Iona Portal (26 page)

There was a sensation of motion.  Lys opened her eyes and began to struggle back to consciousness.  The rag and duct tape had been removed.  It was dark, and she was being carried through the crowded streets of Oban.   People looked at her as they passed.  Some were laughing.  She tried to resist, to cry out, but her body refused to cooperate.

Her vision began to clear, and with it came awareness of her situation.  Botis and Turell were walking on either side, with her arms draped over their shoulders.   Although smiling and laughing, they each held one of her wrists in an iron grip.  They’d liberally sloshed a bottle of scotch down the front of her shirt, giving the impression to passersby that they were helping a drunk friend back to her hotel.

They crossed George Street and started down the concrete ramp at the north end of the promenade.  By the lights on the promenade above, Lys glimpsed Kareina waiting in darkness at the bottom of the ramp, standing beside one of the tiny fishing boats that crowd the quay.

With no power to resist, Lys was dumped roughly into the back of the boat, face-down on the weathered deck.  Botis and Turell climbed in after her.  The pungent aroma of rotting fish made her gag. 

Standing on the ramp, Kareina watched as Botis crudely bound her hands behind her back with a length of rope.  “Take her out to the middle of the Firth of Lorne,” Kareina ordered, “… well away from the town, and drop her overboard.  Make sure the anchor line is secure around her when you do.  I want no mistakes this time.”

Kareina shoved the boat away from the ramp and Lys felt the engine rumble to life.  The tiny craft swayed for a moment, rocking from side to side, then began moving across the harbor.

The ride out to the Firth of Lorne was long.  A stiff offshore breeze had sprung up, and once outside shelter of Oban harbor, the seas were rough.  Lys was still battling the effects of the drug.  She passed in and out of consciousness several times.  Once she vomited.

But the cool night air was gradually reviving her.  She tried to formulate a plan of escape.  Gaining strength, Lys struggled with the rope binding her hands.  Botis hadn’t anticipated much resistance from her, and the bindings were not tight.  She quickly loosened them enough that she could slip her hands out when the time came.

Now, if they would only attach the anchor line that loosely.

She knew there was no hope of escaping her captors in the boat.  Her only opportunity would come after she was in the water.  If she could free herself from the anchor line and somehow swim to shore… 

Lys decided her best strategy was to feign unconsciousness.

After plowing through the rough seas for almost an hour, the boat finally came to a stop.  Leaving the engine idling, Botis and Turell came back to Lys and quickly wrapped the anchor line around her limp form.  They looped the line around itself several times and pulled it into a knot, then lifted her up and calmly tossed her into the churning water.

As they hoisted her body from the deck, Lys began to hyperventilate—breathing rapidly in and out—trying frantically to build up the oxygen supply in her bloodstream.  Then, as they released her, she took one more deep breath and hit the water.

It was
cold!
 Much colder than she’d anticipated.  Thousands of pins and needles were jabbing at her, all over her body.  Then she felt the anchor line tighten around her with a jerk, and begin pulling her down.  She knew she had mere seconds to free herself.

Slipping her hands from the rope bindings, she began to fumble frantically with the anchor line, but the weight of the anchor had pulled it tight and her fingers were already growing numb. 

She fought the rising panic.
 I must stay in control.  I must think clearly.  Now… where is the end of this line?

She felt along the coil of rope that was tightly wrapped around her waist.  One end was taut, leading downward to the anchor, pulling her steadily into the depths, but the other end hung free.  She grasped the loose end with numb fingers and traced it back to the knot.  Then she began to pick at the knot to loosen it. 

Her chest was burning.  Her body demanded to exhale, to take a breath…

She continued to fumble with the line in total darkness… working to pull the loose end out of the knot.  She sensed the line loosening, sliding further down her body.  And then the line slipped free.  It was gone!  The weight of the anchor pulled the remaining line from around her torso as it plummeted into the depths of the Firth.

Lys sensed she was rising, but there was no light above… only darkness in every direction.   She was disoriented.
 Which way is up?
  She could only wait for the buoyancy of her body to bring her to the surface. 

Her lungs were screaming to exhale, but she forced herself to resist.  The air in her lungs was the very thing pulling her upward
. 
She didn’t dare release it.

And at last, she was
there!

Breaking through the surface, Lys exhaled explosively, then gasped—her chest heaving—drinking in huge gulps of the crisp night air.  She’d never realized what a luxury it could be just to
breathe. 

As she began to catch her breath, Lys glanced around in the darkness.  

Her plan had worked so far… she was free… but which direction to go now?  She knew she wouldn’t last long in the frigid water.  Her teeth were already chattering and her body shuddered in the cold.

The boat was nowhere in sight, but she didn’t dare scream for help.  Not yet.  Not ‘till she was certain Botis and Turell were gone.

She bobbed up and down in the churning sea, trying to catch a glimpse of shore. 

The stars overhead gave her a rough sense of direction.  To the northeast she saw a lighthouse, but it was much too far away.  There were faint lights along a distant shore to the west, but she couldn’t tell how far.  She set out toward the lights, knowing her chances weren’t good.

It was difficult swimming through the heaving water.  Wind-blown swells surged under her, propelling her skyward, only to smash her down, thrashing her body violently.

Lys was growing disoriented.  Every muscle ached, but the waves kept coming.

She tried diving under the swells.
 That’s better
.

Lys established a ragged rhythm:  popping to the surface to gulp air, swimming one or two strokes, then diving again before the next wave struck.

 Her heart was pounding, but she continued to thrust herself through the icy water, stroke after stroke.  Willing herself to survive.

Finally she paused to catch her breath, treading water.  Fear was gnawing at her.  The glowing beam of the distant lighthouse swept by overhead, continuing its endless rotation, but the lights on shore seemed no closer.

Lys screamed for help and waited for a reply, but none came.  Taking a deep breath, she called out again.  Nothing.

Fatigue was setting in.  She could no longer feel her fingers.

She commanded herself to swim … kicking numb legs through icy waters.  Her pattern repeating with endless monotony… two strokes, then dive, then a breath…  two strokes…

Her arms were burning.  Her muscles quivered with exhaustion.

And then she was sinking.  Her arms and legs had stopped moving.  Her body demanded rest.

Get a grip, Lys! 

She struggled clumsily to the surface and gasped for air.  Her body was sluggish. 

Got to keep moving, Lys.  One more time… 

Focusing on the distant lights Lys forced herself to swim, but she realized now she’d never make it.  It was simply too far.  A few more strokes left her exhausted and gasping.  She knew she didn’t have the strength to keep going. 

In desperation, Lys shouted for help again, but there was still no answer.  She cried out one last time, then the surging waters engulfed her and she sank.

It was cold and dark beneath the surface, yet somehow welcoming.  It felt good to stop struggling. 

Her body was numb.  She no longer felt the pain or the cold. 
Is this how it ends? 

There was no way to go further.  No way to survive.  She was far from shore with no one to help, and her strength was gone. 

In utter hopelessness, she relaxed and awaited death’s icy embrace.

But as she felt her body slipping silently into the depths of the Firth, Lys remembered something Eliel had said.  It was just one brief phrase, but it exploded within her, releasing a faint surge of hope.

There IS a way to get there. 
She told herself.
  There has to be!

Laying hold of Eliel’s words; Lys reached into the deepest recesses of her being, searching for some hidden pocket of strength, then steeled herself to make one last desperate drive for the surface.

Chapter Twenty-two:  Ben

THE ISLAND OF MULL, ARGYLE, SCOTLAND

At first Holmes didn’t know what awakened him.  He lay still for a moment.  Then he heard it.  It was a sound.  A deep throbbing roar like the rumble of distant thunder.   But it did not dissipate.  It increased steadily, like the lumbering growl of an approaching locomotive, building in intensity until it seemed to reverberate in his body.   Even his bones seemed to be shaking. 

And then the room around him joined in.  The glasses on the bathroom counter began to clatter.  The pictures on the wall, the lamp beside the bed, all joined in the rising cacophony.

“What the…” Holmes mumbled as he and Piper both sprang from the bed, pulled on robes, and headed out the door.  The sound was louder outside.  The ground beneath their feet was shaking.

It was a clear, crisp morning.  The sun had not yet risen, but the light of the approaching dawn had already spread across the sky, illuminating the distant red peak of Ben More. 

In the ancient past Ben More had been the largest volcano in northern Europe, a beautiful, snow-capped peak, ten-thousand feet in elevation.   But before the dawn of human history a massive explosion had blown away most of the mountain, leaving only a three thousand foot remnant.  The titanic force of that explosion had collapsed Ben More’s subterranean passages, cutting it off from its magma source and rendering it virtually extinct. 

But as Holmes and Piper slept, an army of Archon warriors had unsealed the ancient lava tubes and reopened the long-closed channels, releasing once again the massive power of the earth’s core.  By morning, Ben More, the last active volcano in northern Europe, had ended its long dormancy. 

The mountain now thundered angrily as a river of magma, churning with explosive gases, surged from the planet’s depths.

 “Watch for Ben,”  Holmes muttered.

“What?”  asked Piper.

“Erin’s word yesterday…  That’s what her gift was telling her.  ‘Watch for Ben.’  Ben isn’t a person, it’s a mountain.

“That’s the Archon strategy.  They’re trying to cut off access to Iona by rekindling the fires of Ben More.”

The rumble of the volcano increased in volume. 

Suddenly there was an explosion.  They saw it before they heard it… a huge ash cloud silently blossomed near Ben More’s peak and rose hundreds of feet above the summit.  Moments later, the shock wave arrived:  a violent, shuddering roar impacted their ears and shook the ground beneath them.  A volcanic vent had opened. 

By now, Erin and Michael had joined them in front of the inn.  Every eye was focused on the mountain.

“That’s what the Archons were doing,” Michael said to Erin.  “They were re-activating the volcano.”

“But that’s impossible,” Erin objected.  “A volcano can’t form that quickly.”

“You’d be surprised how quickly dormant volcanoes can awaken.” Michael answered, “In 1975, a 1000-foot-high volcano was born in six weeks on the Kamchatka Peninsula of Russia.  Then in 1989 the Redoubt Volcano in Alaska erupted after only 24 hours of activity.  And that was without the help of Archons.”

As they watched, the smoking peak shuddered from a new round of explosions. More tremors shook the ground and the smoke became darker.

A thick column of ash and smoke belched skyward.  Growing rapidly, it rose twelve thousand feet into the air and spread out laterally in the atmosphere.  From the base of the cloud, a dark curtain of falling ash trailed earthward.  Like thick gray snow, cinders and ash began to rain down on Mull.

Seeing the power of the eruption, Erin’s mouth fell open.  She quietly spoke one word: 
“Pele!”

“We need to get moving,” Holmes said, shouting over the roar of the volcano.  “Piper and I will head across to Iona.  We need to let Eliel know what’s happened.  If we leave right now I think we can make it across before conditions deteriorate too badly.

“Michael, I’ll leave you in charge here.  Have the innkeeper contact the local constable.  They need to gather everyone from this end of the island to the ferry terminal.  The
Isle of Mull
lands in one hour.  Make sure they get everyone on board.  This end of Mull must be evacuated.”

As Holmes and Piper headed back to their room to make preparations to leave, Michael pounded on the innkeeper’s door. 

After a minute’s hesitation, the old man opened the door a crack and peered out.  It was obvious he’d slept through everything.

“Call the constable.  Ben More is erupting!”  Michael shouted.

“Impossible!” the old man wheezed.  “That mountain’s been dormant for millions of years.”

“Come out here and look for yourself,”  Michael shouted, pointing to the sky.  “Does
that
look dormant?”  The old innkeeper took a step out the door, then stopped in disbelief, staring at the mountain above them.

Thick black smoke was continuing to billow into a darkening sky.  More vents were opening.  Broad sheets of flame lit up many parts of the mountain.  One vent hissed out blue flame, like a gigantic Bunsen burner.

“The
Isle of Mull
is due here in less than an hour.” Michael continued, “We must get everyone in town ready to board the ferry when it arrives… and don’t let anyone get off.  You must clear this end of the island immediately.”