Eighth Fire (21 page)

He walked to his right and the wall was just
beyond the end of the fissure. There was about a foot of rounded
crusty ledge between the crevice and the wall. It would be very
risky to try to cross. The other side was about the same.

“Any ideas on how I can get across?”

The reply on the radio had a lot of static, “A
portable truss bridge would be what I would want. Try to touch the
other side with the staff. That’ll give us a better idea of exactly
how far across it is.”

The other side was more than eight feet beyond
the reach of the staff. He knew he’d have to go back if they made
the portable bridge and that wasn’t something he particularly
wanted to do. He’d walked more than twenty miles so far and just
wanted to get this quest over with, although a good hot meal and a
firm mattress would be nice.

“Any other ideas? That’s a long trek back,
uphill. And then back again tomorrow.”

“Once you’re past this one, there’s just one
more to go. Leave your bags and come on back. It’s best to play it
safe.”

The next morning there was a collapsible ladder
with wheels on both ends hanging on the side of the golf cart. Mr.
Müeller walked up when Mark walked in.

“Simple solutions are often the best solutions.”
Mr. Müeller pointed to a rope coil in the back of the cart. “The
rope will help you get it to where it needs to be. It will function
as a cart on the way back to the lava pit. I just couldn’t see
making you carry a ladder for twenty miles. You can use the brakes
on the front wheels to steer and adjust your speed. Just take the
wheels off when you reach your destination,” he pointed at the
clamps holding the wheels to the side of the ladder, “extend it and
let it fall across the pit. Problem solved.”

Mark grinned. He was glad he had decided to come
back and not risk crossing on the crumbly ledge. “That’s great.
Thank you, sir.”

“Not a problem. Just be careful when you cross.
A crispy Mark is not something I enjoy envisioning.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Getting the ladder to the lava tube wasn’t as
easy as Mr. Müeller made it sound like it would be, but it wasn’t
that hard either. The trip back to the lava pit took just under two
hours. It would have taken less time if he hadn’t stopped and used
the rope to make a seat; sitting on the rungs was just plain
uncomfortable.

The ladder fell across the pit nicely. He made
three trips across the makeshift bridge, carefully adjusting his
balance on each rung as he carried the duffel bags and pull cart
across.

Another lava tube sloped up away from the pit
and the grade was a good bit steeper than the previous tunnel,
enough that he had to stop and rest every hour or so. Six hours
after he’d passed the lava pit the slope began to level out a
little and the tunnel abruptly grew wider and changed from a
blackened look to dull gray striations. He noted the wall also
looked damp.

“I don’t know if it means anything but the walls
have changed.”

“We noticed that too. It looks like a different
geologic process maybe or additional erosion. Give me a closer look
at the wall.”

Mark walked closer to the wall, panned his head
up to the ceiling and then around to the other wall.

“Got it. What’s the temperature in there?”

“Sixty-nine.”

“That’s quite a change. I don’t have an answer
yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

Mark continued to walk and it wasn’t long before
the radio voice said, “This tunnel is most likely due to several
erosion processes, the last one being ice from the last glacier in
this area. And that fits with what the next obstacle is supposed to
be.”

“You’re saying there’s a piece of a glacier in
here?”

“We won’t know for sure until you find it, but
it’s a good possibility. Ice caves in this region aren’t unheard
of. What’s the temperature in there now?”

He looked at the thermometer again.
“Sixty-seven.”

“Sixty-seven is still well above the normal
ground temperature here, but a two degree drop in less than half a
mile has to be caused by something. Keep an eye on the thermometer
and let me know when it drops below fifty-one.”

Mark had walked less than a mile farther when
the temperature hit fifty-one. “It’s fifty-one degrees now.”
Another mile saw the temperature hit thirty-two. The walls had
grown pretty far apart now; he estimated more than a hundred
yards.

“There’s a barrier ahead. It looks like it could
be ice.”

He reached the ice wall ten minutes later. It
was more than ten yards high, sloped back to the ceiling and
spanned wall to wall. “I can’t find an opening, any
suggestions?”

“Try clearing away some of the surface ice and
find out if you can see into it.”

He pulled out the climbing hammer and chipped
away at the ice. “I’m in about a foot and it looks like it’s
clearing up.”

“Keep digging until you can tell if there’s a
passage or not.”

“I’m going to take the headset off while I
dig.”

“Just check in every ten minutes as usual.”

He put the headset on the duffel bags and
removed the sword from the staff. He was able to slice a large
chunk away with almost no effort. He saw he needed to move the cart
since the ice block slid too close to it on its journey down the
long slope, plus he didn’t want the camera to see the chunks going
by. That would cause questions and Raphael had told him to keep the
sword secret.

He checked in by yelling, “I’m still okay,”
every ten minutes and continued slicing deep into the ice.

The armor under his clothes was working well in
keeping him warm; in fact he was perspiring.

He was working on carving out his ninth
side-tunnel when he saw it, an odd discoloration in the ice. He
sliced around it and removed it. Back by the cart he chipped away
some of the remaining ice until he could tell exactly what it
was.

It was the thing Xocotli had in his dreams, the
thing that emitted long sparks Xocotli had used to fight off crowds
of angry people. Mark knew it had to be the power source for the
sunstone, but it looked odd for what it was supposed to be, almost
like a fat riotous.

He put the headset back on and let the camera
see what he was holding. “I’ve got it.”

He heard cheers erupt in the background. “Good
job! Come on back.”

A little more than halfway back to the lava pit
the remaining ice had melted off of the power source except for
around the hand guard. He decided to look at it a little closer.
What would have been the blade on a sword looked like a coil of
wire encased in a clear, hard plastic. The tip was a metal ball
about an inch across and the handle looked like just a handle. He
held it out like he had seen Xocotli do in his dreams and nothing
happened–until he squeezed the handle. The bolt of electricity that
erupted from the tip of the thing to the far wall startled him so
much that he dropped it. A piece of the hand guard went skittering
across the floor.

Mark retrieved the power
source and started looking for the broken piece. He searched for
more than an hour and couldn’t find it. The only thing he did
manage to find was a discarded butane lighter, which let him know
he wasn’t the only one that had made it this far in modern
times.
That must have been one determined
somebody to ignore the overwhelming urge to get out of here and
make it this far in. I wonder what happened to him… or
her?

He was almost back to the lava pit when he felt
another rumble, this one much stronger than the previous ones. “Are
you picking that up?”

“Five point two. That could knock some rocks
loose, but it’s not enough to be worried about.”

Ten minutes later he heard a swooshing sound
coming from behind him, up the tunnel. He turned and saw a wall of
ice coming fast. He started running.

He was half way across the ladder when the ice
began crashing into the pit. The inrushing ice forced the ladder
from beneath his feet but his momentum carried him on. He thudded
on the side of the far wall and scrambled to catch hold, letting go
of the lantern and the power source. Both objects plunged into the
lava pit.

He slid back but his fingers caught on the
charred edge of the pit. A tumultuous cloud of blistering vapor
spewed out of the chasm. The armor protected his body, but his head
and hands were being scalded. With a mighty scream he pulled
himself up enough to get his elbows on the ledge and crawled
out.

He couldn’t see because he’d dropped the lantern
but knew the opening was straight ahead. He ran groping the
darkness in front of him. His head, hands and feet were a mass of
searing pain. “I can’t see! I can’t see!”

There was no answer. He felt his head with his
wrists. The headset was gone. He continued running in the dark. He
glanced off the left wall a couple of times before he decided he
was a safe enough distance from the pit to stop.

The oxy-cap was running out. He reached into
Aaron’s Grasp for a fresh one but couldn’t feel them. He used his
forearm to push the breathing mask off and screamed when he felt
skin rip away from where the mask had stuck to his face. He knew
the healing oil was his only hope.

He tried to reach in his pocket and screamed
again when the skin on the back of his fingers peeled back. He lay
down on his side and switched to using his wrist on the outside of
the pocket to force the tiny vial out the top. It worked. Guiding
his left hand with his right wrist he was able to pick it up and
remove the cork with his teeth. He fell asleep as soon as the drop
of oil touched his forehead.

Just over an hour later he awoke and sat up. He
could see a faint reddish glow off to the right and this gave him
his bearings. It was going to be slow going to get back with just a
penlight. He wished he had put the light with the filters into
Aaron’s Grasp rather than the duffel bag which was now either on
the other side of the lava pit or in it.

He looked around for the breathing mask; he’d
need it for the area with the dust and the room with the mercury.
It was on the floor by his feet. He peeled and scraped the large
hunks of skin from the edges and put it back on. That’s when he
noticed he didn’t have any hair on his head.

Backtracking a little he found his folded
ponytail on the floor next to the wall. His scalp was still
attached to it. He picked it up and put it into Aaron’s Grasp while
shaking his head.

Mark was proud of his hair. Although his father
was a Marine he had let Mark get away with not getting a haircut,
ever. When Mark started school he told his parents how much
everyone liked his hair and how he liked having it long too. He
never thought it bothersome to take care of; it was just a part of
who he was.

It was lonely heading back without anyone to
talk to, but it gave him time to reflect on the things that had
happened and how fortunate he was to still be alive. Nonetheless,
he still felt dejected knowing that he had failed to bring the
power source out and effectively did just what Benrah wanted him to
do.

What was it that Shana had
said? “A
ll eventualities converge on destiny’s course.” He
didn’t see how that could be right. He was supposed to recover the
power source, not be the means of its destruction. It was more
like, “Intentions have no substance. It is action that has
consequence.”

The Council of Elders had concluded that the
sunstone held key information that would aid them in preventing
Benrah from taking over the world. Now they’d never be able to
unlock that information. His failure would surely lead to Benrah’s
success. That had to be why Benrah wanted him to destroy it.

Sixteen hours passed before he made it back to
the entrance to the mercury room. On the off chance that he was
within range, he put the walkie-talkie ring on his recently healed
finger and pressed all three buttons. “Hello… hello…”

There was no answer.

Less than an hour from exiting
this retched place not only was he feeling defeated; he was hungry
and bone tired.
I’ve been in here
thirty-two hours; I need to sleep. If I can just make it one more
hour, I’ll be out of here—for good.

He devoured a chili con carne meal pack without
heating it; he just needed something in his belly. He was glad he
had picked up the habit from Tim of carrying extra food in Aaron’s
Grasp.

With a full stomach he pressed on. It took ten
minutes to get through the mercury room, five minutes to pass the
seesaw trap and make it to the parallel rock faces. He climbed
between the slabs and the last thing he remembered was how good it
felt to put his head down on the car dolly’s cushion.

CHAPTER NINE

Burying the Hatchet