The warlord stopped walking.
Finally.
How long had they been going? Sam had lost track of the hours—or maybe it was days?
Sam shifted to set Gideon against a fallen chunk of concrete.
“Easy, Gid.”
The old man clutched Sam’s arm as he sat down with a pained grown.
Gideon’s breathing had grown shallow, and he’d leaned on Sam’s arm more than he had for the last several hours. He’d been fighting for every step the last thirty minutes, his limbs trembling and head drooping.
Sam knelt in front of him. “Are you in pain?”
“What kind of a fool question is that, boy?’
Sam chuckled in spite of himself. “I know. You’re just—you’re making me worry, Gideon.”
Gideon found the side of his face with a giant, calloused hand and patted his jaw fondly.
“I’m an old man, son. Everything hurt already.”
Heaving a sigh, Sam stood. “Well, rest while you can.”
“Any idea where your not-friend is leading us?”
Sam glared at the warlord’s back. “None.” He patted Gideon’s knee. “Sit still.”
He allowed himself a moment to sit beside Gideon on the slab of concrete, breathing deeply. The air in the tunnel smelled stale and old, dusty with an edge of mildew. No one had been in these tunnels for a long time. Whatever Karl had done on the surface had caused damage down the entire length of Connecticut Avenue, it seemed.
What had Karl done? It had to have been him, but since when did the Shiren Armor have power like that? Had Karl been holding out on them?
Sam ran his armored fingers through his hair, his head aching as though his skull would split in half. Maybe it already had.
He eyed Jinsoku again. The warlord stood in the same spot where he’d stopped, turning his head every few minutes, the light in his armored fingers shimmering on the walls.
The light reflected off something embedded in the roof of the tunnel, and Sam winced as it flared in his vision. A reflector or a piece of metal, something. The amber-hued pulse from Jinsoku’s fingers glittered and sparkled in it, spiking the pain in Sam’s head hard enough to bring tears to his eyes.
His stomach turned over.
Electricity tingled across his skin, shredding him from the inside out. The darkness of the tunnel melted into a hellish red light, bursts of glittering power like sunlight blinding him.
Was it a migraine? He didn’t have migraines.
His armor clenched around his arms and legs, squeezing the air out of his lungs. Someone was screaming beside him. He reached out into the darkness, somehow still black in spite of the fiery red light washing over him, but no one was there.
Where had Gideon gone?
Where was Jinsoku?
Who was screaming?
He lunged to his feet, spinning around, and cold, cruel hands seized him. Jerking him to a stop. Icy tendrils of panic crept up his spine, the fiery pain of the pounding headache turning as cold as a winter wind.
In the darkness, Hinode stared at him. Half lit by shivering crimson light, the green samurai armor clutched the sides of his head in a crushing grip, face to face-plate.
Hinode’s face shield split and retracted into the helmet, but no face met his. No eyes. Nothing. Hinode was empty.
The empty armor leered at him. The anguished screams rose around him. The ice pick behind his eyes dug into his brain. Lightning sparked in the depths of the empty armor, the shivering power of it crawling up his unprotected arms as Hinode tried to crush his bones with its fingers.
Sam yanked himself backward out of the armor’s grip.
And he was back on the concrete slab next to Gideon.
The old man had leaned against the wall and was dozing, snoring softly. Jinsoku still stood at the center of the tunnel, glancing back and forth, muttering under his breath.
What was that?
Sam ran his fingers into his hair again, the headache still throbbing but not like it had been.
What was that?
Was he having waking nightmares now? That’s just what he needed. Or maybe he was losing his mind. That was a definite possibility.
“What does Hinode show you?”
Sam froze as Jinsoku’s sharp voice echoed in the dark tunnel. He lifted his head and glared at the warlord’s back. Jinsoku didn’t turn to look at him, still focused on the darkness ahead of them.
“What are you talking about?”
Jinsoku chuckled. “You were as rigid as a pole, boy. Your armor is showing you things. Of course, if you would surrender your will to Thallia, your armor would stop misbehaving.”
Sam shook himself. “It’s an inanimate object, you idiot. It didn’t show me anything.”
I’m just tired. I’m seeing things.
Jinsoku tutted like an annoyed schoolteacher. “It is no wonder you cannot access the power of your armor, Samuel. But that is not your fault. You have been misinformed and led astray.”
Finally, the warlord lowered his arm and turned. The shadows in the tunnel illuminated the sharp angles of the bright yellow samurai armor, its blood-red ornaments ominous in the darkness.
Sam glanced at Gideon, still sleeping next to him.
Slowly, Sam stood, ignoring how the tunnel spun in his eyes, and he stepped toward the warlord, eyes narrowed and fists clenched.
“Who is the Sarraqum?”
“The vanquished leader of a forgotten people.” Jinsoku faced him with his chin lifted. “He stole your armors from my master and gave them to the five of you Reishosan.”
“So you claim our armors belong to Thallia. And Korin stole them.”
“It is the truth.” Jinsoku shrugged. “Korin Sado, the Sarraqum, is a thief and a manipulator. He cannot accept that Emperor Thallia is worthy to rule, so he fights back by whatever means he can. Unfortunately, he dragged you and the others into this conflict. It could have all been avoided.”
Sam scoffed. “It’s your word against his, pal.”
“Of course. But understand, Hinode, Korin Sado lost his people centuries ago when Thallia conquered his world. The conquest was fair and just. They lost.” Jinsoku’s voice took on a sneering tone. “It is exactly what will happen when Thallia invades this world. Korin Sado believed the five of you could stop it, but you cannot. No one can stop Thallia. No one has ever stopped him.”
“Korin must have.”
Jinsoku paused.
Sam narrowed his eyes. “How could Korin have stolen the armors from Thallia without stopping him?”
“There is much you do not know, Hinode.” Jinsoku tilted his head. “But if Korin Sado were the true owner of your armors, why then can he not guide you in their usage?”
“He has.”
“Now you are lying.” Jinsoku chuckled. “You can summon your armor, yes, but you cannot use it. You cannot even call your weapon to your hand.”
Sam fought the urge to smirk. If Jinsoku thought he could manipulate him, he was wrong. Jinsoku just wanted power and control, just like Thallia. Just like anyone who thought they could lead others.
“Then teach me.”
Jinsoku regarded him silently. “I beg your pardon?”
“Teach me.” Sam held out his hands. “If you know so much about the armors, teach me to call for my weapon.” Sam scoffed. “Or is Thallia as bad a teacher as Korin is?”
For a moment, the darkness of the tunnel felt darker. Almost as if the air pressure shifted. Sam’s ears popped.
“Very well.” Jinsoku rumbled, his voice a soft, quiet thing like distant thunder. “Summon your armor.”
Sam reached for the tanto in his leg scabbard and withdrew it, holding it out in front of himself.
“Reishosan Hinode, Hikari no Senshi. Yamada-yoroi. Seijitsu.”
The tanto pulsed with green light, and the blade extended, growing longer as it sparkled and shone with electricity that wrapped around Sam’s arms and legs. The lightning around him burst into shining sparks, forming the full Hinode armor around him.
The weight of the green armor settled over his shoulders, and the thunderbird-styled helmet coalesced around his head.
Once his body finished thrumming with the power of the transformation, he thrust the wakizashi into the sheath at his belt.
Sam held his hands out again. “There. It’s summoned. What next?”
Jinsoku hadn’t moved, still watching him in silence.
“Tell me, Hinode, what do you feel?”
Sam gawked at him. “What kind of question is that?”
“An honest one, which requires an honest answer.”
“How I feel or what I feel has nothing to do with any of this.”
“Oh, Hinode.” Jinoku’s voice was sneering again. “I begin to think you do not wish to access your armor’s power.”
“It has nothing to do with feelings.”
“I disagree. And if you were willing to be honest and rational, you would as well.”
Sam clenched his hands. “What are you talking about?”
“Perhaps it is time for you to accept truth, Hinode.” Jinsoku took a step toward him. “The other members of the Reishosan have embraced their feelings and have sought to understand their individual relationships with their armors. You are the sole member who has refused, and it is you who are the weakest. It is you who cannot use your armor.”
Sam’s heart thudded with every step the warlord advanced.
“You do not wish to acknowledge what you feel, boy, and that is your choice. But you must accept what is true: What you feel is directly connected to how your armor performs.”
Sam squeezed his fingers into fists. “You sound just like Stan and Ryan.”
“Both who have greater control over their armors than you.” Jinsoku sneered. “So perhaps they are right, and you are wrong.”
Sam took a shaking breath.
“So.” Jinsoku bowed to him. “Why not try? Why not allow yourself to examine your feelings without the oversight of your weaker brethren?” He chuckled. “I promise I won’t tell.”
Sam pounded his fist against his armor’s chestplate. “This is a thing. An object. It’s not alive. It doesn’t feel.”
“No.” Jinsoku shook his head. “But you do. And your armor responds to what you feel. How else do you think Shiren was able to destroy so much of the city street today?”
Sam’s stomach turned over again.
“Shiren responded to its wearer’s emotional distress.” Jinsoku gestured to the ceiling. “Hinode cannot respond to you at all because you will not acknowledge what you feel.”
“It can’t be that simple,” Sam spat.
“Spoken like one who has never acknowledged his emotions.” Jinsoku chortled. “Nothing about it is simple, Samuel Logan. But if you wish to connect with Hinode, you must.”
“I don’t trust you.”
“You do not need to trust me.” Jinsoku turned away from him again and peered into the shadows. “I have no access to your armor, nor can I control your emotional state. I am merely teaching you what you lack.”
Sam gulped, his heart lodged in his throat.
Jinsoku had to be making this up. Sam had never hidden from anyone or anything in his life. He didn’t hide from the bullies at school. He didn’t hide from his raging drunk of a father. He didn’t hide from Ryan or the others. He didn’t hide from anyone.
Except yourself.
His stomach clenched.
“Emotions makes us weak.” He stumbled around the words.
“They do.” Jinsoku nodded sagely. “And you are wise to understand this.” His voice grew dark. “But you are not battling your emotions, Hinode. You are hiding from them.”
“I’m not hiding from anything.”
Jinsoku turned around again, facing him with his arms lowered. “As long as you hide from yourself, Samuel Logan, Hinode will hide from you.”
The armor tightened around him, almost painful around his elbow and knee joints.
I’m not hiding. He flared his nostrils. I’m not.
The tunnel filled with the smell of smoke and burning skin. The agonizing pain of fire stripping the skin off his shoulder and face brought his headache back again.
His mother was screaming.
He’d been in his room, minding his own business. His mother had been downstairs. He still didn’t know how the fire had started, but she didn’t notice until it was too late. And she couldn’t hear him screaming for her to get out.
She lay beneath a burning rafter, bloody and singed and lifeless. His whole body ached in the fiery air, his lungs filled with smoke, and he couldn’t reach her.
He tried. But she was too far away. And it didn’t matter anyway. She was already dead.
If I’d had my armor then, I could have saved her.
Hinode pulsed around him.
He could have thrown off the burning debris that had scarred him for life. He could have plowed through the wreckage that had been their home and saved his mother before she burned to death in front of him.
But you can’t even use your armor. You couldn’t save her then. You can’t save anyone now. Not on your own.
The gnawing suspicion had been growing at the back of his mind for years, but he hadn’t been willing to entertain it. How could the armor have feelings? How could the armors understand them as though they were alive? They weren’t alive. They were objects.
Stan and Ryan and Karl were idiots. Weaklings. Controlled by their emotions. So when they accomplished something on their own, they attributed it to their armors. Morons.
Then it kept happening. The more emotional they got, the more power they gained. What sense did that make?
And then Ronnie followed them. Ronnie, the only other intellectual on the team, the only one who Sam could trust not to fly off the handle. Now he was talking like they did.
“I can’t,” Sam hissed.
He didn’t care if Jinsoku was listening.
“I can’t just trust it.” He clenched his eyes shut. “I can only trust myself.”
Hinode shivered, tingling against Sam’s skin as though it were made of static electricity.
“If only you could see it,” Jinsoku whispered, his voice strangely compassionate. “Your armor longs for you, Samuel Logan. It desperately desires to connect with you.”
“It’s a thing!” Sam erupted. “It can’t want anything!”
Jinosku’s voice sounded like he was smiling. “You are willfully ignorant, Hinode, and it has stripped you of any power you might have claimed.” Jinsoku cackled. “Please, keep fighting it. The longer you fight yourself, the easier it will be for me to fight you.”
Sam took another shaking breath. Hinode hadn’t stopped tingling around him. It was growing painful.
“Fine.” He shut his eyes. “Fine.”
Something had to give. Something had to break. The armor was a thing, an object, like a chair or a sofa. So what was he afraid of? That he’d try to connect with it and he’d fail? Of course, he’d fail. The armor lacked the ability to connect. It wasn’t possible.
“How do you feel, Hinode?”
Sam inhaled again, clenching his teeth. “Angry.”
“Yes? And?”
His chest ached. “And—scared.”
Jinsoku nodded slowly. “Excellent. I would expect nothing less, and you are wise to acknowledge it.”
Silence fell between them.
Sam waited, listening and watching, and nothing followed.
“Oh, look. Nothing changed.” He opened his hands. “I told you I’m angry and scared, and nothing happened.”
Jinsoku chuckled again. “Acknowledging it is one step.”
“So what’s step two?”
“Ask.”
Sam shook his head. “Ask what?”
“Ask Hinode to help you.”
“You’re crazy.”
“And you are a fool.” Jinsoku nodded at him. “Ask.”
How? Sam’s mind raced. How do I ask an inanimate object for help? What is even the point?
He spread his hands. “Fine.” He glared. “I’ll do it. Just to show you that you’re as stupid as they are.”
Jinosku bowed again.
“Hinode,” Sam started, “would you give me a sword so I can run this jerk through?”
The armor around him shuddered and clenched, and an orb of green electricity burst to life in his right hand. Sam gawked in horror and awe as the pulsing ball of lightning in his hand shot sparks and nearly blinded him, growing and growing until it became a massive sword, an o-dachi.
He needed two hands to hold it.
He stared in shock at the broadsword in his grasp, the blade nearly five feet long, an ornamental ribbon of gold feathers waving from the gilded hilt.
He grunted in shock, staring unblinking at the blade, which seemed to glow with a light all its own.
Jinsoku clapped his hands, the armor clanking in the silence of the tunnel. “Well done, Hinode. Well done.”
“How?” Sam rasped.
“You asked. Hinode listened.” Jinsoku shrugged. “This is how it works, boy. The armor is your partner. The armor is your help. You cannot simply wield it without listening to it.”
Sam lowered the sword, feeling Hinode shift around him. Was he imagining it, or did the armor suddenly not feel so heavy? Was it lighter? The tingling was still there but it wasn’t painful anymore. It was—pleasant.
Sam regarded Jinsoku, trying to hide how he trembled. The warlord didn’t need to see how unsettled he felt.
“As I said, Hinode,” Jinsoku bowed again. “If the Sarraqum knew how to use your armor, he could have instructed you far better. But he lacks this knowledge, because he is a thief and a liar.”
The warlord turned away.
“Something to think about, Hinode.” Jinsoku lifted his hand in the darkness, illuminating the tunnel with the light in his armored fingers. “Emperor Thallia is coming. His forces will invade this world. You and your friends can either surrender to him now and aid in the transition, or you can fight and die.” Jinsoku glanced back at him. “Either way, we will win, and you will lose.”
Jinsoku pointed at him.
“But at least you have a real sword now.” He cackled.
Sam lowered the huge sword and pried his fingers off the hilt. The instant he release it, the sword vanished in a burst of green light that wrapped around his arm and fused into the armor.
“Geez.”
“Fetch your old man.” Jinsoku nodded. “We are ready to move.”
Sam watched the warlord start walking again and slowly returned to where Gideon was sleeping. He pulled the old man to his feet, and Gideon groaned.
“Moving again, huh?”
“Yeah.”
They walked together for a few steps. “You and your not-friend were having quite a chat, Sammy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Sam increased their pace to keep up with the warlord. Gideon’s breathing hadn’t gotten better. He actually sounded worse.
“You know,” Gideon started, “your not-friend is right about me.”
“Shut up, Gid.”
“I’m slowing you down, boy.”
“Yeah, you are, but I’m not leaving you.” Sam clutched the old man’s shirt tighter in his armored hands. “How is that right?”
“Didn’t say it was.” Gideon smiled absently in the shadows. “But whatever that unfriendly fellow is saying to you—you’re listening.”
Sam swallowed hard.
What was he supposed to say to that? Especially now? Now that Jinsoku had done something for him that not even Korin could do?
“He helped me.”
“Did he now?”
“He taught me something,” Sam said. “He helped me.”
Gideon patted his shoulder. “And because he helped you, do you think he’s right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you’re thinking it, aren’t you?”
Sam’s heart twisted. What was he thinking? He wasn’t even sure he knew. Jinsoku had always been the enemy because he worked for Thallia, and Thallia had always been the enemy. But what if Thallia wasn’t as bad as Korin had told them?
It’s not exactly like Korin brought them any information or details about Thallia. He’d just showed up, given him an armor, and told him he had to protect the world from invasion.
So that’s what Sam had done. For ten years.
“Sam?”
“What, Gid?”
“What are you thinking?”
Sam swallowed. “I’m thinking maybe we should just cut our losses and win however we can.”
Gideon raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what’s happening, Sam, but I can tell that your not-friend really isn’t a friend. He sounds like a politician to me.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I know I don’t. But I know what’s right, boy. And if you’re fighting to protect people, that’s right. You shouldn’t compromise because some fancy-pants tells you something that turns out to be true.” Gideon smirked. “Honest trifles, remember? You can’t trust ‘em.”
Sam winced. “He works for someone who is going to take over the world, Gideon.”
“You sound sure about that.”
“I am sure. Now.” Sam sighed. “Thallia is strong. He’s strong and he’s smart. Stronger and smarter than I am. So doesn’t it make sense that he’d be worthy to lead? Isn’t that what the world is missing? Someone to take over who can make the right choices?”
Gideon’s voice shook. “Smart is important, boy. Strong is important too. But being smart and strong ain’t enough. Not if you ain’t good.”
“Nobody is all three, Gid,” Sam spat.
“You’re right.” Gideon laughed softly. “That’s why we need friends. So they can make up for what we lack.”
Sam scoffed. “And what do you think I lack, Gideon? You saying I’m not a good person?”
“You’re as good as anybody else, boy.” Gideon wheezed. “You just don’t believe.”
“What does belief have to do with anything, you old fool?”
“Everything, Sam. Everything.” Gideon’s breath hitched in his chest. “Didn’t your mama teach you that?”
“Well, look what her beliefs got her.”
Gideon’s heavy gaze burned into him. Even though the old many couldn’t see him, his eyes were heavy on Sam’s shoulders.
“Nobody said believing was easy, boy,” Gideon whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s the hardest thing you can do. But it’s the best power you got, and I don’t care if you have an armor up your sleeve or not.”
“You’re babbling, Gid.”
“If you can’t believe, Sam, just act like you do. That’s all there is to it.”
“That’s dumb.”
“Belief is powerful, boy. Powerful. That’s why you gotta know where to stand.”
“Otherwise you’ll fall for anything?” Sam rolled his eyes. “Now you sound like Ryan.”
Gideon looked down. “If you don’t know where to stand, boy, stand with somebody you trust.”
“And if I don’t trust anybody?”
“Then you got bigger problems.”
Sam took a trembling breath and focused on the rise and fall of Jinsoku’s feet. “Maybe it’s better to just let him take over, and then we can pick up the pieces when it’s over.”
Gideon fell silent for a few more steps before he spoke again, his tone somber and sad. “That don’t sound like winning to me, boy. Sounds like making the most out of losing.”
“Maybe it’s the same thing.”
“No, Sam. It ain’t.” Gideon leaned against him. “It ain’t even close.”
Sam pushed ahead, pulling Gideon with him. The old man fell silent, the only sound his labored, raspy breathing. Hinode trembled around him as he walked.