Cave of Bones (Dark Island Series Book 2)

by J. D. Matheny

  He looked back on her now, still sound asleep and breathing deeply. Under the current circumstances he didn’t see a physical coupling in their immediate future. Too bad, he thought, she looks so beautiful right now.

  Turning back toward the doorway, he moved to take a seat on the upper step to wait out the disturbance when the strangest of movements caught his eye. The air had a grey-purplish tint to it and the rain was coming down in sheets, so it was difficult to tell what he was seeing, but there was movement coming from across the water, all along the tree line. He looked back and forth, as far as he could see, squinting hard with effort. It appeared like the trees themselves were coming alive, shimmying and vibrating back and forth like they were trying to pull up their roots and move. Then the trees reached out with dark, snaking arms, snatching forward toward the water in brisk movements before yanking back again. Like phantom frogs with darting shadow tongues trying to catch bugs off the edge of the lake. The movements were so fast that Bolo kept blinking his eyes and shaking his head to clear his vision, not knowing whether he was seeing what he thought he was seeing or whether the weather was playing tricks on his tired and bleary eyes.

  Then a light caught his attention on the edge of his vision and he glanced to the right. Gliding fast through the waters of the lake was a bright, starry light, like watching the reflection of the full moon speeding across the sky. It shot across the breadth of the waters, close to shore, crossing his field of vision, then it was gone. Moments later it returned, heading back the way it had come from. The dancing trees moved faster now, vibrating so quickly that Bolo felt like his whole head was shaking and he had to clench his eyes shut to steady himself. When he opened them again, the glowing light in the water had returned, moving now toward the shore. The light grew smaller and smaller until it was only the size of a man’s head. A large head. Which is what emerged from the water.

  He rose out of the lake, water cascading from His impressive physique. Stalking forward, muscles tensed and flexing, was Daucina. His movements indicated He was in a highly agitated state and Bolo swallowed hard, nervous now. Only it wasn’t him that Daucina focused on, it was those trees on the opposite shore that had seemed to come alive with the storm. But as Bolo looked on, he realized it wasn’t the trees themselves that were moving. There were things in the trees. Moving so quick, in and out, darting forward and backward. Daucina faced them, stalking back and forth along the edge of the lake in giant steps.

  “It’s the shadow!” he said out loud. His mind went back to the strange, shadowy thing that had approached him while he was building, sending him a vision of a pretty, dark-haired girl. Daucina had shown up then, as well, and the shadow, whatever it was, had fled before him. Only now there were more than one. Many more. It was impossible to tell in the gloominess of the storm and the torrents of rain, but it appeared there could be dozens. They weren’t fleeing now, just darting back and forth, licking the edge of the water, like testing an electric fence to see if it were charged. Daucina continued to pace back and forth.

  “Bolo?”

  He turned to see his wife standing a few feet behind him, the baby still fast asleep in her arms.

  “Is everything okay? What did you mean about a shadow?”

  Bolo stood and went to her, placing both hands on her cheeks. “Don’t look out there. He’s back. Not just him, there are other … things.”

  Immediately she moved around him and stared out the door. A gasp escaped her lips. “They’re real,” she said in awe.

  “What’s real? What are you talking about?”

  “Bolo, look around you. Have you ever just looked at this place? The drawings? Our people made a history here.”

  Bolo looked around, scanning the walls of the Bure. He had seen glimpses of the drawing before but never paid them any mind. He paid attention to them now. They played out like a storybook, showing the history of the people on the island. They showed Daucina as a child even. They showed the Kaivalagi’s arrival. The people getting sick. The pictures played out their story on each wall of the Bure and Bolo’s eyes ran over every scene. Near the end was a drawing that looked eerily like the scene that was occurring right now, outside the Bure. There was a picture of Daucina, head blazing, surrounded by large shadowy creatures.

  It looked as though a great battle was about to begin.

  21

  Bolo stared in fascination at the picture. His God, Daucina, waging war against dark spirits.

  “Sala, what is this? What’s happening?”

  “I’ve been studying these paintings since I returned. This is our history, Bolo. Those creatures out there, the shadows. Bolo, I think that those are the spirits of our people.”

  Bolo looked at her in awe. “I don’t understand. If that is true, what are they doing? Why would they be angry toward Daucina? He is their God.”

  “I don’t know, Bolo. But something isn’t right. You came here because this God showed you that the people needed to return. But our people left, Bolo. They must have left for a reason.”

  “They left because the sickness was on the island, Sala. We both know that. The Kaivalagi’s sickness. They had to leave.” He was pacing back and forth now, casting glances out the door every few seconds to keep abreast of what was occurring outside.

  “Maybe, Bolo. Maybe not. You know what Daucina has shown you, but do you know for sure that Daucina is showing you the truth?”

  He paused to look at her and for the first time since being brought to the island, Sala saw questioning in his eyes. He placed his hands on his head and squeezed. His face screwed up into a tight knot of anguish.

  “What do we do?” he said between pursed lips.

  “We go, Bolo! While He is out there with those things. We can try to get away now.” She was beginning to look frantic, feeling like the window of opportunity to escape the island was open, but would be snapping shut at any moment. The baby stirred in her arms. “We get on the raft, Bolo, and we cross the lake as quick as we can and run back to the boat.”

  The baby let out a brief, high-pitched squeal that made both of them jump. Sala quickly shoved a plump breast in its mouth and began to rock back and forth. Bolo’s eyes snapped to the door, expecting Daucina to have heard the sound and come to investigate, but He was still out there, pacing, attention fixed solely on the spirits dancing along the opposite shore.

  With a new and sudden sense of urgency that made Sala want to squeal with delight, Bolo grabbed her arm and raced her out the doorway on the opposite side of the Bure as Daucina. He wasn’t convinced that leaving was the right thing, or that Daucina was trying to trick him, but if there was a reasonable chance of it, then it put Sala and his child at danger. He wouldn’t risk that. Now that his decision was made he was intent to complete their escape as fast as humanly possible.

  Sala stumbled and staggered, trying her best to keep up. She held the baby tight, nervous she might trip and fall, but they were finally on the move now and she wasn’t about to protest.

  They reached the raft and Sala climbed on board, seating herself in the middle and bending over the child to protect it from the onslaught of rain as best she could. As Bolo began to shove off from the shore, her eyes surveyed the beach and jungle on the other side of the water as best they could but it was too difficult yet to see well.

  Bolo paddled like a man possessed. “Sala!” He was shouting as the huge round drops pelted his face, trying to be heard over the constant roar of them splattering against the wood raft and the surface of the lake. A teenager slamming away on a new drum set would have made no less racquet. “If He catches us …” He left the end unspoken, because he imagined truly unspeakable things. Sala only stared back at him, her eyes bright with fear and understanding.

  “Paddle hard, Bolo!” she shouted back.

  As they cruised closer and closer to the other side, the form of the trees began to emerge out of the shimmering veil of rainfall. Sala peered intently all up and down the shore, fearing she might
see those spirits dancing around. Fearing worse, that Daucina might be there, waiting for them.

  It was the spirits. She could see them now, tall forms bending and swaying, in constant movement. There were at least fifty of them lined up halfway down the beach between the edge of the water and the line of trees where the forest started.

  “Bolo!” she yelled, pointing ahead.

  He looked up from his paddling and paused, fear shooting across his face. Then he turned to look back the way they had come from, judging whether they could get back without Daucina realizing that they had fled. In the distance, just off shore from the Bure, was a bright ball of light in the water. It was moving toward them.

  Bolo gave a shriek of true horror and began to paddle like a madman. He would take his chances with the spirits. He moved them forward with every ounce of strength he possessed, which was considerable, and the raft glided over the water, a mere hundred yards out. Now seventy-five, yard by yard flying by. He risked another glance back. The light was growing and had already reached the halfway point between shores. We’re not going to make it, he thought. What have I done!

  His neck and back were burning and his shoulders felt like they were full of melting sand, threatening to quit on him at any moment, but he pushed on. He had to. Something in his head screamed at him, telling him that if Daucina caught them, only one person would make it off the raft, and it wouldn’t be him or Sala. The shore was growing closer, they were coming up on it fast and his arms shot relentlessly in and out of the water like pistons firing away in a dying engine.

  “Bolo!” Sala screamed at him, pointing over his shoulder. “Hurry, please!”

  What little food he had in his stomach was rushing up now. He could feel it erupting over his lips and down his chin, but he paid it no mind. Stomach clenching and muscles screaming in protest, he pushed on with his last bit of strength. He had no idea what would happen when they reached the shore, if they reached the shore, but he knew what would happen if they didn’t.

  Suddenly the raft lurched, throwing them both forward. For a moment, he thought that they were caught, that Daucina had grabbed them from behind, but with a wild sense of elation he realized that they had instead shot up onto the shore. The raft had propelled itself in deep to the sand and come to a sudden and lurching halt. Sala was already up and moving forward. Bolo dragged his poor, used up body to follow her. His wife, ten feet in front of him, turned to check on him and he saw her eyes flash and her mouth open wide to scream.

  This is it, he thought tiredly. Please spare my wife. That was all he had in him. He pitched forward, seeing the lights of consciousness flickering around the edges of his vision. Then his wife was running by him, back the way they had come. ‘Sala!’ he tried to scream out, but he didn’t think his words made it past his lips. With a last-ditch effort, pulling up every reserve of energy he had left, he pivoted to face the vengeful God he had forsaken. He would throw himself at Him, give Sala time to escape.

  He turned, hoping it wasn’t already too late. There was a brief flash of fear as he realized he may turn just in time to witness his wife’s head being torn from her body, or worse, but he continued. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, he was facing his pursuer. But it wasn’t what he’d expected to see. Daucina was facing him, his wife and the baby shielded behind him. It was as if this huge, monstrous being was protecting his wife and child from him. Then a flurry of dark shapes was all around him and he was enshrouded in a whirling cloud of black cold. He tried to scream out but his voice was lost in the madness around him.

  What have I done? he thought yet again. What have I done!

  There was a roar. In the peripherals of his vision bright flashes and dark spots closed in, narrowing his sight to a tunnel he strained to see through. A writhing mass of twisting shapes moved in and out. He heard a large splash.

  He pushed it all aside and just laid back, sucking in huge gulps of air, and focusing on controlling his breathing. I think I’m still alive, he thought in wonder. He breathed again, in and out, struggling not to suck in too much at a time like his body was demanding. If he did that, he might just pass out and then where would he be? Got to be patient, he thought to himself, got to be smart. In and out, in and out. With the maddening speed of an iceberg his consciousness came back to him. His vision cleared and the strength of his body returned.

  Bolo sat up slowly. All along the edges of the lake the spirits of his ancestors moved back and forth, their own ghostly version of pacing. The remains of the raft were floating just offshore in a hundred different pieces. There was no sign of his wife, the baby, or the angry God. He brought himself to his feet, legs shaking like leaves in the wind, but they held. As did he. Very still, unsure what would happen to him now. The spirits seemed focused on the water, or those that had just entered it.

  He walked forward, not caring now if it meant he was walking into his doom. If his wife was gone then he would go too, but either way, he had to know if that were the case. Pushing onward, he passed right through the shadows. As he did, his head was bombarded with flashes. Faces, all dark and fleeting. They moved in and out of his mind so quick he had no time to focus on any one of them, but he knew right away what they were.

  The dead. These really are my people! The revelation was stunning. They won’t hurt me! Even more than that thought, he realized that not only were they not intent on hurting him, but he felt they had just protected him. Only they hadn’t got to Sala in time.

  He moved forward further, stepping into the water until the flashes disappeared. Looking across the lake he saw what he hoped to see, a sight both chilling and comforting. Daucina was lunging up out of the water and heading directly for the Bure. In his arms was the limp figure of his wife.

  “Help her,” he said, turning back toward the dancing shadows. “Please!”

  His head filled with buzzing. Whispers that sounded like they were amplified with some electrical current. They crisscrossed through his mind until they made a tangled web. He was utterly unable to pluck one single string of the web. Instead, they all mashed together to form a nearly disabling network of incomprehensible sound.

  “He’ll kill her! If you don’t help, he’ll kill her as soon as he doesn’t need her!”

  The buzzing increased. It was as though his words were agitating a hive of bees that lived inside his head. Then, all at once, the buzzing stopped completely and there was silence. The spirits, each one of them, stopped with it. No shimmying and no shaking, just pure stillness. A picture appeared in his head, a face so clear and large in his mind he might as well be looking at it inches from his nose. It was the baby. Smooth dusky face, a dark tuft of hair, and bright blue eyes staring at him. Then it was gone.

  “Yes, the baby too. Okay, yes! But what about Sala? What about my wife‽”

  He watched as the shadows began to slowly wind themselves back up again, vibrations coursing through their forms. Then they started to move up the beach, drifting around him and leaving him in a cold pocket of air. His head swiveled slowly as he watched them glide over the sand toward the jungle. Once they reached the trees, they melted into the island and were gone.

  Bolo stared in total despair. For just a few moments he had felt like there were others on his side and that he wasn’t alone. He thought that his ancestors were there to help him. But they weren’t there to help him, it was as though they wanted him to help them!

  The baby. All they care about is the baby. Why is the baby so important! What about him? What about Sala?

  He was all alone, after all. He couldn’t return to Kabara for help. If the people found out he had come here he would be shunned. If they believed his story they’d do worse to him and leave Sala to die anyway. The only rescue that his wife could hope for would be her silly, naïve husband. You can’t fight a God, Bolo. You’ve been stupid enough to get in this mess, don’t be stupid now. He knew the truth of the matter. If he wanted his wife back, challenging Daucina would not be the way to do it. He
would have to get back into the God’s good graces, if that were still possible. The likelihood seemed slim, but it was a much better possibility than hand to hand battle.

  But how? he wondered. How would he get the favor of Daucina back? Surely building homes and starting an occupation wouldn’t be enough. And he had already brought a milk mother for the child. What else could Bolo possibly be needed for?

  Then he felt it. A tug. Not a tug at his mind, but a physical pull coming from the lake. Not the lake, he realized, the island. Looking back over the water to the temple where his poor wife now remained helpless, he saw Him. He stood on the shoreline now, empty handed and facing Bolo. The inky black swirling face loomed large, as if he were standing directly in front of him right that moment. The more Bolo stared, the bigger that raging storm of a face grew. It was drawing him. “I’ll come,” he said out loud, not knowing whether Daucina could hear him. To my death, probably, he thought, hoping Daucina couldn’t hear that much.

  Whether to use him or to punish him, Bolo couldn’t know, but it was the only opportunity he could see before him. He stepped into the water, the rain cascading around him, and swam slowly out to meet his fate.

  22

  Thomas steered the boat as steadily as he could through the increasingly choppy waters. He didn’t like the way the wind was picking up and whipping around them. Right now, it was easy to maintain a straight course by holding the sun in the same position that Chief Josefa had instructed him to do, but if the clouds kept massing as they were and the grayness that was saturating the air around them grew much darker, then he would lose the sun as a reliable compass point.