That thought then transitioned to the memory of his sister running down the beach toward him, screaming. He never did think to ask her about that screaming, whether it was done out of fear or not, he never really had the chance, but in his mind, after seeing the carnage on the boat and the tall man running behind her, he interpreted it only one way. There had been no doubts in him then, that if that man—Jacob he now knew him as—had caught up to his sister what he would have attempted. His eyes had focused on the threat, the speargun ready and able in his hand, and the rest was history. Jacob had disappeared into the water, a strong but thin metal rod punctured through his upper chest, leaving a hole in Sophie’s heart that might only ever be filled by the birth of her child. Jacob’s child. A child that was now possibly in the clutches of some strange island demon.
Sophie opened up recently about her dreams where she was confronted by this creature. The whole tale was incredible to believe but the creature itself seemed born straight out of a Stephen King novel. Thomas read plenty of those and in those stories, there always seemed to be some force of greater good that propelled the Hero—or Heroine—to vanquish the evil entity. If this thing were real, and as his sister described it, what possible chance did they have to overcome such a creature? Thomas was big and strong, he presented an intimidating figure, but such a creature was unlikely to be even remotely threatened by a man. For all he knew, a creature like that couldn’t be killed. It was missing its goddamned face! Could a being without a face even be harmed by physical action? Did it have a heart, blood, emotions?
Did his sister consider any of these things? The vision came directly to her so she knew this thing more intimately than he did, yet she was rushing into the fire without a hose or even a pitiful bucket of water. His poor sister. It was an unenviable position to be in. Any normal parent would be going out of their mind. Most parents with a newborn can barely refrain from checking on their child every five minutes, even when it’s sleeping peacefully at home in its own crib. Take that crib and magically transport it six thousand miles away, throw in a little dash of danger, and that parent would cross those miles like a tsunami, allowing nothing to stop them. Thomas paused with that insight, realizing just how lucky he was that Sophie was calm, even though a bit despondent. How would this go if she were a quivering, shrieking mess?
He roused himself up fully into the land of the living and took yet another concerned look at his little sister. Her arm was still extended over the side of the boat but now her head was laying ungracefully across her bicep, bouncing up and down with the rough motion of travel. Thomas frowned, suddenly feeling like a poor substitute for a protective older brother. Sophie must be going through her own version of Hell right now and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d acted with as much empathy as he should. The whole absurdity of the situation was getting the best of him.
Gingerly, he rose out of the chair, pausing for a moment to get his sea legs, then lurched to the rear bench seat and collapsed down next to his sister, who didn’t stir. Sliding his right arm behind her back and under her extended arm, he gently pulled her toward him until she was cradled against his chest. She murmured something under her breath then was still. They remained like that for the next three hours, until Kabara came into sight.
10
Sophie stared out over the placid surface of the small saltwater lake that encircled the steep roofed Bure that had occupied her dreams and nightmares almost nightly since she had first left the place. Her first time making love with Jacob had occurred in those soothing waters, an experience that should have left her with deep feelings of wonderful nostalgia, only now she was instead filled with a growing sense of dread. Jacob had hated that lake for the most part, imagining all sorts of vile creatures. She had written off his fears as baseless, knowing they were rooted elsewhere, stemming from an explosive and bloody event that happened just offshore, four or five miles to the South. His mind, she thought at the time, was projecting those events in waves of horror that stretched out over the whole island, creating a theme park full of peril. To him, every shadow and movement presented a potential threat. She wanted to tell him that, to explain everything, but she had been conscious of the dangers of digging around in another mind. One that had been fractured and damaged to such an extent. She would go on to tell him, to explain why he felt that way, and sensed that it had been successful when she did. For a brief time.
Now she wasn’t sure she had been correct in doing so. Now she was almost positive that Jacob had the right of it. As she looked out over the water she thought she caught ripples of snaking movements, indicating some mass slithering beneath the surface. The trees behind her that provided delicious fruits also created shadows in the glaring sun, shadows that should have welcomed her with offers of cool respite from the constant heat, but her mind only saw dark forms that threatened to reach out for her. The Bure was the worst of it all. The corruptive core amongst all the dreadful illusions, as if invisible tendrils were creeping out from it and into the rest of the island, filling everything with its malevolence. Every rock and stick and creature that was touched took on a menace, leaving her apprehensive of everything around her. It became painfully obvious to her that no matter how vigilant she was, everywhere she looked she always had something at her back, waiting for her watchful gaze to pass on so it could make its move.
She shuddered involuntarily, her body’s attempt to expel the mounting fear her brain was creating. One way or another, no matter the obstacles before or around her, she must make her way to that dark heart in the middle of the lake. Being a mother, even to a child she had never met, would compel her through any storm, real or imagined.
Sophie stepped forward into the inky black water. It was no longer soothing. Now, it was cold and biting, raising goose bumps on her naked flesh. Even with the sun pounding down on her she shivered, the coldness of the water creeping up through her toes and into the whole of her body, until the top of her scalp tightened in discomfort.
Suddenly the world went dark, as if a great shadow were passing over the sun. She looked up, expecting to see the immense form of a dragon swooping down from the sky to devour her. Only there was no dragon, there was nothing. Only black. The sun was gone and the moon had chosen not to follow it. The whole of the world was enveloped by the impenetrable fabric of space. All that remained to her was the Bure and flickering torchlight that danced about the open doorways, illuminating the stairs climbing up to it and nothing more. Then a mirthful sound pealed out from the vacant doorways, echoing across the lake, and knifing through her heart. It was the virgin laughter of a baby who was experiencing joy for the first time.
She burst forward into the water, feeling its icy grip envelop her and for just a moment she thought it would pull her down below the surface and hold her there. Her body, shocked from the sudden plunge into freezing waters, had all the life of a stone. Down she sank, wildly flapping her arms in panic, her only conscious thought being ‘Where is the bottom? I should be standing! Where is the bottom?’ As if to answer, oily tentacles slithered up her leg and around her waist, reaching out from the apparently bottomless lake. She felt the grip, its skin so smooth it was unnatural and disturbing. The water boiled around her, then propelled against her, as if she were being thrust through a long, underwater tube. Her mouth and nostrils were filled. The salt burst up under her eyelids, causing a searing pain unlike any she had ever experienced before. Stars of light exploded behind her eyes and in her head, threatening to blast away the last bit of her that was left.
Just as she was accepting her failure to protect her child she was thrust unceremoniously from the water and on to the opposite shore of the lake. A series of loud splashes sounded behind her, then all was silent. Sophie remained on her hands and knees, pressing her forehead gratefully against the smooth, wet sand. Rivulets of salty water were running down her face and she wondered if it was the shed of lake water or tears, but she couldn’t tell. Get it together, Sophie. Be strong now.
/> Cloaked in the darkness, she rose and faced the shining beacon before her. In the ancient building, still flickering with a welcoming light, she sensed both life and death. The life of her newborn child, whom she had never held, and the death of … Who, me? My baby? What this foul creature could possibly want with her she couldn’t imagine. What It could want with a newborn child was even more of a mystery to her. Could It be using her baby simply to lure her back? Surely there was more to Its desires than pure lust. There must be some deeper purpose. Something frightful, no doubt.
Time to find out, Sophie girl.
She could recall this place in detail. An expanse of sand approximately fifty feet long before the base of the stairs. Still, she stretched her hands out before her like a blind person, which she essentially was. Although the intent seemed to be to draw her in, she still couldn’t stop her mind from imagining all manner of foul creatures in the darkness before her, barring her way. With each step, she expected her foot to land on something slick and slithering, or her hand to bump into something sharp and slobbery.
Step by agonizing step she crept forward. No further sounds emanated from inside the structure. All was quiet, but for her soft footfalls and ragged breathing. The closer she got the faster she moved. The light was dancing out to the bottom of the stairs and a few feet beyond. A strong wind sprung up and whipped against her side, hot and moist. She paused, picturing the maw of some giant beast, gaping beside her, strings of drool stretching between its upper and lower fangs. Almost there, she thought, clenching her eyes shut.
Three more steps brought her into the soft, orange splash of light. There, at the bottom of the stone staircase, she paused again and stood staring up into the silent doorway above her. Nothing could be seen from that vantage point but the upper walls and lower ceiling on the opposite side of the room. The source of light remained hidden. She sensed nothing of the presence of that menacing demon that had invaded her dreams and she had a fleeting hope that maybe her poor child was waiting for her in there, alone on that cold stone altar, bathed in nothing more than the warm glow of torches.
She took the steps two at a time, fueled by hope now and driven by the knowledge her baby was so close at hand. Nearly within reach! As she surmounted the top step her eyes focused on the altar that was ever hidden behind that long stretch of white cloth hanging from the ceiling. As she edged around it, her excitement growing, she finally laid eyes on that sweet little person she had carried for the last several months, and gasped.
Her little angel was enveloped by the long dark arms of the Beast, who posed languidly on the top of the altar, as if enjoying an afternoon respite from a grueling day of work. A boy, she realized, little Jacob. Frozen, she assessed the situation as the creature before her kept its attention solely on the babbling baby in its arms, ignoring her completely.
Is this a threat? If I try to take my baby, will He do something to strike back? But there was nothing threatening in His demeanor. He simply lounged there, staring down at that beautiful child, stroking the soft downy hair, and grazing the back of his long, clawed finger down the plump cheeks. It was like watching a proud father doting upon his firstborn son.
It pissed her off.
“Hand him to me, NOW!” she said with sudden force. Fear was burned from her and there was no hesitation, no quake in her voice.
The Beast never looked up at her. It carefully lifted the child in two enormous hands and stretched him out toward her, like an offering.
The baby fell silent now, all sounds of happy gurgling abruptly gone. Sophie took a step forward and wrapped both arms around her child in a protective bear hug and stepped back quickly.
The effect it had on her baby was instantaneous. He began to wail and squirm, as if he were just now in the grasp of some horrid monster.
“Shhh baby, mommy is here. Quiet now.” She cooed and rocked, but to no avail. The struggling newborn only increased its efforts and its output of high-pitched wailing. “Quiet now, you’re okay.” She backed up two steps, further away from the silent demon. The baby’s struggle intensified. Sophie was feeling frantic now. “Quiet,” she yelled down at it in frustration. She stared down into those wet blue eyes, drastically trying to make a connection, and just then the crying stopped. Her baby stilled, perfectly peaceful, and she thought she even saw a smile.
“Thank God! Yes, it’s me, little one. Your mama.” She rocked the child back and forth, laughing now in desperate relief.
But her moment of relief and happiness was fleeting. The baby wasn’t looking upon the face of his mother, he was angling his head upward, back toward the altar. Sophie realized she was now standing in shadow. She looked up to see the demon with the swirling face and fiery crown hulking over her, looking down at her child.
Gingerly, He slid his powerful arms around the child and lifted it from her grasp, her arms completely dead and unable now to offer any resistance. As the little boy was lifted closer to the monstrosity it began to babble once more and all traces of teary-eyed protest were gone. The creature backed up again to the altar and resumed its previous pose, never once directing its ‘face’ toward her. Its full attention was, as ever, on the child.
“It’s mine. He’s mine.” Sophie complained. Her voice was shaky now, doubtful, almost inaudible. Desperation welled up inside her. “He’s mine.”
Casually, never breaking its gaze from the child, as if to show her how insignificant she was, the demon lifted its long arm and swept its hand upward toward her in a shooing gesture.
Sophie felt the middle of her chest split in two as her heart broke and she let out a great wail full of agony.
11
It took nearly two hours and four rest stops but eventually they cleared the end of the mountain and moved into a glade. Bolo knew that in the center would be a lake, and he could make out small glimpses of the reflective water shining between the trees if he looked hard enough. Moving forward, he could feel the anticipation building. Both excitement and anxiety danced together in his head, neither taking the lead. He feared seeing Daucina again yet was exalted with the thought at the same time. What really made him uneasy was his wife. How would she react, seeing such a strange and frightening sight? Would she see him as the God he was or as some monster she should flee from? Bolo struggled with the idea of warning her, but how would he do that? If he described Him to her than she was likely to think he was crazy and possibly she would not come along at all. His thoughts were interrupted then with a gasp from his wife beside him.
“Bolo! Look, it’s a Bure! I don’t believe it, why is it here?”
They made it to the edge of the lake while he had been having his internal debate. His eyes followed her arm, stretched out and pointing toward the center of the water. There stood a large Bure like their ancestors used when they worshiped the old Gods. It was built on a stone foundation, in the shape of a pyramid, with stone walls rising high off the ground. The walls ended in a wooden thatch roof that rose sharply up to a high point. On each side of the Bure was a stone staircase with a doorway at the top. From here he could see two sides but he knew the other two sides would look the same. Around the stone foundation were several local plants and flowers that looked to be cared for, making the base of the Bure colorful and lively.
At the shoreline to their left was a rudimentary raft made of bamboo, big enough to hold them both with ease. He led his wife to it, and once he was close enough, examined the workmanship. It appeared to be sturdy, with the bamboo cinched together tightly with strips of bark.
“It is here because this is where our people are from, Sala. This is where they are meant to be. We need them to return to the old ways, to be a good and happy people again. That Bure is what I brought you here for.” He pushed down on the edge of the raft with his foot, showing her how solidly built it was. “We’ll just need to take this over, then you’ll see why it’s an important place.”
“I don’t know, Bolo.” She stared out over the water, looking troubled.
“This is a lot of excitement for one day. Maybe another time we can return and go out to see the Bure. Maybe today we can just enjoy the walk and you can even show me how to fish?” She looked at him hopefully, but her look was met only with disappointment and worry.
“Sala, please, just a little further. This is the reason why you are here. You must trust me with this. It is important.”
Just then a sound carried out from the Bure and travelled across the lake, one that affected his wife in a dramatic way. It was the pitiful wail of a baby, high-pitched and angry. Sala’s demeanor changed instantly, her face no longer hesitant or scared. Now her maternal instincts were taking over and she looked up at Bolo with shock and alarm written all over her face.
“Bolo! That is a baby! Why is a baby here? Are there people on this island?”
“Only us, wife. The baby is why you needed to come. I can’t explain it to you because I don’t really know. What I do know is there is a baby out there and it needs a woman who can care for it.”
He watched her open her mouth to start asking more questions but then she must have thought better of it. Her instinct now would be to go to the child and make sure it was safe. Then there would be time for more questions. He knew he would have some explaining to do. Carefully, she moved on to the edge of the bamboo raft, lowered herself to her hands and knees, then crawled into the middle. There, she sat and waited in silence.
Bolo followed her immediately, the look of relief on his face almost comical in its extremity. He pushed the raft off from the shore, then sat on his knees and paddled them across using his hands. It was slow going but they made steady progress. As they glided up to the opposite shoreline he slipped off the back and finished pushing the raft up on to the sand so it wouldn’t drift away. Then he moved around and offered a hand to his wife, helping her up to her feet. As eager as she was to get to the child, she still paused, looking apprehensively up at the entrance to the Bure.
Cave of Bones (Dark Island Series Book 2) Page 8