Iona Portal (The Synaxis Chronicles) Read online

  She looked at him, but her face hardened. She said again, “Who are you?”

  Araton answered with a broad smile. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.” Erin insisted.

  “Miss Erin…” he said, studying her carefully. The truth is, I’m not a native of your world. I’m not even a human being. You would call me an alien … but I assure you that I pose no threat. I’ve been sent here to help you.”

  Seeing her face flush red with anger, the man quickly added. “I told you that you wouldn’t believe me… but perhaps a demonstration would be more convincing than an explanation. Let me show you what I really am...”

  With no further explanation, the stranger walked past Erin to the crater’s rim. Erin followed him with her gaze. At the edge of the abyss he paused for a moment, looked at Erin and smiled. Then, without a word, Araton stepped off the edge of the crater.

  Chapter Three: Volcano House

  VOLCANO HOUSE HOTEL, MOUNT KILAUEA, HAWAII

  Holding the coffee with both hands, Erin Vanderberg leaned back in the huge wooden rocker Araton had pulled close to the fireplace. The room was old and slightly musty, but very pleasant, and the warmth radiating from the fireplace was already beginning to penetrate her bones. She glanced around, admiring the hotel’s rustic décor. It felt more like a hunting lodge in Alaska than a Hawaiian resort.

  Hot coffee in one hand, Araton pulled up the second rocker and eased himself into it. Erin stared at him, mouth agape, still stunned by the recent revelations.

  When Araton stepped off the crater’s edge, of course, he did not fall. Instead, as Pele had done in her dream, Araton floated in mid-air, high above the crater floor. Gliding smoothly out about ten feet from the edge, he swung around to face her, as a set of huge white wings faded into view.

  “My God!” she exclaimed. “What…” she fumbled for words, “…what are you?”

  “I’m exactly what I claimed to be,” he laughed. “But you wouldn’t believe me.” Seeing her still shivering in the cold he added, “And I promise I’ll tell you the whole story as soon as we get to the hotel.”

  The ten-minute drive to Volcano House took place in complete silence. Erin drove, still glancing in unbelief at Araton every few moments.

  Entering the hotel, they found a fire blazing in the old stone fireplace, just as Araton had promised. Araton seemed to know his way around the hotel, and soon had two cups of steaming coffee in hand and the massive chairs arranged before the fire.

  Taking a sip of the coffee, Erin lifted her eyes from the roaring fire to find Pele staring at her. She started… almost spilling her coffee.

  A large, cast-iron image of Pele was affixed to the fireplace in place of a mantle. Pele’s visage was grotesque, with immense bare breasts and a glaring face. Pointing toward the image, Erin laughed, “Now, who thought that was a good idea?”

  “Probably someone who never met Pele,” Araton came back.

  His statement raised a question she hadn’t considered. “So Pele is… real?” Erin said.

  “As real as I am,” Araton assured her.

  Erin studied the image for a few moments, then added, “Well, Pele was much more attractive in my dreams.”

  “Of course, what you saw in your dream was not the real Pele,” Araton countered, “You saw only an image she projected into your mind.

  “Even those who meet Pele in real life don’t usually see her as she is. Pele uses mind control to affect how people perceive her. Up on these mountains, for example, Pele usually appears as a beautiful young woman with long, flowing black hair. Down on the coast she’s seen as an old woman in white hair. Neither is real, of course. The real Pele is barely humanoid.”

  Erin tilted her head questioningly. “Pele can really control how people see her?”

  “Pele’s race possesses formidable mental abilities.” Araton explained. “If she were here now, you might sit and talk with her for hours, and never suspect you weren’t speaking to a human being.”

  “What is Pele?”

  “She’s a member of an ancient race called the Archons. Her people have been visiting your world for many thousands of years. Many of them, like Pele, have chosen to live here. But their intentions are not beneficent.”

  “And now tell me exactly what you are.” She looked at him intently.

  “My people are called the Irin.” Araton responded. “We are, as you’ve seen, not exactly human, but we’re similar to you in many respects.

  “The Irin and Archons have both visited this world since ancient times, though only a few of your people have recognized our presence. However, our two races come here for vastly different reasons. The Archons’ goal is to subjugate and destroy the human race and ultimately seize your world for their own. The Irin have been sent to prevent that.”

  With that introduction, Araton began his story. As Erin slowly sipped her coffee, Araton unfolded a picture of a world Erin had never imagined. A terrifying world. A battleground for alien races with the fate of the human race hanging in the balance.

  At seven o’clock the hotel’s restaurant opened, and Araton escorted her in. After filling their plates at the hotel’s generous breakfast buffet, they chose a table by a large plate-glass window overlooking the Kilauea caldera. Erin’s attention was captured by the huge clouds of steam silently ascending from Halema’uma’u. She shuddered at the thought that her body would lie broken at the bottom of that pit if not for Araton.

  “Will Pele come after me again?”

  “I doubt it,” Araton responded. “Especially since you’re leaving the Island. Pele is extremely territorial. She rarely leaves Hawaii. She sees this as her land, and in a way it is. At least she’s helped form it. She’s the one that keeps the volcano flowing, constantly expanding her territory. Once you’re back on the mainland I doubt Pele will give you any trouble.

  “But Pele is just one of the Archons. There are many others. And now that you’re aware of their presence, they may target you more openly. But that is the path to your destiny.”

  “That’s another question I wanted to ask. How do you know my destiny?”

  “Let’s just say my people relate to time differently than you do.”

  “You mean you time-travel?”

  “Not exactly,” Araton smiled, “but we can often see what lies ahead. Time has many corridors, many branching options. We have the ability to sense which corridor you’re destined to walk, and what awaits you there.

  “Right now, you have several corridors before you. Most of them are dark, but one is very bright. In fact, if you choose it, you may one day save millions of lives.”

  “What?” Erin said in unbelief.

  Araton hesitated for a moment… “Erin, I’m saying that you are destined to be a person of great significance. You have things within you, abilities you’re not yet aware of, that are vital to the future of your world. I see that clearly, and so do the Archons. There will come a time when you may save your entire race from destruction… but only if you make the right choices.”

  “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Your next step is to go back home. You must return home and do exactly as you’ve always done. You must take up your responsibilities and fulfill your commitments.” As he spoke he could see the light fading from Erin’s face.

  “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear, but the days ahead won’t be easy for any of us.” He lowered his voice, looking more serious than she had seen.

  “Great changes are coming for your world. Great destruction threatens, but my people will do all we can to help you prepare. You’re one of a small group of humans who have the potential to save your world from disaster.

  “We’re preparing to gather the members of this group together and it’s vital that you are part of it.”

  “When will all this start?” she asked.

  “Within a month you should receive a phone call,” Araton responded. “It will be an invitation to gather
with the others we’ve contacted. From that point, things will move quickly.

  “I must be honest with you, Erin,” he continued. “Pele’s choice of you was not accidental. The Archons know who you are. They know you have the potential to thwart their plans and they won’t stop in their attempts to kill you.

  “The Archons have already killed two of those we’d hoped to gather, and they will target others. They’re very determined.

  “The season ahead will be a precarious time for all of you,” Araton said, looking intently at Erin. “You’re in a battle for your life and a battle for your world, and I can’t guarantee that you’ll win. You may not survive, but I see no other path for you to walk. To arrive at your destiny, you will have to face death.”

  “I’ve faced death once already today.” Erin smiled nervously, “Doesn’t that count?”

  “No, Erin, you haven’t faced death.” Araton countered, “You tried to escape life, but you have not yet faced death. That’s a very different thing. But that time is coming.”

  Chapter Four: Mystery

  BRENTWOOD MEMORIAL HOSPITAL, BOULDER, COLORADO

  The darkness lasted a long time. Lysandra Johnston was dimly aware of unbearable pain. Of movement. Of people prodding and poking her body. More pain.

  She struggled back to consciousness. There were vague shapes around her. Voices. One that seemed familiar somehow… but she couldn’t place it. Then a wave of darkness crashed over her.

  Lys opened her eyes again and struggled to focus. It was darker now. Someone was leaning over her... a woman dressed in blue.

  “So you’re finally back in the land of the living?” the nurse asked casually.

  Lys looked at the nurse. “Where am I? What happened? I don’t understand…”

  It was an effort to speak. She tried to turn her head, but it seemed frozen in place. Bandages covered much of her face.

  “Take it easy, honey,” the nurse said softly. “You’ve had a hard time, but I think the worst is past.”

  Lys faded in an out of consciousness several more times. Doctors and nurses came and went, performing their nameless rituals.

  A man came—a police lieutenant—asking questions about the accident. Lys mumbled something incoherent about a black BMW and men with cruel eyes. Then darkness overtook her again and she slept.

  There were dreams. Strange dreams. Surreal nightmares that grew more and more bizarre. She was in the car. Kareina was with her, but she no longer looked like Kareina. Kareina’s face had lengthened and distorted and gained reptilian scales. As Lys watched in horror, Kareina drew her lips back, revealing jagged fangs. She was leering at her with eyes like coals of fire.

  The dream shifted and Kareina was gone. A man was in the car, a stranger. They were floating together in weightlessness. Time had stopped. The man reached out and seized her roughly, grasping her body in his strong hands. Helpless to resist, he pulled her close, and held her in a tight embrace. Then the world exploded.

  Another dream. Lys was in a place she didn’t recognize. The landscape was stark and rugged, and the sky swirled in a maelstrom of ash-dark clouds. There were birds in the clouds, thousands of them, great birds that fought and tore. One of the birds held a long gleaming sword in its hand. And one looked very much like Kareina.

  And then it was morning. Lys was still in the hospital. She struggled to remember how she got there but her mind was filled with fog. Disconnected images jumbled together in her brain, tumbling over each other: The men in the BMW. The warning signs flashing past. The sound of ripping steel.

  Finally Lys again heard a familiar voice. Climbing out of a deep well she struggled to open her eyes, and for the first time since the accident saw a familiar face.

  “Roger?” She mumbled feebly through swollen lips. Then her face brightened in recognition as she flashed him a crooked smile, “Roger … DODGER!”

  Roger Johnston laughed out loud at his sister’s greeting. Lys was still groggy from the pain medication and her speech was slurred. She sounded thoroughly drunk.

  “That’s Doctor Roger Dodger to you, young lady,” he responded playfully.

  Dr. Roger Johnston was a resident surgeon at Brentwood Memorial Hospital. Though he was seven years older than his half-sister, the two had been close since childhood. Lys hadn’t called him Roger Dodger since they were kids.

  “Roger…” she repeated, her voice clearer this time, “I’m so glad to see you.”

  He reached down and clasped her hand, “I’m happy to see you too, Sis, but next time you want to get together, just give me a call and we can do lunch. This is a hell of a way to get family time.

  “But,” he said warmly, “you don’t know how glad I am to see you alive. For a while I thought we’d lost you. Mom and Dad have been worried sick. They’re coming up to see you this weekend. They want to take you back to Dallas as soon as you’re strong enough to leave the hospital.”

  Her mind was still foggy. It was hard to put words together. “Roger… the accident… those men in the BMW… Why did they want to kill me? I’ve never seen them before.”

  “I checked the police report, Sis. The black BMW was reported stolen in central Colorado. It was found abandoned, and heavily damaged, in Boulder. So it doesn’t sound like they had it in for you personally. They were probably just strung out on drugs. You’re lucky to be alive.”

  Lys again struggled to recall the accident. There was something important she needed to remember, but she felt confused, unsure which memories were real. Finally she looked up at Roger and asked, “What happened to Kareina?”

  “Who’s Kareina?”

  “She was the woman in the car with me. We were coming back from a party when the BMW showed up.”

  Roger looked puzzled. “Lys, the police report said you were alone. No one else was found at the scene, and there’s no chance anyone could have walked away.”

  “No, Roger… Kareina was with me,” Lys objected, trying to sort out her memories. ”She was the one who invited me to that god-awful party in the first place. I never would have been on that road if not for her.”

  “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Not much, really. I’ve only known her for a few weeks. Her last name is Procel. She’s about twenty-three, thin, with long black hair. She said she works down the hall at another office. I’m not even sure which one. She said she’s new in town and I looked like a friendly face. She always dropped by on her break to talk.”

  “Lys, you’re still pretty shaken up.” Roger sighed. “I’ll check with your office about Kareina, but believe me, you don’t need to worry about her. There’s no way anyone was with you in the car.”

  PART TWO: PILGRIMAGE

  Chapter Five: Patrick

  THE PORT OF OBAN, WESTERN COAST OF SCOTLAND

  The deck plates shuddered with a deep rumble as the 4800 ton Isle of Mull eased from her moorings and began churning across the placid waters of Oban harbor. The Isle of Mull was a handsome vessel, over 90 meters in length, one of the largest in the Calmac fleet. Her gleaming white superstructure was accentuated by a distinctive red and black funnel towering above her decks, but her most notable feature was the company name proudly emblazoned across her black hull in huge white letters: Caledonian MacBrayne.

  The MacBrayne fleet is the lifeblood of the Western Isles. There’s a saying in the west of Scotland, “The earth belongs to the Lord, and all it contains, except the Western Isles, for they belong to the MacBraynes.” That statement is not far from truth. The tiny, windswept isles of the Inner and Outer Hebrides have but one real lifeline to the rest of the world: the intrepid fleet of ferries operated by Caledonian MacBrayne, Inc.

  Patrick O’Neill stood wearily in line at the ship’s bar. It had been a long journey but he was nearing its end. Two years ago Patrick was a twenty-nine year-old investment counselor with a corner office in one of the gleaming glass towers of Dallas. He thought he had it all—until his marriage disintegrated in a messy divorce
in which his wife got the house, the kids, and everything else important to him. After six more months of pointless activity, he walked away from his job, cashed in what remained of his investments, and bought a ticket to Ireland.

  Through the year-long trauma of the divorce, Patrick had been tantalized by a recurring dream. In the dream he sat on a green hill with the sea in the distance. Huge slabs of rock protruded from the ground around him. The countryside was rugged with few trees, mostly moss and grass. What he remembered most was the green. It was a shade of green he’d never seen in Texas. He assumed it was his ancestral homeland, Ireland.

  There’d been a presence with him on that hill. He had no name for it, but it was very real. Every night as he approached the top of the hill, the presence enveloped him. It penetrated his pores and filled him with an overwhelming sense of peace and well-being. Nothing else seemed to matter as long as he was in that presence. He always awoke from the dream feeling strengthened and refreshed.

  The dream-hill became his sanctuary, a refuge of healing amidst the turmoil of his shattered life. Month after month it was the same. At the end of long days filled with frustration, anger, and loss, Patrick would yearn for sleep and hope the dream would return. And it always did.

  After the divorce was finalized the dream stopped coming, yet the Hill still called to him. When he set out for Ireland he told his friends he was searching for his roots. But he was really looking for the Hill.

  Ireland had been as green as the pictures in the travel books, but he never found the Hill. His itinerary had retraced the life of Patrick, patron saint of Ireland. He wasn’t sure why Patrick was important to him. He’d grown up Catholic but rarely attended Mass. In college he dabbled briefly in Buddhism, had a two-year fascination with “New Age,” and ended up a mildly convinced agnostic.