Iona Portal (The Synaxis Chronicles)

by Robert David MacNeil

  That had been important to Erin once, but in recent years it meant nothing. Erin was tired… tired with a weariness that went far beyond physical.

  Gathering her resolve she tossed her purse and keys through the Porsche’s open window onto the driver’s seat. I won’t need those anymore; she thought to herself, then turned and strode briskly toward the trail.

  It was a ten minute walk from the parking area to the Halema’uma’u crater rim. The path was barely discernable in the early morning gloom, but Erin knew the way. It had all been in the dream.

  The dream had begun two weeks earlier, shortly after she arrived at the beach house, and had repeated every night since. It seemed a pleasant dream, in a macabre sort of way, and it was always exactly the same. By now Erin had every detail memorized. She could re-play it in her mind at will.

  The dream always began with her driving south along the windward coast of Hawaii’s Big Island at four o’clock in the morning. By 4:30 A.M. she’d slipped through the near-empty streets of Hilo and begun ascending the long highway through the cloud forest to Volcano National Park on Mount Kilauea. Arriving at the park, Erin cruised through the entrance gate, unmanned at that hour, and turned left on the road to Halema’uma’u crater.

  The area around Halema’uma’u had been closed to visitors for several years, but in the dream the road barricades had been removed. Erin followed Crater Rim Road to the south and pulled into the deserted parking lot of the Halema’uma`u overlook at precisely five in the morning. The eastern sky was just beginning to glow with the faint light of a new day.

  As the dream continued, she walked up the path to the crater’s edge and easily vaulted the low fence designed to keep wayward tourists from approaching its crumbling rim.

  Halema’uma’u looked like something from another world: an immense pit, 300 feet deep and 3000 feet across, set within the great caldera of the Kilauea volcano. Until the 1920s it had been a seething lake of fire, often boiling over its edges. But in 1924, following days of explosive eruptions, the surface fell to its present depth and hardened. Even now, however, lava often broke through, forming churning pools of molten rock on the crater floor.

  Erin stood ten feet from the crater’s edge and surveyed the chasm below. In her dream, Halema’uma’u was a pool of total blackness, an ocean of night. From its stygian depths, huge clouds of steam and sulphurous gas billowed skyward.

  The ancient Romans believed the entrance to the underworld was located at Avernus, a volcano near Cumae. Erin had never visited that Italian volcano, but she wondered if it looked like this. It was easy to imagine Halema’uma’u as a bottomless pit stretching down into the interior of the earth—an open portal to the realm of the dead.

  For her, that’s what it would be… she would take a few quick steps and a long graceful dive into darkness. She’d never see the jagged lava rocks rising to met her. If she felt an impact at all, it would be a twinge of pain lasting only an instant.

  As the dream progressed, Erin began to disrobe. That was an odd element of the dream, but it was the same every time. She would stand fully exposed at the crater’s edge and casually remove every item of clothing; carefully folding her dress, shawl, and undergarments, and leaving them neatly stacked on her shoes at the craters edge.

  Tidy to the end, she thought.

  She’d read somewhere that those who commit suicide by swimming into the ocean often strip at the water’s edge and swim naked to their death. She wondered if a similar etiquette applied to volcano divers. It made sense really, exiting life the way you entered, totally unencumbered.

  Finally she stood upright, naked, facing the crater. She relaxed her body and took a deep breath, like an Olympic diver about to go off the high board.

  Then, as she stood before the waiting abyss, a wispy form materialized out of the surging clouds of steam. Vaguely humanoid, the apparition drew closer and solidified, until a beautiful Polynesian woman with an abundance of flowing black hair hovered in the air above the crater, not thirty feet away. Erin somehow knew the woman was Pele, the goddess of the volcano. Pele hung in mid-air, suspended over the darkness, watching Erin and smiling.

  Pele was the oldest legend of the island. Even when white missionaries came and supplanted the gods and goddesses of ancient Hawaii with Christianity, belief in Pele had endured. Erin didn’t believe in God or the afterlife, but she couldn’t deny that Pele was a real presence on the Island. According to legend, Halema’uma’u was Pele’s home. Locals believed she lived in the frothing lava that still belched from the crater’s floor. Every year, hundreds of sightings of Pele were reported all over the island, and the natives still brought her offerings… not the human sacrifices of ancient times, but rocks and fruit, and even bottles of rum were carefully wrapped in ti leaves and left for Pele to find.

  For a moment, Erin stood motionless, face to face with Pele at the edge of the crater. Pele hovered a dozen yards away, bathed in the rising clouds of steam. Then Pele smiled at Erin again and beckoned, and in the dream Erin responded. She ran toward the vision of Pele.

  It was a brief sprint, and with each step she felt her body become lighter, until at last, her feet barely touched the ground. As she gracefully leapt into the crater, it didn’t feel like falling; it felt like flying. She closed her eyes and drifted through space in perfect peace. A warm breeze was gentle on her face. She opened her eyes again. She was flying, and Pele was beside her. She was as light as a bird, soaring out over the pool of night.

  Gradually she began to descend. There was no fear, only a feeling of infinite freedom as she glided silently toward the ocean of darkness. She relaxed and let herself fall. It was the perfect escape. Escape from Rex … from the crushing weight of unwanted responsibilities … from clinging people who always demanded more.

  With Pele still beside her, she sank into the darkness, feeling the stress and fears of life falling behind as she descended into the pit.

  Erin always woke from the dream with an overwhelming feeling of peace and contentment. It was a feeling she had not known for many years.

  And now she was here, walking toward a volcano crater, following a dream-script that was embedded in her mind. It was a script that could only have one ending.

  Erin walked in silence, purposefully. Scattered shards of tephra, tiny cinders of gas-frothed pumice, crunched underfoot.

  What would people say? She thought to herself. She could picture the headlines… DALLAS SOCIALITE FOUND DEAD AT HAWAIIAN VOLCANO, APPARENT SUICIDE. Would people even believe that? She was the envy of Dallas society. Everyone wanted to be Erin Vanderberg.

  What would Rex think? Enraged probably. Her husband would certainly feel no sorrow. Just anger that her choice of suicide could cause him to lose face.

  Erin had considered leaving a suicide note. It seemed the right etiquette. But when she sat down to write one, she realized she had nothing to say, and no one she really cared to say it to. She just wanted everything to end.

  Erin arrived at the crater’s edge and quickly vaulted the low fence, then paused to survey the caldera before her.

  To this point, everything had been exactly as she remembered in the dream. Even the barricades on the road to Halema’uma’u had been removed to allow her entry. How had that happened?

  The eastern sky was glowing with the crimson light of approaching day. By its light she could just make out the great circle of the crater’s rim. From somewhere far below an immense column of sulphurous steam and gas billowed skyward before the prevailing winds caught it and drove it to the southwest.

  As she studied the scene before her, Erin was startled by the silence. In Hawaii there were always sounds… the chirp of insects, the call of birds. Hawaii was filled with life. But here there was absolute silence. There was no life in this place. She was suddenly aware of the sulphurous fumes filling the air, making it difficult to breathe.

  Trying to stay focused, Erin again recalled the dream. The next step was disrobing. Erin considered it
for a moment, but hesitated. It was cold. The dream had never been cold. Yet an icy wind was now buffeting her body. Occasional gusts tore at her clothing and caused her hair to whip around wildly. Even with her shawl drawn tightly around her, she was shivering and her teeth were beginning to chatter.

  Something else was wrong. The pit before her was not the peaceful pool of empty darkness she remembered from the dream. Near the middle of the pit she could see a boiling cauldron of liquid rock illuminating the jagged boulders of the crater walls and causing the rising clouds of steam to glow with a hellish red. She looked around in confusion. This was not at all what she’d seen in the dream.

  Erin drew back a step and glanced around, frightened, uncertain. This didn’t look like a peaceful exit from life. It looked like the pit of hell.

  In confusion, she studied the billowing clouds of steam rising before her, hoping for Pele’s appearance. But Pele didn’t come. The clouds of poisonous gas and steam continued to rise silently skyward. It was becoming harder to catch her breath.

  Amidst rising panic, Erin pondered her options. Her two weeks on the Big Island had been a badly needed escape. The beach house was located on a cliff overlooking the black sand beaches of Honokaope Bay. Surrounded by three acres of meticulously landscaped grounds, it amply met Erin’s need for seclusion and privacy.

  Erin came to the beach house at least twice a year. It was a place to get away from incessant demands and endless responsibilities. And most of all, from Rex.

  Sheltered on the lanai, she felt life slowly begin to return. She usually spent her first few days sitting on the lanai, not speaking, not thinking, barely moving. She’d fix her eyes numbly on the horizon and watch as the sun crept slowly across the sky to end the day in a blaze of glory as it sank into the western Pacific. Gradually the surging tide of stress within her began to subside. By the end of the first week she could actually sleep at night without drugs. Panic attacks came less frequently. She even drank less.

  But then the time always came to return home, and each time it was harder. In two days Rex’s plane would come for her. This time she knew she could not go back. Not to the life she had known.

  But was Halema’uma’u the answer? Its reality was nothing like the dream. The dream had given her hope. But the yawning pit before her held no hope.

  Erin again strengthened her resolve. So this was not the dream. It was not the peaceful exit to life she had hoped for. But it WAS still an exit. This place was cold and dead and filled with choking gas, but she could still jump. By the time her body struck the rocks below she would have gathered enough speed that she’d barely feel a thing. She could still do it. It would still be over. A fresh blast of bitterly cold wind hit her and she began to shiver again.

  She looked around in desperation. Oh God! She thought. This wasn’t how I wanted it to end.

  But she saw no other way. Nothing would ever change. Rex’s plane would land in Kona in two days, and that meant going home once more. She couldn’t face the thought of it. Tears began to roll down her cheeks and her body was shaking uncontrollably.

  She pulled the shawl more tightly around her and studied the short strip of earth between her feet and the crater rim, mentally counting the steps to the edge.

  A brief sprint, no more than five steps. A quick run, and a leap, and it would all be over. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to make the final run of her life.

  Suddenly a voice spoke… a man’s voice. It was deep and resonant, and very close. The speaker was just behind her,

  “I wouldn’t do that, Miss Erin.” The voice said, “That is not your destiny.”

  Startled by the voice, Erin’s whole body shuddered. She spun around to see the speaker.

  “Who are YOU?” She blurted, her voice tinged with both anger and confusion.

  The stranger stood less than two feet away. He was tall. An African, apparently—his well-muscled body was cloaked in a colorful African robe that accentuated his rich, chocolate-brown skin. The man’s head was closely shaved and his eyes were fixed on hers.

  Erin froze in place.

  He spoke again, his voice gentle, yet firm, “That is not your destiny, Miss.”

  Everything about the stranger exuded strength, yet his intimidating appearance was tempered by the kindness of his face.

  As she stared at him, confusion quickly gave way to anger at the uninvited interruption.

  “Who are you?” she demanded again, angrily.

  “They call me Araton,” he said calmly, and smiled.

  Erin noted that he spoke with a strange accent, carefully enunciating each word. It sounded almost British, but definitely African.

  “I’ve come to show you an alternative,” he continued, glancing out across the caldera, “to this.”

  Erin followed his gaze across the crater. “There is no alternative.” She said. “Nothing ever changes. Nothing can ever change. I can’t take it anymore.”

  “Erin, you won’t understand this, but I can see your destiny… I see what awaits you in the future. Or at least, what could await you. And if you choose the right path, I want to assure you that everything can change.”

  “What do you know about my destiny?” She shot back angrily, “You called me Miss. You don’t even know I’m a married woman.”

  The stranger suddenly became very serious. “I called you ‘Miss’ because I do know you, Erin Vanderberg.” He said, firmly. “We both know your marriage was a sham from the start. One of the reasons you’re standing in front of this crater is that you know it’s not real, but see no way out.”

  “Did Rex send you?” she demanded, spitting the name as though it was a dirty word.

  The man laughed for the first time. A hearty laugh. “No, Erin. Believe me, Rex Vanderberg would have nothing to do with me.”

  “Then how do you know me?” she said sharply.

  “I’ve watched you for some time now. I know many things about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “For one thing, I know why you hate men. I know that every man you’ve ever known has only wanted to use you, abuse you, and control you.

  “I know that you live in a golden prison. You have everything money can buy, and yet you have nothing. You’ve grown tired of inventing activities to fill up 24 hours every day.

  “And you’re weary of the causes to which you’ve committed yourself in a futile attempt to prove your own value. You’re tired of bearing great responsibility for events you really care nothing about.”

  Erin’s face hardened. He was reading her mail, but how could this stranger know her? She’d never seen him before.

  Curiosity had now driven the thought of suicide from her mind. She turned to fully face the stranger for the first time. She tried to look him in the eye, but could not. There was something strange about him. She opened her mouth to speak, but could form no words. The stranger continued.

  “Erin, the world is not as you’ve imagined it.

  “It’s like this volcano. You look into this crater and see a strange pool of liquid fire. You view it as an anomaly… something unusual and out of place in your beautiful world. You believe the real world is fresh and green, a place of oceans and forests and mountains.

  “But the world you’ve experienced is just a small part of a larger reality. What you see in that pit is the true nature of this world. This planet is a spinning ball of molten lava. All you’ve known is a thin veneer of solid earth that floats precariously on that molten ocean.

  “That’s how you’ve lived your life. You’ve seen a tiny sliver of what is true, but there’s a much larger reality beyond what you’ve known.”

  Erin stared at him in honest perplexity. “This isn’t making any sense.”

  “Think of it like this,” he said. “You’ve seen The Matrix…” The way he said it, it seemed more of an observation than a question.

  “Of course.”

  “You’re much like Neo. In The Matrix, Neo lived in his comfor
table world and thought he understood it, but he never imagined the true nature of that world.”

  “And I suppose you’re Morpheus?” Erin said with a hint of sarcasm. “You do look a little like him.”

  “Perhaps for you, I am Morpheus.” He said. “I’m here to offer you the choice Morpheus gave Neo. Morpheus asked Neo to choose between two pills. The blue pill was a choice to continue to live in a false reality, oblivious to the truth. The red pill meant he wanted to know the truth, whatever it cost.

  “My question for you, Miss Erin, is which pill do you want?”

  Erin hesitated, uncertain where the conversation was leading.

  He continued. “Choose the blue pill, and I’ll turn and walk away. You can think of me as a kindly stranger who saw you in distress and offered to help. I’ll leave you free to jump… or not, as you wish.

  “But choose the red pill, and I’ll show you a world you’ve never imagined. The world as it really is. I can even show you the path to your destiny. But I must warn you it won’t be an easy path… and you can’t walk it alone.”

  “All right,” Erin said, “Give me the red pill...

  “But first,” she demanded, her body shivering and teeth chattering from the bitter wind, “Tell me who you are.”

  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but before we talk, let’s get you some place warmer.” He smiled, “I’d hate to see you die of pneumonia after all this.

  “There’s an old hotel called Volcano House,” he continued, “perched on the upper rim of Kilauea just a few miles from here. Believe it or not, Mark Twain once stayed there. They serve great coffee, and there’s an old stone fireplace just off the lobby. The hotel has kept a warm fire blazing continually in that fireplace for more than a hundred and thirty years. I happen to know there are two very comfortable old wooden rocking chairs standing in front of that fireplace right now, just waiting for us.”