Forbidden Island

by Jeremy Robinson

  “Inside!” he said, shoving Talia toward the entrance. She slithered inside, followed by Mahdi, and then Rowan. He and Winston lingered by the entrance, gently pulling the grass back into place. At the sound of approaching feet, they snapped their hands back and held their breath.

  37

  Talia moved deeper into the cave, while Rowan, Mahdi, and Winston remained frozen by the grass covered entrance, where the shadows of the Sentinelese slid past, hunting them. She didn’t want to be found as much as the others, but she didn’t see the point in waiting around for it to happen. If they were discovered, they would die. Probably horribly.

  She closed her eyes as memories of Sashi’s separated body flashed into her mind. Nausea threatened to overtake her as shock and adrenaline began to wear off. She placed a hand against the cave wall for balance, expecting to feel cool, hard stone. But the wall was soft, wet, and held together by a delta of roots, millions of them, permeating the soil from above.

  Eyes open again, and adjusted to the darkness, she saw patches of dull light streaking down from above. If not for the storm, the glow probably would have been bright enough to see clearly. With the thick clouds above blocking the sun, the illumination was dulled to a cool blue, dimmer than a child’s nightlight.

  Intrigued by the light, she stepped away from the dirt wall and moved deeper inside the cave. The wet cave floor, soft with layers of ancient decay, squelched beneath her bare feet. She looked back and saw a clear line of footprints. Winston was right. No one had been in this cave in a very long time, if ever. But she had a hard time believing the Sentinelese didn’t know it existed.

  So why aren’t they searching it?

  She stood beneath one of the light beams and looked up. Limp grass hung down from a hole between coils of roots, dripping water onto her forehead.

  This isn’t a cave at all, Talia realized, though she couldn’t tell if the trees had grown up over an empty space like the aerial roots of Cambodia’s banyan trees, or if erosion had removed the earth from beneath the growth.

  The air grew cool as she walked deeper, chilling her skin. She wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling vastly underdressed, and not just because of the cold air. She felt shame creeping up on her.

  Her forehead creased. She’d spent years of her life wearing little or nothing without a second thought. But here, in this dark place, surrounded by Sentinelese who knew no shame, she found herself questioning her life’s choices.

  Anger drowned out her guilt, freeing her mind.

  That was when the pain came. She wasn’t just cold. She was wounded. There were five holes in her body where the creature had gripped her. At the time, the pain hadn’t been intense, and during their subsequent flight, she’d been distracted and numb. But here, in this chilled place, with her skin contracting and her mind clearing, her delayed anguish dropped her to her knees.

  A sob rose in her throat, but she contained it and fell forward onto her hands. With the pain came memories. When the monster had held her, had pierced her body, her life flashed before her eyes. But the rapid-fire playback snagged on a single memory, the one she’d spent her whole life raging against and running from.

  She saw him again. Her father. Dead for so long, his fortune funding her world travel and efforts to protect indigenous peoples, but still alive in her nightmares.

  How many times had he come to her at night?

  How many times had he whispered it was okay?

  How many times had she thought about killing him?

  She didn’t know the answer to any of those questions. There was only one question about that time of her life she really could answer: how many times do you need to kill someone before they stop torturing you?

  Once.

  Tears flowed into the muck between her hands as she saw the image of her father above her, scissors in his neck, gagging on his own blood before falling to the floor.

  It took five minutes for him to die.

  It took Talia two days to leave the bed. And one more to call the police.

  Shame returned anew. For being weak too long and strong too late. For being a killer. For being a victim.

  When a hand touched her shoulder, she spun around, slapped the hand off her, and raised a fist. She nearly let out a battle cry and finished the attack when she saw Rowan’s wide eyes.

  He raised a finger to his lips and whispered, “They’ve moved on, but who knows how far. Are you okay?”

  She motioned to the wounds pocking her body. They hurt, but no longer bled. “I have holes in me.”

  “Not what I was asking.”

  She turned away, let the water trickling from above splash against her face, and stepped deeper into the cave. “I don’t like it here.”

  “It’s oppressive,” he said.

  “Not all of it, though. The island.” She looked him in the eyes. “The light.”

  “You felt it, too?”

  “I’m not sure what I felt.”

  “You felt at home,” Mahdi said, joining them. “Like it was where you were meant to be.”

  “Yeah,” Rowan said. “That. You saw it, too?”

  Mahdi nodded. “I think we should avoid it. Like an oasis, it can only lead to death.”

  “What on this shithole island doesn’t lead to death?” Winston asked, leaving thick boot prints atop their collection of barefoot impressions.

  Talia had a lot to say to the big man, but she contained the words and violent acts inspired by his presence. He was her enemy, but he was also the Sentinelese’s enemy, and right now the larger their tribe, the better their odds of survival.

  “You didn’t see it?” Rowan asked. He was tense, but he hadn’t vented his anger toward the man who had arranged their deaths, either.

  “The mystical beam of sunlight? Eye of the storm? Yeah, I saw it, but it didn’t make me want to stay. Didn’t feel like home. What I want to know is what the fuck that thing is.”

  “It’s going to make building a resort difficult,” Mahdi said.

  Winston chuckled, and hitched a thumb toward Mahdi. “Can you believe this guy? He’s really starting to grow a pair.”

  Mahdi glowered, but said nothing.

  “You knew nothing about all this before coming here?” Rowan asked Winston.

  He replied, “As much as she knew.” He nodded his head toward Talia. “Maybe less. Half of the presentation you were shown was bullshit. Sashi put it together. She could paint a grim image, that one.”

  The disrespect he was showing toward a woman they had just seen dismantled swelled Talia with rage. She jabbed a finger at him, but he spoke first. “Before you get all self-righteous, you should know Sashi was a fraud. Did she try to sell you on a sob story about her daughter? That she was impoverished. Or kidnapped. Or—”

  “Given in marriage to Ambani,” Rowan said.

  Winston laughed again. “That’s a new one. His taste runs young, but Sashi never had a daughter. Or a husband. She’s been lying to you from the start.”

  “So have you,” Mahdi said.

  “I’m a professional. I’m doing a job. I don’t get my jollies from it. But Sashi, she—”

  “Enough,” Talia said, and when Winston looked in her eyes, he understood the threat. She might not be able to kill him, but she’d have help, and if they failed, the Sentinelese would likely hear the struggle and finish the job.

  He raised his hands, still smiling, and said, “Mercy. We’re all in this blender together, and we need to find a way out together.”

  Talia pursed her lips and turned toward the dark depths of the cave, where something twisted and old filled the space. She looked back when Rowan spoke.

  “No good plan exists outside of intel. So let’s pool what we know.”

  “They’re hard as fuck to kill,” Winston said.

  “The big one?” Rowan asked.

  “All of them,” Mahdi said. “The others don’t change, but they don’t die, either.”

  “And all of them are dan
gerous,” Winston said.

  “Even newborns,” Mahdi said, and when Rowan looked incredulous, he added more. “They can run like animals. And their mouths…” He lifted his left forearm into the light streaming from above. An eight inch wide rainbow of tooth-shaped bruises dotted his skin. “An infant did this. Broke my wrist.”

  “Doesn’t look broken,” Talia said, forcing herself to rejoin the conversation.

  Mahdi twisted his hand around. “People heal faster here.” He pointed at Talia. “You stopped bleeding without applying pressure. Without a bandage. In the rain.” He turned to Rowan. “I am sorry for what I did.”

  Rowan shook his head. “You saved my life.”

  “That was sneaky,” Winston said.

  Rowan glowered, but kept his focus on Mahdi. Traced his fingers over the wound on his chest. It was covered in a rubbery looking patch of skin. “And you’re right. But I’m pretty sure we can still die. Sashi isn’t coming back.”

  “They burned Emmei.”

  Talia wasn’t fond of Emmei. He had betrayed them, too. But burned alive… It was a horrible way to die. She wouldn’t wish it on her enemies. Not even Winston.

  Mahdi’s eyes went wide. “There was an obelisk. The children were huddled around it. I thought they were all a statue but…” He closed his eyes. “There were words carved into the stone.”

  Talia perked up, forgetting the pain and carnage for a moment. “Words? Could you read them?”

  “You could have, too,” Mahdi said. “Herev lohetet.”

  “What language is that?” Rowan asked and then looked to Talia. “What does that mean?”

  Rowan’s voice sounded distant. Talia had faced the mysteries of the ancient world on more than one occasion. She knew there were things that would never be explained or understood. But this island… The Sentinelese and their monster defender were bad enough, but ‘herev lohetet?’ Here? It made no sense. It made less than no sense.

  Rowan’s impatience raised his voice to a dangerous volume. “Someone tell me—”

  “It’s Hebrew,” Talia said. “It means ‘Flaming Sword.’”

  “Hebrew?” Winston scoffed. “That’s not possible.”

  “After what we have seen on this island,” Mahdi said, “I think it is safe to say that anything is possible.”

  Rowan’s face shifted slowly into shock, like a stop-motion video of sand dunes forming. “What?” Talia asked him.

  Rowan blinked, and then he surveyed the cave like he could see through the walls to the island around them. “I know where we are.”

  38

  Rowan had never had such an expectant audience, not since he’d dressed up as Cher in high school and lip synched Shoop Shoop Song. But there were no teenage friends groping his balloon breasts, just three very desperate people, all of whom wore varying degrees of ‘don’t bullshit me’ on their faces.

  Part of him hoped his theory was bullshit. If it wasn’t he didn’t think they’d ever make it off the island, especially not after knowing the truth.

  “I shouldn’t tell you,” he said. “He can’t let you leave if you know. Because the world shouldn’t know.”

  “Shouldn’t know what?” Talia asked. “And who is he?”

  “And what do you mean by let us leave?” Winston added.

  Rowan held his ground and his tongue. He’d been trained to withstand torture, he could take a grilling from three people, only one of whom probably knew how to torture a person.

  “It is unlikely we will survive as it is,” Mahdi said. “It’s safe to assume that neither Emmei, nor Sashi, nor Chugy, knew what you do. And yet, they have all perished.”

  Mahdi’s cool logic worked its way past his defenses better than any torture could. He was right about the others. They’d all died not knowing the truth. And maybe it wasn’t the truth, but it felt right. If the revelation of where they were—where they really were—brought them peace in death, who was he to hold that back?

  He raised his hands, signaling his willingness to talk, and closed his eyes. He dug through his memory, back to a childhood spent in church. He’d been obsessed with the Bible’s wilder stories. Noah’s ark. Jonah’s whale. The Nephilim. The burning bush. His conservative parents didn’t let him watch cartoons, or even read secular fiction, so these were the stories that had fueled his childhood imagination. But there was one that had always captured his younger self’s attention, because like Atlantis—which he had learned about at school—it was still out there, waiting to be rediscovered.

  But not without consequences.

  Eyes closed, Rowan did his best to recite the passage in question, pulling it from his distant memory. “After he drove the man out…he placed on the east side of the Garden of Eden cherubim…

  Mahdi gasped. “And a flaming sword flashing back and forth…”

  “To guard the way to the tree of life,” Talia finished.

  “You all go to Sunday School together?” Winston asked. “Or did I miss a party on the yacht where you all drank the Kool-Aid?”

  “The story of Eden is shared by Jewish, Muslim, and Christian traditions. While Islam rejects the concept of original sin, the major elements are mostly the same.”

  “I get the Garden comparison,” Winston said, “but I haven’t seen a flaming sword flitting about.”

  “They’ve been chasing us the whole time,” Mahdi said.

  Talia nodded, but her brow was furrowed in thought. “Not everything in the Bible, the Koran, or the Torah, is meant to be taken literally.”

  “The flaming sword isn’t a description of a physical thing.” Rowan hadn’t even pieced this part of the puzzle together, but it fell into place. “Capital F. Capital S. Flaming Sword is the tribe’s name.”

  Winston’s sarcastic smile lingered, but had faded some. “So they’re what? Not human?”

  “Very not human,” Mahdi added.

  “So what, angels? Demons?”

  “Neither.” It was a guess, but Rowan couldn’t picture demons protecting Eden, and he knew which of the Sentinelese was an angel. “The Cherubim are angels. The Flaming Sword is something else.”

  “Cherubs are the little chubby things, right?” Winston asked. “Heart bows and little wings.”

  Talia laughed. “The Cherubim are mentioned several times in the Old Testament. They’re most well known for being atop the Ark of the Covenant. But they’re only described once.”

  When it came to freakish monstrosities in the Bible, the Nephilim, Jonah’s whale, and Job’s Leviathan had nothing on the Cherubim. Only the horrors of Revelation compared. Rowan tried to recall the verses, but found his memory faltering. So he paraphrased. “They were human in form, each with four faces and four wings. Hooved feet. Like a calf. They had human hands under their wings. The four faces were human, lion, ox, and eagle. Two of their wings spread out wide, and two covered their bodies. The creatures looked like burning coals…” Thunder crashed overhead, muffled by the jungle, and the cave ceiling, but strong enough to shake the ground. “Lightning flashed out of it.”

  “You think that thing…” Winston pointed toward the exit. “…that ugly fucker out there…is an angel?”

  “A Cherub,” Rowan said.

  “I haven’t seen more than one face,” Winston said.

  “You’re still thinking literally,” Talia said. “We need to think about what the lion, ox, and eagle stood for at the time.”

  “And,” Rowan said, “it’s changing.”

  The others fell quiet. The description wasn’t a perfect match, but it was far closer now than it had been when they’d first encountered and killed the man on the beach. If Rowan was right, the Cherub had been slowly revealing itself to them. But why? Why not just kill them?

  “Lazoaf.” Rowan focused on Mahdi. “You recognized the word. What does it mean?”

  “‘Leave,’” Talia said. “In Hebrew.”

  “Ain’t this going to ruffle feathers,” Winston said. “When we tell the world Hebrew is the la
nguage of choice at the Garden of fucking Eden.”

  “Perhaps they were using a language two of us knew, but would also recognize as out of place, and time. Plenty of English-speaking people have been shipwrecked here. Had they spoken English, we would have assumed they had captured someone and learned the language.”

  “So God is trying to warn us away?” A silent chuckle jiggled through Winston’s body.

  “Or the Cherubim.” Rowan felt ridiculous saying it. Angels? Eden? Monster-people protectors of mankind’s birthplace? But he couldn’t deny it made a crazy kind of sense. “What about the healing?” He touched the squishy scab over the slice in his chest. “How do you explain this?”

  “The tree,” Mahdi said, his voice full of wonder.

  “There are lots of trees on the island,” Winston said.

  Rowan understood. “The tree of life. In the story of Eden, Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The Flaming Sword and Cherubim were left behind, after mankind was evicted from the garden, to protect the Tree of Life.”

  “So the first tree did what, made us killers and ashamed to be naked?” Winston looked at Talia. “Which didn’t really work on all of us.”

  “It introduced sin,” Rowan said. “So they say.”

  “And the Tree of Life?”

  “Immortality,” Mahdi said. “Eating from both would make a human God-like.”

  Winston perked up. “And you think the tree is where? In that light?”

  Rowan felt like a veil had been lifted. Could that be why they felt drawn to the light? If any of this was rooted in reality, as insane as it seemed, could there really be a Tree of Life? Should they be running toward the light instead of away from it? The idea was seductive, but could they even make it there? Had the Cherub been giving them opportunities to leave? “I suppose it might not be a literal tree. Or even literal fruit. But maybe—”

  “It’s all bullshit.” Talia stood, her back to them, arms crossed, staring into the cave’s darkness, where barely visible twisting vines hung. “This isn’t Eden. The Flaming Sword isn’t a tribe. And that ugly asshole isn’t an angel.”