Blood & Stone: The Saboteur Chronicles Book 3

by J. V. Roberts

  Dominic looked back at him and laughed. “You even know what an invader looks like, kid? They come by force, take what they want, and leave you with your dick in the dirt; last I checked, we were invited. If I were an invader you wouldn’t be standing, you wouldn’t be armed, and you damn sure wouldn’t be shooting your mouth off. So relax.”

  “You talk tough because you’re protected by my father’s hospitality. If me and you were outside, I’d take your head off your shoulders.”

  “Well, one thing’s for sure, you wouldn’t be the first to try. You also wouldn’t be the first to fail.” Dominic turned back to the council. “Hey, if the resident badass says we’re not needed, we’re happy to get back on our boat and leave.” He backed toward the door, his hands raised at his sides.

  “No!” Arav shouted, half-standing from his chair and turning his eyes on the belligerent warrior. “You seek to curse this land! Leave, this instant! All of you go!”

  “But Father—”

  “Leave!”

  The young warriors began to file out of the room. The one who’d shown the hostility was the last to move; he eyed Dominic the whole way out, arms tense with aggression.

  “Nice to make your acquaintance.” Dominic smiled and waved as they exited.

  “Must you always instigate,” Lerah muttered.

  Arav settled into his chair. “My son, you’ll have to forgive him. These young ones, they don’t respect tradition like me and you.”

  “I’ve never been one for tradition. But I do have to ask, why when you have four able-bodied warriors are you hiring out to a couple of drifters?”

  “The gods, of course.”

  “You’re talking about old…Turook over there.” Dominic gestured to the four-foot totem with the snake arms.

  “Turook’Mala.” The man sitting on Arav’s right side corrected Dominic with a flick of his tongue.

  “He is the God of the Snake,” Arav said. “Turook’Mala is cunning, deceitful, but he does not kill. Furoon’Lo is our protector; he is the God of the Wolf. He is strong, mighty, but he is…fickle.”

  “That still doesn’t answer my question. Why can’t your men kill the wolves?”

  “One day Furoon’ Lo will turn and cover us in his shadow once more, but if he sees the faces of the ones who shed his blood, he will turn away from us forever. That’s why it must be you. We do not want to see the great wolf die, but its anger burns bright and we can’t afford to lose any more of our own to its bloodlust.”

  Dominic looked to Lerah; she shrugged, just as confused as he was. But the tribe was offering food and supplies and, at the end of the day, the logic of it all didn’t matter. If the tribe wanted to lighten their coffers over silly superstition, Dominic was happy to help.

  “Alright, point us in their direction.”

  ***

  As they traipsed through the dense foliage of the island jungle in the direction of the wolf den Dominic studied the bow the villagers had given him with growing disappointment. “How am I supposed to kill anything with this?”

  “Here, you big baby, I’ll trade you.” Lerah handed him the spear and took the bow and a small bundle of arrows.

  “I should just shoot them, make it easier,” Dominic said, feeling the pistol nestled beneath his shirt against the small of his back.

  “And waste our final magazine on a few oversized dogs? I don’t think so.”

  The wolves weren’t hard to find. The den was right where Arav said it would be. Though they weren’t quite as large as advertised, they were still fearsome animals with long fangs and blood-matted fur. Lerah, despite her enthusiasm for the bow, was no expert. She wasn’t scared, but her limited experience left her shaky and inaccurate when it came to tracking her targets. She wounded the first one, forcing Dominic to finish it by driving the spear through its chest; it howled and died.

  The final two charged as a pair, splitting up at the last second; one went for Lerah and the other for Dominic.

  Lerah was quick and nimble. She knew she didn’t have enough room to effectively ward the wolf off with her bow. She cast it aside and accepted the wolf’s embrace. As she fell back toward the ground she drew the blades sheathed at her hips and began stabbing the wolf on either side of its chest, over and over, sending blood and fur flying in every direction.

  Dominic wasn’t quite so nimble. The wolf was too close to stab with the sharp end of the spear, so Dominic tried using it as a club instead. The problem was that he didn’t have the proper leverage to build up the force needed to knock the beast off course. The beast’s front paws hit his chest and he went down hard, bouncing his head off the base of a palm tree. His vision exploded into a white haze of flashing stars. He wanted to reach for his machete…no…fuck it…he wanted to reach for his pistol. But he needed both hands free to keep the iron jaws from latching onto his throat. Just as the wolf’s muzzle was spinning into focus it howled in pain and a torrent of blood splashed across Dominic’s face. He coughed and sputtered as the wolf’s body went limp and sagged across his chest.

  “Alright, my love, to your feet.” She pulled him up and began brushing the leaves from his back.

  “Was that really necessary?” He was still wiping the blood from his stinging eyes. “I had it.”

  “Oh yeah, you looked to be in complete control.”

  “Told you I should have used my gun. Shouldn’t have listened to you.”

  “This is coming from the guy I saw take down three armed men in a narrow hallway using only a machete and his good looks.” She had her arms crossed below her breasts, a wry grin on her face. “Seems like you’re getting soft on me, soldier.”

  “Apparently I dodge bullets better than I dodge teeth.” He was picking up palm leaves and trying to wipe the blood from his arms. “Besides, most of my targets never saw me coming.”

  “We should get going.” She reached down and tossed him his spear.

  “Yeah, let’s get paid and get off this island.”

  ***

  Lerah went back to the boat with the bow and spear to check on Hawthorne while Dominic returned to the village to collect their payment. He got strange looks from the tribespeople as he strolled into town, coated in death, his eyes stinging and half-closed. The three village elders were already waiting for him inside the meeting hall.

  “Did you kill the wolves?” Arav asked as he and the two other men looked Dominic over with little more than mild curiosity.

  “Are you fellas serious?” He extended his arms, turning them back and forth so they could see the dried smears of blood coating him from shoulder to fingertip.

  Their expressions didn’t change.

  “Yes. We killed the wolves. All three of them. Go to the den and look at their bodies if you don’t believe me.”

  “Did your partner not make it?”

  “She’s back at the boat.”

  “In a hurry?”

  “We are. We would like to get loaded up and offshore by sunset.”

  Arav nodded. “Very well.”

  Dominic left the meeting hall with a sack of goods slung over his right shoulder: smoked meat, potatoes, coconuts, and a few containers of clean drinking water. None of the tribespeople bid him farewell; they looked at him resentfully as if he’d just pillaged their storehouse.

  He was a hundred yards outside of the village when he found his path blocked by Arav’s son and the three other warriors; all of them were carrying long spears with sharp tips.

  “That food doesn’t belong to you, white devil.”

  “Your father just gave it to me; it’s in my hands, so I’d say it belongs to me.”

  “And your head is also attached to your body, but things can change,” the young warrior snapped his fingers, “like that.”

  “Listen, kid, what’s your name?”

  “Bhalal Harish. Son of Arav Harish. Warrior of the—”

  “Yeah, I get it. Listen…Bhalal, why don’t you and your buddies scramble on back to camp before one
of us does something we can’t walk back.”

  The warriors laughed in unison, squaring themselves up for a fight.

  Bhalal raised his spear. “Four of us. One of you.”

  “There are, indeed. But it’s like you just said, things can change.”

  There was nothing else for Dominic to say. The kid chose his fate when he pointed the sharp end of the spear in his direction. Lerah said there were no more fights to be had, but she’d grown up in a different world. Dominic had learned early on in life, back when he was dodging the business end of his Daddy’s boot, that the real fights, the ones that ended up putting you in the ground, came when you weren’t looking for them; there were always fights to be had, whether you wanted them or not.

  He let the sack loose. As it was falling his other hand reached behind his back and retrieved the pistol from beneath his shirt. Before the warriors could react, before the bag even landed, he had the pistol leveled off and his finger wrapped across the trigger. He fired twice, shooting the men on either side of Bhalal in the head.

  “Two of you. One of me.” Lerah had probably heard the shots; she’d be heading this way. He’d have to finish quick and intercept her; he didn’t want her getting in the middle of this.

  For a moment, Bhalal and the other warrior stood still, staring at the gun as if they’d never seen one before (they probably hadn’t). They looked at each other and then at the shattered heads of their compatriots. Dominic put the pistol away and drew the machete. The warrior beside Bhalal sprang first. He pushed forward off of the ball of his left foot, stabbing with the spear, a weak battle cry crackling in his throat. He moved like a man that’d never cut flesh before, like a man that’d never taken a life; timid and aimless. Dominic slapped the spear away with the flat part of the machete and chopped down. The blade took the warrior’s right arm off just below the elbow. While he screamed, clutching his bloody stump, Dominic turned into him and stabbed him through the heart. The young warrior hung there for a second, gagging soft syllables, eyes wide with shock, trying to come to grips with the fact that he was dying. Then, when he could no longer stand under his own power, he fell backward.

  “You killed him! You devil!”

  “He’s the one that chose to step into the darkness ass first.” Dominic advanced and Bhalal retreated. “This is what it feels like to face an invader.”

  “Get back! Devil! Help!” Bhalal lifted his spear but didn’t point it; he just used it to create a thin barrier. “Help me! Someone help me!”

  Dominic cut the spear in half with a flick of his wrist. “What do you think I should do with you, Bhalal? I come in here, I do honest work for honest pay, and you and your buddies wait until I’m exposed out here in the woods to pounce like a couple of back-alley cowards.”

  Bhalal’s back slammed against a palm tree. He gulped, sweating profusely, his pulse visibly pumping in his neck. He dropped the two ends of the spear and folded his hands together beneath his chin, teeth chattering.

  “Please don’t kill me!” he blubbered.

  “So your friends pay the price and you just get to walk free? Chances are that those hapless sonsofbitches were just following your lead.” Dominic set the blade of the machete on the center of Bhalal’s nose.

  Tears started to stream down Bhalal’s face. “I’m sorry! Please don’t!”

  “Dominic!” It was Lerah, standing at the edge of the jungle, blades in hand. “Don’t do it!”

  Dominic looked sideways at her and sighed. “Well,” he shrugged at Bhalal, “you heard the lady.” He pulled the machete back and hammered the bridge of Bhalal’s nose with the handle. Dominic turned toward her as he sheathed the blood-soaked machete; Bhalal was beside him on the ground, groaning and clutching his mangled nose. “A little late to the party.”

  “Grab the bag and move your ass!”

  Before Dominic could register the meaning behind the urgency in her voice an arrow whistled past his head. He turned and crouched. A cluster of men and women from the tribe were closing in fast, firing arrows and launching spears. He drew the pistol and rolled to the right as a spear plunked down beside him; the projectile had been launched by a short woman wearing a coconut shell bra. Dominic aimed the pistol carefully and fired once; the woman twirled and went down as the bullet tore through her shoulder. The crowd of tribal aggressors stopped in their tracks, their attention on the gun, their fear stoked by its ability to reach out so quickly and accurately. A couple of the men moved to assist the wounded woman as she screamed and squirmed in the dirt and leaves, but they stopped short, their eyes on Dominic, afraid of him, afraid of the silver serpent in his palms, afraid the next bite might come their direction. But Dominic knew something they didn’t: he only had eight bullets left and he was staring at twice as many armed aggressors.

  “Dominic!” Lerah yelled.

  He saw movement from the corner of his eye. Bhalal was up on one knee. He had taken half of the broken spear—the half that could ruin a good man’s day—and he had it cocked back over one shoulder, ready to fly.

  Without moving his knees, Dominic turned the upper half of his body and brought the pistol around with both hands, one finger massaging the trigger. The kid had the jump on him, but he kept calm, kept his breathing steady. There was no use in letting nerves take over. Once the adrenaline got loose and hit your veins, you were fucked; the shakes were liable to rip the gun right out of your goddamn hands. Bhalal was slow. His wires crossed. The circuitry all fucked up from the pop on the nose Dominic had given him. He was still holding the spear when Dominic fired twice in rapid succession; the second shot left the barrel before the first casing had touched the ground. Bhalal flew back and ricocheted off the tree; there were two holes in his chest. Kill shots. He was still squirming, a dim light still burning in his eyes, but the reaper would soon be by to collect.

  Six shots left.

  “Get the bag and move, Dominic!”

  He couldn’t hear her. Not over the rumble of the charging tribe. Not over the whistles of the spears and arrows raining down around him. The tribe had lost all fear. Everyone had a breaking point; a point where fear was no longer a factor in whether they acted. Seeing Bhalal gunned down was theirs.

  Dominic made a dash for the bag of food and supplies; he struggled to get traction on the wet leaves and loose dirt. He managed to coil his fingers around the bag and then turned and made a break for the cover of the jungle, hot on Lerah’s trail.

  “Did you really have to kill him?” Her arms were pumping in harmony with each stride.

  Dominic struggled to keep up. He wasn’t built for running; he was built for making other people run. “He’d already gotten away with pointing that thing at me once. Only reason he was still breathing was your good graces. Most people don’t get a second chance with that shit.” He leaped a fallen tree with much less grace than Lerah. The tribespeople were too close for comfort, shouting words he didn’t understand.

  “You and your ego.” She wasn’t panting. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.

  Up ahead, the trees cleared and the shoreline began. An arrow sank into the tree to his left, missing his head by inches.

  “Don’t slow down!” he yelled.

  They broke from the jungle and the white, powdery sand turned from serene to sinister as its scratchy fingers clawed at their feet, attempting to hold them in place until the indigenous could arrive and render justice. Dominic’s calves were burning. He fought for every inch as sweat poured from his brow. He was only halfway to the water, but Lerah was almost there. She would make it; he would make sure of that. He turned and drew his gun, walking backward and waiting for a target.

  The first one out of the jungle was a sinewy, older man wearing a loose crown of bones around his head. He had a bow drawn back and ready to fire. Dominic fired first and hit him in the stomach. The man stumbled forward and dropped the bow, sending the arrow plunging into the sand before he fell over sideways.

  More of the tribe emerged from the
jungle, coming in groups, firing off their spears and arrows faster than Dominic could pick his targets.

  Four bullets left.

  He was struggling to dodge the incoming projectiles, dancing back and forth as if he were walking barefoot over a bed of hot coals. His shots were going wide, wounding but not neutralizing, leaving his aggressors shaken, but standing.

  Three bullets left.

  They were rabid.

  Snarling.

  Baring black, unpopulated gums.

  They continued to shoot their arrows and throw their spears, ducking down after each assault, anticipating a return volley.

  He pulled the trigger. A man screamed as his left cheek was torn from his face.

  Two bullets left.

  “Dominic! What are you doing? Get on the boat!”

  His heels were touching the water. No time like the present. He turned and saw that the boat was drifting thirty-feet from the shore. Lerah was there, crouched on the deck, firing arrows down at his pursuers, using the lip of wood and metal that ran around the rim of the boat as shallow cover. Hawthorne was there too, leaning over the side, arms extended.

  “Come on, Dominic! I’ll pull you up!” He clapped his hands and waved him in.

  Dominic ran toward Hawthorne, or at least he attempted to; the current and the sucking sand caused him to move like a cripple wearing leg braces.

  Something hit him hard in the back of his right shoulder and sent fire coursing through his veins. “Sonofabitch!” he growled. He spun and spotted the man that had shot the arrow; he was out in front of the group, grinning and pointing at his bullseye. The look of satisfaction on his face switched to terror when he saw Dominic raising the pistol. At the last minute, before the bullet slammed into his naked chest, he looked as if he were trying to surrender; shaking his hands and lifting the empty bow as if it were a peace offering.