Iona Portal (28 page)

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.

The dark water swirled around her.  She tried to swim again, pressing forward with her last remnants of strength toward the distant lights.  She’d only gone a few more strokes when a huge wave lifted her up, and smashed her down, slamming her onto a hard surface of solid rock.

Ignoring the pain, Lys looked around in unbelief.  She was still far from shore.  The jagged rock barely broke the surface.  Each new swell that passed crashed down around her, threatening to wash her back into the sea.  But in the troughs between the waves she was high and dry.  She drew numb legs under her and stood up shakily.  Waves continued to crash against her feet, but she stood on solid ground.  The rock was not large, but it was
land.

The beam of the distant lighthouse continued its steady sweep across the sky.  Off to the west she could still see the distant lights of shore.  If only she could make it till morning, there would be hope of rescue.

As dawn approached, the receding tide left her well above the surging swells.  The waves no longer crashed against her.  When the first light of dawn broke, Lys sat shivering on the exposed rock. 

“Lady’s Rock!” exclaimed Michael.

“What’s that?”

“I’ll explain later.  Keep going.  How did you get off the rock?”

“Just after dawn, some passing herring fishermen heard me calling and came to my rescue.  Ben More was already erupting by that time.  They insisted on taking me north, up the coast to Tobermory, but when we saw the ferry coming they agreed to drop me at Craignure.”

“Erin was standing on the shore when we landed.  We’ve been talking ever since.”

“Michael, I’m sorry we worried you,” Erin broke in from the rear seat, resting her hand on Michael’s shoulder, “I didn’t realize how much time was passing.  When Lys told me her story, it completed the process you began last night.  When Lys described how she kept pressing forward, even after she lost all hope of survival, I remembered something Piper told me right after the incident at the ranch.

“One evening I was laying in bed, paralyzed by fear, reliving the horrors of the ranch over and over in my mind.   Piper came in and sat with me for a long time.  She told me something that didn’t really penetrate at the time.  She said, ‘It may be that none of us survive this, but we can’t focus on that.  We’re in a battle, and the stakes are bigger than all of us.  All we can do is take things one step at a time and keep moving forward.’

“Michael, that’s what Lys was doing.  She saw what was at stake and determined that, no matter what, she
had
to find a way through.  I’ve been so focused on my own pain, I forgot the big picture.  But now I understand.”

Erin looked at him with a strength and resolve Michael had never seen in her.  “I may die on Iona, Michael, but I won’t hold back in fear.  Araton once told me I’d have to face death to fulfill my destiny.  I’m ready to do that now.  I
must
get Iona, no matter what.”

As they talked, the Hummer continued its steady pace across the darkened island.  Even for the Hummer it wasn’t an easy path. 

They traversed a hellish landscape of swirling ash and cinders, glowing red in the light of the distant volcano.  No road was visible, though a few shattered and burned-out remnants of houses still stood.  But the four-wheel drive Hummer plowed steadily through the knee-deep ash, a twenty-first century lunar rover crossing a surreal moonscape.

To the north, Lys caught a glimpse of something new… a river was slowly winding its way among the steep hills and ash-covered glens of Mull.  It was a river of fire, glowing dark orange-red and searing yellow.   In places it was crusted over with black slag, but the leading edge glowed white hot as it steadily advanced.  The lava was headed south, slowly snaking its way toward the sea.

And then, up ahead, peering at them across the infernal landscape, Lys saw two eyes, glowing red, staring at her. 

As they approached, Lys squinted through the blizzard of falling ash.  The glowing eyes became clearer.  Horizontal slits, shining in hellish red. 

She finally knew what they were.  They were tail lights!  Coming into view was a twisted lump of charred metal and glass that had once been a Mercedes C220. 

Could Holmes and Piper have survived?   Lys began mashing her hand on the horn, blasting it repeatedly.

Then she saw the lights of the Mercedes begin to flash on and off.  Piper and Holmes were alive!

Chapter Twenty-four:  The Fionnphort Gun Club

THE ISLAND OF IONA, ARGYLE, SCOTLAND

As they made their way into western Mull, the Hummer emerged from the path of the pyroclastic flow and conditions steadily improved.  A light grey coating of ash still covered everything, and the sky overhead remained dark with swirling clouds from horizon to horizon. 

Drawing near to Iona, Michael noticed new movement in the sky.  The sky ahead seemed to be alive, a churning maelstrom that swung across the sky, completely encircling the island of Iona.  Raising his binoculars, he saw that within the storm of smoke and ash, a massive winged army made up of millions of Archon warriors, had surrounded the ancient island.

Directly over Iona, a cloud of Irin circled, standing guard against the overwhelming horde.  More than 30,000 Irin had gathered on Iona, but the dark forces now circling the place numbered many times that.  And they were steadily drawing closer, slowly hemming in the island’s defenders.

From time to time, Michael could see clumps of Irin break away from the cloud and move to confront the Archons, but they were immediately surrounded by packs of Archon warriors, and in a flash of light, fell from the sky.

Arriving at Fionnphort, the waters of Iona Sound were churning as undersea earthquakes still rocked the area, but the intrepid crew of the Calmac ferry agreed to take them across.

As they emerged from the ferry on the Island of Iona, Patrick and several others were waiting for them on the ramp.

Patrick, Reetha, Marty and Ron excitedly embraced the new arrivals as they walked up the ramp from the ferry.  They were particularly thrilled to see that Lys had been found.

“We’ve been so worried about you!” Patrick began. “All communications here went down yesterday, and then when the volcano erupted this morning we feared the worst.  You must tell us the whole story, but first let me introduce some allies from Mull.”

Gesturing to three new additions to their party, he said, “I’d like you to meet Angus MacLean, Catherine Campbell, and Malcolm MacKinnon.  They call themselves the Fionnphort Gun Club.”  Holmes shook hands with all three and introduced them to the rest of the group.

Angus and Malcolm were tall and muscular, both in their mid twenties.  Rugged outdoorsmen, they wore their hair long and unkempt, with Angus sporting a full and untrimmed beard. 

But Catherine was something special.  About the same age as her companions, she had the healthy glow of a woman who lived much of her life outdoors.  She was dressed casually in jeans and a man’s flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, yet her attire only served to accentuate her natural femininity.  Tall and slender with a good figure, her unkempt raven tresses fell softly over her shoulders, framing a face that was gentle, yet strong.  Like the men, she carried a Remington 12-gauge pump-action shotgun.

As they walked together toward the local pub, Holmes gestured toward the sky.  “Interesting weather you’re having today…”

“Living near Iona we’re used to strange sights in the sky,” Angus answered in a thick Scottish brogue. “But I never seen anything like this.  Looks like Armageddon.”

“These three know all about the angels,” Patrick added.

“You don’t live across the water from Iona an’ not know about angels,” Malcolm explained.

“And Michael…”  Marty interjected. “Angus here has read all your books.” Turning to Angus, he added, “By the way, Angus, this is Michael Fletcher, the author of those books on angels.”  His warm greeting revealed that Michael had discovered a fan.

They sat together around the big table in the corner of the pub, and Holmes ordered drinks all around.  The first order of business was to bring the group up to date on the adventures of the last twenty-four hours.  They sat enthralled as they listened to the accounts of Lys’s escape from death, Erin’s deliverance from the shades, and the rescue of Holmes and Piper from the ruined Mercedes.

After the quick briefing, Holmes directed the group’s attention to the situation at hand.  Turning to Angus, he said, “Tell me about your gun club.”

“It’s not what you’d call a real club,” Angus answered.  “Malcolm, Catherine an’ I have been pals since we was wee bairns.  Even as children, we spent our summers hunting and fishing all over the island.  So the club is just us—just pals who go huntin’ together.”  Noticing their fascination with Catherine, he added,  “Y’know, Catherine here is one of the best shooters in the Highlands.”

“What do you hunt?”

“Ducks, hare, an’ pheasant mostly, and sometimes vermin.”

“Today we’ve been huntin’ vermin!” Malcolm added with a laugh.

“So tell me, what’s been happening here since yesterday?”

“Those boggin’ cowboys drove in with their fancy guns, and tried to take over Fionnphort.”  Catherine said, eyes flashing with anger. “They shot up the town, pulled down the cell tower, and cut off the phones.  Then they tried to shut down the Calmac ferry, not lettin’ anyone on or off Iona.” 

With a look of satisfaction on her face, Catherine added, “So we got our guns, and after a bit of a barnie, we drove the choobs off the island!” 

Malcolm continued, “The damn cowboys stole a wee boat and escaped here to Iona where they’ve barricaded themselves at the fairy mound.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Holmes observed, “driving Rex and his gang off Mull.  They’re pretty tough.”

“Most of you Yanks think the Scots are weak ‘cause of the kilts,” Malcolm commented, smiling, “But we Celts have always been fearsome fighters.”

 “We even stopped the Romans,” Catherine added with pride.  “The Romans conquered everything else in the world, but when they got to our wee isle, Emperor Hadrian said, ‘those Scots are too tough for us.’  So they built a wall from sea to sea to keep us out.”

Angus glanced at Catherine with a twinkle in his eye, “Y’know, among the ancient Celts, the women went into battle right along with the men. And it’s said the women were the fiercest fighters of the lot.”

“And
none
of ‘em wore kilts.”  Malcolm added, “They all fought stark naked, not a stitch of clothin’ on their bodies.”

“Even the women?” Patrick questioned, glancing at Catherine.

“Even the women!” answered Angus.

Catherine smiled mischievously, “See, the Celtic women used to paint their bodies all over with hideous war paint.  Then, when they went into battle…”  Catherine grasped the front of her shirt as though preparing to rip it off… “they’d rip off their clothing an’ go chargin’ after the enemy.  One look at them and the enemy went runnin’ for their lives!”

“That certainly gives new meaning to the term ‘painted lady,’” laughed Reetha.

“’Course Highland lassies don’t need war paint to make the men go runnin’ from ‘em nowadays.”  Angus laughed, as Catherine punched him in the arm.

“But Holmes…” Patrick interrupted, trying to get the conversation back on track. “We have a serious problem.  Rex Vanderberg and his thugs are heading up a small army of Archon supporters.  I counted more than twenty of them.  They’re camped at the foot of
Cnoc Angel
.  Even with our friends from Mull, I don’t see a way to get past them.  They’re armed to the teeth with M-16s, Kalashnikovs, and Uzis.

“Yet over our heads that circling Archon army is getting closer by the hour,” he continued.  “I don’t see a way we can get close enough to the Hill of the Angels to open the portal.”

Listening to Patrick’s analysis of the problem, Michael burst out laughing.  “Well, if that’s our problem, we can all relax and have another pint.”