Iona Portal (The Synaxis Chronicles)

by Robert David MacNeil

  Seeing Rex and his men, Patrick motioned for the group to stop, and the synaxis spread out across the road with every eye on Rex.

  “What do you want?” Patrick demanded.

  “I want many things,” Rex smiled smugly. He glanced from Patrick to the members of the group, “By this time tomorrow I want all of you dead. Your synaxis ends tonight!”

  Shifting his gaze to Erin, Rex pulled the Beretta from his belt and flipped off the safety. “But first,” he said, “I want my wife.”

  Leering at her, he said coolly, “Come here, Honey!”

  “No, Rex!” Erin answered firmly, her voice quivering with the fierce, pent-up anger of twenty years. “You lost the right to call me wife long ago.” With rising intensity, she continued, “Until now, I’ve been too fearful to resist you, but I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

  “Silence… TRAITOR!” Rex roared, cutting her off. His face went blood dark as he raised the Beretta, his hand trembling with rage, and pointed it directly at Erin’s heart. “When I take you back to camp,” his voice hardened, “I’ve decided to leave you with Grat Dalton for the night. While your Irin friends are dying in the skies overhead, Grat and the boys will show you what happens to a woman who betrays me by joining my enemies.”

  Taking a step closer, he softened his voice and grinned malevolently, “It’ll be an educational experience for you, Honey. Grat will teach you to be afraid again.

  “And when the boys are finished playing their little games with you … and when I’ve heard your sweet voice whimpering in fear between your anguished screams …” he said as he lowered the gun, “I’ll come for you.”

  Rex glared at her for a long moment, but Erin stood her ground, unwavering and defiant.

  Then, in a tone that pierced like a hardened steel knife, he added, “…I will come for you, my dear wife, and you can be very certain of this… this time I will kill you.”

  As he was speaking, Rex began moving toward Erin, ready to seize her in his iron grip; but he suddenly found his way blocked. A tall, powerfully built man with piercing green eyes had stepped forward and positioned himself directly in Rex’s path.

  Holmes had been pondering Patrick’s word since they left the pub, and knew this was his time to act. Planting his feet firmly, he looked into Rex’s face, now dark and twisted with rage, and said firmly, “Hold it, Rex! You’re not taking Erin anywhere. Everyone in this group is under my protection.”

  Startled by the unexpected intervention, Rex regarded the unarmed man blocking his way through dark, sunken eyes, then smiled thinly. “You must be Derek Holmes, the leader of this tiresome group. I’ve heard many things about you from my Archon friends.

  “You shouldn’t have brought these people here, Dr. Holmes. After tonight there will be no more Irin, and you will all be dead.

  “But first,” he said, glancing at Erin, “I’m taking my wife.”

  “And I said, no.” Holmes said firmly, taking a step closer. In a smooth motion, Reno and Bryce unslung their AK-47’s, but Holmes continued, “To get to any of these people, you’ll have to deal with me first.”

  Rex’s face twisted in a look of honest bafflement, then his eyes darkened, “Your request is granted,” he said, icily. “I will deal with you first.” Rex raised the Beretta again and calmly pointed it at the center of Holmes’ chest, just feet away.

  “Hold it right there!” a woman’s voice ordered. It was Catherine Campbell, stepping into view from the shadows at the side of the road with her shotgun raised and her long, ebony hair feathering softly in the wind. “I don’t know who you think you are, you bloody berk, but you fire one shot at this man and it’ll be your last!” She was aiming her shotgun right between his eyes.

  “What a big gun for such a little girl,” Rex spat contemptuously. “Too bad you can’t afford to pull that trigger. You shoot me, young lady, and my boys will kill every last one of you before my body hits the ground.”

  Fire burned in Catherine’s eyes. “Don’t test me!” she warned. “I promise you, I’ll blow your bloody head off!”

  Rex gave her a condescending smile, then turned and nodded to Reno and Bryce, who raised their Kalashnikovs into firing position, pointed directly at Catherine.

  Shifting his gaze back to Catherine, Rex took several steps in her direction and stood over her menacingly. Glaring at her, he drew his lips back sharply, deliberately baring his teeth. And just for an instant his face was distorted, a beast’s face, leering at her in unearthly rage.

  Caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze, Catherine wavered for a moment. Her mouth opened slightly and, taking a step back, she lowered the barrel of the Remington just an inch.

  That momentary hesitation was all the encouragement Rex needed. Seeing Catherine pull back, his cruel grin broadened to a look of smug satisfaction. Without another word, he turned back to Holmes and raised the Beretta. Then, before anyone could move, Rex took aim and calmly squeezed the trigger.

  Piper heard the shot, and from the corner of her eye saw the bullet impact the center of Holmes’ chest. She closed her eyes and screamed.

  Rex had cultivated such an aura of intimidation that no one ever dared oppose him. But he didn’t know Catherine Campbell. At the moment his shot was fired, the air echoed with the sound of an even louder retort, as Catherine firmly pulled the trigger of her shotgun.

  And so, Rex Vanderberg’s death was as violent as his life. Firing her Remington 870 twelve-gauge—loaded with double-aught buckshot—at close range, Catherine Campbell fulfilled her promise to Rex by quite literally blowing his head off.

  Reno and Bryce had not anticipated Catherine’s response, and also had not noticed Angus and Malcolm standing in silent darkness by the edge of the road with their shotguns at the ready. Before Rex’s thugs could react, two more shots rang out, and in a moment, Rex, Reno and Bryce all lay dead on the pavement in front of Cnoc nan Carnan.

  Piper turned back to Holmes, and screamed again. Holmes was gone. In the distraction of the other shots, she never saw that when the bullet impacted his body, he’d simply disappeared.

  Then, as quickly as he had disappeared, Holmes was back. He stood before her, hands clutching his chest, but there was no blood. He drew his hands away, and examined his chest, looking perplexed.

  “Holmes, what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I felt it hit… and found myself in the shadow realm.” He felt at his chest again and winced. “I have a nasty bruise and maybe a broken rib. But the bullet didn’t penetrate – the force of the impact just knocked me out of this dimension. Eliel said I had that ability. I just didn’t expect…”

  He winced again as Piper literally threw himself against him, holding him in a tight embrace.

  He returned the embrace, ignoring the pain for a moment, then quickly pulled away. “More of that later…” he whispered, “Let’s get this thing done.”

  The swirling storm of Archon warriors had almost reached the island.

  The entire synaxis, along with their friends from Mull, were staring at Holmes in disbelief, not comprehending how he was still alive. He turned to them and barked, “Lys, and Patrick—all of you—let’s go. We need to get that portal open.”

  “Not so fast!” …a voice called, this time from the top of Cnoc nan Carnan. “I’ve come for my old friend, Lys.” It was Kareina. Botis and Turell walked at her side as she calmly strode down the embankment to the road. “I must say, Lys, you’re remarkably resilient, but your luck just ran out. Rex was right about one thing. All of this ends now!”

  Reaching the bottom of the embankment, Botis and Turell separated and circled around behind the synaxis, while all eyes remained on Kareina.

  Smiling malevolently, she approached Lys. “You survived the BMW. You survived the bullet through the hospital window. You survived the shades. You even survived the Firth of Lorne. This time I’ve decided to do it the old-fashioned way.” Coming face-to-face with Lys, Kareina purred, “Let’s see if you can sur
vive my knife.”

  As she spoke, Kareina brought her hand up, revealing a pitch-black, twelve-inch-long obsidian knife with a jagged edge. She raised the knife swiftly until the tip just indented the soft flesh of Lys’s neck.

  Seeing the raw terror in Lys’s eyes, Kareina bared her teeth in a sadistic grin, savoring her long-delayed triumph as she prepared to make the fatal thrust.

  But then, from just behind Kareina, came another voice… “Hold it Kareina. Before you use that blade on her, you’ll have to get past my blade.” It was Araton. His shining, white wings were outstretched, and he floated ten feet above the ground. In his right hand he clasped a three-foot-long, glowing scimitar.

  Recognizing Araton’s voice, Kareina whirled to face him, as the pent-up fury of twenty-thousand years exploded within her.

  Forgetting Lys for the moment, Kareina threw aside her knife and slid a shining, three-foot blade from the black scabbard at her side. Then, opening her mouth in a long, rasping cry, she unfurled dark, bat-like wings and rose to meet her ancient adversary.

  Botis and Turell joined her in the air. Suddenly, from the shadow realm, twenty more Archon warriors appeared, surrounding Araton with drawn swords.

  Araton hovered with wings outstretched and scimitar raised, face-to-face with Kareina. Kareina shifted her sword from side to side, dark eyes glaring at him in searing hatred, searching for her opening.

  Turell remained on station, just behind her. But at a gesture from Kareina, Botis retreated, gliding silently away into the darkness.

  Spreading dark leathery wings—almost invisible in the gathering gloom—Botis flew unnoticed in a wide arc around the encircling warriors, then rose into the ash-darkened sky to a position behind and several hundred feet above Araton.

  Botis paused for a moment in mid-air, wings outstretched, feeling the cold evening breeze blowing in from the Sound of Iona. Then, seeing Araton’s attention still locked on Kareina, he bared his teeth and angled into a sharp dive, plummeting downward toward Araton with sword held high, ready to strike a decisive blow.

  But Araton sensed the movement behind him. At the last moment he whirled and struck out at his attacker. Botis saw Araton turning and, for an instant, a look of horror flashed across his face. His mouth opened in a tortured scream but his momentum was too great to turn aside. Araton’s glowing blade caught Botis directly across the chest. In an explosion of blinding white light Botis was literally torn apart, the shredded remnants of his mangled body tumbling to the ground in smoke and fire.

  “That was for Sylvia!” Araton spat, as he whirled on Kareina.

  Araton lashed out with his scimitar again, and Kareina jumped back, barely avoiding his blade. The others were on him immediately. The Archon warriors swirled around him, slashing and thrusting, driving in close, then leaping to escape his flashing sword.

  Their attack was intense and furious, but Araton was too fast for them. As they pressed in closer, two more Archon fighters were dispatched. But the rest kept coming.

  Araton fought valiantly, but was vastly outnumbered. The Archons were pressing him on every side.

  Suddenly, falling from the sky like a shooting star, Eliel was there. She was dancing again, twirling in a blaze of white light, tumbling and twisting among the Archon warriors. And in her hand was a shining sword. In a moment, three more Archons tumbled to the ground in flames.

  More Irin arrived – Rand and Khalil and two others. Araton was wounded now, but the others closed ranks around him.

  But the Archons increased their numbers also.

  Then, in the sky overhead, the two massive armies finally engaged. While the Irin darted and flashed, the massive horde of the Archon army rapidly tightened the circle around them.

  The Archons had great numbers, but moved independently. Their attack was ferocious but not well-coordinated. As the Irin held their ground, more Archons died.

  But still more Archons were moving into view. Irin began to fall also. The Irin were being overwhelmed by the sheer number of their adversaries.

  Holmes turned to the synaxis… “Let’s get that portal open.”

  As the battle overhead intensified, Holmes led the way to the top of the hill. In the gathering darkness, the twelve planted their feet on the soft heather between the upright slabs of stone.

  Instinctively, Holmes knew what to do. Eliel had never told him how to open the portal, but he knew.

  “Patrick, stand in front of that slab on the right. Lys, you stand before the slab on the left, facing him. Everyone else, gather around them. Now, Patrick… you give the word.”

  Patrick looked at Lys for a long moment and their eyes met. He smiled broadly, then spoke one word,“Sing!”

  Lys returned his smile, then opened her mouth and began to sing, repeating the simple song she’d made up as a child.

  At first the song was forced and halting, a weak and silly song a child would sing—just nonsense syllables in a childish melody. But gradually the song took on a life of its own. It rose from deep within Lys and flowed out, syllable after syllable. The words made no sense, but then they took on a meaning that went beyond human understanding. The song increased in volume. It had rhythm and meter, and the melody grew more complex. It rose and crested in crescendo after crescendo, gaining power.

  And as Lys sang, something happened.

  The stone slabs around them, and the earth under their feet seemed to vibrate to the sound of her song.

  The hill beneath their feet began to glow… and then turned transparent. The ground between Patrick and Lys, the green heather and dark earth beneath, became as clear as glass. Patrick felt a wave of vertigo. Looking down at his feet, he could see into the depths of the earth.

  Suddenly, from the heart of the earth, a shaft of light shot skyward, a pillar of white light that pierced the clouds of ash overhead. The dark clouds retreated, as though cringing from the power of the light. And a tunnel formed above them—a glowing tunnel that penetrated into the depths of the sky.

  Then, answering the light from the earth, came a light from the heavens. Through the tunnel, a shaft of brilliant light flooded the whole island. The light was more than white. It was a shimmering rainbow of blinding radiance, brighter than the brightest day.

  And then the angels came. A shining spark fell through the tunnel, shooting like a falling star, then spreading its wings and extending a flaming sword, it joined the battle. Then another. Then three more… and suddenly there were thousands, and then tens of thousands. And more came. The Irin were flooding into the earth-realm.

  In a moment, the battle turned. Archons were falling in flames all around them.

  The Archons hesitated… then, seeing the battle was lost, they broke off their attack and fled.

  And suddenly it was over.

  Chapter Twenty-six: A New Beginning

  THE PORT OF OBAN, ARGYLE, SCOTLAND

  Four weeks later, the synaxis assembled again, this time on the beautiful, grassy lawn in the center of McCaig’s Folly.

  Standing on the lookout platform, Holmes and Piper gazed out across the Firth of Lorne to the battered Island of Mull, still recovering from its thick coating of ash. Crews had been sent in, and the road across the island had already been restored.

  By the time the eruption ended, Ben More had actually grown in size. A picturesque cone more than four thousand feet high now rose in the center of the island.

  Following Ben More’s eruption, geologists from all over the earth had rushed to Mull. After careful study, it was declared that the eruption, though unprecedented, was merely an unfortunate geological “burp.” The experts agreed that further damage was unlikely. Government officials were already studying how to draw geothermal energy from the newly active volcano, greatly enhancing the island’s economy.

  Holmes and Piper turned and walked across the grassy knoll to where the minister of the local Congregational church was standing, surrounded by a crowd of their friends. Behind the minister, through one of the a
rchways, Piper could see out across Oban Harbor to the distant isles of the Hebrides. But Holmes was looking only at Piper.

  When they’d taken their position in front of the minister, Holmes slipped his arm around Piper’s slender waist and drew her closer. Piper looked up at him, smiling broadly, and their eyes met.

  It was a wedding such as no one had ever seen. The minister, a short, balding man in his mid-sixties, glanced from person to person in this unconventional wedding party with genuine perplexity.

  The bride and her attendants were dressed in matching light pale-blue garments, of a style and fabric the minister didn’t recognize. The dresses were gifts, the bride had explained, from her maid of honor—a beautiful young brown-haired woman named Eliel.

  The groom, though an American, wore a kilt of the MacLean tartan, also a gift from a friend. Holmes was resplendent in full Highland dress; an Argyll jacket with a wool tie to match his kilt, a black leather sporran trimmed in badger fur, and Ghillie Brogues with kilt hose and garter flashes. His kilt pin bore the MacLean clan crest, a tower with battlements surrounded by the proud motto "Virtue is my honor."

  The best man, a large black fellow named Araton, was dressed in a kilt of the MacKinnon tartan. In addition to the normal accessories of traditional Highland dress, Araton also sported an imposing two-handed Scottish Claymore dress sword at his side.

  There was one more kilted figure in the wedding party, an American named Patrick O’Neill. Michael had informed Patrick that not all of his ancient relatives had returned to Ireland. The Ui Neills who remained in Scotland changed their name to the Scottish form, “MacNeil,” and settled on the Island of Barra— just north of Iona—where they gained renown as warriors and pirates. Patrick stood beside Araton, proudly wearing a kilt with the tartan of the Barra MacNeils, purchased in one of the tourist shops on George Street.