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Godzilla and Mothra - Version 2.0 
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Burning Godzilla
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This message board isn't a respository of fan fiction, I know, but since we're a smaller group than before, I thought I'd post a little project I'm working on for fun. It's just a revision of the 1992 Godzilla and Mothra: Battle for the Earth story, with an attempt to shake things up and correct some of the more glaring problems that fans complain about. I'm no professional, so don't expect much from me. Just read and give me suggestions if you wish:

Chapter 1

Masako sat quietly at the long, rectangular table that was the centerpiece of the Environmental Planning Board (or EPB for short) conference room 3. The room, located in one of the sub-levels of the EPB headquarters—was bereft of decorations, save the official papers that sat on the table in front of Masako. She had already read the briefing of what the meeting was to be about—something about the discovery of a new island within Japanese territory and the desire for the almighty Maritomo Company to exploit it. How they got wind of this news so fast was beyond her—unless they had someone on the inside, or if one of the senior members of the EPB was handing them information under the table while courting a position there after his retirement. But dealing with that sort of thing was beyond the scope of her job—at least officially. But she knew it had everything to do with her own work and resented that particular reality.

She was currently working as an Ecology analyst for the EPB, and her current task was working in tandem with the Maritomo Company on a housing development project along one of the slopes of Mount Fuji. She wasn’t particularly pleased with the progress of this job, especially since nearly every recommendation she made was shot down by some senior analyst or manager, usually because the Maritomo company complained that any effort that Masako suggested to keep the housing in harmony with the surrounding environment was too expensive. And it was those senior analysts and managers—not necessarily her boss, a certain geologist named Professor Fukazawa—who were coveting positions at Maritomo in their future.

Sighing aloud, Masako slid a small mirror between the pages of the report, lifting them ever so slightly, and getting a look at herself. Her lipstick—a sheer sandy red—was fine and her make-up was unobtrusive, just the way she liked it. Her short hair was brushed and in order. She straightened her lapels and waited patiently for the others to arrive.

It didn’t take 30 seconds for the door to open, followed by the entrance of five people: four men and one woman. The latter was Miki Saegusa, a clairvoyant and specialist in ESP studies who became famous in three years prior when she successfully predicted the escape of Godzilla from his volcanic prison inside Mount Mihara. When the Environmental Planning Board was annexed by the National Space Development Agency (NASDA) back in 1991 and given the secondary function of keeping tabs on Godzilla, Miki joined the club, so to speak. The mousy 21-year-old bowed respectfully to Masako and took a seat next to her, placing a small black briefcase on the table.

Her boss, Professor Fukazawa, had also been invited. The middle-aged—one could easily see the gray hairs taking precedence among the thick black hair that adorned his head—geologist smiled quietly to Masako and sat to her left. Despite his kind demeanor, a few furrows in his brow revealed the worry he felt in virtue of his current studies on the movement of the Philippine Island plate, which is where Mount Fuji is located on—well, a junction of that with two other plates. Masako imagined he was not happy to be called into a meeting at such an important moment, but Fukazawa was ever the professional and hid his emotions ably.

The next man was the current director of the EPB, Joji Minamino. The 59-year-old man, dressed in the nicest of suits—with a 500-dollar silk tie to match—took a seat on the other side of the table, so that he was directly facing Masako. Despite the external pomp, Minamino greeted Masako warmly, as though they two occupied the same level on the EPB hierarchy.

An older man, whose whitening hair was slicked back and whose dark skin had grown leathery with age, followed and sat next to Minamino. It was Security Officer Tomashi, one of the mediators between the Japanese SDF and the Prime Minister, who found himself in a position as a government-sponsored monster hunter after the monster’s devastating appearance in Tokyo nearly a decade earlier. If Miki Saegusa had been invited to this meeting, than Masako shouldn’t be surprised that Tomashi was there as well.

Finally a younger man, in his mid-thirties, stepped and sat a few chairs down from Minamino. He was tall and strong looking, with thick black eyebrows and particularly narrow eyes. Unlike the other men, he dispensed with the suit and wore simply a simple (but still expensive polo shirt) and some beige slacks. He made himself comfortable—perhaps too comfortable—in his seat and waited for Minamino to introduce him.

After a few moments, Minamino stood. “I wish to thank you all for coming to this meeting today.” He glanced at Fukazawa. “I know some of you are involved in important projects and have your own deadlines—“ he looked Masako directly in the eye. “—But the things we have to talk about today may surpass those in importance, at least for the time being.”

The younger man cleared his throat.

Minamino smiled. “Yes, how silly of me. Masako, this is Kenji Andoh, an engineer for the Maritomo Company. The President of Maritomo asked that he specifically be allowed to attend this meeting.”

Masako bowed her head to acknowledge his presence, but said nothing. Seeing that, Andoh inclined his head for a moment, and then grinned like a child.

“As you all will have read in the briefing,” continued MInamino, “a new island has been discovered, about a hundred miles south of Okinotorishima in the Philippine Sea. It’s located with within the Exclusive Economic Zone of the Okinotori Islands, so Japan can claim it.”

Masako interjected. “How did nobody know about the island before?”

“Easy,” said Fukazawa. “Well, sort of. You see, for reasons we haven’t discovered, but hope to soon, there was literally a perpetual storm raging around the island. I’ve already assigned some of our analysts to find any historical documents that can confirm that. Because of this storm, no ship ever reached the island, nor was able to see it.”

“Not even our satellites were able to detect it.” Minamino continued the professor’s explanation. “And then, just three days ago, the storm stopped. Nothing in our weather satellites have afforded us a reason to that. It just stopped. When the storm dissipated, the island appeared in the satellite images.”

Masako nodded in awe of such a strange occurrence. “Has anyone been to the island yet?”

Fukazawa nodded and grunted.

“Yes,” said Andoh, finally sitting up in his chair like a professional businessman. “One of Maritomo’s ships was in the area when the storm ended. The sailors noted the new island and a helicopter was sent to do some basic reconnaissance.”


“It doesn’t seem to be inhabited. But the company is now interested in exploiting whatever resources it might have.”

Masako fought to role her eyes at that last comment. She looked askance at Minamino.

He knew what she was thinking. “Before anything is done there, we need a full report at what is on the island: vegetation, fauna, signs of previous human habitation, the works. Said report will be presented to the Prime Minister and, if need be, to the UN. Then the politicians and the businessmen will be let loose on it—but all that will depend on your findings.”

Masako coughed aloud. “My findings, director?” She turned to look at her boss, who returned the glance impassively. “What about Mount Fuji?” Admittedly, Masako was more worried if this change of scenery was more related to her performance on the Fuji development project than the mere idea of leaving that behind to explore an island.

Fukazawa was matter of fact. “It will have to wait. We need you on—“

“—Infant Island,” said Miki, completing his sentence.

“Infant Island?” repeated Masako, surprised. They’ve already come up with a name for this place?

Miki smiled and nodded.

Not taking her eyes from the young woman beside her, Masako went on with her questions. “Is Godzilla on this island?”
Tomashi shook his head. “While the satellite’s infrared sensors have shown slight traces of electromagnetic radiation, nothing suggests that Godzilla lives on the island.”

“To be perfectly honest,” Miki complimented, “Godzilla was last seen near the Mariana Trench. But he’s been off our radars since then.” She paused and took a deep breath. “And I haven’t felt his presence since Mecha King Ghidorah, for that matter.”

“Could this radiation reading attract him?” Andoh said, rather worried. After all, he feared the prospect of telling his boss that his plans for Infant Island would be deemed infeasible due to the possibility that Godzilla would be around to interfere.

Miki shrugged. “While radiation in a general sense is consumed by the creature, only certain wavelengths—those of x-rays and gamma rays, to be exact—have been proven to be convertible to mechanical energy for him. Besides, we don’t even know what the source of those readings actually is.”

“Which brings us to the reason we’re asking you to join the first official expedition to Infant Island,” said Minamino, gesturing toward Miki.

Miki nodded slightly and opened the briefcase. Without making a sound, she produced a small stack of papers and handed them to Masako. The latter’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head as she glanced at them. Miki then said, “We may say that the storm was a physical barrier to Infant Island, but evidently it was a psychic barrier as well” By this time, Miki had proven herself enough that she could throw around words like “psychic” and “telepathic” at official meetings without eliciting guffaws from those present. “I started dreaming about this place the same night that the island was discovered. More specifically, I dreamed the symbols you see before you. I drew them as soon as I woke up, something of a talent I’ve developed over the years. In any case, it was in the same dreams that I learned the name of the place.”

Masako’s eyes were so fixed on the strange symbols Miki had drawn that she didn’t even bat an eye when Ms. Saegusa spoke of dreams telling her the name of the island. She recognized the symbols, something she had seen several years before.
“Masako?” asked Fukazawa, breaking Masako from her trance.

“Huh? Wha-?” she said, making a concentrated effort to tear her eyes from the symbols before her.

“I take it you’ve seen those before.”

“So you don’t need ‘me’ for the mission, you need ‘him’,” she observed, her eyes wandering back to the symbols.

Fukazawa and Minamino exchanged glances, the latter giving the former a slight nod.

“It’s true,” said Fukazawa. “The message that Miki saw, and any other that may be found on the island, is written in a language that only Takuya can translate. And you’re the only person who knows where he is.”

I wrote a book!

Fri Jan 06, 2017 10:02 pm
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Chapter 2

The trip to Thailand had been uneventful for both Masako and Mr. Tomashi, at least on the outside. As soon as the meeting had ended, Masako had rushed home to pack her bags for an extended trip—from Bangkok they would take a plane to Manila—where they’d meet up with Andoh and Miki--and then a ship to Infant Island. She also had to move Heaven and Earth to get someone to take care of her five-year-old daughter, Midori, while she was gone. Her sister Tomoko was away on business in Yamamoto, and her mother was off visiting family in Beppu, so she was intially at a loss as to who she could call. But then she remembered that Takuya’s older sister, Satomi, was a far more trustworthy person than that lout of an ex-husband was. After debating the matter inside her head for a few moments, she called Satomi, who was thankfully more than happy to see her niece, whom she rarely ever saw since. In 30 minutes, Satomi was at the house to pick up Midori. As soon as Masako slid the door shut, she dropped to her knees and breathed a sigh of relief. She finished packing her things and took a cab to the airport, where she met with Mr. Tomashi.

Having spent so much time and energy getting ready for the trip, Masako had barely time to register the fact that she was about to meet up with her ex-husband for the first time in nearly five years. The two hadn’t seen one another since a few months after their marriage, when Masako announced that she was pregnant. He had run out on her, afraid of the prospect of fatherhood—as an archaeologist, it was one thing to jet-set across Asia on business, always looking for creative ways to support oneself as one looked for relics and artifacts in the God-forsaken corners or Southeast Asia and the Himalayas. That sense of adventure had brought Takuya and Masako together, while he was running around the countryside of Laos while Masako was doing field work there. She had stayed there for a better part of a year, which had given Takuya something to look forward to whenever he returned from whatever nook and cranny he was digging up. But once she had gotten pregnant, the mere idea of him having to find some good, solid and respectable work scared him to no end. He left Japan, telling Masako that he was going on a final visit to Thailand, which if it worked out, they’d have more than enough to live on while he finished whatever studies were necessary for him to get more stable work at a university.

He never came back.

Up until Midori was born, Masako wrote Takuya weekly, getting responses only once in a while. Takuya never asked about the baby—instead he just wrote that he was okay and on the verge of a breakthrough that would bring them all the wealth they needed. Masako once received a phone call from Takuya during the eighth month of her pregnancy; she begged him to leave it all behind and just come back to Japan to stay with her and the baby. It didn’t happen. A few months after Midori was born, Takuya showed up unannounced. By then, Masako had simply given up on her sham marriage—in part assisted by the barrage of negative comments from Tomoko and her mother—and was waiting for Takuya with divorce papers. He asked her to wait just a few more months, but she was adamant. So without further ado, Takuya signed the papers, gave the then-sleeping Midori a kiss on the forehead, and walked out the door, heading back to the darkest reaches of Thailand.

Now it was time for her to meet him once more. Mr. Tomashi hadn’t said much on the flight to Bangkok, leaving her to play out a thousand different scenarios in her brain as to what she’d say to him. Perhaps a lash of the tongue, or even a slap, had been considered. But she always reminded herself that Mr. Tomashi would be with her, and that she’d have to conduct herself in the most professional way possible. In fact, professionalism was the only reason she accepted the task in the first place. She couldn’t possibly tell her superiors that they could all go to hell, because the only thing that would go there would be her career and ability to provide for Midori. She ultimately decided to cross that bridge when she got there, and focused her thoughts—a good ninety-eight percent of them, at least—on the task at hand.

Time was of the essence. The plane landed in Bangkok near midnight. Without leaving the airport, Masako and Tomashi chartered a small airplane to take them north. Their destination was a small airfield near the city of Phayao, located in the highlands near the Laotian border. The trip would take another two hours, and Masako kept herself busy talking to the pilot. She had learned Thai years ago during her field studies and was quite a help to Tomashi, who only spoke a little English in addition to Japanese. The ride was bumpy and Masako wasn’t quite sure of the sobriety of the pilot, despite his reassurances that he was as lucid as could be. A little voice in the back of Masako’s mind hoped he was drunk, and that any alcohol he had brought aboard might be shared with her. It would certainly help her feel less nervous.

It was about 3 a.m. when they arrived at the airfield. Although there was no car rental service there, there was a taxi driver who told them to wait until sunrise if they wanted a lift. An offer of three times the value of the regular fare woke up him faster than a pail of water would. The promise of earning same value encouraged him to stay at their destination until it was time to go back to the airfield. After the cabbie haphazardly hurled their suitcases into the trunk of his car, everybody got inside and the car disappeared into the night on the unpaved highland roads.

Destination: The Chạ̀w r̂āy Temple.

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Wed Jan 11, 2017 2:54 pm
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Interrupted just to say, I like this. Can't wait for Chapter 3. Sorry for the intrusion. Carry on.

Oh yeah, down here, I am considered the apotheosis of cool - Sewer Urchin

This is an appalling film. And for some of you, well worth your time - SSM

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Wed Jan 11, 2017 7:04 pm
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Bergerjacques wrote:
Interrupted just to say, I like this. Can't wait for Chapter 3. Sorry for the intrusion. Carry on.

Thank you for reading and commenting (and for encouraging me as well). I had considered giving up, believing myself a fool for even trying this in the first place, as I'm no James Joyce...or even E.L James. But I shall continue!

I wrote a book!

Wed Jan 11, 2017 9:20 pm
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The sun was already visible on the horizon by the time the cab, which had left the beaten path at least five times—to the point that Masako wondered how often, if ever, did Takuya ever venture back into the village—arrived at a clearing in the dense rainforest that carpeted the region. They were in the heart of the highlands, and the steep inclines had constantly threatened to wreck the already-beaten-down vehicle, but the driver had assured Masako that he knew these parts better than anyone else. And what do you know? He actually did. Their destination was the base of a cliff, in which the Chạ̀w r̂āy Temple had been carved into the rock.

The facade of the temple was a 40-foot sculpture of the head of a Buddha—a particularly angry-looking one—whose gaping mouth served as the entrance into the monks’ abode. Gigantic statues set on four large stone pedestals—two on each side of the entrance--served as unmoving, yet frightful sentinels. On the left, one pedastal portrayed a bird man standing triumphant over a fallen Buddha, the latter’s entrails hanging from the former’s beak. The second showed a headless man, its monkey-like face located in its stomach, standing above a demon, with its lowered left hand holding a sword and its right holding two severed arms. On the opposite side, the first statue was of a Buddha on its hands and knees, while a two-headed cobra burst from his back. The fourth and final statue was of a Buddha sitting in the Lotus position. However, his face was featureless, save a large maw full of long, sharp teeth.

“How horrible,” whispered Mr. Tomashi. “What sort of Buddhism is this?”

“Buddhism mixed with folk religions, black magic and other superstitions. As Takuya used to say, the further away from society you get, the greater the influence that primeval and the primordial have on the people, even on religious questions.” Masako took a glance at the toothed Buddha statue and shuttered. “This is the sort of think that Takuya was fascinated with. He was always looking for the origins of all this.”

“Did he ever find anything?”

Masako shrugged. “We’ll find out soon.”

Masako and Tomashi approached the entrance. Two withered old men in orange robes sat quietly on each side of the opening, eyes closed and chanting in unison. The elder monks became aware of the visitors’ arrival and stopped their mumblings. Masako muttered something in Thai to them. The nodded their heads and responded. After a few moments, one of the monks got up and beckoned for the two to enter.

“Well,” Masako said, sighing, “we’re at the right place. He’s inside.”

Tomashi smile and nodded. “Do you think he’ll agree to join us.”

Unfortunately, “yes,” responded Masako, keeping that first worst in her head. “He won’t miss this opportunity.”

The temple was a huge network of caverns. The largest chamber was located at the opening. It was the center of worship, with a golden statue of a fanged Buddha at one far end. The senior monk sat in front of it, facing other others, who sat in the middle of the chamber. A few monks, most of them older men, were sweeping the chamber with crude brooms made from banana fronds. The followed the sentinel monk, who jabbered to Masako, who then translated to Tomashi.

“He says that the chamber on the far left side of the temple leads to the living quarters, where the monks sleep.” She waited for the man to stop speaking. “He says they are three caves, one stacked upon another. They use bamboo ladders to go from one to another.”

“And that opening there?” asked Tomashi, pointing to another chamber born of a crevice behind the statue.

Masako translated Tomashi’s question and listened to the response. “It’s a staircase that leads to the top of the plateau. There’s small village at the near the cliff’s edge that supplies the monastery with food.”

Tomashi nodded impassively.

The three entered a chamber to the right of the statue, which turned out to be a primitive kitchen. At the other end was another exit, which led into an ill-lit cave, which the monk described as a meditation chamber. There were two more meditations, each one darker than the last, if that were possible. At the far end of the meditation chamber was another large opening. The stones that formed an arch around the opening were carved to look like tentacles. A pair of large eyes were sculpted into the wall above the keystone.When they reached it, the sentinel monk stopped. He pointed inside and started talking.

“He says that at the end of the corridor, there’s the library. Takuya has spent most of his time there, translating texts. He says that some texts are written in a language that is not Thai, but far older. Only the Senior Monk has asked Takuya what is written in those texts, and he has refused to share his findings with the others. Most of the monks are now afraid to enter the library.”

“Are we allowed to enter?”

Masako nodded. “Apparently Takuya showed them my picture at some point, because the sentinel immediately recognized me. That’s why they haven’t objected to a woman entering their sanctum.”

Tomashi grunted and thanked the monk. The monk smiled and left them alone in the chamber, returning to his post outside the temple. For a moment, Masako and Tomashi stood before the corridor, staring blankly. Whatever light the narrow passage received came from the single torch at the other end of the meditation chamber, and from whatever torches burned in the library at the other end. Masako glanced at her travelling companion and shrugged.

“We’ve come this far,” she said flatly.

Tomashi took a step back and looked at the carvings that surrounded the entrance to the passage. He said nothing, but shook his head half-heartedly.

The corridor was lined with bas-reliefs carved into the stone. Much like the statues that guarded the temple itself, the reliefs depicted scenes of carnage wrought between power entities, be they demi-gods or semi-devils, demons or Buddhas. A demon whose torso and head resembled that of a ferocious wolf bit into the throat of a spear-wielding Vishnu. A naked woman emerged from the entrails of a slain serpent. Two small women, surrounded by twin snake’s tails, stood up from the stump that was once the God Hanuman’s head. Yet another relief showed the Buddha on a sacrificial table with a three-headed serpent biting its feet.

The horrific imagery sculpted into the wall was occasionally broken up by jade mosaics, mainly of malformed (or deformed) Buddha heads, whose content facial expressions were replaced with cruel smiles and ravenous grins. All sound from the outside ceased within the tunnel—even before entering, Masako could still hear the faint chants of the monks in the main chamber. Here, the only sounds to be heard were of their own footsteps, which echoed as if the tunnel ran on forever. This baffled Masako, since she wore she had seen the end of the tunnel while standing at the entrance, guessing that it was only about a hundred feet long. But ten minutes later, the two were still walking though the enclosed place, surrounded on both sides by reliefs that suggested that Buddha’s longevity would have been achieved by eating the hearts out of human-alligator creatures.

Finally, after a small eternity, Masako and Tomashi entered the library. It was a cave, only slightly smaller than the main hall. Wooden shelves adorned the circular wall from one end to the other. The walls were covered with sutras, scrolls, and metal plates. There were so many sutras, in fact, that the ground was littered with them as well. The place was lit by four torches spaced out at regular intervals. A large table had been placed in the middle of the room. A single man, with long black hair and several months’ worth of unevenly spaced whiskers sprouting from his face, sat there, surrounded by parchments. So engrossed was he in his work that he didn’t notice his visitors.

Masako cleared her throat.

The man immediately dropped his pencil and paper and looked up. His mouth immediately dropped in astonishment. “Masako!”

She took a deep breath and took a step forward. “Takuya. Nice to see you.”

“Why…er…how…what are you doing here?” he stammered.

Masako turned to Tomashi and pointed at Takuya. “You wanted him. You talk to him.” She folded her arms and took a step back.

Tomashi looked at her, and then back at her bewildered husband, and shook his head. “I’m Security Officer Tomashi. I’m here on behalf of the Japanese Government.”

Takuya cocked his head. “Are you here to extradite me or something? Have I broken some Japanese law that I’m not aware of?” He turned to Masako. “Is that why you brought him here?”

“No,” she said, not budging. “But you might be breaking a Thai law soon if you don’t listen to him.”

Takuya glared intensely at his ex-wife for a moment. “Well, if you want your alimony and back payments, then you’d just as well leave me here.”

“So you can steal precious artifacts from superstitious monks too scared to monitor what you’re doing?”

“Well,” he began, reaching for an ancient codex on the table. “I doubt they’ll miss this particular volume, since it’s not even related to Buddhism.”

Masako rolled her eyes, while Tomashi approached Takuya and glanced at the dusty proto-book Takuya held.

“Interesting. What is it?”

“My good man, you are looking at an original copy, or at least a second edition—before there existed editions—of the Zanthu Tablets.” He showed a few pages of the work to Tomashi. “Obviously, these aren’t the tablets themselves, but it’s the first transcription anyone made, and this even before codex became a popular way of keeping records.”

“What are the Zanthu Tablets?” asked Tomashi, curious.

“They’re an account of the people of the lost continent of Mu.”

“And you can read it?”

Masako butted in. “Yes. Takuya is one of the few scholars in the world who has learned Naacal, the language of the Muans.” She walked over to Takuya, fiddling in her briefcase for some papers. “That’s why we’re here.” She removed two sheets of paper and placed them on the table before him.

Takuya did a double take when he saw what was written on them.

“What? How? Why, that’s written in Naaal, too. How did you get it?”

Tomashi took a seat on another chair at the table, the limited light from the torch hiding a large black spider which had itself at home in order to “sun” itself in the light of the flames. It scittered away, unnoticed by the older man, but not Masako, who started fidgeting wildly. She uneasily lifted her feet at regular intervals, worried that one of her husband’s “companions” might crawl across them. She struggled to remain composed as Tomashi spoke of the discovery of the island, Miki Saegusa’s dreams, and the upcoming expedition to the island.

“…if you join us, Takuya,” said Tomashi at the end of his spiel, “We’ll give you exclusivity in studying any archaeological artifacts found on Infant Island. It’s a chance of a lifetime, and who knows if you won’t become the leading world authority on the subject of Mu, the Plato of modern times.”

“…and I’d like to get my alimony from a more honest source,” added Masako.

Takuya glanced in her direction, and noticed her rubbing her arms, while frequently lifting one of her feet to rub the other leg. She was obviously uncomfortable with the invertebrate inhabitants of the cave.

“Well, I don’t know,” he said slowly, shuffling the writings on the table at a deliberate pace. “It is a great opportunity to learn more about Mu, especially if the island just happens to part of the original continent.” He walked glacially to the shelf to put some of the parchments—but not all—away. “But the Miskatonic University Library in America was offering me a stipend of a half-million dollars for the Zanthu codex.” He glanced at Masako, who was constantly looking around her and glancing at the ground around her feet. He smiled. “And there is evidence that the tablets themselves are not completely lost.” He returned to the table and rolled up some of the other scrolls. “I think they might be in the Himalayas, perhaps Bhutan,” he paused and opened one of the scrolls to see which one it was. “Or perhaps Nepal. You can never be completely sure. I’ll have to sleep—“

“Dammit, Takuya!” snapped Masako. “Just tell us ‘yes’ or ‘no’ now so we can leave this horrible place! The cab is waiting for us! If he leaves without me, the next image in the relief that corridor,” she pointed to the passage that she and Tomashi had come from, “will be of me relieving you of your head!”

“Okay, you got me.” He turned to Tomashi. “Exclusivity, remember.”

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Fri Jan 13, 2017 6:03 pm
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Takuya poured over the ten or so sheets of paper covered with Naacal writing that Miki Saegusa had presented to him once the ship departed from Manila. He, Masako and Tomashi had arrived in the Philippines ahead of schedule, and stayed at a hotel not far from the port while waiting for Andoh and Miki to join them. Andoh arrived two days after their own arrival, and Miki only showed up the evening before the boat was to leave port. When asked about it, the young clairvoyant yawned and said that she was “cleaning house” at the ESP Research Center, where she worked her second job.

Miki had spread herself thin over the past year alternating between competing government jobs, one to keep tabs on Godzilla—as far as that’d be possible—and another to work with young people from all over Japan (and its island territories) who demonstrated abilities similar to hers. While she was generally able to pace herself fairly well between these alternating responsibilities, her getting ready for the Infant Island voyage was complicated by the sudden onset of parallel dreams of the children at the ESP Research Center, something she hadn’t seen since 1989, just months before Godzilla emerged from his fiery prison on Mount Mihara. All of the kids had suddenly began dreaming about Infant Island, much like she had. And while, look her dreams, nothing definitive about the island itself had been revealed through these night visions, all the kids reported hearing strange music. When asked if they could hum the tune they had heard, at least six of the children reproduced the same exact tune. Two other children reproduced another tune, different from the first. Wondering if there might be a correlation between the music and the characters she had seen, she recorded the melodies on a personal recorder and brought it along with some more characters that she had seen in the more recent dreams.

Now that Takuya had no way of taking the writings and ditching town—Masako had given her bosses strict orders to not allow Takuya to see anything else until the ship was at sea—Miki freely let him see what she had jotted down. Thankfully, whatever images Miki perceived in her dreams tended to remain clear in her head for up to two hours after she woke up—about three hours if she woke up before the end of the dream. Masako left Takuya and Miki alone with the writings while she and Andoh discussed the Maritomo company and its plans for Infant Island, should the government give it the okay to develop the place. Comparing the symbols with his notes from his studies in Thailand, he was able to translate the message into Japanese:

Mosura ya Mosura
Tasukete yo te yobeba
Toki o koete
Umi o koete
Nami no yo ni yatte kuru
Mosura ya Mosura
Yasashisasae wasure
Hito no kokoro
Inorinagara utau
Ai no uta

Miki frowned when the translation was done and pointed at one of the words in Takuya’s notebook. “What’s Mosura?” she asked.

For a moment, Takuya said nothing, but then reached over for a second notebook of his. He flipped through a few pages and found what he was looking for. “It appears to be a deity of sorts. It’s mentioned, albeit briefly, in the Zanthu codex.”

“Was she worshipped by the Muans?”

Takuya shrugged. “I’m not sure. It might have been, although the tablets spoke over other gods in the Muans’ cult that were the main focus of worship.” He sat back in his chair and stroked his now clean-shaven chin. “I wonder if Infant Island was a sort of outpost for Mu. I mean, not like a surviving part of the continent, but an island on the outer rim of Mu that simply survived the destruction of the landmass itself.”

Miki nodded. “Sort of like an Okinawa to Mu’s Japan? After all, people speak Japanese in Okinawa, but they have local deities and demi-gods that don’t figure into traditional Shintoism, like King Seesar.”

Takuya smiled in agreement. “Quite possibly. It would make sense, although at this point, it’s still speculation.” He let out a sigh. “I hope we can learn more about the story of this place when we arrive.”

“Hungry for the glory of the archaeological breakthrough of the decade?” she chided.

He chuckled. “Is that how Masako sees me? As a glory hound and someone who’s in this just for the fame and glory?”

Miki nodded cheerfully.

Shaking his head, Takuya said, “There’s more to it than that, but I don’t think she’d understand. As a scientist, she should. But that’s another story for another time.”

Miki didn’t respond, but fidgeted a little as she thought about what to say next. Then she had an idea. She reached into a small leather briefcase where she had kept the Naacal papers and removed a small personal recorder. She played back the melody and listened intently to it while reading the translation. Miki lifted an eyebrow and grunted. “Well, that’s convenient. The words fit the melody.” She sang the words on the paper.

“So it’s not a prayer, but a song?” said Takuya. “Oh, and you have a nice voice.”

Miki blushed. “I think it’s both.” The melody on the tape ended and then the second song commenced.

“Huh. Two songs.” Takuya glanced at the papers, and then back at his notes, and then back at the papers again. He suddenly started jotting down more translations. The second set of translations read:

Me o sama shite Batura
Hana ga hiraku you ni Batura
Minna matte iru no
Ao zame ta sora e
Hikaru tsu basa de
Tonde okure Batura
Me o sama shite Batura
Asa ga akeru you ni Batura
Minna matte iru no
Namida no yotsuyu o
Hayaku hoho kara
Keshite okure Batura
Me o sama shite Batura
Kumo ga utau you ni Batura
Minna matte iru no
Hate mo nai yami ni
Sakebu inori o
Kiite okure Batura

Miki Saegusa read the translation and furrowed her brow. “Was this ‘Battra’ mentioned in codex as well?”

Takuya shrugged as he read over the translation. “No, it wasn’t. I wonder if it could have been another deity worshipped on Infant Island.”

“So we have a second mystery to solve.” She read the translation again to herself, moving her lips ever so slightly as she did so. After five minutes, she observed, “Huh, we have ourselves a second song. It fits the second melody perfectly.”


A few hours later, Miki and Takuya joined Andoh and Masako in the ship’s cafeteria for dinner. They sat at a table away from the other sailors who happened to be dining at that moment and Andoh munched on the rice and steamed fish before him as Miki and Takuya related their discoveries. Masako listened carefully as she poked listlessly at her rice with her chopsticks.

“So why would you have a vision about some songs?” she asked at the end, rather incredulously.

Miki pursed her lips and shook her head. “I don’t know. People like me rarely know the meaning of the things we see and feel, at least at first.”

Masako sighed. “Well, if we don’t find anything of note on the island, you can sell the lyrics to Keiko Imamura for tidy profit.”

Takuya rolled his eyes. “No need for sarcasm, honey.”

Masako snapped back, “If you call me that again, I’ll ram these chopsticks down your throat.”

Takuya howled in laughter. “Why so serious, Masako?”

Masako pulled her flaming gaze from Takuya and looked down at her plate. She remained silent as she ate her food.

Takuya glanced at Miki, who shrugged.

As Andoh swallowed his food, he spoke up. “Oh, I forgot to mention, the Maritomo company sent a plane to do some remote sensing of Infant Island. It seems like any other island, and there isn’t any apparent sign of human habitation—“ he paused and downed a glass of soda. “—with the exception of the dome.”

“The dome?” asked Miki and Takuya in unison, the latter almost choking on his food.

Andoh nodded. “A large white dome was found in a mountain pass in the middle of the island. We don’t know anything about it, except that it’s there.”

“So I guess this will be our destination when we get there,” Masako said, visibly trying to control herself. “Which should be tomorrow morning.”

The others nodded in unison.

I wrote a book!

Fri Jan 20, 2017 3:06 pm
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