The Gods of Laki

by Chris Angus

  “You don’t understand,” Graham said stubbornly. “When I learned about the extended lives of those ancient Norse, I realized something was happening on Laki that could be a major breakthrough. This is important for the species.”

  “And what about the importance of Sam?”

  He lowered his head. “I’ve worried about her every day of her life. She resisted my efforts to protect her from the time she was in high school. Earlier than that, even. As the child of a politician, she was at greater risk. I thought I was doing what a father is supposed to do. Protect his little girl.”

  “Well, now you’ve got the opportunity to really do that,” Ryan said. “For the first time, she really does need your help. Are you going to answer that call when it’s not a fantasy? When it’s real?”

  Akbari strode into the room. “The helicopter will be here in twenty minutes. . . .” He stopped as he registered the presence of the other man.

  Ryan raised his pistol and pointed it at the Arab. “Why don’t you sit down until our transportation gets here?” he said easily.

  ***

  “You may go in now, Commissioner,” said the prime minister’s secretary.

  Dagursson rose heavily from his chair. He’d been waiting for twenty minutes and every second felt like a waste of crucial time. He’d been out of touch with his men on Laki for too long.

  He entered the room and stopped abruptly. The prime minister, tall, silver-haired, deeply tanned, had discarded his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing that the tan extended at least that far. The man had to use either a tanning booth or coloration. There was no other way in Iceland. In a chair in front of him sat Eva.

  “I believe you two know each other,” said the PM. “Good. It will save time, which we may not have a whole lot of.” He turned to Eva. “Tell the commissioner what you told me.”

  Eva looked haggard. She hadn’t slept in two days as she struggled over what course to take with the information she’d uncovered.

  “In examining records of land purchases—rather—mineral rights in the Laki area, I discovered that the subterranean rights to a great deal of land have been purchased by a German holding company. After considerable digging and talking with some contacts I have in Germany, I now know who the owner of those rights is.”

  Dagursson waited.

  “It’s the German Catholic Church. Specifically, the Conference of German Bishops.”

  Dagursson looked stunned. “The church? Why. . . .”

  The PM interrupted. He glanced at his watch. “In a few moments, I’m going to have a visitor. Which is why I called you in, Commissioner.”

  “Who is that, sir?”

  “Cardinal Wormer from Germany.”

  Dagursson looked from Eva to the PM and back again. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what this is all about. But I want to emphasize that I might be making better use of my time by going to Laki, where my men are right now at great risk exploring the subterranean depths . . . searching for your colleague, I might add, Eva.”

  A buzzer sounded on the prime minister’s desk. He leaned over and pushed a button.

  “Cardinal Wormer is here to see you, sir.”

  “Send him in,” said the PM. “We’ll get to the bottom of this one way or the other.”

  Cardinal Wormer was a lean man of about sixty with a humorless visage and eyes that shifted back and forth among the room’s occupants. He moved with deliberation, as though carrying a great weight on his shoulders. The robes of his office flowed around him. A three-inch silver cross hung from his neck. He stopped in front of the PM’s desk and bowed slightly from the waist.

  “Good of you to see me, Mr. Prime Minister, on such short notice.”

  The prime minister stood and came around his desk to shake the man’s hand. “A great pleasure, Cardinal. I confess I was surprised to learn of your request for a meeting. What can I do for you?”

  The Cardinal lowered himself into a chair. “Perhaps it is more a question of what we can do for each other,” he said.

  Eva was beside herself with curiosity. “Why is the German Catholic Church buying up land rights beneath Laki?” she asked without preamble.

  The Cardinal gave her a long, cold look. “That is a little-known fact. May I ask how you came by this information?”

  “It’s a matter of public record,” said Eva. “And I poked around some more on my own.”

  “I see.” Cardinal Wormer seemed to consider something for a moment. Then he said, “Since I was elevated to Cardinal, I am, of course, no longer a member of the German Conference of Bishops . . . though they ask my advice from time to time. Perhaps you will permit me to relate a bit of theological history.”

  Dagursson rolled his eyes. With everything going on, all he needed was a lesson in theology. He looked at his watch. Cardinal or no Cardinal, if this went on more than ten minutes, he was out of here.

  “Christianity has a long history in Iceland,” Wormer began. “Celtic hermits were the first to set foot in the frozen land, seeking a safe haven where they could worship Christ. They were driven out by Norse settlers, some Christian but mostly heathen, worshipping the old Norse gods. Iceland was constituted as a republic in nine thirty AD, based on the heathen religion. But by the late nine hundreds, missionaries from the continent . . . including some from Germany I might add . . . sought to spread Christianity among the local population.

  “There was resistance to the spread of the Catholic faith and the country was on the brink of civil war. To avoid this catastrophe, the two groups agreed to abide by the decision of a man respected for his wisdom by everyone. He was the heathen priest and chieftain known as Porgeir of Ljosavatn. After a long day of meditating, Porgeir declared that the “land shall be Christian and believe in one God.”

  Dagursson fidgeted. “I’m sorry, Cardinal. Is there a point here somewhere?”

  Wormer considered him with a level gaze. “While this decision marks the beginning of the church in Iceland, there was a . . . faction . . . that refused to give up the old Norse gods. The sagas speak of them. A group of early Norse who lived on the southern coast, in the shadow of Laki, refused to convert. They claimed that the spirit of Laki was all-powerful and would never tolerate the rise of another god.”

  “Excuse me, Cardinal, but isn’t this all basically oral history?” said Dagursson. “We know that the sagas were largely fantasy. And in any case, what does this have to do with our current problem?”

  “Fantasy? I hardly think so,” said Wormer. “The church has spent many years researching this. I seriously doubt anyone knows more about the early religious history of Iceland than the German Conference of Bishops. Members of the Conference believe that those early heathens encountered something on Laki. Something that has come down to us today. Part of this history also took form during the second world war.”

  He paused for a moment, then continued, his face grim as if resigned to the effect his words would have. “There is a presence under the earth, a power if you will, that results in a sort of vitalization . . . call it life extension if you wish. Those early Norse may have been the first to experience it, but the Nazis also came under its influence.”

  The room was so silent that Eva could hear the clicking of the computer keys of the PM’s secretary in the next room.

  The Cardinal shifted in his chair for the first time. He placed his hands together and stared at the floor. “There is, we believe, a spiritual presence beneath the volcano of Laki, one that may have bided its time for a very long period. Indeed, it may be older than the church itself . . . perhaps many thousands of years older. But it has come awake now. It has real power and the church fears what it may mean to the future of religion as we know it.”

  Eva said, “You want us to believe the Catholic Church is afraid of some heathen god from a thousand years ago? Excuse me, but that’s not credible.”

  Wormer spread his hands. “What is religion after all but a promise? A promise to be
lievers that they will go to a better place once they leave this temporary state we live in. If the promise of everlasting life can be found here and now . . . well. . . .” His eyes shifted from one to another of the faces looking at him. “To put it another way, perhaps more bluntly, religion is born out of fear. Fear of death, fear of retribution, fear of the unknown, fear of Hell. Fear keeps the faithfuls’ . . . attention . . . if you will. Remove the fear . . .” he spread his hands. “What does religion have left to offer?”

  “My God,” said Eva, “That’s the most cynical view of religion I’ve ever heard.”

  The prime minister leaned forward. “What do you think lies beneath Laki, Cardinal?”

  The man’s eyes grew inward, as though he were seeing a vision that haunted the darkest part of his soul. “I believe it is something evil . . . something that must be resisted. The very home of Lucifer himself.”

  Dagursson snorted. “Why must it be the devil? Simply because it’s offering something you can’t? A longer, healthier existence in the here and now instead of waiting for the next life. I’m not surprised you’re fearful of it taking your place. Maybe that force is a god . . . just not your god. Personally, I’m inclined to believe it’s something in the natural environment, maybe something that gives a boost to the immune system. That makes as much sense as anything. Besides, we’re not talking about eternal life here. You seen any of those ancient Vikings walking around lately? They died just like the rest of us are going to.”

  “Perhaps what you say is true,” the Cardinal replied. “But this is no longer my theory alone or even that of the German Conference of Bishops. It has grown larger than that. At the end of the second world war, there was structured, in secret, a council of all major religions to study and resist this evil force.”

  The PM looked stunned. “You mean to tell us that religions all over the world are fearful of some spirit lurking beneath one of our volcanoes? What is Laki for god’s sake? Some sort of Lourdes? If that’s the case, maybe we can rebuild our economy on religious tourism.”

  “I am here only to warn you,” said Wormer.

  “Warn us? Of what?”

  “Warn you that the spirit of Laki may not react kindly to interference. The earthquakes may be a sign of that. Certainly, whatever we are talking about protected the Vikings . . . for a time at least. But it drove the Nazis away with hallucinations and irrational fears.”

  Dagursson stared at him. “And now it may be reacting to other interference . . . from the Iranians, perhaps? Is that what you think?”

  “The volcano has not been happy lately,” said Wormer.

  ***

  The small group of police officers sat on the tunnel floor, staring in horror at the bubbling lava less than fifty feet away. While more of the fudge-like mass continued to rise from the split in the passageway, the pace of the lava seemed to have arrested, as most of it was pulled by gravity away from them.

  “It’s stopped coming this way,” said one of the men to no one in particular.

  “Well that’s just bloody terrific,” said another. “But we’re still not going anywhere. We can’t go back and we sure as hell can’t go down that passage. We’re dead men.”

  Sam felt their frustration. Indeed, she felt responsible for having gotten them into this mess. Stefansson’s words, that she was the expert on this place, rang painfully in her ears.

  Several of the men had begun to cough repeatedly. The heat and gas from the lava were beginning to affect them. With no source of fresh air, she knew they had little time before the hot lava would exhaust the oxygen in the tunnel, if they weren’t asphyxiated first by the gases.

  But there was simply no solution . . . no answer. Some expert she was. They were all looking to her and they were all going to die.

  “See if you can raise Jonsson on your radio,” she said. “At least we can tell them to get out of here as fast as they can.”

  The Sergeant nodded and began to call. For all the hopelessness of their predicament, he remained calm. He was a brave man.

  Then Jonsson’s voice entered their blisteringly hot tunnel. Before Stefansson could declare their entrapment, Jonsson was yelling.

  “Sergeant! We need help!”

  Sam grabbed the radio. “Jonsson—get out of there! Any way you can. This place is too unstable. The search and rescue is canceled. We’re trapped and cannot offer assistance.”

  There was a moment of static. Then Jonsson’s reply came loud and clear. “Something’s killing my men! It’s these tentacles. They’ve overrun our position. They’re all around us.”

  Sam and the others listened as screams penetrated their tunnel via the radio. They could hear men shouting and then gunfire.

  Stefansson took the radio from Sam. “Jonsson, report! What’s happening?”

  “We’re shooting at it!” came the reply. “But it’s not helping. It’s everywhere. There are only two of us left.”

  “How is it killing your men?” shouted Stefansson.

  “I . . . I don’t know. The tentacles just seem to ensnare them and cover them until we can’t see them anymore. They . . . they become throbbing masses of . . . whatever this thing is. Like they’re absorbed somehow.”

  There was another burst of gunfire, a man screamed and then the radio went dead.

  They sprawled on the tunnel floor, stunned by what they’d just heard. Most of them believed they were as good as dead. Their last hope had been some sort of rescue by the other group. Now that was gone.

  Stefansson threw the radio aside and asked, “Any suggestions, Miss Graham?” Most of the men were now wheezing from the depleting oxygen and the gas from the lava. They had little time left.

  Sam stood and played her light across the roof of the tunnel near where the obstruction had collapsed. There had been weakness in the structure there. That meant there might be more weak sections. She picked up a rock and began hammering it against the walls on all sides. Stefansson looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  “Looking for a weak spot.” She worked her way along one wall and then across to the other side. She began reaching up as high as she could to test the roof of the tunnel.

  Sweat was pouring off all of them. She couldn’t guess how hot it was inside the tunnel, but it was reaching intolerable levels. Suddenly, her rock thrusts above her head were met with a hollow sound.

  “There!” She yelled. “Everyone back away from this spot.”

  The men did as they were told.

  “Now, use your firearms,” she ordered. “Concentrate your fire at that section of rock where it made the hollow sound.”

  They all thought she was mad, but Stefansson pulled his pistol and nodded.

  Bullets ricocheted around them like flies around a honey pot. It was a miracle no one was hit. But then, another miracle occurred. The section of ceiling simply collapsed and they were staring into a new vent opening that ran upward at a steep angle.

  The sudden opening introduced a new source of oxygen and they all breathed deeply of the elixir, but it also gave new life to the hot lava, which began to glow more fiercely and start to issue more quickly from the hole in the floor. It began to fill the tunnel, searing its way toward them rapidly. The temperature was blistering.

  “Come on!” Sam cried. “Sergeant, lift me up.”

  Stefansson grabbed her foot and heaved her into the new opening. Then he leaped after her, turned, and reached for the first of his men. But the floor of the tunnel, weakened perhaps by the hot lava, suddenly collapsed. The remaining police officers vanished into a cauldron of lava far below. Stefansson stared at the vacant spot that had held his men only an instant before. He’d been unable to save even one of them.

  Sam crouched beside him, one hand on his shoulder. She could feel his whole body slump.

  “I’m sorry, Sergeant,” she said. Then, “We’ve got to keep going. I don’t think the lava will rise through the vent—at lea
st not quickly. We have some time.”

  Stefansson turned away slowly, something indefinable in his eyes. There were just the two of them now.

  The venthole sloped at a thirty-degree angle, but the sides were rough and it was not hard to scramble upward. The heat continued to rise with them, like a thermal moving up the side of a mountain. But after they’d crawled several hundred yards, they could feel the temperature begin to dissipate.

  “Let’s rest a moment,” said Sam.

  They slumped to the floor. Sergeant Stefansson’s eyes were blank and unfocused. He’d lost his entire command in the most horrible way imaginable. Sam could see that he was beginning to close down and realized she had to snap him out of it if they were to have any chance to survive.

  “Sergeant!” She got right in front of him. “You’ve still got a job to do. We need to get out of here and warn the others that this whole area is dangerously unstable.”

  “Unstable?” Stefansson looked at her blankly. “Jonsson said something was killing his men. You heard them shooting and screaming. What the hell happened to them?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I sure as hell want to find out. Do you? Or are we just going to give up and wait to be killed by whatever got the others?”

  Stefansson shook himself. His eyes refocused from the image of the horrible end his men had suffered.

  “I want to know, goddamn it,” he said in a low voice.

  “All right. We’re going to get out of here and we’re going to do something about this.”

  ***

  Jon felt the fear seeping into every pore of his being. What the hell was he doing down here anyway? Damn Eva! This was her doing. She’d wanted to get rid of him. She knew she was sending him to his death. Everyone at the firm had been out to get him. It was all part of a plot.

  His fear was manifest. Even Kraus could detect that something was wrong with his companion.