by R. B. Shaw
‘What things?’ Jan asked, intrigued.
‘Distant screams, crying and chanting and the smell of burning timber and human flesh.’
‘Is she suggesting cannibalism?’
‘I don’t think so. She simply said that being blind, she’s got superior senses of smell and hearing. Reckons she can tell what meat’s cooking even a kilometre away. She’s obviously smelt burnt human flesh before. I didn’t ask where.’
Joe interrupted their conversation. ‘We better get moving if you want to be back before dark. We’ll share the food and equipment among our packs. Nothing over ten kilos.’
The path led through the grey jungle, wide enough for a vehicle and certainly adequate for a trail bike. It soon degenerated into a steep aimless goat track obstructed by culverts and fallen trees, under a canopy of raintrees and fallen mossy branches.
Joe stopped and adjusted his backpack. ‘The climb this side’s fairly safe. The other side above Kless’s Plantation is the most dangerous. It’s the sacred area where the cultists gather. Nasty bunch of characters, especially their raving chief. They treat him like some kind of god.’
‘We heard rumours they still practice human sacrifice,’ said Dave.
Joe smiled. ‘In the past, intruders and enemy captives were sacrificed over the pit along with their dead relatives. The authorities stepped in years back. They stemmed the resurgence by arresting the leader and thirty of his top disciples. The leaders were later released and the cult became clandestine. They withdrew up here to the dangerous foothills of the volcano. Although recently there have been reports of opposition tribespeople disappearing.’
‘Can’t the police control them?’ Jan enquired.
‘The cops don’t want to know. Reckon they haven’t done anything wrong … not that anyone dares to talk about anyway. As long as they limit their activities to traditional ritual for their dead loved ones, the authorities won’t interfere.’ Joe paused to light another cigarette. ‘Incidentally, by tradition they have granted one concession. If anyone survives the pit ritual, they’re eternally sacred and unapproachable by warriors of the cult.’
Dave immediately thought of Ted. Once word got around that he survived the Sangami firepit, the local people treated him with reverence. The sparse vegetation ahead thinned. It looked burnt rather than covered in the grey mud. ‘What thinned out the jungle?’
Joe snickered. ‘If you think this is thinned, wait till we get further up.’
They staggered through scorched foliage and incinerated shrubbery. Tall slender palms stood listless, the remains of withered fronds limp against charred and blistered trunks. Some trees carried heavy branches sheared and splintered like matchwood.
Dave stopped. ‘What the hell happened here?’
‘A heat wave like you wouldn’t believe. Let’s have a break and I’ll tell you all about it.’ Joe sat on the battered trunk of a fallen palm and passed the canteen around. ‘It’s called a “nuee ardente” or pyroclastic flow; let’s say PF for short. The volcano vented last week and released a dense froth of super-heated gas, steam and fire-charged cinders. It’s heavier than air as it comes out of solution. Sweeps downhill like an avalanche at over 250 kph. No animal or insect can survive.’
‘Sounds like a nuclear blast,’ Dave suggested.
‘Same effect. A nuclear blast is petty. The most powerful volcanic eruption recorded was over sixteen thousand megatons or 800,000 times the power of the blast that destroyed Hiroshima. You’ve probably seen footage of atomic blasts and the familiar mushroom cloud. Ever noticed the insidious base surge? It’s a high-speed shock cloud at ground level and almost identical to a PF. This deadly surge of fiery gas follows the terrain. It can disappear in a gully then suddenly re-appear, flooding over ridges.’
Jan glanced around, spellbound by Joe’s monologue. ‘What do you do if one’s approaching?’
‘Bend over and kiss your arse goodbye,’ Joe smiled. ‘Light vegetation is instantly incinerated, and trees are flattened by the blowdown, hence the dead world around us. Carves the jungle away quicker than a bulldozer. You might survive if you sheltered behind solid rock … provided you can breathe fire.’
Jan and Dave glanced at each other and the volcanologist caught their mood. ‘Feelin’ uncomfortable now?’ Joe smirked as he scanned the slopes for Sangami. ‘Let’s get moving and take a look.’
They trudged on, glimpses of ocean views now visible through wilted vegetation.
Dave tried to take Joe’s mind off the Sangami and fished for clues to Ted’s wartime ordeal. ‘How long was Karkar occupied by the Japs during the war?’
‘Most civilians evacuated in ‘41. The Japs invaded and established a small garrison at Kurum Lutheran mission from late ‘42 till June 1944.’
‘So they were in control of Kulili, near where the barge sank?’
‘Yes, but with such a small occupation force and hostility from the locals and allied forces, their northern patrols were infrequent.’ Joe was pre-occupied now, worried at the possibility of encountering Sangami.
The charred jungle gave way to bare slopes covered in a riverlike flow of brown solidified lava. The wrinkled surface revealed jagged edges, torn by rapid cooling. A fall could cause a serious wound. Progress slowed and they carefully climbed a steep black slope. The rim loomed above them, the smooth black cinders shining and loose underfoot, causing them to continually slide back.
Joe nervously scanned the slopes. ‘From here on, keep a careful watch for the Sangami.’
Undeterred, Dave maintained his interrogation. ‘Tell me Joe, do the Sangami have cargo cult mentality and ritually destroy their valuables, like cash and gold?’
‘Not exactly,’ Joe seemed reluctant. ‘Only belongings of the people placed on the sacrificial platform.’
Jan probed further. ‘What about the leader of the cult. It can’t be the same one that was here during the war?’
‘The chief’s a Messiah to the cult followers. Traditionally, leadership’s handed on unchallenged from father to son, hence the cult’s continued existence.’
‘We’ve heard about sorcery?’ Jan persisted.
‘The sorcerers are also Sangami. They arrived via Bagabag Island, another volcano thirty kilometres to the east. In the past they were one of the most pagan and brutal tribes in local legends. They’ve many untraceable and devious ways of killing their captives.’
Jan was again intrigued. ‘What did they do?’
‘In one case, the cause of death was a mystery. They sent the body away for an in-depth autopsy and discovered major trauma to the lower brain. Further investigations revealed the sorcerers used long needle-sharp bones from the wings of flying foxes. These were thrust up the victim’s nose and into the brain. With no sign of injury, the superstitious natives assumed it was very strong magic.’
A strange drone interrupted Joe’s zealous flow of detail. Within seconds the Skymaster aircraft came into view. They realised it must be Kless or Harada flying around the upper caldera on a search. The small plane turned overhead, then flew across the rim heading toward the central volcano.
‘Do you think they saw us?’ said Jan.
‘Very likely.’ Joe replied. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘No,’ Dave lied. ‘It’s just that I didn’t want Kless to know we were slipping in the back way, so to speak.’
Joe paused suspiciously. ‘Do you want to continue?’
‘Yeah, if we hurry.’ Dave did not hesitate and started climbing again. ‘This is important. He can’t land up here. All he could’ve done is radio Rimbula Plantation. I doubt if Kless could get anyone up here that quick.’
41
The fine silica sand shone like black satin and radiated the searing heat of the overhead sun. It shuddered underfoot, reminding them they trespassed on a temporary structure, forced two kilometres skyward by the force of Mother Nature.
‘Before the last eruption, the vegetation grew right to the edge of the rim,’ Joe explained, a
s he again scanned the slopes for other human presence.
They climbed above the humid haze, the sky a pure cobalt blue. The pristine clarity astounded them. A sulphurous volcanic smudge drifted past to blend with cloud high over the mainland. The distant Finisterre Ranges looked like the rumpled bony spine of an enormous reptile.
Joe panted heavily as they neared the summit. ‘The Sangami call the volcano “black thunder” and the super-heated firestorms as the “piawin” or “firewind”. Even the lava they simply call “hatblat”, or the “hot blood” of the mountain.’
Jan struggled onward. ‘Is this part of their sacred area?’
‘Yeah, I often see them up here. It’s got a strange religious reverence for them,’ said Joe as the slope levelled. ‘Nearly there. That’s the summit of the outer crater.’
As they topped the rim and rested from their climb, they stood spellbound by the awesome panorama below them. The caldera contained a collapsed crater, a dramatic flat-bottomed depression a thousand feet deep. Five kilometres long and three kilometres wide, it resembled an open-cut mine.
‘What caused this?’ Dave panted.
‘After the lava’s expelled or drained back into the earth’s crust, it often leaves empty underground chambers. The volcanic dome superstructure collapses and forms a caldera.’
Near the centre of the depression loomed the bare inner ash-cone of the unpredictable volcano. The torn-open upper stump resembled a lopsided Egyptian pyramid, only twice as high.
‘How do you know it’s safe to continue?’ Jan enquired as dense steam billowed from nearby fissures and rapidly expanded to an immense convoluted cloud plume.
‘I don’t yet. Volcanos have schizophrenic tendencies. They’re impressive but unpredictable, the most devastating of all natural phenomena. They have killed about thirty thousand people in the last decade.’ He led the way down the slope. ‘The inner walls are extremely steep. Be careful, it’s tricky.’
The climatic contrast was dramatic. The strong sea breeze at the summit yielded to sulphurous heat as they weaved down through torn volcanic fall-out and debris. A silent scene of total desolation greeted them as they reached the crater floor. The spread of ruptured lava looked like the lunar surface. Not a sign of human intrusion nor a shred of vegetation.
Joe hesitated. ‘We’ll have to divert around that big field of hot lava.’ He motioned to the flow ahead. A bright orange inner glow split the pure silver crust. It crept slowly forward like molten solder, crackling as it shed its own air-cooled shell. The intense heat gyrated the sulphurous air above and distorted the terrain beyond.
Joe led the way towards the inner cone, hesitating occasionally to check ground temperatures. ‘We’ll be crossing solidified lava. It’ll be incredibly hot. In places it’s just a thin crust over molten lava chambers. If your leg goes through, it’ll be reduced to a cinder in five seconds, so follow me exactly,’ he warned, then checked his seismometers. Joe used an infrared tiltmeter and mirrors to align pre-set stadia rods, checking for the minutest surface swelling.
Jan watched the glowing lava with misgivings. It looked like congealed blood advancing with the consistency of hot molasses. ‘How is it looking at the moment?’ she asked casually, trying to sound unconcerned.
Joe dared to move in close and extended a probe for a temperature check. ‘Some definite swelling since last week’s readings, but no radical change. We should be safe.’ He briefly scanned the depression, checking for Sangami. A pungent, heavier-than-air mist swirled about them in the moat-like depression, but did not hamper them finding the base of the tall centre cone. Joe led the climb through sulphurous fumes steaming from fissures in the warm crust underfoot. He handed them each a mask. ‘If you find the fumes overpowering, put this on. Sulphur dioxide fumes can mix with the steam and condense in your lungs to form sulphuric acid. We’re now on the weakest point above a bubble containing millions of cubic metres of super-heated gas. It can melt its way through solid rock like a blowtorch through butter.’
Jan and Dave’s enthusiasm withered as they donned the protective masks. They crawled higher to peer over the edge into the exposed glowing bowels of the earth. As they stared down into the vent, no one spoke—like trespassers not wishing to attract attention. In awe, they studied the clouds of gas seeping from rifts in the sheared and layered walls of solidified lava. They kept shuffling, the ground beneath extremely hot. The direct radiant heat became unbearable after a few seconds.
Joe crawled alongside. ‘To the Sangami this is the most sacred of places. The Mountains of Heaven, the dwelling place of Gods and evil spirits. That stony shard of rock at the highest lip of the caldera is the centre of their world. At the time of the ritual, the cultists enter this area wearing flaming hats. Supposed to give them favour with the Gods.’
‘Doesn’t it burn their heads?’ asked Jan.
‘Two coconut shell halves. One’s a cap, the other reversed on top as a crucible stuffed with burning tinder and soaked in pig fat or oil. The two halves are glued together and insulated by a pad of baked clay.’
A molten lake of fiery-orange lava boiled below. Over twenty metres across, a shattered crust of ash slabs and impurities floated on the burning surface. The whole bizarre scene gyrated erratically in the rising waves of hot air and illuminated haze. As they watched, the flaming pool stirred and rose turgidly. A massive lava bubble burst. It threw a shower of incandescent fragments in the air in a brief pyrotechnic display. The lava dripped back onto solidified galleries with a heavy splattering sound. It then trickled back towards the burning lake in fiery rivulets like pure liquid gold. As the mountain rebuilt itself before their eyes, they stared, mesmerised by the primeval ambience.
Joe judged their mood. ‘An awe-inspiring sight, isn’t it?’
Jan drew back from the rim to change the cassette in her video camera. ‘Incredible!’ she said, impressed by the raw power of nature.
Joe jotted down figures in a notebook. ‘We think this is where the two volcanologists died. To a safely positioned observer, an erupting volcano can be a spectacle of unparalleled magnificence. To its victims it is a terrifying and uncontrollable force. That’s where I come in. By monitoring these parameters, I could predict an eruption and warn nearby villagers.’
‘How do you find your way back?’ Jan queried. ‘No obvious trail or landmarks.’
Dave grinned. ‘If Fang was here we could follow his trail of food scraps.’
‘I’ve done it a thousand times,’ Joe replied, then busied himself taking more temperatures and measurements.
Dave wanted to move on. ‘C’mon Joe, we’re wasting time. I want to check out the trail and the pit before Kless has a chance to send some men up.’
‘Okay, we’ll head off to my hut and check more readings there. It’s easy going beyond the outer rim—a gradual ten-minute descent.’
They again scaled the inner wall of the caldera and topped the rim. The eastern coastline appeared and the ocean breeze cooled them.
The small galvanised iron shed looked totally alien in the moonscape, its roof sharply raked to prevent heavy ash build-up. Inside were two bunks and a variety of seismographic instruments and supplies. Two flameproof firesuits made of silver nomex hung on the wall.
Jan noticed a padlocked box, mounted on the other wall. ‘What’s that?’
‘Controls for the explosive charges.’
‘What charges?’ Dave interjected.
‘We’ve mined the ridge face of the Devil’s Slide at predetermined weak points so we can collapse it if needed.’
Dave frowned, still mystified. ‘Why?’
‘If there’s excessive lava flow into the outer caldera, it’ll eventually spill over the lower north side and threaten heavily populated areas. The narrow section of the caldera rim above the Devil’s Slide is weak. If the lava lake builds up, I can blow away about a 300-metre section. The breach should allow the lava to flow harmlessly down the relatively unpopulated eastern slopes.’
‘What about villages below?’
‘They’ve been warned of the possibility and told to be ready to evacuate quickly. Knowing the average lava temperature and consistency, we’ve calculated that on the shallow eastern slopes, the lava would flow at less than fifty metres an hour, easily avoidable. Lava’s not usually dangerous—fallout and pyroclastic clouds are the killers.’
‘So the villagers know the ridge is mined?’ said Dave warily.
‘Yeah, and so does the Fire Cult and their leader. He hates the eastern tribes; they’re the only ones who stand up to him. That’s why I’ve locked up the detonation controls.’ Joe resecured his hut and led the way along on a gradual descent to the north. ‘About two kilometres ahead is the upper limit of the Fire Cult’s sacred ground. There could be some of them around.’
Dave and Jan followed without comment down the shingle slope. They soon came across a gruesome skull impaled on a stake.
‘Welcome to the sacred grounds of the Sangami,’ said Joe as he indicated the other skulls in both directions. ‘The skulls in the boundary are from warriors who died with valour in combat and given the honour of eternal sentinel. Each is within sight of the next as a warning to intruders.’
Jan gazed down the trail. ‘Let’s go. I’m anxious to see the sacred pit!’
Joe was nervous and non-committal. ‘No way. That wasn’t part of the deal. This is as far as I go. I don’t bother them and they don’t bother me.’
‘C’mon Joe, you said it’s not far,’ Dave argued.
‘Too dangerous. You go if you like, I’ll wait here.’
‘We can’t find the place without you,’ Jan pleaded.
‘Listen, I only agreed to show you the way to the sacred grounds of the Sangami.’ Joe insisted angrily. ‘I don’t want to antagonise them.’
Dave paused briefly to take a breath in the rarefied air. ‘Remember Ted told you there could be something in this for you? If you show us the way, there’s a thousand bucks reward.’