needed a shelter, then stopped when he saw the monk standing by a wall full of weapons that had not been there a few moments before. He sighed, then walked over to the display.
The weapons filled almost the entire wall, about thirty feet from side to side, and from the floor to about nine feet high.
The stone was chiselled out into box-shaped shelves and each shelf held one weapon. Some of the shelves were small, and held small weapons, like knives or dirks, and others were large and held weapons like bo staffs, naginatas and such. To his surprise, there were also several modern firearms in the cases.
Jake perused the collection for a few minutes, noticing while doing so that while a lot of the weapons were oriental, at least forty percent were from other countries. He picked up a bowie knife and after testing its’ weight and unsheathing it, he made a few passes with it, following a knife kata he’d been taught once by a combat instructor in the Philippines. Although he had not practiced the kata in several years and he was in a different body with a completely different centre of balance, Jake moved Smoothly through the forms. When he finished, he moved to place the weapon back onto the shelf he’d gotten it from when Murotomi placed a hand on Jake’s arm to stop him.
“Jake,” he said quietly. “Why did you pick that weapon?”
Jake looked into the monk’s eyes and saw an intensity that had not been there before. Uh-oh, he thought. What’d I do?
“Uh, I don’t know, Kaji.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It just looked good. And when I picked it up, it felt good, too.” He hefted it a few times in his hand to illustrate the balance to the monk.
“Ok,” Murotomi replied. “Can you feel anything special about it?”
Jake looked quizzically at the monk for a moment, then at the knife. He was about to say no when he saw something. A brief flickering of light surrounded the entire weapon then was gone. Jake squinted his eyes and looked closer. As he focused, the light returned. It was a rich golden colour that intensified for a few moments, then glowed steadily. It now looked like a fine golden mist that surrounded the entire weapon. He also felt a warmth and an energy coming from the knife. He stared at it, fascinated, then looked up at the monk and told him what him what he was seeing and feeling.
Murotomi stood there quietly as he listened to Jake’s description. When Jake finished, the monk bowed deeply, then spoke.
“Jake-San,” he said, using the honorific for an honoured or respected leader or elder. “You truly have the gift of discernment. The weapon had been sanctified. Can you pick out the other sanctified weapons here?” He waved his arm at the wall full of weapons. Jake took a moment to process the information, then nodded. He gave the knife to Kaji.
“I’ll give it a try,” he said then stepped back to the right side of the wall, where he started to look at each weapon. After only a few moments, he stepped in front of a long shelf that contained a dark-coloured, wooden Bo-Staff. It had symbols engraved into the wood from top to bottom and there was brass caps with more symbols and pictures at each end, and there was a two inch thick silver ring in the middle of the weapon. He could tell it was meticulously crafted. Jake saw the same golden mist surrounding the staff. He pointed to it and said, “This one,” with complete confidence. The monk nodded his head.
“Any others, Jake-San?”
“Hold on,” Jake replied. He walked slowly down the line until he was near the end, where he pointed to nunchaku set that looked to be made of some type of metal. He pointed to them. The monk nodded again.
“Very good, Jake-San. Do you have any experience with any of these weapons?”
“Yeah,” Jake replied. I’ve had some training with all three of these types of weapons as part of my military training, although I’ve probably had the most training with knives. I had extensive combat training with or against knives, and I had a bowie knife I carried for about five years after my first combat deployment in Zool.”
“That is good, Jake-San,” Murotomi said. “Then you must carry the sanctified knife with you when we go to engage the demon in combat.” He handed the knife back to Jake. Knowing that he would be going into combat with the weapon. Jake examined the knife a little closer.
The handle was dark and plain, with a small score pattern on it, which made it a little rough to the touch. That’s good, Jake thought. If my hands gets slippery with sweat or blood, I can still keep a good grip on it.
The rest of the knife was unornamented. The silver colour that held the handle to the tang had a small symbol on it and the butt plate at the end of the handle had the same symbol, but that was it. Murotomi told Jake that the symbol meant divine love. Jake nodded his head and placed the sheath, which was made of plain dark leather, over the blade, then attached it to his belt at his right side. The knife was so long, the point almost touched his knee. When he’d gotten it situated he went to the shelves and pulled down a .45 caliber pistol and two full clips. He put them in his pocket and asked the monk which weapon he’d be using.
“Both,” Murotomi replied with a grin. He went to the shelf and picked up the metal nunchaku, then walked down the wall and took out the Bo staff. He came back to Jake. He took on a serious demeanour.
“Jake-San, are you ready to kill the demon now?”
Jake nodded, “Absolutely!”
“Good!” The monk went to the end of the wall and pushed a hidden button or lever, and a section of the wall raised from the floor and covered all of the shelves. Jake shook his head, then followed the monk out of the cavern, then back up to the hut, where they put the stone cap back on over the stairs and moved the bed back into place. The monk then changed clothes, putting on a pair of loose black jeans and a black long-sleeved pull over sweat shirt. He replaced his sandals with a pair of black high-topped athletic shoes. When he was done dressing, Jake asked if he had a car.
“Yes, Jake-San,” he replied, then reached up onto the small mantle over the fireplace and brought two keys on a plain key ring down. He then placed the nunchaku on his shoulders, with the chain covering the back of his neck, and put the staff on his left shoulder, blew out both of the oil lamps and walked out the door. Jake took a deep breath, then followed closing the door behind him.
It only took them about five minutes to walk to the Hozo-Mon gate and leave the temple site. Murotomi’s car, an old beat up Toyota, was parked in front of a small book store about a hundred meters down Nakamise-Dori street. When they reached the car, Murotomi opened the trunk and put the nunchaku in a large black nylon bag, then took the Bo staff off his shoulder, gripped it near the centre and twisted. To Jake’s astonishment, the staff came apart in two four foot long sections. The monk placed them both into the bag, then asked Jake to put the pistol with them in case they were pulled over. Jake did so, remembering that unlike America, Japan was very intolerant of citizens carrying around firearms. He looked at him then grinned, as he remembered his friend’s statement about the complexity of the Japanese people.
When they got into the car, Murotomi placed the key in the ignition, turned it to crank up the engine, then turned to Jake.
“Which way is the demon, Jake-San,” he asked.
Jake closed his eyes and concentrated for a few moments. When he opened them, he pointed south-west.
“That way,” he said.
The monk nodded, put the car in gear then drove out of the parking lot and into the dense Tokyo traffic. They drove through the city for about an hour before Jake felt his demon sense get stronger. Jake looked around. They were surrounded by skyscrapers. Neon lights flashed, cars passed by, honking horns and blinking multi-coloured lights. Hundreds of people walked or rode bicycles on the sidewalks and near the curbs. Jake hoped they didn’t have to confront the demon in a place where a lot of innocent people could get hurt. He turned to Murotomi and told him they were getting close, then asked the monk where they were. The monk told him they were in the Shinjuku ward. They had just left the entertainment area and were heading into the business district. Jake shook his head. He’d come full circle. His hotel was less than a mile away.
On their right, Jake saw the massive Tokyo Metro Government Building, which was immediately recognizable by the twin towers at the centre of the complex, and he could see a large wooded area in the distance that Murotomi told him was Tokyo’s central park. He was beginning to hope that they would meet the demon there when he felt it’s presence to his left. He told Murotomi to turn. They turned and started down the street but were stopped by a road block. Behind the road block, there were about a dozen fire trucks; their lights were all flashing, and firemen and policemen moved back and forth in front of a skyscraper that had about twenty five or thirty stories.
Jake and Murotomi glanced at each other with grim expressions on their faces, then looked up toward the top of the building.
The top four or five stories were on fire.
Flames and smoke poured from the windows and filled the air, covering the moon.
Jake looked down the street and saw ambulances parked by the entrances of the building. As he watched, a crew was wheeling out the stretcher with a sheet-covered body on it. The sheet was very bloody. His heart sank. He turned and looked at Murotomi. The monk nodded.
They were going to have to go up there.