As he reached the edge of the water he paused to take in the landscape. The lake was small but very pretty, surrounded by soft white sand and ringed with trees of many different varieties, all lush and green. Birds sang out to each other and lizards scurried in and out of the brush. The jungle was alive and vibrant. He heard no sounds from the Bure.
Stepping out of his shorts and T-shirt, Bolo waded into the cool water with an audible sigh of relief. If he didn’t have so much to do he could have been happy staying in that invigorating pool all day. Taking casual breast strokes, he made his way slowly toward the small island centered in the lake, dipping his head in and out of the water every few strokes, spitting streams of the salty liquid out of his mouth and watching them catch the light as they arced up into the sky.
Bolo was but a fisherman but he’d had enough occasions to speak with the tourists during their frequent visits to the island to get a fair idea of what their lives were like. Even Fijians visited from the North island and he found their lives to match more closely with the tourists than with his. The stories and experiences he heard about revolved around work. Those sad people seemed to focalize everything around their work. It was the highlight of their year to come to Fiji, usually for only a couple of weeks. They would ooh and ahh at the sights, listen and observe with fascination the goings on of the villagers. They would all visit Kabara for a day, playing on the beach and snorkeling in the crystal blue waters, and snapping pictures with their phones. Typically, there would be lunches on the sand, the tour guides barbequing up fish, fish that Bolo caught earlier that morning. Smiling and laughing at their great fortune, taking in the idyllic scenery of an unspoiled paradise, but he always heard the same comments, tinged with sadness. ‘I so wish we didn’t have to leave’ and ‘Sure beats my average day at the office’. Even the Fijians that came on tours had the same dark cloud about them. Bolo expected that deep down they knew what they were giving up to live near the cities and have jobs working for business men. For all those people, a day on a small Fijian island was a single perfect day they would experience in their whole lives, but for Bolo it was just another wonderful day to be followed by another and another. His countrymen could keep working for money so they could have fancy things. He would keep his freedom.
With a touch of regret, he left the soothing water behind as he walked out on to the small shore at the base of the Bure and toward the stone staircase that would take him to his wife. Sala, with the bright smile and kind eyes. As he mounted the first step he reached out to pluck a deep red Hibiscus flower and continued his climb. Passing through the doorway at the top of the stairs he whispered into the stillness, “Sala?”
The room was empty, the altar looking cold and forgotten. The bag of food they had brought with them was missing, as well. Bolo frowned. Would she have left him? Could she even leave across the lake with a newborn baby? “Sala?” he said, louder this time.
“Here, Bolo,” her voice came back softly from the opposite doorway.
He walked to the other side of the room and looked out. Sala was sitting on the second from last stair, the bag of food next to her and the baby at the foot of the stairs sleeping peacefully in a nest of fronds and leaves that Sala must have crafted for a bed. She smiled up at him, not the full smile he was used to seeing each day when he arrived home from fishing, but a tender smile nonetheless.
Bolo tapped down the stairs quietly and planted himself next to his lovely wife, who put out a cheek toward him. With a grateful smile on his face, he puckered up and planted a firm kiss smack dab in the middle of the target she had provided. Then they sat in contented silence for a few moments, taking in the peace and quiet. The baby lay nestled in his bed of foliage, silent and unmoving, looking as tranquil as a person possibly could. Bolo stared at him, smooth and brown and naked, breathing smooth and clear in a pocket of shade provided by the bushy plants growing out over the base of the steps.
What is it about this child? he wondered. There was something special to it, that much must be true. Daucina wouldn’t take such steps to care for it otherwise. Bolo saw nothing special, though. It was just a normal baby. Not even Fijian. Its skin did have an olive tint to it, and its small tuft of hair was dark, but it was still a Kaivalagi, a white person.
“It is nice here, really,” Sala said, breaking Bolo out of his contemplations.
“Yes, it is like our own place, just for us.” He smiled down at her. “At least for now.”
“For how long, Bolo?” Her eyes showed concern now. “How long will we stay here? People will worry about us, and the baby needs to be cared for. We should not keep him out here.” She looked down, both hands placed on her protruding belly, “Soon there will be two babies, husband. We need to leave. Can we leave?” The question hung out in front of them and she didn’t raise her head to see his reaction, only waited in uncomfortable silence.
If she had looked up at Bolo she would have seen just a flash of irritation, quickly replaced by a look of resolve. “We have spoken of this already. This is our home now. Soon we will have our own house to live in and we can leave this one. It is not meant for us anyway. It is for Him.” He flicked his hand up at the general direction of the island before them. “It is all for Him. This is His place, but he wants it to be our place. You will see, Sala. We have been chosen, and if we do as He asks, we will be blessed. We will have places of honor. I will be like a priest and you my loving wife. All the women of the village will respect you.”
At that, Sala looked at her husband, concerned with this strange version of the man she shared her life with. He spoke these things and sat now in silence, staring out across the water, lost in a religious reverie. She had never known Bolo to be much of a religious person. He didn’t sit and listen to sermons at church on Sundays, as most did. What could have put him in this state of mind she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t think she liked it. The things he had told her when they arrived here were … well, crazy, as much as she hated to think it. But she didn’t believe her husband was crazy. She thought he was just being fanciful. Maybe he had discovered this place and had dreams of them living here, concocting a dramatic story to make it all seem worthwhile. It was something she felt needed more discussion.
“Bolo?” She waited for him to look at her but he only continued staring out at the water with a small smile and vacant expression in his eyes. “Bolo.”
“Hmm?”
“Bolo, those things you told me before. About the people returning and living here like in the old days.” She paused, feeling a little tentative now. Sala had never feared her husband before but there was something in him now that was different. Intense. “About the creature, the old God you described. Did you mean all that?”
He looked at her as if she were dense. “What are you asking? Did I mean it? Of course I meant it!” Harshness poured out with that last sentence and seemed to catch him off guard. His tone softened and he looked at her more gently. “I’m sorry. Yes, dear, I meant it all and it was, is, all true. You must believe me! If it were not true, what would that mean? It would mean I am a madman! You don’t think that of me, do you?”
“No, husband,” she said quickly. In truth, she didn’t think he was mad, he certainly didn’t look crazy, but she wasn’t truly and completely sure yet. The things he told her were definitely mad. Wanting their people to return to their old home and move further away from the modern world wasn’t all that crazy. It was a romantic notion, but the other stuff was beyond that. To think the Old Gods were here, in flesh and blood, that was different. All her people believe a little in the Old Gods, but not in a substantial way. Nobody thought of them as real flesh and blood men that walked around talking to people. Maybe once. Now, they were just spirits that used to be prayed to when things were bad. Like the one God they prayed to now, the Christian God. Nobody at the church on Sundays expected that God to come walking through the door to have a conversation with them. She realized he was still looking at her, judging her expression and
weighing her words.
“Bolo, this idea you have of the people coming here, it’s a beautiful picture. I could even come to like this picture. For now, though, do you not think we should return? At least for a brief time? I will have the baby soon and that will make two. We will need help, Bolo.”
“I will provide for you, Sala, and you will provide for the babies. It will be difficult. You will be tired. But we will do it and we will be okay here. We will be happy. Besides, even if I wanted to leave, which I don’t, Daucina wouldn’t like it.”
“Daucina wouldn’t like it.” Her voice rose in mocking anger now, no longer afraid of her husband’s eccentric mood. The baby twitched its nose and brought one delicate hand up to paw clumsily at its face before settling down again. She continued, more softly now. “It’s time to stop this nonsense about gods, Bolo. I won’t have it. We have real life to worry about now. You’ll take me and this baby to Kabara, to our real home, or I’ll take myself.”
Bolo stared at her for nearly a full minute, a wide range of emotions playing on his face. She just doesn’t understand, he told himself. If she did, she wouldn’t act in such a foolish way. He looked back out over the island before them, completely aware that his wife’s eyes were boring into the side of his face, yet he waited until he was sure of the response he wanted to give her. Okay, Bolo. You tried to make her see. Now let her go and see for herself.
“Take the baby with you. I’ll carry the food. You can drive the boat easily enough. Once you have arrived at Kabara, ask Timoci and one of the other fishermen to bring my boat back.” With that, he stood and shouldered the bag of food and made his way back to the raft, leaving her staring out at him in wonder. A moment later he could hear her footsteps hurrying to catch up.
He placed the bag on the raft and held it steady for her as she climbed on, holding the baby securely to her chest. Pushing off, he slipped on to the side of the vessel and paddled them along in silence. He could feel Sala’s relief and surprise but he didn’t once look at her. There was only one reason he was doing this, and that was to teach her. In no way did he expect she would be allowed to leave, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to take his word for that. She will see, he thought.
As they neared the other side, he jumped off the raft and pulled it firmly on to shore, wedging it into the sand so his wife could safely exit. She took no time in doing so, hopping off before he had even finished. Bolo frowned deeply. How eager she was to leave him and the island behind!
As she stood on the sand she turned back toward him, her eyes now showing a teary-eyed sadness. “Bolo, won’t you come with me? You don’t honestly mean to stay here and send us off on our own.”
“I’m sorry, Sala. I cannot leave. I don’t want to leave. My wish is for us all to remain but my wish means nothing to you. Go on.” He stood there looking down on her, his face impassive.
Sala stared at him, looking as if she were about to say more, then abruptly turned to leave. As she made her turn she smacked her forehead into something large and solid and grunted in surprise, cradling the baby protectively. The trees weren’t this close to shore. After a split second of shock, she realized she was staring straight into the sternum of a giant man.
17
Sala slowly raised her eyes to look up at the enormous figure before her. It seemed to take forever, up and up. Her eyes passed over a thick chest, up and across massively wide shoulders, past a strong, corded neck. The head of the … man ... was at more than two feet above her, which seemed impossible. She looked then, fully upon Its face.
Oh god, he was telling the truth, she thought in horror. My god, it can’t be real!
She wanted desperately to flee, to retreat headfirst into the lake or sprint for the cover of the jungle, knowing full well she wouldn’t make it a single step if this Thing didn’t allow it. It made no matter, her feet were firmly cemented in place and wouldn’t have carried her a single step anyway. There was a thin, mewling sound coming from somewhere she couldn’t place for a moment, then realized it was emanating from deep down inside her. It felt like a scream bubbling up from the deep recesses of her soul, something that would erupt in a great hurricane of primal fury, protesting the existence of such an abhorrent brute. But when it escaped her it was a weak and pitiful sound that exhibited nothing of its original fury. It was the plaintive cry one might hear from an antelope while the wolf feeds on it from the haunches up.
Then there was no fear, no anger, no shock. There was only the churning whirlpool of its face, fixed squarely on hers. At first it was only a darkness that seemed to enfold her like a warm blanket, prickling her skin. Then there were things in the darkness and the fear returned. She tried to tear away. To look back to her husband for help. Her efforts came to nothing. It was as if the gravitational pull of the face before her prevented her from looking anywhere else, her eyes couldn’t move even a fraction to one side or the other. Then it occurred to her that maybe she wasn’t even in the real world anymore. I’ve been sucked in, she thought in terror.
Then the incessant pulling ceased and there was only quiet. She was still surrounded by darkness but far ahead of her she thought there was a pinprick of light. With a cautious optimism, she attempted to take a step forward and succeeded. She could move! But where else to move to other than that glimmer of hope ahead? She moved forward, timid at first, wondering if something might spring out of the darkness to stop her. When she realized that wasn’t going to happen her steps came quicker and with each one the pinprick of light grew until soon it was big enough to see that there was something in it.
Drawing close, a scene unfolded inside the halo of light. She could see a setting, the simple and comfortable interior of a home, but one she didn’t recognize. What she did recognize was her husband, looking as if he had aged twenty years. His eyes were drooping and listless, his lips dry, and the lines on his face deepened and branching out into areas they hadn’t touched before. There he sat, in a small wooden chair, alone and sad. Then she saw the source for his apparent despondency. She walked closer to get a clearer look, then saw that there was a bed, big enough for two, and next to the bed was a small wooden crib. My baby! Was this the future she was being shown? She rushed forward to see her child’s face but as she reached the edge of the crib saw something that made her heart sink into her belly and a sharp cry escaped her lips. Bolo! she screamed, but he didn’t so much as flinch, only remained slumped in his chair as before. It occurred to her she wasn’t there at all. This was just a vision.
Not a vision, she realized, a warning.
Her eyes strayed back over the bed and to the crib. Nestled in a small, thin blanket was a tiny pile of white bones surrounded by black and wilted flower petals. The dead remnants of flowers extended out over one side of the larger bed as well. Where I would sleep, she knew. Only there’s no bones there. He doesn’t intend to leave anything of me. I’ll just be gone. With a sudden and frantic grief, she howled and grabbed at the blanket, scooping it up and bringing it to her face, wallowing in the delicate bones she knew to be all that remained of her baby. She inhaled deeply, hoping to catch whatever fleeting scent might remain, and choked on dust. Not dust! she realized in agony and disgust.
“Sala.”
She froze. ‘Bolo!’ Strong hands gripped her upper arms and pulled her up, yet she resisted, knowing that all that remained of her child was that bit of bone and dust but she would hold on to it for as long as she could. Forever. Just then she realized her arms were empty, no blanket, no sharp edge of bone. Opening her eyes, she saw her arms were scrabbling at the ground. Coating her sweaty forearms and hands was dirt and sand. She wiped at her mouth and came away with more of the same. The creature who had brought on her torment was gone.
“Sala,” he said, eyes haunted and swimming in tears. “My poor wife, did you see? Did He show you what would happen if you tried to leave?”
He fears It, she thought. Idolizes it too, but there’s fear there as well.
“He s
howed me, Bolo.” She wrapped two loving arms around her large belly, unsure she could ever let go. Her baby was still as it should be, giving a hard kick just then as if to prove it. “Where is the baby? The other baby?”
“With Him,” he said simply, and shrugged, as if to mean ‘where else?’.
She could see that the connection with the other child wasn’t the same for her husband as it was for her. He hadn’t held the baby to his chest. He couldn’t feed the baby from his breast. That created a bond that no man could truly comprehend. Her fear for that other child, the poor orphan, was almost as great as for her own child.
“Where did He go?” She stood, her legs trembling, and looked around warily.
“Gone,” he said. He moved to her side and wrapped an arm around her waist. Her weight sagged against him and he accepted it without complaint. There wasn’t much he could do for his wife if she wouldn’t accept she was playing a part in a much larger world than her own. All he could do was offer what little support he could and just having her accept the offer meant a great deal to him. All the changes in the world, no matter how important he felt they were, would mean little without his wife beside him, safe and happy.
“Can I take you back to the Bure?” His voice was soft and hopeful.
“Is there nowhere else we can go? Can I stay with you?”
He nodded and in one smooth motion swept her off her feet, cradling her in his lean, muscular arms. Walking toward the water, he stepped in, careful not to risk a misstep, and continued forward until he was waist deep. She remained nestled against his chest, not questioning what he was doing. Slowly he lowered himself down until the cool water came up to Sala’s neck. Resting her bottom on his bent knees, he brought the arm up that had been supporting her legs and used it to gently stream water along the side of her face, washing away the dirt and sweat that coated her. When that was finished, he sat her up on the raft and leapt up beside her, then began to paddle them across the lake toward the far side.
Cave of Bones (Dark Island Series Book 2) Page 12