Fire Cult

by R. B. Shaw

  After loading, they boarded carefully as the floor had rusted away between the drive tunnel and the sills.

  Joe opened the bonnet and propped it with a machete. He pulled out his screwdriver and leaned under the bonnet. Sparks flashed as the starter terminals arced. ‘Starter switch is stuffed,’ Joe smiled and then belched. A loud din made it evident the car did not have a silencer either. ‘What are you guys looking for at Kulili?’

  Dave answered vaguely. ‘Just searching through that old Jap barge out on the reef.’

  ‘I know that, but what are you and the Jap really lookin’ for?’

  ‘The Jap guy’s paid us to search for the remains of his father. He went missing in the war. Anything else valuable we find is cream on the coffee. Tell us more about the owner of the Skymaster,’ Dave requested, changing the subject.

  ‘Bruno Kless?’

  ‘Yeah, I heard he’s an authority on local history, and the strange cults on the island.’

  ‘I can tell you a lot about the place too, but Kless is distantly related to the Sangami.’ Joe checked everyone was aboard, slammed his door and continued. ‘He owns Rimbula Plantation and the coastal region below the villages of the Sangami cult. He’s a walkin’ identity crisis, the mixed-race son of a broken German—New Guinea marriage.’

  Curiosity teased Jan. ‘Did that happen when his parents split?’

  Joe slipped his all-purpose screwdriver into the broken socket of the Ford’s automatic handle and selected drive. He placed it on the dashboard alongside a wiper arm. ‘Yeah. He was fostered and raised by American missionaries, then educated at UCLA before he returned to PNG.’

  The Ford vibrated while accelerating, but cruised smoothly at 60 kph. The gaping hole in the floor scooped up an assortment of sand, crushed coral and dead palm fronds. Dave probed further. ‘If he’s related to the Sangami, do you think he’s involved with the Fire Cult?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but I reckon there could be a connection.’ Joe lit a cigarette.

  Jan was intrigued. ‘We heard he has a bad reputation, involved in dubious activities?’

  ‘Yeah. Sheilas say he’s handsome. A Teutonic Errol Flynn with a permanent suntan and an American accent. I don’t like gettin’ involved with him. He’s a moody unpredictable bastard.’

  ‘Why is he so unpopular?’

  ‘Got a greedy appetite for beautiful women,’ said Joe, glancing back at Jan. His comment seemed almost a warning. ‘As a young man he was always popular with the girls. Then he developed a more mercenary attitude. When copra prices stagnated, he started runnin’ drugs and pimpin’ for hookers in Madang. Bastard did quite well out of other people’s misery. I reckon his Rimbula Plantation house is just a stagin’ point for his rotatin’ harem of “hostesses”.’

  ‘What, customers out here?’ Jan stared with disbelief.

  ‘I doubt it. But there’s a lot of beautiful women in transit at the airport from his plane. Can’t all be his girlfriend.’

  The blinding white coronus road wound its way thread-like through acres of coconut palms and numerous tidy little villages. Fang gave up trying to remember where he’d heard the name ‘Kless’ before. ‘What about the Sangami and the so-called “Fire Cult”. Can you tell us anythin’ about their ceremony?’

  ‘The Sangami have a strange funeral ritual. They construct a heavy wooden frame over an open pit and thread it with a cover of lighter branches. They then place the bodies in the centre of the platform.’

  ‘What bodies?’ Dave queried.

  ‘Usually dead relatives. In the past it also extended to live enemies captured in combat. On special nights they have a singsing and work ‘emselves into a frenzy. The chief lights the wooden frame ‘round the edges, leavin’ the bodies to their fate. The relatives stand in safety at the perimeter and scream at the bodies to awaken. I suppose they reckon that if there’s a glimmer of life, those on the burnin’ grid’ll rise from the dead and run off when they realise they’re gonna burn alive.’

  ‘Of course they don’t,’ said Jan. ‘So what happens?’

  ‘As the flames consume all on the grid, it slowly burns away and collapses into the pit. Next mornin’ all evidence of the grid, fire and bodies are gone. You might say they’re givin’ the restless dead a last chance to revive.’

  Dave and Fang glanced at each other—it sounded identical to Ted Frazer’s nightmare tale of terror.

  ‘What’s the sacred blue flame we’ve heard about?’ Jan enquired innocently.

  Joe hesitated and stared at Jan. ‘Done your homework. Not many people know ‘bout that. We suspect the fire causes an immense updraft in the sinkhole. This probably draws out methane gas from subterranean pockets of rotting vegetation, previously crushed and trapped by lava flows.’

  They stopped briefly at a bowser. Joe dropped his all-purpose screwdriver through a hole in the rear floor above the fuel tank. Withdrawing the screwdriver, he held his ever-present cigarette safely at arm’s length. Joe studied the wet shaft end with concern and asked the native attendant to add more fuel before again driving off toward the campsite.

  Dave was thinking ahead. ‘How do we go about visiting the Sangami people and the Fire Cult, Joe?’

  ‘There’s only two ways to reach the Sangami Fire Cult. From the far side of the island, over the volcano, or the easy way, up through Rimbula Plantation on the coast. You’ll need clearance from Kless to cross his property. I’ll arrange a meetin’ with ‘im. But I should warn ya, the Sangami are dangerous and unpredictable people.’

  Jan settled back, pre-occupied with the map and the romantic names in an exotic landscape: Borogoram, Langlang, Koropack, Delitigu, Tuga Tuga. Finally they reached Kulili on the north coast. ‘What an incredibly lovely place,’ she murmured to no one in particular, spellbound by the endless panoramas.

  Joe readily agreed. ‘The early explorer William Dampier described Karkar as “the most beautiful island on earth”. I reckon he knew what he was talkin’ about.’

  They drove off the coronus into waist-high ferns and meandered between palms toward the beach. The hardy ferns sprang back into place following their passage, leaving a sheared layer of fern leaves on the remains of the rear floor.

  Jan searched for the trail. ‘How do you find your way through the ferns. There’s no road?’

  ‘Just stay between the marked palms and you can’t go wrong.’ Joe pointed at the slashed palm trunks. ‘This is the end of the road. You’ll have to carry your gear down that pathway.’

  They thanked Joe and walked along a sloping trail through the ferns. The brilliant deep-blue backdrop of the sea lay beyond the palms, reducing them to a grid of featureless silhouettes. A salty sea breeze invigorated them.

  Jake’s base camp appeared, pitched on Kulili Point. Tali Island lay just beyond the reef like a priceless emerald in a sapphire sea. As they walked out of the palm grove, the sheer beauty and tranquillity entranced them. Jake and Seiji’s tent sat well above sea-level in a picturesque setting, beneath a thatch of leaning palms. It was the only sign of civilisation in this showplace of natural delight. Jan panned her video camera, capturing the scene.

  From Jake’s camp the bright powder sand formed a vivid white crescent fringed by an overhanging frondescence of palms and pandanus. Shallow sandbars tinted the waters turquoise, aqua and jade. The shoals adjacent to the perimeter reef dappled the surface with a purple and indigo mosaic. The pure white Lahara heightened the intensity of the colours as it swayed at anchor just beyond the reef.

  Jake and Seiji wore only shorts and after greeting the group, briefly outlined the salvage problems involved in searching for the gold.

  Jan stowed her video camera. ‘How was your trip over on the Lahara, Jake?’

  ‘We had no problem finding this place, but that twin-tailed plane flew over us a few times.’

  Dave unshouldered his pack. ‘Probably the one we saw back at the ‘strip. Did they seem to be monitoring what you were doing, or do you think they were just rou
tine flights?’

  Seiji replied. ‘It didn’t hang around long, but someone also followed us in a very fast speedboat. They always kept their distance so we couldn’t get a good look at them. It hasn’t been back since we dropped anchor here.’

  Dave glanced around the exposed campsite with concern. ‘Don’t like the sound of it. I’d bet Harada knows we’re here.’

  35

  Fang unpacked his scuba gear, zealous to find the gold or at least a clue to its location.

  Dave anchored the Lahara directly over the sunken barge. ‘Fang, you’re the expert—go directly for the holds below deck. I’ll skirt the sea-floor around the wreck for spilt deck cargo.’

  Fang grunted in the affirmative, pre-occupied with gold. He checked his tank and breather then hurried over the side. Dave donned scuba gear and tossed himself backward into the warm Bismarck Sea. The water was unpolluted and ultra-clear.

  Despite the ravages of sea and time, the number 282 could still be discerned on the bow. Dave surfaced, disappointed. None of the deck cargo crates he opened contained gold. Others could not be opened at all. Though heavy, none were heavy enough to be full of gold dust. He marked them with inflatable buoys anyway, to be raised to the surface for later scrutiny.

  Fang clambered aboard the Lahara and pulled off his mask. ‘Don’t look good, Dave. There’s a lot of boxes and crates. None of ‘em are locked up.’

  ‘We’ll raise everything we can’t open down there.’

  ‘Gonna be tricky. The heavy ones are the obvious choice, but if it ain’t gold, it’s gotta be munitions. Could be unstable after fifty years.’ He rechecked his tank pressures and prepared to dive again.

  Late that afternoon, Dave waited as Fang climbed back on board and removed his tanks. ‘Joe called on the radio. Your Thunderbox arrived on the coastal barge from Madang. Joe said Kless is away for a couple of days. He’s arranged for us to meet him at Rimbula Plantation when he gets back.’

  Fang towelled off. ‘Great. Jake, Did you bring your Yamaha over on the Lahara?’

  ‘Yes, it’s up on the entrance trail.’

  ‘Drop me over at Kaviak. I wanna drive the Thunderbox back here.’

  Next day Dave arranged for Jan to help lever open boxes on the deck of the Lahara. Seiji insisted on helping and anxiously rummaged through the sodden and rotting contents. He never gave up looking for elusive documents that might give a hint to his father’s last resting-place.

  After diving all morning, Dave stared at the rusty boxes with disappointment. His sinewy arms flexed as he hauled another container to the surface. After forcing the latch he sifted through a stinking mulch of what was once sealed Japanese food rations. He threw the jemmy bar back on deck in frustration. ‘That’s ten boxes of shit so far. Not a bloody trace of the gold dust!’

  ‘Take a break, Dave.’ Jan gazed at the coaxing lure of Tali Island. Less than two hundred metres away, its beauty beckoned. ‘You said you wanted to search Tali Island in case the Jap crew landed there. Let’s swim over now and have a look? Seiji can look after things here while Fang and Jake keep diving.’

  Dave squinted as he stared at the small island. ‘It’s probably too close to sea-level to bury anything safely but we’ve got to check it out sooner or later.’

  ‘Okay by me,’ said Fang, ‘but I wouldn’t recommend swimmin’ across. It’d be safer in the Zodiac inflatable. There’s a deep trench in between with a strong current.’ He handed them two sets of snorkelling gear. ‘Have a dive first and check it out for yourselves.’

  Jan beamed with excitement. ‘Yes, I’ve wanted to dive on the barge ever since we got here.’

  Dave prepared to venture beneath the surface and as he sat on the rail of the Lahara, he noticed Jan’s white bikini highlighting her golden tan. He gave her an unplanned hug before assisting her down into the tropic waters.

  They peered past their unsupported feet at coral encrusted reefs and ocean floor. An awe-inspiring peaceful scene met their eyes. The multi-hued coral slopes flourished around the incongruous geometric shape of the sunken barge. They watched as Jake searched near the wreck. His yellow back-mounted tanks looked like a golden pendant suspended on a pearly necklace of rising bubbles. Schools of pink and blue fish sparkled as they repeatedly changed direction.

  Dave saw Jan cavort down into the depths before again briefly surfacing for air. She beckoned him to approach the reef top. They held hands then dived to the coral gardens and inspected the fine workmanship of nature’s hand. Beyond the reef, the ocean floor plunged to the invisible depths of an inky blue abyss. Even on the edge of the trench, a strong side current tugged at them.

  After they surfaced, Fang started the compressor. ‘One hold below deck is packed with boxes, most of ‘em small and light. It’s holdin’ air bubbles so I’m gonna pump it fulla air and open ‘em down there.’

  ‘Good.’ said Dave. ‘Should save a lot of time.’

  Fang began pumping air down to the sunken barge’s compartments. ‘This’ll take a while—you two still going to check Tali Island?’

  ‘Yeah. But you’re right, that’s a strong current. We’ll take the Zodiac seeing you won’t need it for a while.’

  They soon bounced out of placid waters beyond the reef. Small waves buffeted the rubber dinghy as they approached the isolated jewel-like island. A few leaning coconut palms towered over a clinging emerald tuft of vegetation on the central sandhill. After beaching the Zodiac, they strolled around the rarely visited island in less than four minutes. The sand of the brilliant beach shone like crushed milky opal.

  Dave spent a fruitless hour searching for clues. ‘I don’t think anyone’s ever lived out here – even before the war. Probably only visited by a few fishermen occasionally.’

  Jan seemed far away as she gazed at the distant volcano. It formed an impressive backdrop to the Lahara and the serenity of magnificent Kulili beach. A plume of smoke drifted from the summit crater. ‘Before we leave the island, I’m going up there,’ she whispered a determined vow.

  ‘You’ll probably get your wish.’ Dave followed her gaze and surveyed the majestic heights. The area around the summit caldera exposed a solid shield of lava, vegetation only evident just below the rim. Ash dusted the lee slopes in a grey mantle of volcanic fallout. ‘We’ve nearly completed searching the barge and there’s still no gold.’

  ‘You think the Sangami people might be able to tell us something?’

  ‘Yes and if we can’t get permission to enter via Rimbula Plantation, we’ll have to cross the volcano.’

  Jan turned from the volcano and moved to the edge of the sparkling surf. ‘Coming for a swim before we head back?’

  As he was about to join her, Dave saw the Zodiac swept free by the rising tide. ‘Yeah, hang on and I’ll get the dinghy.’ He resecured it and turned in time to see Jan plunge naked into a small wave. Without hesitation, he threw caution and shorts to the wind and followed her carefree example.

  The clear water had a luminous glow. Shadows of wandering clouds mottled the dark shoals with a pale milky green phosphorescence. It somehow made the sky brighter, an intense deep blue. The optical illusion heightened the creamy brilliance of sun-dappled sandbanks just beneath the wind agitated surface.

  Dave tried to concentrate on his search for wreckage or evidence of Japanese occupation in the shallows but was distracted by Jan’s beauty. She swam along the beach and teased him, continually moving away each time he approached. ‘Stay away Stark! You’re supposed to be looking for lost treasure.’

  ‘There’s something here more beautiful and more valuable than gold.’ He replied as they were both dumped by a wave and left staggering in knee deep water. A brief naked confrontation followed.

  In a gesture of mock modesty, Jan beamed a cheeky smile over her shoulder. She folded her arms across her breasts and turned away. Beads of water gleamed like gems on her smooth tan skin. ‘Get away, Stark. You said you’re too busy for frivolity.’ She pouted suggestively, then squealed
as he rushed toward her. Dave attempted to grasp her but she plunged beneath the foaming surface.

  Dave fought arousal, but then gave chase and grabbed her ankles, his ardour riding high. ‘Aha, catch of the day. Got myself a mermaid.’ He pulled her to him and slipped his arms around her slim wet waist.

  At first Jan struggled. She laughed and squirmed within his embrace. But then her mood mellowed and she relaxed, wrapping her arms about his neck. She stared into his eyes. No words were necessary. The agitation and prompting of her large brown eyes told him all he needed to know.

  ‘Let’s get out of the water.’ Dave picked her up. ‘Do you realise not one of those billions of fish is toilet trained?’

  ‘Oh, yuk! You just destroyed all my illusions.’

  For a blissful hour they revelled in ecstasy, lost in the sensual delight of frantic but mutual lust. They felt reluctant to leave their private paradise. The sun hung low and the tide began to rise. The effervescent surf frolicked across their feet and whispered that it was time to leave. Silent and content, they slowly dressed then coaxed the Zodiac out into the warm waters. It skipped swiftly back towards Jake’s beach camp.

  The sun dropped lower, with two distinct tones. Its cap glared incandescently, its belly heavy with gold as it nestled into the parabolic curve of the volcanic slope. The steep conical silhouette reached skyward to a flame-tinted nimbus. The smooth waters ahead glowed like molten amber, the wavelets from the reef causing rippling tiger stripes of liquid black and gold. Gold – the word provoked Dave’s thoughts to the lost bullion. If the barge was empty then the gold must be somewhere on this volcanic island.

  ‘About bloody time!’ Fang snarled as they returned to the beach camp.

  Dave glanced at Jan. ‘We did a lot of probing around out there. Found nothing anyway.’

  Fang ignored the excuse. ‘I’ve got all the boxes open. No bloody gold. We’re gonna hafta visit the Sangami. Maybe they can tell us about the barge’s arrival and their attack back then.’