In his visions, he had seen not only a joyous and happy people that were grateful to be led back to the Old Ways, but a different version of himself, as well. More than just joyous and happy. More than just one of the people. He saw himself as the first and greatest priest of the newly rediscovered religion bent on growing the power and influence of the true and fleshly Gods. The Gods of sea and land, of plant and tree, strife and grief, sun and stars, rock and stick. They all had a place, working in harmony to give the people this wondrous land in which to dwell and flourish.
Daucina was just the first, but He had shown Bolo more. It wasn’t just for his own personal glory He had set Bolo upon this path. The distant future, He promised, would be as the distant past. The people would be reminded of the Old Way, and that way wasn’t to toil under the gaze of one all powerful, mighty God that made empty promises. That God demanded everything and gave nothing. Even Bolo’s own people, not so far removed from who they were as those on the bigger islands, had turned to praying to that God in their little churches. They prayed and sang, giving up offerings to enrich the church, all the while living as lowly paupers. On the occasion that something good happened in their lives they looked up to Heaven and shouted thanks, deeming their prayers to be answered. When something bad happened, or their lives just simply weren’t fruitful enough—meaning they didn’t have more to give to the church—they attributed their misfortune to the silliest of things, believing that their faith was being tested or that their God had noticed them lusting after their neighbor or having envious thoughts. Their sins were being punished.
Madness! Bolo thought, and spit on the ground in a display of his contempt. How his people could allow the white man to lead them down such an endlessly hopeless path full of hollow promises and away from their previously contented lives stumped Bolo and filled him with indignation. What made them think that the white man, the Europeans, were so smart as to have all the right answers? Because they had bigger boats or more colorful clothing? If the Europeans were so content why would they be sailing their big boats all over the world, always looking for more? Always needing more wasn’t a sign of a delighted life in Bolo’s eyes, it was a sign of insanity and greed. If anything, they should have recognized it as another test of their all-seeing God to know whether they were satisfied with what He provided. No wonder they are all unhappy, he thought, they chase and chase, always needing more, while leaving behind the gifts that were already provided. What God would be pleased with such rejection?
Bolo paused his thoughts and actions and stretched out his body one limb at a time, feeling the sharp tightness of his muscles loosen and sing in the warmth of the sun. Soon he would move to the shade, of which there was plenty, but for now he was happy in the mornings rays. Blessed, he thought again, looking around. He had settled with building on the North end of the island, for no other reason than it was further away from his previous home to the South. The landscape was no better and no worse. There were plenty of fruit trees and plants, and the sea was not too distant. The crashing waves could be heard like a greeting to the day, later to turn into a lullaby that would soothe them to sleep. What really made this part of the island special, though, was the remnants of his ancestors that were scattered about all around him. There were signs of old vales—where the families had stayed—and Bures—where the men had gathered, with their walls and thatch roofs now fallen and being slowly devoured by the land that had originally provided them. There were tools about, fine obsidian cutting tools still tightly bound and useful, of which he was enormously grateful to be using now. It saved time, and even though time stretched ever onward to the end of all things, it was passing too fast to Bolo. He supposed important work was always that way.
His connection with his visions were intensified as he imagined the past all around him, slowly reviving and waking up, ready to breathe again in the future he was now creating. Phantom children played together under the lush, green canopy, their laughter pealing out so distinctly in his mind he paused to listen, smiling. Mothers would be gathered together, weaving mats, or preparing food, offering nothing more than an occasional glance or shout to their children. This wasn’t a place where concern over a child’s safety was paramount. There were no crimes, no evil men hiding in clouds of suspicion waiting to snatch and run. The men here were too happy, and Bolo could picture them all about their tasks, doing what their fathers and grandfathers did before them. Some would be hunters and some fishermen, some would be builders, others Chiefs and Holy men. All happy to be fulfilling a role to support and better the village. That was what it was all about. Working together, creating a tapestry of love and laughter. There were no true possessions amongst the people, and outside of the trappings of invention and convenience, that was what Bolo considered to be the main fall of his brethren on the big islands. It was the separation. Every man striving to carve out the biggest piece he could while losing touch with those who didn’t have as much.
Again, it was the curse of the white man. Left to themselves, he was confident his people would still be as they were. It was the people of other places that were the shining beacon that his people now looked too. They were exposed now by the visitors that flooded on to their islands, bringing with them their portable phones and computers. Or worse, those that stayed, building large houses with swimming pools, and filling them up with all those evil comforts and conveniences. His people grew to idolize them, to worship their indulgence, forgetting that these things only served to sever their connection with their land, their Gods, and each other. Bolo was confident that this disease could be severed, but like any operation to cut out a sickness, it would be messy.
It would be bloody.
The phantoms of the past and future continued to play in his mind and he continued to revel in them, despite the anger and sadness his thoughts produced. Until the phantoms began to change.
Bolo realized that the shadows amongst the trees of his new paradise were no longer peaceful pools of cooling darkness. They were dancing.
He looked up to the treetops, scanning for signs of a strong breeze coming in from the ocean, but all was still and peaceful. Nothing moved. Nothing that would create that turbulence. Back on the ground, his eyes watched the shadows in suspicion. Was this Daucina’s work? He didn’t think so. The shadows around Daucina liked to dance and play as well, but that was because of the fiery crown that his God wore and there was no fire near.
Bolo stood and fully faced the darkness, his long-muscled limbs taut with tension as he prepared himself for the possibility of a flight or struggle. He found he relished the idea of struggle. To go into battle against a foe like his ancestors would have done. If only he had himself a heavy club, carved with wood spikes.
The shadows grew darker, shimmering, and jittering faster now, the edges pulling in toward the center, as if the shadow was nothing more than a blanket being drawn up from some figure rising beneath it. Slowly it manifested itself into a single form, dark and tall and without features. There was a sense of menace filling the air and Bolo didn’t think it was his aggression that was creating it. No, his aggression and battle lust was already dissipating, leaving in its place a growing dread and sense of doubt. A man he could do battle with, but a shadow?
The dark apparition grew taller as it flowed toward him, towering over him by two head lengths at the least. His body, previously tensed as if to spring into action, was now losing all sense of feeling and he looked down to see if he was even still standing. Suddenly, he was gripped with uncertainty and confusion. Was this some evil spirit that occupied this land or was it a warning from his ancestors? Am I doing the right thing?
Without realizing he had moved at all he found himself on his knees and the shadow spirit closed to within an arm’s length of him. Tears and sobs wracked him and he was overcome with the need to explain himself, explain his vision. To tell this creature he was bringing his people back to the Old Ways! But his explanation died on his lips, sounding off as nothin
g more than a feeble croak. A freezing touch landed on his forehead, so deeply cold it burned as if a hot poker had been pressed there. The feeling intensified and grew, enveloping the whole top of his head and the next moment it was gone, replaced by a single vision. His eyes were clenched shut in pain and fright but he saw a face, so clearly it may have well been directly in front of him, nose to nose. It was the face of a woman, sad and beautiful, with strands of dark and wild hair stuck to the wet tears on her face.
Just then a great commotion rang out beside him. Branches were snapping and birds squawked in fright. A great roar bellowed out, but Bolo couldn’t tell whether that too was in his head or not. It may have been, for the vision was no longer there and the deep cold upon his head was gone. Risking a glance, he swung his head to the right and saw the tall, powerful figure of Daucina bursting through the trees, his crown of fire blazing bright and leaving shimmering trails in the air. As he came onward, sweeping over the ground like a tsunami, the shadow gave way before it, dancing backward and gradually diminishing until the dark pools beneath the tree from whence it came seemed to swallow it up. Then it was gone.
Daucina continued his forward rush until he was standing at the base of the tree. He swung his whole upper body from side to side as if to search for his departed foe. Then, realizing that his battle was over before it had begun, he wrapped two gigantic, clawed hands around the base of the tree and in a fit of rage, heaved it up by the roots and flung it out before him.
Bolo watched in awe as the tree, which must have been twenty feet in length, sailed out at least thirty feet before it landed with a booming crash.
Then, all was silent. Daucina stood watching the tree, possibly waiting to see if his action would summon forth the spirit again. Bolo, still kneeling, watched to see if Daucina would be satisfied or whether he would look to him to further satisfy his lust for violence. Instead of more onslaught, the great beast of a man – no, God, he reminded himself – turned toward him and paused, as if studying him. Then, in three great strides He was hovering over him. Bolo felt great heat emanating out from the dark skin and swirling mass of nothingness that constituted a face, and wondered if he was about to be treated to another vision or whether his head was about to be crushed. But nothing so dramatic as that occurred. Instead, Daucina pointed down to the obsidian tool laying forgotten at Bolo’s feet, then strode off into the jungle, His point made.
Bolo picked the tool back up in a weak grip and prepared himself to continue his mission. The day stretched out before him, long and blessedly hot, and there was much to do.
14
Thomas grabbed a safety bar for balance and stood in anticipation as Lomate glided the boat up to the long wooden dock and Osea jumped out to tie them off. As soon as the boat was pulled up tight he was poised and ready, reaching a hand out to Sophie to help keep her steady as she climbed up and over the edge. The boat rocked back and forth but her athletic body swayed in synergy with it, always keeping her core in perfect balance. Not bad for a woman who just gave birth a couple of days ago, he thought.
They waited with as much patience as they could muster as their two guides finished up their tasks and jumped out to join them. Lomate gave them a quick rundown of how they would proceed, while holding out a folded garment for Sophie.
“Please, you will want to wear this. To cover your legs.” He waited a moment while Sophie wrapped herself in a bright green and blue colored Sulu, which she circled around her waist to form a long skirt, then continued. “We will speak first to the villagers I met with the last trip when we were here. They were familiar with you from before. But, it is the Chief that we will want. When we have spoken to him, he will tell you what you want to know or choose the right person to help you.”
“Will this Chief help us for sure? Could he send us away?” Sophie asked.
“These are a very friendly people, Sophie. They will want to help. They like to help. We must follow the rules though. I brought a gift of kava for the Chief. I will present it to him and thank him for accepting us into his village, then I will introduce you and you can ask your questions.”
Thomas and Sophie both nodded in understanding and followed Lomate as he walked down the dock and crossed the beach to the edge of the tree line. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, casting down waves of heat upon them, and they were all coated in sweat once they had walked the hundred yards or so across the gleaming sand.
“This is a common place for tours to come” Lomate spoke. “We often come here once a week, and we are not the only ones. Other tour companies bring groups regularly, as well. The people here have gotten used to having tourists and rely a lot now on the money the tourists bring with them. Today the beach is empty because there are no boats carrying people to sell to, but if there were you would see the villagers here selling coconuts and fruits and handmade souvenirs. This beach is kind of a market place, you could say. The villagers have other places they go to bathe and play in the water when they are on their own time.” As if to highlight the idea of the beach being a point of commerce and tourist gatherings, Lomate picked up an empty soda can with a sad shake of his head and deposited it into a rusted garbage can only ten feet away.
Thomas sounded somewhat relieved to hear of the place being a tourist destination. “I didn’t really know what you were taking us into Lomate. I half expected to find tribesman in grass skirts that might want to eat us.” He flinched as Sophie gave him a solid whack on the arm. “It was a joke! Kind of.”
“Ha! My friend, I think I mentioned before, we don’t eat people anymore. Not for a hundred years or more.” Lomate said this with a large smile on his face then looked them both up and down as he walked. “But you are big and strong Thomas, they may decide to eat you after all, to take your strength as their own.”
“Very funny, Captain.” Thomas looked at the surrounding trees and bushes, as if to confirm there were no primitives with painted faces and blowguns eyeballing his admirable physique.
The path they were on was wide and well used while being hemmed in by unblemished jungle on either side. It went on for a mile or more before splitting into a “V” shape. Lomate went to the right without pause.
“This is the way to Tokalau, where the villagers spoke to me before. To the left is Udu, and two other villages are on the far side of the island.” He spoke over his shoulder as he walked, acting as a tour guide out of habit. “The island has been inhabited for a little more than a hundred years now. The people here only number about seven hundred. They came from Vaqava and there were few. A fast growth. Living in the bush gives you much mana.” He laughed.
They walked on for another ten minutes before the path opened before them into a U-shaped clearing, with dozens upon dozens of palm trees branching off to either side of them, circling around to end near the edge of another beach. The village sat in this horseshoe shape. The homes were very simple, made mainly of wood with some sheets of metal here and there, while a few others were partly made of concrete blocks. There was no form to the layout. Each house just seemed to be built where the owner decided he wanted it, creating a large and chaotic scene that somehow seemed to work a charm when you looked over the whole of it, vastly different than the tightly formed and planned subdivisions of the States.
Perhaps as many as fifty villagers could be seen in various states of activity. There were several groups of women talking and laughing to themselves, performing different functions. Some were scraping the meat from the insides of coconuts, while others were washing and hanging laundry, or beating out mats. Weaving throughout the clusters of women and the houses were children at play, running and shouting in unburdened enthusiasm. Down the beach, in the shallows of the ocean were a handful of men huddled together, talking, and slowly splashing water over their shoulders.
Lomate stood still at the edge of the clearing and waited. “We could walk into the village and ask for the Chief but it would be considered a little rude. We will wait here for them to invi
te us.”
“I can respect the privacy of the village, Lomate, but we are in a hurry here. Maybe we can be a little rude this once?” Thomas was getting into his mode of domination. A kind man most of the time, but when he was intent on something, he was difficult to hold back.
“Patience, Thomas. Please. It will go better this way. We won’t have to wait long. Look.” He pointed toward the village where three boys had paused their game to wave at them before running off. “They will be telling the men that we are here.”
They waited only a few more minutes before a lean, muscular man carrying a large cane knife approached them, smiling. He spoke as he neared them but neither Thomas nor Sophie could make out a single word. It was a local language that sounded fast and harsh.
Lomate listened casually, seeming to have no difficulty understanding what was being said and no concern for the armed and intimidating figure before him, then turned to them. “This man will take us to the Chief. Come.”
The man from the village strode off, now carrying a large bag of kava roots that Lomate brought as a gift. The children they passed all appeared delighted to see them, as did the women. Each person smiling a large, tooth filled smile and greeting them with “Bula, Bula.”. Thomas and Sophie smiled and waved back, returning the greeting.
“They all seem so happy, Lomate. Yet they have so little. It’s really wonderful.” Sophie beamed.
“We are a happy people, Sophie. The villagers here have little, but slowly they are acquiring more.” He nodded at one man as they passed by who was wearing a shirt that said ‘Hurley’ on the front and donned sandals that wrapped over the top of his feet and had some type of logo stamped on one of the straps. “Tourism is good for the people here. They can have nicer things. Some of the villagers even send children to Suva now to attend the University. They can get jobs on the main island, find husbands and wives, and live in apartments. It is a big step forward. Some will even go to Australia and New Zealand to work.”
Cave of Bones (Dark Island Series Book 2) Page 10
