The Caldera Read online

  chapterthirty-six

  Hal ran to the parapet and grabbed the rope, swinging himself up and over the waist-high barrier. He turned to face the wall and went down the rope rapidly, using his feet against the rough surface as he went.

  Lydia, following after him, saw that he had the rope. She put her legs through one of the gaps in the crenellations, sat on the edge and launched herself into space. She hit the ground and rolled to absorb the shock. Hal reached the ground a few seconds after her and waved urgently at Olaf and Constantus, who were crouched, waiting for them, at the base of the wall.

  “What are you waiting for? Get going!”

  The four of them ran, intent on reaching the shelter of the ridge before any of the pirates made it to the parapet. Hal swerved wildly as a huge eruption of sulfurous steam burst from the ground right in front of him, hurling a shower of small rocks high into the air. They came clattering down a few seconds later, peppering the ground around him. One landed heavily on his shoulder. He grunted in pain, but kept running.

  Gratefully, he dropped into the cover of the ridge, where the ground sloped down to the cliff’s edge some fifty meters away. Olaf and Constantus were a few meters from him, also lying in the cover provided by the sloping ground. Lydia had turned as she neared the ridge. A dart was ready in her atlatl and she paced easily backward, watching the parapet for the first sign of their pursuers.

  Hal crawled the few meters to where Olaf crouched. He gripped his shoulder to get his attention.

  “Take the boy and ride the elevator down with him. Then get Thorn to send it back up for us,” he said. Then, remembering his earlier conversation with Thorn, he asked, “Have you got a flint?”

  Even though he knew he didn’t have a flint, Olaf slapped at his pockets in a reflex action, as if one would suddenly appear in his hand. Before he had finished, Hal produced his own and handed it to him.

  “Strike it a couple of times to let Thorn know you’re coming,” he said. Then he added: “And remember to leave it in the shed. I’ll need it too.”

  Olaf nodded and stuffed the flint in the side pocket of his jerkin. Then he gripped Constantus’s arm and urged him to his feet.

  “Come on!” he said. “And stay low!”

  Crouching to stay in the cover of the ridge, the two of them ran, scrambling over the rough ground, weaving to avoid the sudden geysers of steam that shot out of the rocks with increasing frequency.

  Olaf felt the ground trembling beneath his feet. “Sooner we’re out of here, the better,” he muttered.

  Constantus looked at him fearfully. “Is it going to blow up?”

  Olaf tried to grin reassuringly but he felt it was a pale effort, more a grimace than a grin. “Not with me here.”

  They reached the upper station of the elevator and ran to the edge, where the cage was ready to go down. He lifted Constantus over the railing and set him down inside the basket. Then he took Hal’s flint and struck it several times against his dagger.

  • • • • •

  The Herons had waited through the night. Thorn had set a roster for lookouts to keep watch for some sign of activity at the top of the elevator cable.

  “The rest of you might as well get some sleep,” he’d told the crew. “We could be here for a while.”

  “What do you think’s holding them up?” Ulf had asked.

  Thorn shrugged. “Hal may be waiting for Myrgos’s men to settle down for the night,” he said. Even this far away, they had heard snatches of song from the cliff top as the wind varied.

  “Maybe he’s waiting for the volcano to settle down,” Edvin said. There had been as much upheaval down here as on the top of the cliff. From time to time, the surface of the bay heaved with the force coming from below. The resultant waves would surge into the inlet, and they had been hard put to fend Heron off the jetty and the rocks.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen soon,” Thorn had told him.

  Now, as the sky was beginning to lighten, Stefan saw the brilliant flash of the flint and steel from inside the shadows of the elevator house.

  “Thorn! Look!” he called.

  A moment later, it was repeated. This time, Thorn was watching.

  “They’re coming down,” he said. “Tail on to that rope to stop them getting out of control.” He struck his own flint with his saxe several times, to signal they were ready.

  The elevator would come down under its own weight. And without some form of control, it would move faster and faster as gravity took over. Stefan quickly woke the rest of the crew, and they all caught hold of the loose end of the cable. They felt it start to move as Olaf pushed it off from the top station and it began to slide down, gathering speed as it did.

  The rope started to run faster, and Thorn gestured to Ingvar, who was at the head of the line.

  “Take a turn round that bollard to slow them down,” he said. Ingvar nodded and quickly looped the rope round one of the wooden bollards on the jetty. The added friction as the rope went round the bollard took some of the strain off the rope handlers. The cage was coming down smoothly, but not too quickly.

  As it drew closer to the jetty, Thorn could make out the two figures riding in it.

  “It’s Olaf!” he called. “And he’s got the boy!”

  In spite of their preoccupation with the rope, the crew let out a muted cheer. They had got what they had come for. But their sense of triumph was tinged with caution. Hal and Lydia were still somewhere up the cliff.

  Ulf let out a shocked yell as a large piece of rock broke off from the top of the cliff and plummeted into the inlet, raising a mighty splash only ten meters from the jetty.

  “It’s shaking itself to pieces!” he said. Nobody answered, but they all agreed with his assessment.

  The cage thudded into the jetty. Distracted by the falling rock, they had let it run almost unchecked for the last five meters. Now willing hands reached forward to help Constantus and Olaf out of the cage.

  Olaf grinned in triumph. “We got Constantus!”

  But Thorn wasn’t ready to celebrate yet. “Where’s Hal?”

  Olaf gestured back up the cliff. “He and Lydia are coming down next.”

  “Thorn!” It was Edvin calling, pointing up to the cliffs, now wreathed in smoke and steam. “Hal’s signaling!”

  A series of brilliant flashes emanated from the hut at the top of the cliff. Thorn looked around. The cage was empty, so it would be easier to haul it up by hand. And he sensed that there wasn’t time to use the ship to take it up.

  “Everyone on the rope!” he ordered. “Pull your hearts out!”

  Everyone on the jetty, including Olaf and Constantus, grabbed hold of the rope and began to haul it in, running back along the jetty to get it moving faster.

  “Time for you to earn your keep, Ingvar,” Thorn said through gritted teeth as he heaved on the rope.

  The big crewman said nothing but heaved with increasing force. Lydia was up there and she was relying on them to get her down, he thought. His feet gripped the rough wood of the jetty planks, and he leaned his body almost horizontal to the ground with his efforts. The others on the rope felt the difference. The elevator shot upward and they couldn’t help looking at the massive lad in awe. They had never seen his strength demonstrated so forcibly.

  • • • • •

  “Here they come,” Lydia said calmly. She was keeping watch over the rough ground between the ridge and the elevator hut. The first of Myrgos’s men had just appeared over the ridge, moving cautiously, waiting to see if they’d be met by a hail of darts and crossbow bolts.

  “Let’s not disappoint them,” Hal said grimly. He had taken the opportunity to reload his crossbow and now he settled his sights on a warrior in the middle of the line. Half a dozen of them were emerging over the ridge, moving with increasing confidence, as there was no reaction
from the elevator hut.

  “Let ’em have it,” Hal said, and released the crossbow. The bolt streaked across the intervening space and hit the pirate in the center of his body mass. He doubled over, reeling back with the force of the shot, then dropping to the ground with a cry of pain.

  In the same few moments, Lydia hurled three darts. Each of them claimed a target, and suddenly the remaining two pirates weren’t so sure it was a good idea to charge the elevator hut. They turned and ran back to the ridge, dropping to the ground and yelling to their comrades who were coming up behind them to keep low and stay in cover.

  Hal allowed himself a nod of satisfaction. “That’s slowed them down,” he said.

  But as he spoke, the entire hut lurched violently as another tremor shook it. The beam supporting one corner splayed out to the side, and a corner of the roof crashed down into the interior. The floor sagged at an angle. The hut wasn’t going to last much longer, Hal thought.

  Then the elevator cage thumped into the railing and the edge of the bull wheel.

  Hal found the flint where Olaf had left it and struck it twice rapidly with his saxe. The brilliant flashes were seen from below, and he and Lydia clambered over the railing into the cage. He shoved off, pushing them away from the sagging, quaking hut and setting the cage sliding down the rope. As they went, they felt the crew hauling on the rope to check their speed.

  “Look out!” Lydia shouted, grabbing his shoulder and pulling him down behind the railing. Three huge rocks had broken away from the top of the cliff, the largest smashing into the cage, setting it rocking wildly. A few seconds later, he heard an enormous splash from below as it plunged into the water of the inlet.

  Hal looked back up the cliff, and his mouth dried in fear. There were cracks forming in the rock below the elevator station, huge splits that gushed steam and smoke into the night air. As he watched, they spread wider and wider across the cliff face below the hut.

  “It won’t last much longer,” he said.

  Lydia looked up at the spreading spiderweb of cracks and splits. “We only need a couple of minutes.”

  “I don’t know that we’re going to get it,” he said as the rock shelf forming part of the mounting for the bull wheel cracked and fell away. The basket lurched wildly. The platform that held the upper end of the lift in place was hanging by a thread. One more decent tremor and it would collapse.

  “Faster!” he yelled down at the heaving, toiling crew. But his voice was lost in the thunderous cracks and explosions of steam. Rocks clattered down the cliff face in a constant shower now, hitting the water below and churning it to foam. The only thing that kept them safe was the fact that the rope moved out at an angle—it didn’t run vertically down from the top station. Had that been the case, they would have been buried under the falling rocks and boulders.

  Another section of the top platform gave way, and the cage swung wildly to the side. Hal felt a cold hand clutch his heart as he saw a massive rent in the rock wall beginning to zigzag up toward the elevator platform. When it reached the top, the entire structure would give way. He looked down. They were still twenty meters from the water in the inlet.

  He gestured to the massive crack in the rocks. “Get ready to jump,” he said. “When that goes, the cage will drop vertically. We’ll have to jump out to get clear of it.”

  Lydia nodded, grasping the situation immediately, and began to haul herself up onto the railing.

  “Not yet,” Hal warned her, his eyes locked on the crack as it slowly inched its way up through the rock. He wanted to wait as long as possible to reduce the height they would have to fall. Then, suddenly, the crack accelerated toward the elevator hut, and he vaulted up onto the rail as well.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  Lydia pushed off, hurling herself out into space as far as she could. A second later, he felt the cage give its last death tremor and he launched himself after her, toward the black water fifteen meters below them.

  chapterthirty-seven

  The shock as he hit the surface of the water was stunning—far worse than he had imagined.

  The impact jarred his feet and knees and punched the air out of his lungs as he went under. Involuntarily, he gulped in several mouthfuls of salt water before he could stop himself. He was still going down, in a welter of foam and bubbles, when the cage hit the water several meters from him. The shock was transmitted through the water and punched him like a massive fist. Again, he gulped and swallowed more water. He flailed weakly, desperately trying to make it back to the surface before his tortured lungs collapsed and he breathed in more water. In his dazed mind, he knew that if he did that, it would spell the end for him. He had no idea where Lydia was. He hoped that she was all right.

  Then, when his lungs were ready to burst, he exploded to the surface, coming out up to his waist and gasping desperately for air, filling his lungs and then collapsing in a fit of coughing and retching as he tried to breathe in and, at the same time, expel the water he had swallowed.

  He thrashed desperately at the surface, trying to prevent himself from going down again. A few meters away, he became aware of a dim shape. It was Lydia, floating facedown in the water. He swam weakly to her, grabbing her from behind, rolling her onto her back and pulling her face clear of the water. She groaned, and he felt a surge of relief as he realized she was alive. He tried to call for help, but his voice was nothing but a weak croak. He went under again and swallowed more seawater. He thrashed feebly, desperately striving to get back to the surface. But he was weakening and his efforts had no effect.

  Thorn sized the situation up immediately. He turned to Stig and yelled:

  “Come on!”

  Then he leapt feetfirst into the water of the inlet and struck out for his skirl and the unconscious Lydia.

  Stig paused at the edge of the jetty. “Everybody back aboard!” he yelled. “Cast off the lines!” Then he too hurled himself into the water in a clumsy dive. The impetus of the dive brought him level with Thorn, and they reached Hal and Lydia at the same time. Lydia was struggling feebly. Like Hal, she had swallowed water when she hit the surface but she was semiconscious. Hal was now ominously still, facedown in the water.

  “Take Lydia!” Thorn said, spitting water. “I’ve got Hal.”

  He wrapped his hook in the collar of Hal’s jerkin and heaved him upright in the water. Then he took the skirl’s arms and draped them around his own neck and shoulders, striking out in a clumsy sidestroke for the ship, scissor-kicking strongly as he went.

  Stig swam behind Lydia and wrapped his arms under hers, lying on his back to hold her out of the water and kicking toward the ship as well.

  Years before, when they had first formed the brotherband, Hal had ensured that all members of the crew could swim—a rare accomplishment among sailors at that time. His foresight now stood him in good stead—indeed, it probably saved his life.

  Thrashing with his free arm, kicking wildly with his legs, snorting and blowing like a bull walrus, Thorn brought Hal alongside the ship, where hands reached down to help him aboard. Ulf leaned far out over the gunwale, held tight around his belt by Wulf, and grabbed Hal by both arms.

  “Pull us in!” he yelled to his brother.

  Wulf reared back, assisted by Jesper and Stefan, and plucked Hal bodily over the railing. He set him down, pale-faced and semiconscious, on the central deck. Ulf reached back for Thorn, but the old sea wolf waved him away.

  “Get Lydia aboard first!” he spluttered through a mouthful of water—the inlet was still churned up by the constant rain of rocks and boulders smashing into it from the cliff top above them.

  Ulf felt a large body shove him to one side, and Ingvar—of course it was Ingvar—leaned down to where Stig had brought Lydia close to the hull. The massive youth grabbed her by the shoulders of her jerkin and heaved her up and aboard the ship as if she weighed no more than a baby. Once
she was over the rail, he cradled her gently and laid her on the central decking.

  Ulf and Wulf had already turned Hal onto his stomach, his hands and arms stretched above his head, and were pumping urgently at his ribs. For several minutes, he remained still, not breathing or showing any sign of life. Then he suddenly erupted in a fit of coughing and spewed seawater all over the deck, and took in a giant, shuddering breath.

  Edvin moved in to examine Lydia. She was breathing easily enough, but there was a thin trickle of blood from above her left eyebrow.

  “Probably hit by a falling rock,” he muttered.

  Ingvar moved in to peer closely at Lydia’s injury, getting in Edvin’s way.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Edvin told him. He pointed to the stern. “You get Stig and Thorn on board.”

  The two crewmen had swum aft where the rail of the ship dipped down lower to the water. It took Ingvar only a matter of seconds to heave them, dripping wet, onto the deck.

  Once he was back on board, Stig took stock of the situation quickly. Hal was sitting up, still dazed, but recovering from his near drowning. Lydia’s eyes had opened, and she was responding groggily to Edvin’s questions.

  “Ulf! Stay with Hal. Edvin, you look after Lydia. The rest of you, get to your oars and pole us out of here!”

  The Herons scrambled to do his bidding. The ship was already cast loose, and Stefan and Jesper set their oars against the jetty and the rough walls of the inlet, poling her back toward the open sea. As she began to gather way and the inlet opened up, the others set their oars and began to row, backing the ship out into open water, away from the rain of crashing rocks that was now falling constantly into the inlet, churning the water to foam.

  Stig took the tiller, and as they came into clear water, he turned her so she was facing the open sea. Lydia was sitting up now, waving Edvin away. He finished tying a linen bandage around her forehead.

  “Edvin! Relieve Ulf!” Stig ordered. “Ulf and Wulf, get the sail on her.” He glanced at the telltale. “Port sail!”