Cave of Bones (Dark Island Series Book 2)

by J. D. Matheny

  That evening, however, as small groups of villagers gathered for talk and laughter, Bolo passed by without a word and without responding to any invitations for food or drink. He shared in no stories or laughter. Friends called out and joked to him as he passed yet he simply moved past without even a sideways glance, leaving those behind him staring after him in confusion. He didn’t care, in fact, he didn’t even register their existence, he simply went about his mission. If he had stopped to contemplate his actions and how they were received he would have laughed at the absurdity of his former friends and tribemates. They were lost, just as he had been. They now worshipped a false God, one the white people told them they should worship. The old ways were left behind and even Bolo had lost himself along the new path.

  But now he was found. He had been shown the way, shown the errors of the people. All these many years the Chiefs and the elders had warned them all to avoid the island, to avoid Vaqava, because there was evil there, but he knew the truth now. Instead of avoiding it they should have been focused on returning. The greatness of the people didn’t come from pursuing modernization. They didn’t need to work to make money just to buy cell phones and televisions like the white people, the islands provided all they needed. The greatness of the people came through the Gods and the islands themselves. Daucina had shown him, with a vision so clear it brought tears to Bolo’s eyes. A return was needed, a renewed respect for the Gods and the old ways, and Daucina had a plan to make that happen. A plan involving Bolo, and he took immense pride in that.

  But Bolo knew he alone couldn’t convince the people to make drastic changes in their lifestyles. If he told them they needed to go back to Vaqava and stop whoring themselves out to get money from the white people they would laugh at him and tell him he was crazy. If he insisted the Gods wanted them back and would restore them to their past glory they would tell him the Gods were gone. They would speak of their new God, the only God there was left for them now. Oh, they knew so little! Bolo knew better, he had seen one, with his hair of fire and shadowy face. Nobody had ever seen the white man’s God, yet they worshipped him anyway.

  Yes, nobody would believe Bolo, but they didn’t have to. It wasn’t his purpose. Daucina already had a plan, and while Bolo wasn’t the central figure in it, he was a part, and he was grateful. He would execute his part and do it happily for his God and for his people. It was the most important thing he could ever do. So, while in some deep part of his being he wanted to stop and share food and drinks with his family and friends, to laugh and joke with them, to kick up some dirt and maybe do some fighting, he persisted with his goal. That was what remained firmly in the forefront of his mind. Those other things didn’t matter right now, they were but a distraction.

  “Bolo, you’re back! Pick me up, you said when you got back you’d make me fly.” A little boy of six had planted himself firmly in front of Bolo, blocking his way with the intent of getting what had been promised him earlier. Bolo always gave him rides, either on his back while running or on his hands, held high up over head. This time, however, Bolo simply walked through him, giving him a rough push to the side as he went. “Ouch! Hey! Ima tell my brother on you, he’s bigger than you and he’ll punch you on the nose.” The boy ran off in a trail of tears. Bolo continued, the threats unnoticed.

  As he approached his simple little house made of wood and concrete he could see his wife through the front window, preparing food for him, most likely. Sala was very dutiful, and even near to giving birth she always did her duties as a wife. When he woke in the morning she would have fruit waiting for him, and when he returned in the evening, dinner would be ready, or close to it. The house would be clean, with the floors freshly swept and the clothes already washed and hung up. After dinner, it was normal for her to rub the aches from his back and neck. And she was always ready and willing to do her wifely duties in the bedroom, as well. Bolo was a lucky man. He knew she would take on her new responsibility now, as always. Though he wasn’t yet sure whether he would tell her what the task was. It might be better to think of some excuse to get her away from here then to tell her the truth, which would be no easy feat. Sala was accustomed to her daily duties in the home and village, not to going out on the open sea with her husband. Some sweet talking was in order.

  “You look like a flower in full bloom tonight, my wife.” He spoke the words as he stood at the doorway gazing upon her. It was sweet talk but it was not contrived, it came from the heart. She really was beautiful. Her hair was black and kept short, easier to deal with the heat. She was at the kitchen sink washing vegetables and wearing a long skirt and a tank top shirt stretched out over her large belly. Despite the late term of her pregnancy, Sala had managed to stay in decent shape, and Bolo appreciated it now as he looked on her. There was something about the way she carried his child and the look of it on her that fired up his loins and he felt the heat rise in him.

  “Bolo, the day spent in the sun must have made you crazy, I’m just a big, fat woman now,” she laughed as she continued washing, not bothering to look back at him. “There’s water for a shower and dinner should be done while you are out. The Palusami I prepared yesterday. Was the catch big today?”

  “Very big,” he whispered into her ear as he came up behind and pressed himself against her. “I caught so many fish today it feels like a time to celebrate.” He began to nibble and kiss at her shoulders while he pulled her skirt up around her waist. She was about to protest, as he knew she would, being in the middle of preparing dinner. She would want to wait, but Bolo had no intention of waiting, the fire was upon him and it needed quenching, so before she could get the first word completely out he pushed himself into her. After, he felt all protest melt away and watched in satisfaction as she braced both hands against the wall in front of her to hold herself up against his vigor. So overtaken was she by the strength of his passion, she didn’t even bother to drop the Dalo leaves from her hands, they just remained clenched in her fists. Watching her be so overcome made him feel more a man, more primitive, and he increased the power of his thrusting as he gently but forcefully pushed her head forward against the wall with his left hand and pulled her hip up with his right. The way he went at her was almost punishing but he knew his wife liked it this way and soon she was crying out in a torrent of pleasure, which caused him to join her in climax and he released himself into her.

  “Bolo.” She looked back over her shoulder, surprised but glowing with pleasure.

  “I thought of you all day, wife. Out on the water, catching fish after fish, and just thinking how wonderful it would be to have you by my side, sharing the beauty of the waters and the food coming out of the sea.” He didn’t remove himself from her, merely stroked her hair and fondled her swollen breasts, doing all the things he knew would soften her up.

  “You want me to fish with you? What a strange idea! The fishermen never take their wives, Bolo. The sun really must have made you mad.”

  “Am I mad, or are all the other fishermen mad? Maybe the other fishermen don’t have wives as beautiful as mine or they would want to take them. I don’t care if they think I am crazy, tomorrow I want you to come with me on the boat. Maybe the fish can be left in peace tomorrow and we can go someplace away from here and have food together.”

  He knew this was a strange request, unique even. Men didn’t take their wives out on the boats, or on any other chores they attended during the day. Men had their tasks to do and the women had tasks of their own. It wasn’t considered proper to mix the two, but Bolo needed to change things up, otherwise his true task would fail. To keep the momentum on his side while she absorbed what he was saying, he went back to kissing her neck and fondling her breast. As he did this, he could feel her hips begin to squirm around, which caused him to begin stiffening inside her.

  “Bolo …” she whispered as her hip movements began to increase in speed and motion. Within minutes she was crying out again, totally unconcerned with being heard by anybody outside and Bolo felt c
onfident she would acquiesce to his wishes.

  When she caught her breath and her wits came back to her, she pulled away and turned to him with a smile. “Let’s get cleaned up and talk about this at dinner.”

  8

  The following morning, Bolo and Sala were out of the house early, having packed some fruit and boiled Dalo root for their planned lunch outing. Bolo hadn’t told her where he might take her, though he knew exactly where they were going. She wasn’t likely to protest too much. Though most of the villagers still knew some history of Vaqava, it was only a distant memory of childhood tales to most but the fishermen who came in sight of it on a regular basis and the elders who still held the past in high regard. She might say something on the matter but he didn’t expect it to be a problem. Truthfully, he didn’t care if she did bring it up, because if she didn’t, he was going to.

  There needed to be groundwork laid for this all to work. If not done properly, she was likely to lose herself and flee or faint, which would not be ideal. He would understand, it wasn’t every day one looked upon the face of a God, but he wasn’t sure how Daucina would take it. Perhaps it would be an insult and anger him. Bolo didn’t want that to happen, so he would prepare her as best as he could without making himself seem like a crazy person.

  Soon they were at his little wooden boat and pushing off from shore. He fired up the engine as the boat glided out toward sea and smiled as the roar of it broke in to the early morning silence. It was always a satisfying sound to his ears. He steered toward the North and settled in to the comforting slap of the water breaking against the hull and the engine gurgling out from underneath the surface, two of the best sounds he knew. The idle speed he kept low. He planned to talk and needed to make sure the importance of this conversation could be heard.

  He looked at his wife, who was braced up in the front of the boat, staring out in front of her. The morning rays of light lit her up to create a beautiful picture. “Do you like it?” he said with his voice raised over the engine.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, turning her smiling face back to him, drops of sea spray glistening on her cheeks and forehead. “Bolo, I didn’t know before what you must feel like every day. It’s like being free for the first time.” She turned her face back to the front of the boat, smiling out over the sea and raising her face up toward the sun and bathing in the wind. She was in the finest of spirits.

  “Every day should be like this for you wife! Freedom, it’s what us Fijians are meant for. It is why we are such happy people, but our people are less happy than they used to be. Have you seen it?” He waited anxiously to see her response. This was the start of his plan, the seed he hoped to plant, then nourish in quick fashion. He watched as she turned her face back around, her smile still in place, but now it was crooked with curiosity.

  “What do you mean, Bolo? You don’t think our people are happy?”

  They were now halfway to their destination, each island an outline in the distance, one before them and one behind. He let off the engine and shut it down to let the boat glide forward on its momentum and silence take over. This needed to be heard and to sink in.

  “No, they aren’t happy Sala. Not like they should be. Not like they used to be! Changes are coming fast to the villages and soon we will be like those others on the big islands. We will want phones we can carry around with us and televisions to watch pretend stories. Already some of the children are sent to Suva to the university so they can get jobs on the islands, but why do they do this? To have the modern things, that’s why. We are a happy people but soon we will be slaves, Sala. Soon we will only want money to buy the modern things, as if those things will make us happier. Do you see?”

  They had never had this type of discussion before but what he said was the truth. It was all there in front of them and the ideas were in his head, but they had been buried. Until Daucina had brought them forward into the light. Bolo knew it was true and he spoke now with the fiery conviction of that truth. He could see it was reaching his wife, as well. She remained quiet but she looked thoughtful, so he continued, intending to win her over. She had to be won over, that much was vital.

  “We have both seen it, Sala. The children going away to learn don’t come back. The villagers seem more and more unhappy because they see those modern things as things they want and can’t have. Often the men come back with beer and cigarettes from Suva and sit around and get drunk during the day instead of working. It’s like a sickness. If they didn’t know of these phones and televisions and television games they wouldn’t be so unhappy. They wouldn’t think about needing them. They would just be content with what they have! But now they see those things are there and they want them. This makes them unhappy. I’ve been to the South Island, the people there work all day, almost every day, just for a little money. They aren’t happier for it. Soon, we will be like that too. Our people will just keep leaving to find jobs and to make a little money to try to buy those silly things. When we are older, we will be one of the few left and our children will be gone to work like slaves with the rest.

  This isn’t a future I want, Sala. For us or for our children.”

  She looked at him solemnly, absorbing his words and stroking absent-mindedly at her belly. He knew he was putting a lot on her but he had little time and he thought it was best to shock her. Maybe then she would go along with his thinking instead of taking months or years to see the big picture. Because she didn’t have months or years, neither of them did. She had about thirty more minutes before she would be confronted with the reality of their future. He watched his wife intently as she processed all he had told her.

  “It’s a sad thought, Bolo. I can agree though, I can see it happening, like you’ve said. Let’s just go to the beach and have a wonderful time together. This talk is a sad way to begin the day.”

  “We’ll get to the other island soon. I know how to make things better, you will see. Then you will know the future will be a better one.”

  Bolo got the boat moving North again, nervous with anticipation about how his lovely wife would take things once they reached their destination. He didn’t exactly know what Daucina had planned, he only knew they were expected. Daucina might be standing on the beach, waiting for them, but he hoped not. It was no way for his wife to be introduced. Bolo expected they would need to walk to the Bure Kalou, in the middle of the island, and He would be waiting there for them. Sala wouldn’t appreciate having to be on her feet so long in the hot sun, but he hoped she wouldn’t argue against it.

  Gradually, the shore of Vaqava grew bigger and bigger as they drew near, until he could run the boat right up to within a few feet of the sandy beach. He hopped out into a foot of water, shouldered their food bag, and helped his wife out of the boat and up to the shore. Then he went back to drag the boat firmly up onto the sand. Thankfully, the beach was an empty stretch of gold. Sala took in the new landscape, her eyes squinting with a hint of suspicion.

  “This is a nice place, but I think you have brought me to the old island, Bolo. Don’t the elders say to stay away from this place?” She looked around with some trepidation but it was overshadowed by curiosity.

  Bolo took it as a good sign. What an amazing woman she was. “The elders carry forward old stories meant to scare children, that is all. The truth is much less frightening, once you look past the surface. This island is a special place and the answer to saving our people is here, Sala. You’ll see.”

  “It is very pretty, and so quiet and peaceful. I don’t see monsters running around.” She looked up and down the beach as she said this, as if looking to confirm what she said was true. “Do you want to walk me down the beach?” She held out her hand to him as he pulled the boat further up on dry land to make sure it didn’t pull out to drift away with the tides.

  “For a little way, to the end of the mountain over there,” he said, pointing. “Then I want to take you for a walk through the island, to the middle. There is a special place there.” He watched as Sa
la gave him a suspicious look. “I’ve only been here one time, wife. The rest of the days I have always spent fishing, I promise.”

  He took her hand and shouldered the food as they made their way up the beach, bare feet digging into the coarse yellow sand, leaving a ghost trail wherever they stepped. The picturesque beach was marred only by bits of green vegetation washed ashore. No other living beings shared their tranquility other than the occasional spidery crab that would skitter sideways out of their path, as if not wanting to take their eyes off them. It was a special day and Bolo felt more confident in what he was doing with every step bringing them closer to Him.

  Sala seemed to be doing well with the walking. One hand was placed constantly on her belly while the other was joined with his. The surroundings seemed to be occupying her attention. They were like their home island of Kabara, but still held interest to her just being something new and different. It was a funny thing, being on an island could make a person feel so sheltered, yet so free at the same time. Even growing up on an island didn’t prevent you from the occasional feelings of being trapped though. Sometimes there were opportunities to get away to the mainland, and Bolo had been there a couple of times. It had been good to take those trips, not only to get away, but to see how other Fijians lived. On those occasions, he had been somewhat amazed, seeing all the buses and cars driving about, the locals in their bright clothes and carrying portable phones. There were businesses and hotels everywhere and Fijians going to and from work. He wasn’t aware of Sala ever making it to the other islands, so just being someplace different was probably special to her.

  “Do you like this place?”

  “Oh yes! I didn’t realize how much I wanted to see something new until now. Our island is so beautiful, but I know every tree and plant on it. To see all these same things, but in unusual places, it makes me feel new again.” She was still looking around as she spoke, drinking in every detail.