Iona Portal (The Synaxis Chronicles)

by Robert David MacNeil

  “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.”

  Even before the constable arrived, people were gathering at the ferry terminal from all over the eastern end of Mull.

  Michael and Erin rejoined Holmes and Piper as they loaded their bags into the Mercedes. Large flakes of gray ash were falling around them like snow.

  When everything was loaded, Holmes turned to Michael. “Stay with Erin,” he said. “Make sure she gets on the ferry to Oban. I don’t know what conditions will be like by that time. If you see a way to get across to Iona, join us… otherwise, take the ferry with Erin. It’s not going to be safe on this end of the island.”

  Michael and Erin watched as Holmes and Piper pulled out onto the road to begin the long journey across Mull.

  From its newly opened crater, Ben More belched incandescent fragments of rock hundreds of feet into the air, spreading a constellation of sparks, hot ash, and cinders that swirled against the darkened sky. The sound had now dissipated to a low, growling rumble.

  “Nothing to do now but wait,” Michael said, “and hope Holmes and Piper make it across to Iona. The Isle of Mull should be here in forty-five minutes.”

  “Michael, thank you again for last night,” Erin said, leaning close to be heard over the volcano’s roar. “I’m feeling much better today, but I know I’m not settled yet. I’m going to go down to the shore for a few minutes and try to clear my head. I’ll be back before the ferry leaves.”

  Michael stood and watched the volcano, transfixed by its fierce beauty. He was amazed at the variety of sounds it produced. His ears were assaulted by a cacophony of bellows and growls, punctuated by a high-pitched whooshing and hissing. From time to time there was even a chugging sound, like a steam locomotive. Behind it all was a continuous background roar like distant cannons.

  Michael began to notice a pattern in the mountain’s activity. Ben More was breathing. Each breath began with a slight trembling in the ground – then came the rumbling, a deep echoing roar of escaping gasses. The roar increased in pitch, becoming a raucous scream, and finally softening to a subdued moan, only to begin again a few moments later.

  The crowd gathering at the ferry terminal continued to build. Many were covering their faces with wet towels to protect against the volcanic ash.

  Although the sun had risen, the sky was totally dark. Ash continued to fall, and earthquakes were coming more frequently.

  A cheer went up from the crowd as the ferry finally came into view.

  The constable had been in contact with Calmac by radio to work out a plan of action. The eruption had not yet begun when the Isle of Mull left Oban, and at the height of tourist season, the ship carried a full complement of passengers and vehicles.

  Before the ferry pulled up to the dock, the captain got on the ship’s speaker system. “Attention all passengers,” his voice rasped, “This is your captain speaking. A state of emergency has been declared on the Island of Mull. The eastern end of the island is being evacuated. We will stop to pick up evacuees, and then return to Oban. But we must clear the auto deck. If you have a vehicle on board, you must exit the ferry. We’ll need every inch of space on the auto deck for the evacuees. I repeat. Every car must be unloaded. A local constable will show you where to park. Please leave your keys in the car in case it needs to be moved, and then reboard the ferry immediately. We must be underway in thirty minutes.”

  The constable had deputized several of the locals to help him direct traffic to the parking area. As each car was parked, the deputies herded the occupants back to the ferry.

  The crowd at the ferry terminal was still growing. It was amazing how many people were on the small island. Counting tourists, the crowd now numbered well over eight hundred, and was still increasing. All were dragging suitcases and personal belongings.

  One of the last cars off was a gleaming-white Hummer H2. The driver was furious. Standing beside the Hummer’s open door, he waved his arms belligerently as he argued with the constable. “Just go off and leave it here? You’re out of your freakin’ mind! I just bought this last week—paid sixty thousand pounds for it—no bloody way I’m leaving it here!”

  Just then, there was another titanic explosion on the mountain. The roar of Ben More increased as another plume of fire and smoke belched into the sky. Red-hot, basketball-size globs of ejected lava began crashing to the ground all around them.

  The crowds waiting beside the terminal screamed in terror as they rushed forward, jamming the ramp to the auto deck.

  Without another word, the driver of the Hummer grabbed a few personal belongings, slammed the door, and ran to join the crowd pressing their way onto the ferry.

  Fresh tremors shook the island. The whole island now seemed to be shaking.

  Then, just as the boarding was completed, the mountain fell silent. The rumbling ceased. A heavy cloak of silence fell across the entire island. All eyes turned to the volcano.

  Michael looked around. Was it over? For a full minute, there was complete silence.

  Then the explosion came. Ben More literally blew itself apart. There was no warning. The pressure of the ash-filled steam and gas ripped open the southern flank of the volcano, blasting out horizontally from the mountain at up to 500 miles per hour. A massive surge of superheated ash, magma, and rocks, known to geologists as a pyroclastic flow, plowed across the island, reaching sixty stories high and spreading eight miles wide as it poured down va
lleys and over ridges.

  Fortunately, Craignure was not in the path of the blast, or few of those present would have survived. The blast swept across the southern end of the island, knocking down anything in its path. The superheated gas, hotter than 900 degrees Fahrenheit, instantly carbonized all structures and vegetation.

  As Michael watched in horror, the ferry horn gave its final blast.

  The Isle of Mull was about to leave. Where was Erin? She should be here.

  He looked around frantically for her. The ash on the ground was already several inches deep and increasing rapidly now. Visibility was decreasing. Michael held a handkerchief across his face and headed toward the shore to find Erin.

  ***

  As Holmes and Piper made their way across the southern end of Mull, the ash on the ground was already six inches deep. Progress was slow. The darkened sky, combined with the blizzard of falling ash, made it hard to see the road. Several times the Mercedes lost traction, spinning its wheels in the ash.

  They hadn’t gone far when the side of the mountain opened up, sending the surge of hot gases and rock pouring down the volcano’s flank.

  Holmes and Piper heard nothing as the pyroclastic flow approached. The surge was so dense with sand and ash it literally absorbed all sound. Without warning, the storm of churning darkness was upon them.

  Fortunately, the Mercedes was in the lee of a steep hill when it hit. The main force of the surge passed hundreds of feet above them, but they didn’t escape its destructive power entirely. The flow’s trailing edge rushed downslope at close to 200 MPH, catching up the Mercedes in a roiling cloud of superheated ash.

  As Holmes gripped the wheel in helpless terror, the Mercedes shuddered violently, skidded sideways, then was picked up and literally blown off the road. Flipping twice, it landed right-side up in a ditch, snapping the left front axle. As a blast of intense heat charred the paint, fine ash clogged the air filter, killing the engine.

  And then the surge was gone.

  For a long moment Holmes and Piper sat in stunned silence.

  “Are you okay?” Holmes asked when he finally caught his breath.

  “Yes! Thank God for seat belts,” Piper responded, still trembling. “And you?”

  “A little sore, but I’m okay,” Holmes replied, wincing as he gingerly massaged his right shoulder.

  The air around them slowly cleared. The two stared in unbelief at the ruined landscape around them.

  In the shuddering air and disorienting noise, the world they knew had vanished, replaced by a barren lunar wasteland. Nothing that had been visible a moment earlier was still there. No road. No streams. No vegetation of any kind. Instead, they now surveyed a cindered plain swirling with sulfur and ash. Holmes felt like the blast had picked them up and deposited them on a different planet.

  “What was that?” Piper asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Holmes replied. “But I think Ben More just exploded. I hope Michael and Erin made it safely off the Island.”

  “What do we do now?” she said, still trying to comprehend the devastation around them.

  “We wait here ‘till someone finds us. It may take a while. With Ben More erupting, it could be days before a rescue party comes. The Archons did a very effective job cutting Iona off from the rest of the world.”

  “You don’t think we should go for help?”

  “I doubt there’s another living thing on this end of the island,” he sighed hopelessly. “And the ash out there looks almost knee-deep now. We wouldn’t get far walking.”

  Piper leaned close to Holmes. He put his arm around her, and for a long time they sat in silence, thankful to be alive, yet wondering what would come next.

  The blast had uncorked Ben More and opened a massive vent where, for the next five hours, a half-mile-wide river of ash and magma spewed skyward. Residents of Oban, many miles to the east, reported ash and pebbles raining down on the city.

  Falling ash continued to build up around the Mercedes. From time to time, small cinders clattered on the roof like hailstones. In the darkness around them, lit only by the faint red glow of the volcano, Holmes and Piper lost all sense of time. The air in the car was getting stale, and the sulfur fumes made it difficult to breathe.

  “Ginny?” Holmes finally asked.

  “What is it?”

  “When we get out of this, what do you say we get married?”

  Piper laughed. “Holmes, you are such a romantic!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some men choose a quiet candlelight dinner to propose. Some pick a moonlit night at the beach. You pick an erupting volcano surrounded by armies of flying demons.”

  “But will you marry me?”

  “Holmes,” she smiled broadly, “you know I would marry you, any time, any place.”

  “Then your answer is yes?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Good,” Holmes replied. “Now we just need to get out of here.”

  The constant roar of the volcano was deafening, but a new sound now blended in. It sounded like a car horn blasting repeatedly

  Peering out the ash-streaked windows, Holmes stared incredulously as headlights appeared through the falling ash behind them.

  Chapter Twenty-three: Lys’s Story

  THE ISLAND OF MULL, ARGYLE, SCOTLAND

  Michael trudged through ankle deep ash, heading down toward the water’s edge, calling Erin’s name. His heart sank as he saw, in the distance, the Isle of Mull pulling away from the dock. He was too late. They’d missed the ferry. They were stranded on Mull.

  Then someone was calling his name… it was Erin. She was running toward him through the blizzard of falling ash, and someone was with her.

  Lys!

  Michael stopped, and his mouth fell open at the sight of Lys. Then he ran forward and embraced them both.

  “Lys, how… how did you get here?” he stammered.

  “I’ll explain that later.” Lys shouted, returning Michael’s hug and laughing out loud in her joy at seeing him again. “First we need to figure out how to get out of here.”

  “We’ve missed the ferry,” he shouted, “There’s no way to get back to Oban.”

  “I don’t want to go to Oban,” Erin cut in, “I must get to Iona.”

  “We can’t get to Iona either.” Michael answered, his voice barely audible over the roar of Ben More, “The southern end of Mull was just hit by a pyroclastic flow. Iona is cut off from the world.”

  “But there’s got to be a way,” Lys objected. “I have to get to Iona. I have to open the portal.”

  Michael just shook his head.

  They walked back toward the deserted inn. The town of Craignure was dark and empty. The abandoned cars in the parking area were already coated in a thick layer of ash. Behind it all, Ben More continued to rumble, belching forth more clouds of ash.

  Lys walked over to one of the abandoned vehicles and opened the door. Seeing a set of keys on the front seat, her face brightened.

  “Michael!” she shouted. “I can get us to Iona!”

  “You don’t understand what a pyroclastic flow can do,” he answered. “The whole southern end of the island is a wasteland. The road is gone. There’s no way through. It’ll take weeks to re-open.”

  “But this is a Hummer!” Lys came back. “It’s the H2, the big one. My dad has one just like this. I love these things. It can go anywhere!”

  The name Hummer came from the well-known Humvee military vehicle. The idea for the H2 had been to take the basic Humvee design, add luxury features, and sell it as a high-end sports utility vehicle.

  While the now defunct H2 could be awkward in city traffic, it remains virtually unstoppable off-road. Its fans boast it can plow through 20 inches of water, climb a 16-inch wall, or go up a 60 percent incline.

  At Lys’s urging, Michael and Erin retrieved their luggage from the inn and quickly found seats in the big SUV. Despite the thick coating of ash, the Hummer’s big 6.2 liter V8 responded eagerly,
roaring to life. Lys flipped on the lights and put the Hummer into gear. The massive wheels spun in the ash for just a moment, then gripped. They began rolling forward… driving into the depths of hell.

  As she drove, Lys told her story, beginning with her sighting of Kareina on Wednesday morning. Michael and Erin hung on every word as she described her capture and the boat ride out to the Firth of Lorne.

  She described her plan of escape… allowing herself to be thrown overboard… and her struggle to get free of the anchor line, only to find herself in frigid water far from shore. She told them how she pressed on toward the only lights she could see, moving mechanically, numbly, exhausting the last of her strength, yet choosing to keep moving.

  Finally, she was sinking for the last time. Her arms and legs were no longer responding… she knew she could go no further. Through the pain and exhaustion she was ready to accept defeat.

  But as she felt herself sinking into the icy depths of the firth, she remembered the portal. She was the only one on earth who could open it! More than her life was at stake.

  What had Eliel said? It was her destiny to open the portal. That simple phrase caused hope to surge within her. If opening the Iona portal was her destiny, there must be a way to get there! She had to try again, no matter how impossible it seemed. Summoning her last reserve of strength she determined to make one last desperate push for the surface.

  It’s my destiny to open the portal. She told herself, I MUST get to Iona! … then thrust herself toward the surface with resolute determination.

  She didn’t make it.

  Approaching the heaving surface of the firth, her involuntary breathing reflex finally cut in. Her body, now starved for oxygen, could be denied no longer. Her mouth opened and her body gasped for air, but took in cold saltwater. Her chest heaved convulsively. Her throat and lungs exploded with fire. She was drowning.

  Her upward momentum was broken, but then a swell lifted her up, and her mouth at last cleared the surface. Coughing and gagging, she spat out the water, and drank in the crisp night air.