Tales of the South Seas:
"More Than Words"



Chapter Four:




They were lucky. The storm had come and gone in about two hours and although rain battered the hut, wind blew viscously, and there was a great deal of thunder and lightening, everything remained pretty much in its proper place. There were a few nervous moments, however, especially at one point during the storm's peak when the roof, the entire hut, appeared ready to lift up and crash somewhere in the deep, dark jungle.

Isabelle, who had been trying hard to put up a brave front for both she and Grief's sake, cried out in fear at this time and threw herself into a dark corner, anguished and weeping. She hated to show fragility of any kind, especially when David Grief was there to witness it, but could not help recalling a terrible time from her past:

Once, as a child, Isabelle had seen a man killed because of unfavorable weather conditions. He was struck by lightening during a terrible storm. Later, when the danger had passed, clutching a much loved but battered doll to her chest, little Isabelle Reed had gone into the field where she saw him fall. She found him and could see his wide, dead eyes staring at her, his flesh burned and scarred. Isabelle could practically hear him telling her *she* should have the one to die, not him. That memory stayed with her into adulthood and, recalling it, seeing that man again in a vision, perhaps feeling it was her turn to die, Isabelle panicked. The dead man had turned, his hands raised to touch her, to welcome the woman into his world of cold, violent death ...

Yet, in reality, it was David Grief who was touching her. He sat beside the frightened Isabelle on the floor, putting his arms around her, afraid himself, yet feeling comforted when she looked up at him, realizing who he was, and holding him as he was clutching her. They took strength and security in one another. Two breakable human beings near the brink of demise, sharing a very human moment, needing each other to stay intact.

Later, when Grief examined his disaster prevention handiwork, he would remember their terror with a chuckle. The anchor ropes hadn't frayed. They'd done well.

Yet, it had felt good to know he and Isabelle were there for one another. *Too good*, Grief thought with not just a little concern.

In the aftermath, Isabelle was unusually quiet. She kept busy, helping Grief move barrels and other heavy objects from the door, stealing occasional glances at the gunpowder and kerosene drums. She was coming to terms with Pederson's deception and what it might mean to her and the future of Reed Enterprises. She still felt incredibly foolish, having been taken in by his deception, but was consoled by the knowledge that Pederson was a professional con man. Grief told her he had probably done this type of scam all over the globe. She wasn't the first to believe in his lies but, if David had anything to say about the situation, she would be the last.

Grief could only imagine the fireworks which were going to take place once Isabelle cornered Pederson about his unauthorized and illegal business dealings. It had been a temptation to press her, asking Isabelle what she intended to do now that she knew the truth, but Grief kept quiet.

Whatever the outcome, he and Mauriri would be there for her.

Mauriri ...

"I'm sure he's fine." Isabelle said, using a Bari hunting knife to help cut away the door's reinforcement rope, and - as if reading Grief's mind - "Mauriri is one of the strongest men I've ever seen. And smart."

"And determined." Grief added, "It wouldn't surprise me if he's already infiltrated the Tonga encampment. We better hurry if we hope to catch up with him."

Isabelle nodded and slipped the decorative hunting knife into the side of her boot. Taking one last look around, she followed Grief out the door.

****

Mauriri waited out the brunt of the storm inside the hollow of a huge tree. It had been cramped and uncomfortable. He was certain he'd been bitten by some undetermined blood sucking insect. Nevertheless, once the worst of the wind and rain passed the Polynesian continued the trek until he came to an area of the island inhabited by the Tonga.

The young man who ran from the Bari village was not a seasoned warrior, leaving a more than traceable trail.

"One of my own children could follow this." he reflected. The thought of Tahnee and Tevaki caused Mauriri's heart to skip a beat. He doubted the storm had reached as far as his own home island but if it had Leani could handle whatever problems that might arise. Mauriri's wife had lived all her life in Tahiti, as had he, and was well versed on what to do when Mother Nature took a turn for the worse.

With practiced stealth, Mauriri moved about the perimeter, holding Isabelle's gun loosely in his hand, looking into their encampment. He saw the native men surrounding a campfire, discussing something with great enthusiasm. Either the storm or their latest kill. He couldn't quite make out all the words, the island dialect slightly foreign to his ears, but he knew, from the way they were glancing over their shoulders to a large tent, that it did not bode well for those inside.

A few Tonga women, past their prime and not very winsome, were also gathered together, sorting through what the men had brought back from their raid. They seemed fascinated by beaded necklaces and other trinkets. One woman lifted up a delicately woven blouse, possibly a marriage garment, and laughed merry during a verbal exchange.

Focusing again on the tent, Mauriri fought indecision. Should he commence a rescue now or wait until Grief showed up to assist?

The answer to his question came with a hard impact to the back of his head. Mauriri pitched forward having never seen the young Tonga warrior who had doubled back when he realized he was being followed.

***

"Tell me I did not do this!" Grief shouted, now up to his waste in warm, slimy quick sand.

"Stay still, David. I'm getting a branch." Isabelle replied, near laughter in her voice as she quickly search for something to pull the man out.

The trail had been well marked by Mauriri, despite storm damage, but when the ground started to become slightly less cohesive and, eventually, when Grief found himself sinking, they knew a wrong turn had been made somewhere.

"Don't rush on my account." Grief snapped, watching her and folding his arms in disgust, across his broad chest. He was angry with himself, saw it coming, but continued to trudge on. Isabelle fell behind and kept telling him that it didn't feel right to her but Grief didn't listen. He was certain Mauriri would soon be in their sight.

"Here." Isabelle, standing at the edge of the quicksand pit, pointed a limb in his direction and he grabbed it, allowing her to pull and drag him slowly to the edge. She then tossed the branch aside and took his hands. Isabelle pulled Grief, with all her might, the rest of the way out of the pit and felt him, eventually, collapse atop her.

They were both exhausted and did not move for a few moments.

Grief looked down at her, his face very close to Isabelle's, as she stared up into his eyes. "Thank you." he whispered, not yet moving and not really knowing why.

"You're welcome." she answered, nearly breathless, uncertain. 'Shouldn't you be pushing him away?' a voice in her inner mind asked. Isabelle had no response for the voice.

Clearing his throat, remembering there was a bigger mission afoot, David blinked. "Mauriri." he said, focusing.

Isabelle nodded, "Yes." and, with regret, felt him fall away from her.

Retracing their steps, the couple continued to trudge on in search of their friend and the Bari prisoners.

****

Mauriri woke with a splitting headache, the knowledge that his hands were bound behind his back, and the sound of concerned female voices.

"He's awake."

With a shake of his head, clearing the fog from his vision, Mauriri centered on the speaker and raised himself into a sitting position. He could understand her. She was a handsome woman, slightly older than himself, with long, dark hair and a stern expression.

"You're not of our tribe. Who are you?" she asked, firmly.

Mauriri answered, explaining how the stormed forced he and his friends to anchor and row to land. He looked around the tent. All women, whimpering children, and a few incoherent, wounded men. "When we came to your village we saw what happened and thought we might be able to help."

"They caught us by surprise." the woman said, eyeing him suspiciously, "As they obviously did you."

"Has anyone here attempted an escape?" Mauriri asked.

The woman paused, momentarily unsettled, then relenting. "Two. One was brought back and the other killed." she replied, "From what we've been able to gather, the female population of Tonga is seriously depleted. They need women to replace those who have been killed, died from illness, or whatever." Then, in answer to Mauriri's next question, "They need us to bear their children. New warriors to replace the old." She glanced over her shoulder at the few wounded men occupying corners of the tent. She spoke low, "The men here don't stand a chance. The only reason the Tonga kept them alive was for ..."

"... fresh supplies." Maurriri took up the sentence with a grimace, now understanding why he too remained alive. The savages merely thought him another Bari, a stupid one at that, having come into their encampment. He took a breath, "Are all your men dead?"

"I don't think so. Some had to of escaped. We were hoping for a rescue effort soon."

"Let's hope, along with David and Isabelle, they do as expected."

Three Tonga warriors entered the tent, looked about, and agreed. The larger of the three pointed to an elderly man to the back, surrounded by children.

The anguished woman, looking from the warriors to Mauriri, whispered "Dinner."

****

At the outer edge of the encampment, Grief picked up Isabelle's gun from where Mauriri had dropped it.

"Not good." Isabelle whispered, taking the weapon from him and holstering it. "At least we know he made it this far."

Slowly, the couple traveled the circumference of the encampment until they reached an area closest to the tent. Grief listened closely, hearing voices inside, and looked at Isabelle who seemed to understand what he was thinking. If it was a prison tent then Mauriri and the others should be inside. Yet, if they were, where was the defense? Shouldn't warriors be guarding them?

In answer, a muscular native warrior with a spear crossed in front of them, not seeing the couple as they crouched and pushed back into the foliage. He turned, as did David and Isabelle, when a commotion erupted from the front flap of the tent. An old man was being dragged out. He was frightened but it was the female cries from inside that caused most of the distraction.

Grief stood abruptly, hit the diverted native powerfully against the back of his hard head and drug him into the bushes behind he and Isabelle.

With a determined smile, Isabelle lifted her knife, and pointed to the direction she was headed. I'll get the women and children out of the back of the tent and head them home. You find Mauriri and," she glanced in the direction to where the native man was being carried by the Tonga warriors, "if you could save that poor old man that would be good too."

"Anything else?" Grief asked her, half serious and half joking.

"Yes, be careful, David." Isabelle unholstered her gun once again and handed it back to Grief.


*****

(continue)