chapter 22
It was a cold, gray dawn, and the helicopter bearing Astrid and Alex came to the Brough of Birsay, a desolate green island barely an eighth of a mile long.
As they neared, Alex’s eyes flickered open and he took in the island, where the Atlantic churned against rocky beaches and ancient ruins, and one structure was visible from miles away. “That’s the lighthouse,” the pilot yelled back to them. “Do you want me to put you there?”
The lighthouse, not as tall as the lighthouses on the eastern seaboard of the United States but very similar in its white wood and squat adjacent building, sat on the north shore, across the island from where they would be coming over land.
Alex blinked several times, coming awake from having allowed himself a couple of hours of sleep. “Hey.” He tapped Astrid’s shoulder. “We’re here.”
The young witch opened her eyes and stretched, looking out at the island.
Alex was watching the water around the island and then shouted to the pilot, “Wait, wait, hang back. Uh, keep your distance while we…decide.”
“What is it?” Astrid asked.
He had to raise his voice some for her to hear him. “This is Birsay. The Vikings called it Byrgisay, the fortress island. They built strongholds here, but as you can see most of those are ruins.” He swept his arm out across the island.
“You’ve been reading,” she said, just as loudly.
“Just a little after you fell asleep.” Alex was scanning the island, then realized he was looking for a hut or house like Mary Shelley described in the book, but of course that was absurd. He saw ruins scattered across the island, old stone foundations of Norse houses and churches. He had no idea where they would begin to look, but they could probably cover the whole island in an hour or less.
There was another angle he was considering as the chopper pitched eastward into the sun, staying away from the island and running parallel to the scrubby beaches.
“Where is Claire going to be?” he asked aloud. “If the Queen is going to set off her big Triumph, where is she going to do it?”
Astrid looked out. “If I had to pick, I’d go with the oldest ruins.”
Alex pointed to one end of the island. He saw a jumble of ruins, including a broch, a fortification of stones built by the Picts, ancient peoples who held the island until the Vikings drove them off. There were Christian and Viking ruins as well. “That all looks old.”
Astrid shivered, and Alex watched her eyes take in the whole island as she looked out the window next to him. “Yeah, there’s magic there, but there’s magic all over here; if feels like…Rome.”
“Ley lines?”
She nodded. “Magic real estate.”
“Yeah,” said Alex. He was eager to get a look at the ruins. But they also needed to set up their own HQ. He was about to tell the pilot to set them at the lighthouse when he looked down to the water, the gray foam churning with the heavy wind, and the chopper pitched and steadied. The long, dark shadow of a coral reef curved along below the surface. A rumble of static passed through Alex’s mind and he leaned forward instinctively.
“Follow the reef,” he told the pilot, and the chopper continued the curve around the island.
Alex felt it still, and he looked at Astrid. “They’re here already. Hiding among the coral.”
An abrupt growl in his mind shocked him back an inch.
This was cold water, and cold-water islands don’t have coral.
Water was burbling next to the dark shadow, the not-coral.
“Turn back. Turn back now!” Alex called, and the pilot threw him a look.
“What?”
“Turn back! Head to Mainland! Now!”
But there was a growling in his mind and something bursting from the water, and then the helicopter pitched violently as a chunk of ice the size of a football slammed into the side of the chopper. Alex looked out.
An icy shape like a gun emplacement had risen from the waves and turned toward them, the ice folding in on itself and forming something like a cannon. Alex saw it spasm once, and then another white ball was flying toward them.
The chopper spun for a moment and the pilot fought with it. “Someone’s shooting at us. What the hell is that?” the pilot screamed.
“Move out farther, a quarter mile; we have to bail out.” Alex was up and ripping through panels in the back, searching for gear. He set a flare gun aside and found a life raft. He prayed whoever was shooting from the water would have limited vision if they got farther away. “You can go, but we have to bail. Does this raft have CO2?”
“You’re crazy!” the pilot called, and then cursed as the ice slammed into them again. “We’re going back to Mainland.”
Alex glanced at Astrid as he threw the door open, looking down at the water. They were fifty feet off the ground.
“Take us lower, take us lower,” he said, and the pilot turned, zipping across the water as the ice gun discharged again, in the distance, too far to connect. “If we’re lucky they’ll think we went away. No way they know it’s us; this is just them holding everyone at bay while they get ready.”
“What are we doing?” Astrid asked, joining him at the open door.
“We can make that.” Alex judged the distance, which had dropped to thirty feet.
He held the rubber raft out the door and shook it, letting it roll out and float limply behind the chopper. “On my mark, we’re going to jump. Pilot, then you’re clear. Tell no one. No one!”
Astrid looked back toward the island. “Won’t they see us?”
“If so, we’ll have a lot less rowing to do,” Alex said. “I’m going.”
Alex breathed, then pulled the cord. He couldn’t hear the minor explosion as the raft filled with air, and he put his hands on the top ropes as Astrid did the same. The raft was about six feet wide and perfectly round. “Keep your hands on the ropes and land on the raft. It might turn over, it probably will turn over, so when it does, just swim out from under it, and we’ll turn it back over together. Don’t let go of the ropes.”
She was looking down. “Uh…”
“Listen,” Alex said, channeling Sangster. “We don’t live in a world where nothing goes wrong. We live in a world where we have a plan when it does. Okay? Now go.”
Another lob of ice flew in the distance, and Alex and Astrid leapt with the raft.
There was a half second of air until Alex felt the wind get smashed out of his lungs as the raft hit the waves, and he and Astrid both cried out involuntarily. They slammed against one another, and the waves caught the raft. Alex scrambled to stay on top of it, but they were caught in a wave and it tipped them over.
Freezing water shot through Alex’s clothes as he found himself under the raft, sinking and holding on to the ropes. He held out his hand and felt Astrid, and kicked, moving back until he found the surface outside the side of the raft. After a moment she came up as well.
The chopper was zipping off in the distance, and Alex hoped that there were no eyes looking out on the water to see them ditch. The gun emplacement hurled a few more ice chunks at the retreating chopper, and he judged that they had not seen him.
As they hung there in the water, Alex’s teeth were chattering, and he said, “We have to turn it over. Then we paddle it to shore.”
Astrid nodded rapidly, barely able to move her face. They each went to opposite ends of the raft and widened their arms. He felt the cold leaching his strength. “Pull this side, hard, on three,” he said, indicating his right. “One,” and he bounced in the air, “two,” and she did the same, “three.”
They plunged hard on the edge, pulling the ropes and lifting with their other arms, and the raft strained against them. Alex felt his toes going numb as the raft swayed on its edge, and then finally fell back. “We get in at the same time, you on that side, me on this side,” Alex said. “Throw your leg up.”
She copied his moves and they crawled up, icy water tugging at them.
Finally they lay in the raft, exhausted, looking into the sunrise, freezing water pooling around their bodies.
Exhaustion crept over Alex, his body shaking, his knees wanting to curl up. He pressed his forehead against Astrid’s for a second and they lay there, shaking.
Needing to keep going, Alex forced his chattering teeth apart and spoke. “This thing has paddles. Let’s go.”