Dagon Rising(28)

The Elder grunted at the youngster. “Prepare to die, boy.”

The boy called back, his intonation of the old language perfect. “I will see you on the other side of the dimensions, Elder!”

The Elder paused. Cocked his head at the boy. “You dare threaten me?”

The boy pounced on the opportunity. “I have killed a white man—a scientist. I have joined your kind in the slaughter of the invaders. Wanabi was wrong when he told us not to drive them off. He was too weak. I am not weak, though. I would have killed more but Manabi, my father, one of the nine tribal chiefs, forbid it. He pulled me from the still-warm body of the white man I killed, and took me below ground, to the catacombs, to prevent me from fulfilling your glory. See!” The boy held out his wrists, which bore raw red marks from being tied up. “He intended to keep me prisoner.”

“How did you escape?”

“My uncle let me escape.”

“Where is he?” The boy gestured at the litter of corpses strewn around them. “One of your generals killed him, your holiness.”

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you?”

“I will help fulfill the ritual of awakening. I would see the glory of the arrival of Dagon. And I will help you track down and kill every one of these invading mainlanders.”

“My brothers are doing this! What good could you accomplish?”

“If some escape, I know where they will hide.”

“Do you?” The Elder stepped toward the boy, his gait menacing. He breathed down on the boy, unaware that his breath was that of carrion. The boy didn’t even flinch or blanch in sickness. “If so, I order you to tell me now!”

“Only if you let me live long enough to prove myself worthy to you. Let me lead you to every last trespasser on this island.”

The Elder paused; off in the distance, he could hear the Clickers and his fellow Dark Ones retreating farther into the jungle. No longer did the sound of further slaughter reach his ears, nor was the fresh scent of blood and death heavy in the air. Had his soldiers killed every last human on the island?

As if reading his thoughts, the boy said, “There are more trespassers. They are retreating, hiding even now. Your brothers will kill the rest of my people, they will leave some to repopulate the island as has passed in the years bygone…but only I can lead you to those invaders that have escaped. Not even what is left of my tribe know the many hiding places on this island.”

“And you do?”

“Yes.”

“Who told you?”

“I have observed…I have watched and waited…and learned…”

The Elder glanced at his generals and a silent under-standing seemed to pass between them. Spare the boy. For now…

The Elder turned to the boy. His face was an ugly grimace. “You have four of your hours. The ritual must commence within six of your hours. If you have not found the trespassers in four hours, you and your people, every single last one of them, will be slaughtered along with the rest of the surface dwellers. Do you understand?”

“So it shall be.”

The Dark One rose to his full height and stepped aside. His generals followed suit. The boy sensed the shift of energy among the Dark Ones and his fear lifted. He stood up, still eyeing the Dark Ones warily, and stepped forward boldly. “Come!” the boy said, gesturing to the jungle that lay beyond the beach. “I will take you.”

And with that, the boy headed into the jungle followed by the half dozen Dark Ones and their Elder, chief priest of Dagon.





EIGHT



Jennifer gasped for breath. Her clothing, drenched in sweat and covered with the blood of her dead associates stuck to her skin. Her hands and knees had been cut and scraped and bruised by rocks and pebbles, and her parched throat was sore. She also had the beginnings of what was going to be a raging migraine; her temples throbbed faintly and she felt a tightness in her abdomen she couldn’t pinpoint. Fear? Nerves?

She assumed that the tunnel that Keoni was leading them down couldn’t be that much longer; already it seemed as if they’d traveled a couple of miles through its subterranean depths. There was a dampness to the chamber that made Jennifer think of an old basement or root cellar. As they traveled along the narrow corridor, Keoni’s flashlight led the way. Jennifer wasn’t positive, but she suspected that the beam was growing dimmer as they progressed. She was afraid to mention it in case she alarmed the others.

Ed was behind Keoni, asking him about the tunnels. “How many people know about them?”

“Just the tribal chiefs and myself,” Keoni said.

“But you’re not from here. How is it that you know about them?”