Sophie was huddled up in the middle of the boat, hugging herself against a perceived coldness but the temperature remained, in Thomas’s mind, pleasant and cool. A temporary reprieve from the burning sun. In front of the boat, the witch, as he had come to think of her, was unmoving. She faced the front, her robe billowing around her. Not once had she bothered to look back at them or speak a word. Alright with me, he thought.
It was then that the silhouette of the small island that was their destination emerged through the murky haze in the distance. He recognized the shape from his previous visit, small and low in profile. “Halfway there!” he shouted out over the snapping gusts. His sister raised her head to see for herself. At the sight of it, she straightened up and stiffened her back. Ready for battle, he thought. That’s good, Sophie. You’re strong. You’ll need to be strong.
The gloom increased with a frightening speed, like a hand had reached down and plucked the sun from the sky. With it, the wind grew even angrier and he struggled to keep the boat moving in a straight line. Its prow bobbed and swayed back and forth as he made continuous efforts at correction. The first fat raindrop pelted him in the cheek and within seconds they were swept upon by a torrential downpour. He could no longer see any signs of the sun, nor could he make out the outline of the island he had seen only a moment before. All he could do was hold the handle of the little outboard motor steady and hope that the wind didn’t blow them off course. He assumed they had enough fuel to get to the island and back, but what happened if they took an unforeseen detour? Would they end up drifting out at sea? He could picture the local news, showing their shrunken bodies, severely dehydrated and red from the sun, floating along in a tiny, piece of shit boat out in the middle of nowhere. Just a couple dumb tourists that thought they’d go out for a short adventure and ended up looking like mummies dried out from a thousand years in the desert.
Then the witch raised a frail arm, pointing ten degrees off to the right. He had already gone off course. Well, he thought, if nothing else, she’s already proved her worth. He made the correction, turning into the wind, and tried again to hold the craft steady.
It went this way for the next thirty minutes. Him doing his best to navigate through the storm, and the witch occasionally pointing a long, bony finger in the direction he was supposed to be going, but eventually they were close enough where even the dark skies and pelting rain couldn’t obscure their destination.
A few more minutes and they were near enough for Thomas to jump out. After pulling up the outboard, he surveyed the dark shapes of coral below, and once he saw a clear sandy spot, leapt over the side into waist deep water. Carefully, he guided the boat up to shore, making sure none of the sharp formations below the surface tore at his skin or cracked the hull. Maybe an unnecessary precaution, he knew, but he wasn’t about to risk damaging the only vessel they had that would enable them to leave this place.
It wasn’t the only one though. Once they were ashore and standing on solid ground, Sophie met his eyes and pointed down the beach. In the distance, at the edge of their vision in the ill-tempered weather, he could see another small boat pulled up on shore.
“Let’s start there!” he shouted. She nodded and took his hand.
They made their way up the beach, shielding their faces as best they could, weaving back and forth like drunken sailors as the wind raged around them. The little old lady, Noni, trailed along after them. Thomas wouldn’t have thought somebody so frail could move so fluidly through an onslaught of wind and rain that challenged even a man his size, but she walked on like she was out for a casual evening stroll.
Finally, they neared the other craft. The boat appeared to be a match to their own, looking nearly identical and with the same motor. The interior was basically empty but for a fishing pole, a sack, and a small net.
“Is this one of yours?” he yelled back to Noni.
She looked over the boat, looked back at the boat they had left behind, then turned back to Thomas and gave a curt nod.
He started to ask her who would be here, and why, but then realized that there was no way for her to answer him. Presumably, she wouldn’t understand what he was asking her to begin with.
Instead, he directed his attention to Sophie, who still had that stiff, upright posture of resoluteness, and shouted to her. “It must be another villager! A fisherman, it looks like!” He paused to look at the thick green forest that lined the beach fifty yards or so away. “Keep your eyes open and be ready for anything.” She nodded in understanding. They had to be ready for anything, they had no idea just what they were getting themselves into.
“I’ll take the lead!” Sophie shouted back.
Thomas started to protest, then realized that they had no other option. He’d only ever been on the beach, never needing to step into the jungle. Sophie knew this place, to some degree. He knew nothing. What about the witch? he thought. Should we ask her to lead?
Before he could determine an answer, one was provided for him. The old lady began to walk off toward the jungle, never looking back to check if they were following. After a moment’s pause and a shared look of surprise, they both fell in behind her, following at a short distance. Noni crossed the wet sand, her footprints not even registering.
Thomas noticed. If anybody were to come behind us they’d only see two sets of prints. It would be like the old witch wasn’t even there.
Noni approached the line of trees, framed in front of hundreds of leaves dancing in the wind, and slipped into the darkness, the dense foliage closing around her at once. After a slight hesitation, Sophie followed, with her big brother right on her heels.
23
The rain pelted down on Bolo so hard that even with keeping his head constantly above water he felt as though he could drown. He didn’t even realize the beach where Daucina had been standing before was now empty until he emerged wholly from the lake and stood drenched upon the sand. Bright flashes lit the sky, each momentary brilliance of light capturing the movements on the ground like snapshots of a camera. No rumbles of thunder could be heard. Bolo didn’t like that. It seemed unnatural.
As he looked up toward the Bure, the great camera in the sky snapped again, and the light glimpsed the imposing figure of Daucina ascending the stairs. With no other options, Bolo walked across the beach to follow. With shoulders slumped, head low, and clothes clinging to his body, he presented a perfect picture of the defeated soldier. If the Gods truly are taking snapshots, what a picture this will make, he thought. They would have a stirring remembrance of the results of a man who strove to reach too far and was brought low. A good lesson for any other mortal who suffers from temptation to play in the world of beings greater than themself.
As he reached the stairs he realized he was crying. His tears were hidden by the onslaught of those falling from the Heavens but he could feel them all the same. Their trails were hot compared to the coolness of the raindrops. Normally the idea of crying would have filled him with self-loathing but he was no longer the man he once was. The feelings of strength and confidence he possessed only hours before were gone, replaced by the knowledge he was totally insignificant. Conquered.
I’m no champion of a god, no champion of my people. I’m just a failed husband and father. What good am I to anyone?
His legs struggled to carry him up the stairs and he felt like even those once reliable appendages were loath to obey such a worthless creature. But they continued, knowing they would only get the one master, no matter how pitiful that master might be.
As he trudged up and through the doorway, he moved just a few steps into the room, stopping just short of seeing around the long white cloth that hung over the altar. He felt an aversion to witnessing anything that might have happened in that room. That might have happened to his sweet Sala.
“Bolo?” Her voice came to him, trembling and frightened.
Thank you, she’s alive! was his first thought. But for how long? was the next. Was Daucina waiting for him to look u
p and witness the slaughter of his beloved wife? Surely, he had a severe punishment coming to him. Their flight wouldn’t be overlooked, would it?
“Bolo?” Her voice came with a touch of desperation now, barely hidden beneath a tone that suggested she was crying.
He couldn’t just stand there ignoring her. If she was going to be sacrificed to show him a lesson then he deserved to see it. To avoid her was to abandon her.
Keeping his head hanging low, he raised his eyes up toward her voice and took a shaky step forward. The muscles of his legs were rubber. The view behind the white curtain wasn’t promising, but it wasn’t yet final either. Sala sat on the stone slab of the altar with the newborn sucking away happily at her large, black breast. Standing beside her, towering over them both, was the imposing figure of Daucina, his long fingers wrapped around the back of Sala’s neck, just as a father might rest his hand on the neck of a small, disobedient child. Bolo didn’t think this was meant to be a paternal gesture, though. No, this was something entirely different from that, he was sure. At least, Sala didn’t appear to be in pain. He took that as a positive start. But where would this finish? How was it to play out?
“He wants me Bolo. To take care of the baby.”
“That’s good, Sala. You’ll be good at that.” He thought she would be good at anything that kept her alive. “And what does he want of me?” There was still too much fear in him to look at Daucina directly. Besides, he was used to averting his eyes away from the endless black hole that substituted for a face.
There was a brief scrape of movement over the dusty stone floor, then a large, powerful hand was gripping the lower half of his face. He felt an intense pressure that threatened to snap the bones of his jaw and brought a fresh flood of tears to his eyes, but it stopped just as Bolo had resigned himself to being crushed to death. His head was raised and he was staring at the swirling vortex, towering nearly two feet above him.
Then it was dark. The room disappeared around him and he was alone, spinning in the void. Am I dead? he wondered. Was it that fast? Is this my punishment? Suddenly figures appeared in the dark, walking toward him, small and bright in the distance. Gradually they grew closer, three of them, until he could just make out their faces. It’s her! he realized. The pretty white girl he had seen in a similar vision when the spirit had approached him during his work at building. She was following a small, bent shape in a robe who seemed to be walking through the jungle, fearlessly. There was something familiar about that one. Close at her back was a large man with a powerful build and a stern face.
He was just beginning to wonder who these people were and if they were actually on this island when another figure burst out of the thick foliage, ambushing the threesome. A dark madman wielding a bladed tool. Bolo wanted to shout out at them, tell them to run, but he realized that it was pointless. Even if they could hear him it was too late for warnings. The dark man attacked the tall white man in the rear first, slamming the sharp end of his tool into the man’s neck. The man had only just begun to look around when the blow took him. He never had a chance even to put up his hands in defense. His head flopped over at an unnatural angle as blood sprayed the ground and the two women in front of him. The pretty dark-haired girl screamed and grabbed for the falling man but as she did so, another fierce blow took her right across the face. The dark man was wild-eyed, mouth open in a primal scream as he looked forward toward the last person, a small old woman, who hadn’t panicked at all. She’d simply sat on the ground with her head bowed. A moment later and her head was toppled from her small, bent body to roll upon the jungle floor at the wild man’s feet. The man screamed in victory, raising his arms toward the sky. His features were so twisted in beastly fury that Bolo almost didn’t recognize the face. Even though it was a face he had grown up with.
“No!” he shouted out into the void. “NOOOO!!!”
But he was no longer shouting into the void, he was shouting into the thick, muscular midsection of the God that had seemed to once favor him. The hand clenching his jaw held firm and he realized that in this world he couldn’t scream at all. He could barely talk at all.
“I can’t, please. I can’t kill anybody.” His voice sounded high and childlike in his ears. Then the large head of Daucina bent down close to him and Bolo was sure he would be swallowed up into the black hole and disappear just as swiftly as a rock thrown into the dark sea at night.
He wasn’t swallowed up though. Another vision appeared before him, this one occurring as if it were happening in the real world, not in the void. He could see Daucina looming over him and he could see Sala upon the stone slab, looking half-crazed with fear and worry, but he could also see both of them in another space, as if they had suddenly doubled. Daucina was pinning Sala to the altar, the baby nowhere to be seen. He held one of those monstrously large hands at her throat, choking off her screams. And she was trying to scream. Her mouth was open wide and her face strained with effort, but nothing was getting through. He’s choking her! he realized. He tried to move forward but it was as if his body were only there for decoration. He could see it below him but he felt nothing. As he watched his wife being strangled, he saw the other monstrous hand come up and rip away her blouse, then her bottoms, leaving her completely naked. Her pregnant belly looked near to bursting and her breasts, which had seemed to double in size at this late stage of pregnancy, flopped around as she struggled valiantly. Then Daucina, apparently satisfied with her nakedness, moved down toward her legs. So large was He, He could manage this without releasing her neck. It was only after He made the move that it registered to Bolo that Daucina was also naked and an enormous member swung back and forth between his legs. A grotesque thing full of giant veins that seemed to strain toward his wife as if it had a mind of its own. Again, Bolo tried to scream, tried to reach out to fight off this foul creature, no matter how hopeless the task, but he was unable to do anything but watch, and watch he did. He had no choice. He saw Daucina force his wife’s kicking legs apart and move up between them. He saw him thrust his hips forward, repeatedly. The version of Sala in the void seemed to lose all struggle then and Bolo couldn’t tell if she was even still alive, but then a hand rose, trying to push the beast away from her. Her face was blocked from him by Daucina’s back – he would feel a deep pang of guilt in a moment when he would be thankful for this – then Daucina’s free hand, the one not still dug into her throat, began slashing out at his wife, back and forth, all while He thrust away at her.
When the vision cleared the hand was no longer crushing his jaw. It couldn’t, he was on the floor, sobbing and wailing in a pitiful version of his former self.
With trepidation, he raised his head to see his wife, hoping there was still something left of her. She was there, staring back at him, unmoved from where she had been before the vision had overcome him. Tears streaked her face and she looked overcome with terror.
“Bolo,” she whispered, shaky and pleading. “I saw it too, Bolo. Please. Please don’t let that happen to me.”
He shifted his gaze to the monstrosity towering over him. Daucina raised a long, muscular arm to point across the room. Following his direction, Bolo saw a table along the wall. Sticking over the edge of the table was a wood handle. Feeling as if there is no other choice, Bolo stood and approached it, already knowing, deep down in his heart, what it would be.
Sitting on the table was a crude axe, one he had used for chopping bamboo and branches. It was a long, wooden shaft with a wicked piece of obsidian tied to the end. Only that morning Bolo had used it to create a new home for his family. Now he was being forced to use it for an entirely different purpose. He stared down at the previously useful object as if it had turned into a poisonous snake that threatened to strike out at him. With a near debilitating sense of dread he reached down and grabbed the handle. His eyes took in the dark swirls of the inky glass and noted how greedily it drank at the light of the room. Without intending to, he envisioned droplets of blood running along its length. Th
e blood of strangers, people who had done no wrong to him.
Turning to face his wife, axe held low at his side, he gave her a look so lost and hopeless she burst out in renewed tears.
“I’m sorry, Bolo! There’s no other way.” She stifled her sobs in two quivering hands.
Bolo only stared back, then turned and walked out the door into the deepening gloom of the storm.
24
They followed the old witch through the dense green of the jungle, keeping in a tight line to avoid getting separated. The trees and bushes seemed to close in tighter and tighter around them as the light faded to dark. If it weren’t for the bright but silent flashes that lit the sky they might have lost her altogether, but that flickering celestial switch allowed them to see her often enough to remain a group.
On they went, brushing aside branches and stepping through ever expanding puddles, for what felt like hours. It was slow going. In real time, they walked only about a half an hour before they broke through the pack of trees and entered a grassy clearing. With the next big flash of light, they could see that the clearing went on for a few hundred yards or more before the thick jungle resumed. Noni paused then, saying nothing, just staring across the expanse then gazing up into the storm. Her face appeared as a living map to a land of a thousand rivers, with each deep-set wrinkle gathering water.
Thomas peered around the open ground with suspicion. The deeper they went into the island the more his senses tingled with anticipation. He felt the weight of the club in his right hand, offering him some small reassurance. It wasn’t the most formidable of weapons, he much would have preferred something obnoxiously large and loud, like a fully automatic machine gun maybe, or hell, a rocket launcher even, but the club would have to do. And it would do, he thought, in most cases.
Cave of Bones (Dark Island Series Book 2) Page 16