The Gods of Lava Cove Read online

  I waited on my perch and held out the flesh cape, dangling it as bait. Behind me, the ghoul shrieked as I taunted him with his prize.

  His footsteps thumped toward me. “Wait for it …” Leilani instructed. “He’s getting closer …”

  Meanwhile, the Nightmarcher’s monstrous snarls grew louder. It was hard to hold my ground knowing that he was just steps away, but timing was everything.

  “Now!” Leilani finally cried.

  At the same time, as I felt his outstretched fingers graze my back, I dodged to the side.

  The Nightmarcher’s momentum carried him forward over the rim of the crater. With a surprised scream, he stumbled off the edge and plunged into the burning lava. His body disappeared in the molten rock.

  I stared at the bubbling patch where the Nightmarcher had fallen. Was he really dead?

  A charred hand burst up from the lava. I jumped back. For a moment, I really thought the zombie was going to climb his way out, that I would never be free of him.

  But then his blackened, leathery fingers went slack and slipped back beneath the surface.

  I pumped my fist in the air. Killer octopuses, lava lakes, and undead warriors—nothing could stop me.

  My victory celebration was short-lived. When I turned back to Leilani, I found her staring forlornly at the ground near my backpack. “Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh no, oh no …”

  I followed her gaze—and my stomach knotted with dread.

  The blood orb had cracked in two. The last drops of the blood inside were seeping into the ground.

  When the Nightmarcher had knocked the pack from my hands, the blood orb must have landed on a rock.

  I picked up the broken halves of the orb and held them up with shaking hands. We had come so far—so far—only to lose everything to a rock.

  Tears welled up in Leilani’s eyes. “Now I’m going to be stuck like this … ” she whispered, then added, “… forever.”

  25

  When we finally got back to the camp, I could tell there wasn’t much time left until sunrise. The dawn’s first rays trickled over the horizon.

  “I guess this is it,” Leilani said, her voice as sad as I’d ever heard it. “With the blood orb broken, Tagalo will never keep his end of the deal.” She buried her face in the crook of her transparent arm and sobbed.

  I knew I had to do something. We had come so far—too far—just to give up.

  I pulled the broken orb from my bag and studied it. A crazy idea had just come over me.

  “Don’t give up hope just yet,” I told Leilani. “I have a plan.”

  “What are we going to do?” she asked as she followed me over to the mess tent.

  I smiled at her. “We’re going to out-trick the trickster.”

  As we entered the temple ten minutes later, the torches around the main room ignited. Tagalo materialized on the altar in front of us. He lay on his back, feeding himself white soga berries. “I trust you brought me my body?” He tried to sound casual but couldn’t hide the eagerness in his voice.

  I held up the backpack that contained the three items we’d tracked down for him. “We brought you everything you asked for,” I told him. “Now return Leilani to her body.”

  Tagalo waved a finger at me. “Give me the goods first. Then I’ll put the brat’s soul right back where I found it.”

  I exchanged a skeptical glance with Leilani. We had talked about this beforehand. “We know better than to trust the word of a trickster,” I replied. “So here is our deal: I will give you your flesh and bones first as a gesture of goodwill. Then, once Leilani is safely back in her body, you can have the third and final piece: your blood.”

  Tagalo opened his mouth to argue again. To show him I meant business, I pulled his flesh out of the backpack—and held it up to one of the torches. As it inched toward the flames, the edge of the skin started to blacken.

  The trickster finally caved. “Okay!” he shouted, holding up his hands in defeat. “Have it your way. Just go easy on my flesh—I have to wear it for the rest of time, you know.”

  He waved his arms in the direction of the tomb. From the hole in the floor, the giant stone sarcophagus floated up and out, as if it were light as a feather. It slowly lowered to the floor beside the altar.

  Leilani’s eyes filled with hope at the sight of the coffin. In a few minutes, she’d have her body back …

  … If our plan didn’t horribly backfire.

  “Now …” Tagalo flexed his fingers and narrowed his eyes menacingly. “Give me back my bones.”

  I pulled the pearl from my backpack. It floated out of my hands and hovered in front of Tagalo.

  The pearl began to rotate in the air. It spun faster and faster, then started to stretch. Lanky limbs extended from the top and bottom, until they solidified as leg bones and arm bones. The center expanded to form a ribcage.

  Last to form was a terrifying skull with rows of razor-sharp teeth. Part-human, part-animal, and 100% nightmare.

  When the bones had finished forming from the pearl, a gleaming, white skeleton stood before us. It loomed there like a statue, balanced on its two feet, unmoving.

  Not for long. Tagalo’s spirit form drifted forward and entered the skeleton. As he took his place inside, the bones began to move. The trickster raised his arms over his head, stretching until they cracked.

  “Ah …” he whispered. His jaws clacked together as he talked. “I missed these old bones. Now let’s get some flesh on me, shall we?”

  I held up the folded cape. Again, it magically levitated out of my hands. As the flesh approached the trickster, it unfolded and wrapped around the skeleton. It spread over each bone until his body was coated in it.

  Meanwhile, muscles began to grow inside, filling the space between. When the skin and sinew had settled, Tagalo looked distinctly more human. However, without blood, his body looked tight and shriveled, like a raisin. The effect was horrifying.

  His lizard-like eyes flicked to me. “Now the blood!” he demanded.

  I shook my head. “We had a bargain.”

  The trickster rolled his eyes and gestured to the sarcophagus. With an awful grating sound, the stone lid moved aside. Leilani’s limp body floated out of the coffin and across the temple toward her.

  I watched as her spirit form merged with her body. Her eyes flickered open and she abruptly fell out of the air and back to her feet—her solid feet. She held up her hands in front of her face, marveling at the real skin. She clapped her hands together just to be sure.

  Tagalo gestured impatiently at my backpack. “Enough wasting time,” he snarled. The playful tone in his voice had evaporated. “Give my blood to me now. Give it to me!” His final words came out as a shriek, so loud I stumbled back a few steps.

  I wrung my hands nervously. Would our crazy plan actually work?

  26

  Slowly, I reached into my bag and after a brief hesitation, I pulled out the blood orb. The same one that had cracked not a half hour ago.

  Now it was whole again. The dark red liquid sloshed around inside its glass shell. The crack had fused back together as though I’d never dropped it at all.

  Tagalo pointed at the orb. Supernatural forces ripped it from my grasp. It flew across the room and the trickster caught it like a baseball.

  As he triumphantly held it aloft, a wicked grin spread across his shark-like snout. “At last …” he crowed. “I will return to this earth fully restored.”

  With that, Tagalo cracked the orb open. He tilted his head back—and poured the crimson liquid into his gaping mouth.

  When he had drained the last drops of it, he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. He ran a long tongue over his blood-stained teeth.

  “Now I shall be unstoppable!” he declared. “I’ll exact my revenge on the gods for taking what was rightfully mine. And as I bring my chaos to the human world, every last mortal will fear my name. For I am—”

  The trickster never finished his sentence. His ey
es narrowed in confusion. “Wait …” he croaked. “He tasted the blood on his teeth again. “Is that … is that cherries I taste?”

  “That’s weird,” I replied carefully.

  Of course, I wasn’t actually surprised.

  Minutes ago, I had snuck into the camp’s kitchen.

  I’d filled the orb with the cook’s special blood sauce.

  Then I’d glued the crack in the shell closed.

  “You!” Tagalo shouted. He jabbed a furious finger at me. “You tricked me! Nobody tricks the trickster.”

  Tagalo lunged for us. Leilani and I staggered back.

  But then Tagalo froze in his tracks. He clutched his stomach. The color drained from his face as the thick, syrupy sauce had an unfortunate reaction with his insides, which had expected real blood.

  He let out a belch that echoed through the tomb. Then a pained howl erupted from his throat.

  Leilani and I both covered our ears. My eardrums felt like they were going to burst if the wail continued any longer.

  Cracks splintered through Tagalo’s face. And then, with a final shriek, his body exploded.

  I shielded my face as a wave of red blood sauce washed over me. I shuddered in disgust.

  When I cleared the red syrup from my eyes, all that was left of Tagalo’s body was a pile of broken bones and papery flesh. It crumbled to ash as we watched.

  Tagalo’s spirit form lingered in the air, glowing and transparent. His menacing eyes landed on me. “You haven’t heard the last of Tagalo!” he howled.

  Even as he said it, his glow began to fade. Before long, he disintegrated in a thousand little particles that blew away.

  Leilani and I looked at each other. The red blood sauce coated her face. I assume I didn’t look any better.

  Maybe it was how ridiculous we both looked, or maybe it was relief, but in that moment, the two of us burst out laughing.

  “Come on,” she said, putting an arm around my shoulders and leading me out of the temple. “Let’s get out of here before the archaeologists wake up and start asking where that giant, broken sarcophagus came from.”

  As the sun began to cast its rays over the island, Leilani and I snuck across the campsite. All around us, people were starting to stir in their tents.

  We had almost made it back to our own beds when someone cleared her throat behind us. We turned around—

  And found Aunt Samira with her arms crossed. Her eyes widened from suspicion to alarm when she saw the blood sauce covering our faces and shirts.

  I smiled sheepishly. “Would you believe us if we told you that we awakened an evil trickster and had to complete a deadly scavenger hunt to steal from the gods themselves?”

  My aunt stared at us for a moment longer. Then she sighed. “You two are so weird,” she said. She turned and walked toward the mess hall. “See you at breakfast.”

  Epilogue

  I felt relieved when the rest of the week turned out to be uneventful. No more tricksters. No more monstrous octopuses or undead warriors. Even Leilani was on her best behavior. And when my aunt finally invited me to do some archaeological work in Tagalo’s temple, I politely declined.

  Suddenly, dusting off old relics in the artifact tent didn’t seem like such a bad job.

  The night I returned to the United States, I had never felt so grateful to be back in my old bed. However, as I was unpacking my suitcase, I discovered a mysterious package hidden beneath my clothes. It was wrapped in newspaper, and a note was taped to the outside.

  My stomach sank when I recognized Leilani’s crazy handwriting.

  Couldn’t let you return home without a souvenir. A boy can leave the island …

  … but the island will never leave the boy.

  I carefully unwrapped the package until I had revealed the object inside.

  A wooden mask.

  At first, I thought she’d sent me the one belonging to Tagalo. But this one was different.

  The long dark hair. The flower crown. The piercing eyes.

  It was Pele, the volcano goddess.

  I placed the carving in my desk drawer. At least I’d have something to show my friends at school.

  Even if they’d never believe the truth of what really happened on Caldera.

  That night, I fell into a deep sleep and dreamed that I was back on the island. I had been placed in charge of barbecuing the fish for dinner. A long line of hungry archaeologists had formed through the tent. It all felt so real, especially the heat from the flames and the smoke from the grill.

  Back in my room, I opened my eyes.

  My bedroom was in flames.

  Fire coursed up the walls. Everywhere I looked, I saw a crackling inferno.

  This was no dream.

  A sea of lava bubbled on the floor, preventing me from escaping. My bed seemed to be the only thing in the room that wasn’t burning—and that wouldn’t last for long.

  Then a figure rose up from the lava. The fiery goddess wore the mask Leilani had sent me home with.

  Pele towered over my bed. “You stole from me,” she hissed. “Now you will do all that I command …” As she leaned down, she brought her mask close to my face. Her eyes simmered like two hot coals. “… Or your parents will have to sweep up your ashes.”

  About the Author

  Karsten Knight is known for writing books that feature mythologies from around the world. In 2011, Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers published his debut, Wildefire, the first in a trilogy about a reincarnated Polynesian volcano goddess. Since then, he has authored the historical thriller Nightingale, Sing and the time-bending murder mystery Patchwork, and now channels his talent for terrifying readers into the Bonegarden.

  Karsten studied creative writing at College of the Holy Cross and earned an MFA in writing for children from Simmons College. A lifelong resident of Massachusetts, he lives for fall New England weather—the perfect time of year for spooky stories.

  For more information on Karsten and the Bonegarden, please visit www.karstenknightbooks.com.

  Also by Karsten Knight

  Bonegarden #1:

  WELCOME TO DOOM FARMS

  And even more scares to follow in Fall 2019 …

  Other novels

  WILDEFIRE

  EMBERS & ECHOES

  AFTERGLOW

  NIGHTINGALE, SING

  PATCHWORK

  Bonegarden #1

  WELCOME TO DOOM FARMS

  1

  It was official: my parents were trying to kill me.

  That was the only way I could explain why they made me, Kayla Dunn, pack up just three weeks into fifth grade and leave all my friends behind.

  I was a city kid, used to the bustle and excitement of living in downtown Boston. Back in the city, I could walk to the movie theater, catch a Red Sox game after school, or choose from a thousand different restaurants for dinner.

  Now here I was, in the back of our station wagon as it rattled through the countryside down a shady, tree-lined road. No malls, no baseball stadiums, none of my best friends. Instead of the skyscrapers I grew up around, there was only flat farmland as far as the eye could see.

  I had given up counting cows and horses miles ago. They outnumbered the humans here twenty to one.

  “We’re almost home!” Mom exclaimed from the front seat. “Didn’t I tell you that Orchard Falls would be beautiful, Kayla?”

  I couldn’t disagree with her there. It was late September and the foliage had begun to turn the colors of sunset. A billboard advertised Orchard Falls as “Home of the world-famous Jack-o’-Lantern Festival.” In fact, the town was so crazy about pumpkins that they had even painted their water tower orange to resemble one. Its wicked grin leered down at us as we passed it.

  As we drove over a creek through an old covered bridge, I realized that Orchard Falls really was like a town straight out of a movie.

  Maybe I could learn to enjoy living here after all.

  “The Jack-o’-Lantern Festival is one of the big
gest country fairs in the state!” Dad explained from the driver’s seat. “In just a couple of weeks, you’ll be able to take a hay ride, and bob for apples, and compete in the pie-eating contest until you puke!”

  “Gross, Dad,” I said, but I smiled. This was my father’s hometown. He had dreamed of moving back here for a long time. I was still surprised when my parents sat me down and told me their plan: to give up their jobs in the city and buy a farm out here. The two of them had always struggled just to keep houseplants alive. I had no idea how they would manage an entire field of crops.

  The backseat of the car was littered with books about growing every fruit and vegetable imaginable—corn, watermelon, a small vineyard for grapes. Even now, my mom was rambling about how she wanted to launch her own line of homemade jams using recipes that had been passed down from my grandfather. For the hundredth time, she repeated her cheesy sales pitch: “Your toast isn’t Dunn until you spread it with Dunn Farms Jams!”

  “It’s un-Dunn-iably delicious!” Dad added.

  I groaned. “I think I’m Dunn listening to both of your puns.”

  As we rounded the final curve in the road, Dad said, “I have a special surprise for the two of you. Before I left, I ordered a big new sign to advertise the farm. I think it’s really going to catch the eye of potential customers!” He squinted out the window and drummed his hands dramatically on the steering wheel. “It should be visible as soon as we pass this last line of apple trees, in 3 … 2 … 1 …”

  The station wagon popped out past the last tree. Sure enough, a big sign greeted anyone who drove past the property. All three of us frowned up at it.

  Someone had misspelled our last name.

  In big letters, the sign read: