The Caldera by John Flanagan
Hal rose to his feet, staggered slightly, then took hold of the gunwale to steady himself. He waited several seconds, shook his head to clear it, then moved groggily aft to the steering platform. Stig started to make way for him but he motioned for the first mate to continue steering.
“I’ll be all right in a few minutes,” he said. “Just give me time to get my head together. Thanks for what you did.”
Stig grinned. “Always a pleasure to haul a drowned mackerel aboard,” he said. “Although by rights I should make you mop up where you threw up on my deck.” As first mate, it was part of his duty to keep the ship spick-and-span.
Hal smiled at the sally. “Is Lydia all right?” he asked.
“Lydia is fine,” she said from behind him. “A rock caught me on the forehead and knocked me out after I surfaced. They tell me you held my head out of the water until Stig reached me.”
“You’ve lost your quiver,” he said.
She looked down, then nodded. “It came off when I hit the water. I’ve got a spare in my sleeping berth. Not that I’ll need it now,” she added.
A thundering roar came from the cliff top, and they all turned to look. A huge eruption of flame, smoke and ashes was pouring out of a massive rent at the top of the cliffs. The hut that had housed the elevator station had long since disappeared. Rocks the size of houses were being hurled high into the air, to come thundering down with massive splashes into the inlet and the waters close to the cliff bottom. As they watched, a twenty-meter section at the very top of the cliff came loose and thundered down into the lagoon. Hal shuddered at the thought of what would have happened to his beloved ship if she’d been under that.
“Looks like we got out just in time,” he told Stig.
Stig nodded. The sail was set and drawing strongly in the predawn breeze. “Which way?” he asked.
Hal pointed to a gap between two massive outcrops of rock. So far, the disturbance seemed to be confined to the part of the cliffs where they had been, and all was calm where he was pointing.
“Take us back out the way we came in,” he said. “It looks calm enough there.”
Stig nodded and called to the crew, “Coming about onto the port tack! Ready on the sails!”
An answering cry told him the sail handlers and trimmers were ready. “Coming about . . . now!” he yelled, and swung the tiller.
The port sail slid down and the starboard sail went up smoothly in its place, with the usual squealing of ropes through blocks and the accompanying groaning of wood and cordage under stress. The ship leaned to starboard and slid smoothly through the water. Hal reached out for the tiller.
“I’ll take her now,” he said, and Stig handed the tiller over to him.
Hal set his feet and, as always, checked the telltale. The light was growing stronger now and they could see clearly. He glanced astern to where the giant, roiling cloud of ash and smoke, shot through with the flames of the awoken volcano, was staining the morning sky. From time to time, a massive explosion rocked the island, sending more rocks and molten lava high into the air.
“Are we heading back round to the village?” Stig asked.
Hal shook his head firmly. “We’re heading for Byzantos. I never want to see this place again.” He felt a hand tugging at his sleeve and made a mental note to change his sodden clothes at the first chance he had. He looked down and saw Constantus standing beside him. He smiled at the boy, who looked very serious indeed. Olaf was a few paces away, watching carefully.
“Captain?” said the young emperor. “I want to thank you for getting me out of there.”
Hal inclined his head in a self-deprecating movement. “Why, think nothing of it, your emperorship,” he said. Like all Skandians—and he considered himself to be one in spite of his mixed parentage—he disdained titles of respect like “your majesty” or “your highness.” But Constantus shook his head doggedly.
“No. I am deeply in your debt. You have done me a great service and I will make sure my mother rewards you suitably.”
The boy’s demeanor was very formal, almost pompous. Hal supposed that came with being royalty, and having everyone around you defer to you and grant your slightest wish. He had a brief moment wondering whether Constantus’s mother would be totally delighted to see him again. After all, she would have to relinquish her position as Empress and revert to being Regent when Constantus returned to Byzantos. From what he’d heard of the woman, he didn’t think she’d enjoy that. He caught Olaf’s gaze and raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but the burly commander didn’t seem to be sharing the same thought process.
“I’m sure she will,” he said.
Constantus, his duty done, nodded gravely and stepped back from the steering platform. Olaf stepped forward and placed a proprietorial hand on his shoulder.
“Well said, your excellency,” Olaf said in a low voice.
Hal smiled to himself. Olaf had been away from home long enough to lose the Skandian reluctance for titles, he thought. Then he sighed.
Home. The thought was a comforting one. This had been a long, hard voyage. He glanced astern to where the cloud of ash and smoke from the awoken volcano was staining the morning sky. As he looked, a massive explosion rocked the island, sending more rocks and molten lava high into the air.
“A good place to be out of,” he said to Lydia.
She nodded. “All we have to do now is get Constantus back to his mother, then get us home,” she said.
He smiled. “That should be the easy part.”
Then the smile faded as a long, low black shape appeared in the narrow channel between the two crags.
The Vulture had returned to her nest.
chapterthirty-eight
The big black ship was moving fast, under full sail and with her oars pounding the water. Hal had a sinking feeling as he realized she was moving faster than Heron could.
And she was blocking their path to the open sea.
Rapidly, he assessed the situation. He glanced at the sail but could see that Ulf and Wulf were wringing every last meter of speed from the ship. He turned to Stig.
“Get for’ard with Ingvar and get the Mangler ready,” he said. “If we can knock out a few of their oarsmen, we might have a chance.” Stig nodded and called for Ingvar to follow him. They dashed for’ard to where the massive crossbow sat hunched under its canvas covers and began to unlash them.
“Ulf! Wulf!” Hal called, and the two sail trimmers sat up expectantly, waiting for his orders. Seeing he had their attention, he continued. “I’m going to turn to starboard. The moment the Vulture starts to tack after us, I want to reverse the turn. We may be able to slip past if we can out-turn him.”
The twins nodded. When it came to sail handling, there were none better and he had absolute confidence in them. Still, he thought, there was always the chance that a rope could jam in a block or a halyard could part at a crucial moment. You could take nothing for granted in a situation like this, where the slightest mistake or delay could be fatal.
“Loki, get us through this,” he muttered. He favored the god of tricksters. He seemed a logical choice for someone like Hal, who depended on his wits to defeat his enemies.
Of course, he realized, once he had slipped past Vulture—if he could slip past Vulture—they would still have to outrun her, and that might prove difficult. He shrugged mentally. Time enough to worry about that when he had outmaneuvered her.
The Vulture was pounding toward them, closer and closer. He could see the white foam around the ram in her bows as she rose and fell on the gentle waves.
“Coming about . . . now!” he yelled, and threw the tiller over without waiting to see if Ulf and Wulf had responded.
They had. The starboard sail rattled down and hit the deck, billowing and flapping, and the port sail went soaring up the mast, filling and drawing with a percussive WHOOMP! as Ulf and Wulf
Hal watched, eyes squinted in concentration, for Myrgos’s next move. This time, learning from his past mistake, the pirate skipper didn’t try to tack his square rigger across the wind. He shouted a series of orders, and the sail slid down to the deck as the rowers reversed one bank of oars and went forward on the other.
As the black ship started to turn, Hal shouted his next orders.
“Come about! Port sail up!”
Now their starboard sail and yardarm came sliding down to the deck while all hands, including Stig and Ingvar, heaved on the halyards and sent the port yardarm whipping up the mast, the sail billowing out as it caught the wind.
Not for the first time, Hal blessed the inspiration that had led him to install the fin keel, which allowed the ship to turn so quickly and so adroitly. They shot clear of the Vulture, heading obliquely for the gap between the two islands. Looking back over his shoulder, Hal saw the enemy ship complete its turn to port, coming round so that the bow was pointing at them. The sail shot up Vulture’s mast and filled instantly. The rowers resumed their steady beating of the water, although he could see several gaps in the row of smoothly swinging oars.
With the Mangler no longer able to bear on the other ship, Stig came aft.
“We got a couple of the rowers,” he said. “And I saw Lydia hit another. It should slow them down.”
Hal was watching the enemy ship as it gained on them, and he shook his head. “Not enough,” he said. “She’ll catch us before we reach the gap.”
Out in the open sea, beyond the gap between the two outcrops, the wind would be fresher and they might regain a speed advantage over the other ship. After all, he reasoned, Myrgos’s crew couldn’t keep rowing at this muscle-cracking pace indefinitely.
But first they had to reach the open sea, and that was looking doubtful.
“What are you going to do?” Stig asked.
Hal simply shook his head. For once, he had no answer.
“We’ll keep on the way we’re going,” he finally said. “I can’t keep dodging and ducking. Myrgos is too good to fall for that again. And if he ever catches us out, that ram will finish us.”
The two ships raced across the bay on converging courses. With every meter Heron traveled, Vulture seemed to go a meter and a half, as she gradually ate up the distance between them. On board the black ship, the pirates could see they were winning the race. They crowded in the bows, yelling and waving their weapons.
Thorn strolled aft and regarded his skirl. “Any thoughts?”
Hal shrugged. “Keep going as we are and kill as many of them as we can when they catch us.”
The old sea wolf smiled fiercely. “Sounds good to me.” He rummaged in his locker in the rowing wells and sat down, loosening his wooden hook and replacing it with the massive fighting club Hal had fashioned for him. He swung it experimentally, feeling the weight and balance.
“Ah, it feels good to have it back on again,” he said.
“Are you always this cheerful before a battle?” Lydia asked him.
He grinned at her. “Every time.”
“You realize we don’t stand a chance, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “There’s always a chance, so long as you’re alive. You never know what might happen.”
“Like what?” she asked. She was prepared to fight, but she wasn’t deluding herself with any false hope that they might be successful. There were simply too many men on the other ship.
He shrugged, still grinning. “Who knows? That’s what makes the uncertainty so much fun.”
The two ships raced on. With every second, Vulture came closer. Hal bit his bottom lip in frustration. There was nothing he could do to stave off the inevitable. Still, he thought, he’d play a losing hand out to the end.
“Where are you when I need you, Loki?” he muttered. But this time, there were no saving squalls to conceal him. The sky was clear, apart from the massive pall of smoke and ash that rose from the cliffs behind them. And full daylight was nearly upon them. There was nowhere to hide. Nowhere to escape the grim black ship bearing down on them.
Then it happened.
They felt a massive shock transmitted through the water as it struck the timbers of the hull, making the ship vibrate from stem to stern.
“What was—” Stig started to say, but Thorn cut him off, pointing to the lagoon behind them.
With a massive rumbling sound, a monstrous mound of water erupted from the surface, thirty meters across and rearing up to ten meters above the lagoon. It was white foam, shot through with an unearthly red as the bottom of the lagoon far below opened to the gates of hell.
The crew stood, awestruck, for several seconds as the huge eruption boiled and churned high above the lagoon. Then, as abruptly as it had formed, it collapsed back on itself, returning to the ocean whence it had come.
In its place, as it crashed back to the surface, it created a massive wave, radiating out in a circle, four meters high and traveling as fast as a galloping horse, and pushing a thundering wall of wind ahead of it.
chapterthirty-nine
Hal was the first on board the ship to recover his wits. The thundering wave could crush them like an eggshell, he realized.
Or it could prove to be their salvation.
“Ulf and Wulf, stay on the sheets! Everyone else, get back aft!” he yelled as an idea struck him.
Because of their relative positions when the eruption occurred, Vulture was directly ahead of the speeding wall of water, while Heron was angling across its path. If they could maintain their speed and use the massive wind created by the disturbance to keep them moving, they might be able to surf across the line of the wave. If it struck them directly, stern on, it would probably turn the ship head over heels. There was no way they could ride a wave that size if it hit them from behind.
“Sheet home!” he yelled to the twins, and they heaved the sail taut. Heron, true to her name, began to fly across the water, throwing spray up to either side of her bow. As the crew came tumbling aft, their extra weight kept the bow high. When the wave hit them, they would need every inch of height they could gain.
Hal looked over his shoulder. The wave was racing toward them. It would hit Vulture before it reached them and the corsair was in the worst possible position. Vulture had the wave dead astern, rearing up behind her. He could see Myrgos at the tiller, bending forward as he screamed orders at his crew. The oars rose and fell even faster, trying to drive the ship ahead of the wave.
But they didn’t have the power to do it. Vulture’s bow began to tilt downward as the huge wave overtook her. She faltered, her stern rising higher and higher, causing men to fall from their rowing benches and tumble helplessly into the bow—accentuating her bad position by adding more weight where she least needed it.
The wave picked the ship up bodily, and Vulture’s stern came clear of the water at the crest of the wave, while her bow and midships section plunged deeper, in a dive from which Hal’s instincts told him she would never recover.
She was an old ship, and a large one, and her keel was never made to support her own weight out of the water. It needed the support of water underneath it, or the sand of a beach. Now, as it hung clear, the weight of the ship proved too much and with a CRACK they could hear from the Heron, the Vulture’s back broke, the rear end of the ship tumbling down behind the wave while the for’ard half plunged underwater and rolled over. The mast went as Vulture smashed violently down into the sea ahead of the huge wave. For a
It was a horrifying sight. But there was no time to dwell on it as the monstrous wave hurtled toward them.
“Grab something and hang on!” yelled Hal.
The crew grabbed hold of stays, rowing benches and the railing itself as they waited for the wave.
“Pump the sail!” Hal yelled to the twins, and understanding his order, they quickly eased and then tightened the sheets several times, causing the sail to slacken, then tighten suddenly again. It was an old trick to increase speed and it worked—Heron accelerated as the wave thundered down on them.
Hal used the extra speed to swing the bow up the face of the wave, surfing along the face and using the force of the wave itself to maintain their speed and position rather than being lifted helplessly up by it.
He could sense the curl of the lip just behind them and he shoved the tiller over, sending the ship sliding back down the face of the wave, accelerating away from the breaking crest.
Heron trembled with the sheer speed of the ride. The fin keel, secure in its housing, began vibrating as the ship moved faster than she had ever moved before. The vibration set up a humming sound as if the ship herself were groaning in fear.
On and on they sped, alternately plunging down the face of the wave, then using the speed they had gained to swoop back up again, held in place on a knife edge of speed, power and Hal’s masterful helmsmanship.
Thorn, crouched in the very stern of the ship, holding on to the backstay, had never seen anything like this in a lifetime at sea. He let out an exultant bellow. Even if they died here today, he thought, it would be worth it to have experienced this insane, rushing, thundering ride.
Thorn stood erect, his beard and hair streaming out in the fantastic wind created by their speed. Lydia, a few meters away, looked at him in amazement.
“Are you mad?” she screamed at him. Her own stomach was clenched tight in terror. The inestimable power of the wave, the headlong rush of the ship along it, the sensation that they were one millimeter away from being out of control and swamped, were almost beyond belief. She knew it was only Hal’s remarkable skill as a helmsman, his unequaled feeling for the ship, that was keeping them alive.