The Ancient One (8 page)

“Oh, just got ahead of myself. I was hoping to see some . . . friends.”

Kate looked at her quizzically. “Are the loggers in the crater yet?”

“No. We could hear them if they were.”

“Then who is here for you to talk to?”

The woman gazed at her intently, as the fog dissipated slightly. “Friends. Sometime, when we have more time, I’ll introduce you. But for now, what do you think of Lost Crater?”

Kate wiped the droplets of warm mist off her brow with the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “There’s something weird about it. Like it’s, I don’t know, dangerous somehow.”

Aunt Melanie’s hand, brushing some dirt off her sweater, paused for a split second at her words, then continued. “There is danger, yes, as in any dormant volcano. I see you’ve discovered pumice.”

“You mean this rock? It’s amazingly light. What was that about a volcano?”

“Just another name for the crater,” explained Aunt Melanie. “Don’t worry, it probably won’t erupt again in your lifetime.”

Kate tossed the rock into the mist, hearing it clatter as it fell. “That doesn’t sound too good to me.”

“You’re still feeling your nightmare, poor child. Anyway, this volcano hasn’t been active recently.”

“What does ‘recently’ mean?” probed Kate.

“Oh, in the last seven thousand years.” She grinned impishly. “Geologic time always makes me feel so young.”

The fog swirled again, pressing closer, turning Aunt Melanie into a mere shadow in the mist. “I still don’t like this place,” said Kate. “How come it feels so warm?”

“Here,” answered her great-aunt, taking her by the sleeve. “I’ll show you.”

Aunt Melanie led Kate down the sloping rock-strewn terrain for eight or ten paces. Halting suddenly, she bent down for a piece of pumice, then tossed it underhanded into the fog. To Kate’s surprise, she heard an unmistakable splash.

“I had no idea the lake was so close.”

“Understandable, since you couldn’t see it,” her great-aunt replied. “The volcanic plumbing under the lake keeps it warm, you see, so steam is rising all the time. The geologists tell me it’s had cold spells and warm spells, alternating over the ages. We’re in one of the warm ones now. That’s why the crater is usually fogged in.”

Kate picked up a fist-sized rock and threw it into the fog with the force of a first-string shortstop. The splash soon followed. “Why did the Halamis come all the way up here, if they couldn’t see anything when they got here?”

“There are many ways to see,” replied Aunt Melanie, her voice seeming to swell in the fog so that it sounded quite close to Kate’s ears.

“How many times have you come up here, since you found the way?”

“Twice before. I’d have come more often if this whole business with the new road hadn’t kept me tied down all week. There’s plenty to explore; the crater’s almost a mile across, you know. But even just two visits were enough to find plenty. For instance, there’s an old Halami camp on the other side of the lake, right where the old songs said it would be. I found some beautiful tools there. Stone bowls, knives and spoons, a sewing awl, two—”

A sudden movement in the mist distracted her, and she halted. Instinctively, Kate moved closer to her side.

All at once, the fog started to shift. The clouds of mist grew rapidly thinner, like fabric of filigree whose ornamental tracery was pulling apart before their eyes. First to unveil itself was the lake, deep turquoise in color, so utterly blue that Kate felt if she put her hand into the water, it would come out blue.

Across the water and through the mist, Kate could now make out the dark rock of the crater rim, rising straight up another thousand feet or more. She glanced behind to look at the entrance to the tunnel, but she could not find it amidst the jumble of gray and buff-colored pumice. A pang of fear shot through her: If the tunnel was invisible when it was this close and the air was this clear, how could they ever hope to find it again in the fog?

Before she could voice her concern, however, she discovered the source of the rushing sound that she had earlier mistaken for wind. At the edge of the lake, no more than twenty yards to her right, a river of water cascaded briskly down a channel, then disappeared into the rocks. Here was the origin of Kahona Falls.

“Look there,” announced Aunt Melanie, pointing toward the middle of the lake.

Kate’s attention turned to a shadowy mass that seemed to be rising out of the water. Her skin prickled. The mass, dark and foreboding, seemed like something from another planet. At first it appeared to move, and then she realized that it was only the effect of the swirling mist. It was jagged, covered with spires, and blacker than the blackest thing she had ever seen.

It was an island.

“What—is that?” Kate sputtered.

“That’s what the Halamis called Ho Shantero. It means Island That Moves.”

“It does seem to move, doesn’t it? Of course, it’s only a trick of the fog.”

Aunt Melanie said nothing.

“I remember now,” Kate continued. “It was there on the map, the one you made. But there wasn’t any island at all on the big map.”

“That’s because the mapmakers didn’t know it existed until that Forest Service man flew over the crater. I suspect he didn’t pay much attention to it, though, since it doesn’t have any trees.”

Kate furrowed her brow. “I can’t imagine flying low over that thing and not paying attention.”

Aunt Melanie cocked her head thoughtfully. “I did hear from Frank that he said something curious about it later, in Cary’s Tavern after he had a few beers in him.”

“What?”

Aunt Melanie looked at her watch, and her face turned grim. “It’s later than I thought. Let’s get going or they’re going to get to the redwoods before we do.” She started walking parallel to the shore, away from the bubbling cascade.

Kate jogged to her side. “What did he say about the island?”

The woman shrugged. “Something about the surface of the island seeming to move. Like it was crawling or something.”

Kate glanced at the dark mass warily.

Aunt Melanie sped up her pace a bit. “Right after he saw the island, he said the plane was shaken by a sudden updraft—so hard it nearly knocked him off his seat. Made him concentrate on flying for a few seconds, and by the time he was past the turbulence, the island was well behind. Then he saw the forest, and he never looked back.”

“Did his pictures show anything weird? You said he took lots.”

“None of the pictures he took of the island came out, for some reason.”

“Fog,” suggested Kate hopefully.

“Or maybe it was the work of Tinnanis,” said Aunt Melanie.

“Tinnanis?” Kate wasn’t sure she really wanted to know what the word meant.

“Just pulling your leg,” answered Aunt Melanie, hopping across a small rivulet that drained into the lake. “They’re part of Halami mythology, a magical little people who lived in the most ancient part of the forest. The Halamis believed that they kept the forest healthy, through some secret power of their own. Don’t worry, though. I doubt we’ll be meeting any.”

Kate tugged on her sweater. “It makes me wonder who made those tiny little steps back at the entrance to the tunnel.”

“Most people would tell you it was the Halamis. After all, they made all sorts of things in honor of the Tinnanis. Tiny tools, things like that.”

“And what would
you
tell me?” asked Kate.

Her great-aunt smiled curiously. “I’d say nobody knows for sure,”

“What did these, um, Tinnanis supposedly look like, aside from being small?” Kate rather liked the idea of little people who lived among the trees. Perhaps they could even make themselves invisible at will, or change themselves into animal shapes.

Aunt Melanie slowed her step, peering for a few seconds into the mist swirling about the black island. “Once again, nobody knows.” She turned and winked at her companion. “But if you should see one, be sure to tell me, won’t you?”

Kate gave no answer. Then she spied an odd protrusion rising from the pumice stones just ahead. Standing about two feet tall, the powdery yellow outcropping looked like an upside-down funnel.

“What’s that thing?” she asked, pointing.

“A fumarole,” said Aunt Melanie, pausing to bend over it. “Once there was a geyser here, maybe a hundred feet high. Can’t you imagine a big plume of steam and sulfur gushing out of this thing?”

“Sure,” Kate replied. “Too easily.”

Aunt Melanie again checked her watch. “Let’s keep moving, Kate.” She nodded toward the thick line of trees not far ahead. “That’s where we’re going.”

She resumed her pace, and Kate fell in behind. Over her right shoulder, Kate could see the island, partially obscured by shreds of fog from the ceaselessly steaming lake. It resembled a phantom ship, hovering between darkness and invisibility. Then she noticed that the deep blue water around it permitted no reflection. She pondered whether that was because of the water or the island itself.

Kate turned to the other side, hoping to crowd the haunting thoughts of the island from her mind. Not far above them, resting on the jumble of broken pumice just in front of the dark cliff wall, she noticed a collection of six or seven enormous boulders. They appeared to be arranged in a ragged circle, like rocks around a giant’s campfire. Some of the boulders looked bigger than Aunt Melanie’s cottage, and none were smaller than Trusty.

She recalled the Circle of Stones she had seen on Aunt Melanie’s map. Vaguely, she remembered seeing the word
Beware
written nearby in small letters. But beware of what?

Something about these strange shapes tugged at her, made her curious.
I’ll just have a quick look,
she told herself. No need even to tell Aunt Melanie, who had strode off ahead. Better just to dash up there and back before she even notices.

Turning her back to the blue lake, Kate started to scramble up the rock-strewn terrain. At once she discovered how steeply it sloped from the shoreline to the base of the vertical cliffs. The angle was close to forty-five degrees, forcing her to use her hands frequently. The rocks, dampened by fog, were slick and slippery, slowing her progress even more. But as the circle of giant stones drew nearer, their inexplicable attraction grew stronger.

Stopping at one point to catch her breath, she turned and took in the full expanse of the crater. Seen without its normal filling of fog, it was impressive indeed. High cliffs rose along the far rim, some pointed like giant teeth, others curved into monumental domes. New morning light streamed across the undulating wall of rock, staining it deep red. Below, the white sweater of Aunt Melanie moved steadily along the edge of the lake, approaching the forest. Meanwhile, spiraling columns of mist swirled slowly around the cinder-black island.

Kate caught a whiff of an enticing aroma from somewhere above her. Curious, she continued upward. Moving like a spider, she scurried up the slope. At length, the incline leveled off somewhat. She raised her head to see that she had arrived at the circle of boulders.

She stood there, huffing. The stones, she realized, were ribbed with deep cracks that covered their entire surface with a net of dark lines. Whether they had been shattered by an explosion or baked by a burst of volcanic heat, she did not know. They had clearly withstood some sort of violence, powerful beyond imagining. For an instant she wondered whether these giant stones actually were pieces of a puzzle, remains of a single, enormous rock that had been blasted to bits long ago.

Then she perceived again the aroma, unlike anything she had ever smelled before. It was sweet, almost like Aunt Melanie’s spice tea, but with an alluring quality no tea could possibly possess. To her surprise, cloves, cinnamon, ginger, and even the essence of lilac—all her most favorite smells—wove themselves through the perfume. It was almost as if this aroma had been created exclusively for her. Underneath, she detected the barest breath of sulfur, strong enough to give added zest, yet not so strong as to detract from the enchanting sweetness.

Searching for the source, she quickly found it: a pool of dark green liquid bubbling beneath the smallest of the huge stones. She stepped closer, immersing herself in the fragrant smell. The pool was lined with some sort of soft green algae whose undulating hairs danced gracefully, making the rocks lining the sides seem gentle and inviting.

What could this lovely liquid be? She wanted to touch it, to taste it, to bathe in it. Heedless of any danger, she kneeled by the side of the frothing pool and reached her hand toward it.

“Kate!”

She jolted at the distant voice. It was Aunt Melanie, calling her. A wave of resentment raced through her, something she had never felt before toward her great-aunt. She called back angrily, “Don’t bother me now. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Again, she cupped her hand, eager to take a drink. She leaned forward, reaching toward the bubbling green pool.

“Kate!” came the cry again, closer this time, as Aunt Melanie toiled her way up the steep slope behind her.

Kate froze, as an inner voice told her to be careful. Perhaps she would wait a moment longer. Then, in a flash, her anger surged anew. Aunt Melanie only wanted to spoil her fun. She wanted the whole crater to herself, wouldn’t let her discover anything. But she had. She had discovered this beautiful pool.
I’ll show her,
Kate thought.
I can make some discoveries too.

The pool seemed to reach out with fragrant, comforting arms to embrace her. Kate smiled, leaning still closer to the frothing green liquid. Slowly, she stretched out her hand.

Just as the back of her cupped hand touched the surface, she heard a shrill whistle and looked up. Some sort of bird, looking like a red streak, hurtled at her from the top of the giant stone behind the pool. It smacked full force into her shoulder, knocking her backward onto the rocks, then flew off.

“Ehhhh!” she shrieked, landing on her back with a thud.

Before she could roll back to her knees, someone clasped the arm of her sweatshirt. Aunt Melanie stood above her, breathing heavily. Suddenly, Kate felt a sharp pain on the back of her left hand. Turning it to her face, she saw a mass of green wormlike creatures writhing on her skin. They seemed to be burrowing into the back of her hand.