Chapter 2: Chapter Two
More than two kilometres distant, he looked toward his island home. Atlantis. The island rocked back and forth, shaking in a turbulent concerto as it lifted up and settled back. Tectonic plates far below them shifted violently. Even from this distance, they witnessed the tallest, spiralling golden towers wink-out from sight, no doubt toppled, or maybe swallowed by a monster, thought Tarn. Now the centre of the city bulged upward and then fell back. Amidst the far-sighted destruction, a bright plume of orange-black smoke, laced with rippling sheets of fire, exploded out of the centre of the island, painting the sky with a pyroclastic mushroom cloud that rolled in upon itself as it stretched skyward. An ear-deafening explosion boomed thunderously. Its percussion wave set Tarn and Connor's ears ringing and their hearts trembling, plastering hair flat against their heads and knocking them to the ground. Ash and earthy sputum, in the form of molten lava and volcanic rock, rocketed skyward, into the heavens themselves, Tarn imagined.
"Father, Atlantis falls down! Mother. What about Mother?" Tarn screamed in ardent anguish, fighting to climb to his feet.
"Be still while the ground moves," Connor said, his heart heavy and sullen. As the tremor subsided, another sight replaced the ground-shaking catastrophe. A rising wall of water, many leagues long, appeared off the coast of the soot-shrouded island and blotted out the westering sun. "By Vulcan's fire, it cannot be!"
On the horizon, in grave, sepulchral horror, an earthquake-spawned tidal wave rose higher than the tallest Atlantean tower. The tsunami seemed to rush hungrily toward Atlantis as if to devour the island continent whole, curling and rolling in upon itself. White foam frothed over its precipitous lip, displaying avarice for its meal. For as far as Connor could see he watched the genesis of the tsunami, watched the water next to the beach begin to recede, sucked out to sea to reveal the seabed. Ten feet. Twenty feet. Fifty feet and still the waters receded, leaving fish, clams, and starfish gasping for breath, flopping, and crawling, seeking a watery shelter.
Helpless to act, Tarn agonized as the tidal wave rose from the ocean, gathered speed, and sprinted toward his home, overshadowing the island, framing Atlantis in blue-green, curling death. An indeterminable number of minutes passed, for time now had no meaning, the front of the tsunami engulfed the continent's edge, gulping it down in one awful swallow. An anguished wail escaped Connor's lips, soughing eternal grief. Surely nothing could survive such a devastating crunch. The island vanished before his eyes, yet the wave kept coming. The monster did not alter, did not even slow as it rushed toward them. Connor scooped up his kicking and crying son, clutched him to his chest, turned his back to the ocean and sprinted into the forest.
"Father! We can't leave her. Set me down!" Tarn cried, squirming in his father's arms to win free. "Da!"
"Be still boy. We'll grieve thy mother later. Should we pause, that hell-spawned wave will claim us as well."
The monster was coming for them, thought Tarn. It saw them! They were from Atlantis too. He stopped struggling and did his best to hang on, clutching his father's furs in clenched, white-knuckled fists, looking back, fearfully watching the pursuing water beast gain on them.
Connor bolted without care or caution through the forest, a madman seeking the safety of the higher ground. The tsunami rushed landward bent upon death and destruction. The sound of roaring water drowned out all other noise. Just ahead, Connor sighted the rock bluffs he sought. Without breaking stride, he shifted Tarn to his back.
"Put thy arms around my neck."
Bunching his legs under him, Connor jumped gigantic upon the craggy wall where his feet and hands scrambled for desperate purchase. Thankful for his mountain-spent youth in Asgard, Connor scurried up the craggy wall as if he climbed a ladder, unconcerned with the sharp cracks and ridges that tore at his hands, snagged his clothing and skinned his knuckles. Tarn clung to his father's back, casting furtive glances over his shoulder, eyes wide at the juggernaut pursuing them. Not many minutes later, the sound of stout trees breaking like kindling informed him the creature had rolled inland. Even from this distance, the sound produced by the wave's forest intrusion blocked out all else, encouraging Connor to climb faster.
"It comes, Da. It comes!"
Connor's fingers found ledge and nub. Hyperborean legs that had slogged through deep snowdrifts, climbed fen and valley, pushed through marsh and swamp, now propelled him upward in urgent thrusts. By the time the enormous wave approached the cliff they clung to, he and Tarn were standing on a ledge looking down upon the forest canopy. Connor gauged the distance and speed of the wall of water, then reached back with one hand and lifted Tarn from his back. He placed Tarn between the cliff and himself. Though the tidal wave had lost a portion of its height over its inland rush, its shrinking crest rose almost to their height.
"Hang onto the rock and hold thy breath when I instruct thee!" He barely heard his voice above the thundering sound of the wave as it crashed into the base of the cliff. Already the spray jetted upwards, wetting them both. To Connor's keen eye the tsunami had slowed, and indeed it was not as high as their position. Seconds before the wave's surging swell engulfed them, he yelled, "Now boy! And dinna let go."
Connor tensed his legs and gripped the rock lip with ham-sized hands until his fingers and wrists ached. The waning force of the tsunami's surging front attempted to lift and pulverize him into the cliff face. Shrouded and engulfed in crushing water, his powerful body strained to withstand the onslaught of the tidal tempest. It tried to smash him into the cliff, forcing him off his hands to brace his elbows against the rock wall. Repeatedly the pressure was nearly sufficient to crush him against the rock face. From deep within himself, Connor's indomitable barbarian will surfaced, denying his and Tarn's death, fighting nature's apocalyptic forces, knowing that if they survived it would be because the Gods intervened to save them, for surely no mortal could triumph alone.
The water ceased trying to crush Connor when it receded. As the surge departed, it threatened to pull him from the cliff like a watery vacuum. Connor adjusted his grip and closed his knees around Tarn, locking the boy in place. Immersed in quickly receding water, his thews began to weaken. With his only breath dying within him, urging release to draw in another, he yelled defiantly, "Vulcan, ye will no take my son!"
* * * * * * *
The deep crashing noise the water made, when it struck the base of the mountain, deafened Tarn in a thunderous shroud of immobility. The crock cliff they clung to shook and trembled under the impact of the blow. When he heard his father shout for him to hold his breath, he drew air deep into his lungs. The surging front swallowed them. With all his young body's strength, he pushed against his father. Together they would conquer the water's crushing force.
All at once the water tugged at him, tried to pull him from between his father's legs. Tarn fought valiantly to hold his breath. Despite lungs that burned with a dire need for air, he refused to surrender. Determined to hold his breath, Tarn struggled to hang on with unwavering tenacity. Just as he lost consciousness, Tarn heard his father's watery cry to Vulcan. We're on Vulcan's mountain was his last conscious thought.
* * * * * * *
"Boy!" Connor shouted in a panicked voice, consumed by a heart-quelling fear. Tarn's eyes fluttered open. His father shook his shoulder roughly. "Tarn. Can thee hear me?"
"Yes, father," he answered, sputtering and gasping.
"This be no time for sleeping son," Connor said glibly, but his eyes and voice sang relief.
"Baths always make me sleepy."
"Aye lad, so they do," Connor said, his voice a rich blend of amusement and new-found respect.
Puffing up his aching chest with pride, Tarn asked, "Do we go up or down Da?"
After surveying the water-covered forest below, Connor placed Tarn upon his back. "Aye lad, it's to the top, there's naught left below. It'll be days, maybe weeks before all of it returns to the ocean."
With bruised and battered muscles Connor scaled the remainder of the bluff. Once they gained the crest, father and son viewed the carnage. Saltwater drained ever so slowly back into the ocean and soaked into the ground, the higher sections of land slowly revealing themselves in gradual increments. For as far as the eye could see the tidal wave had demolished the forest, having knocked trees down like a strong wind flattens long grass. Tarn searched for Atlantis but sighted only ocean.
"Father, our home. It's gone!"
The only indication that Atlantis had existed was a swirling mass of water where air bubbled up from somewhere below, carrying with it pieces of flotsam and jetsam. A dark grey tendril of soot and ash yet strung from ocean to sky, severed when the Atlantean continent slipped beneath the waters. And though the volcanic eruption had been brief, it had released sufficient soot and ash to cloak the sun, turning day into night, giving everything an eerie midnight hue. Even as they watched, the water over where Atlantis once existed bulged and burped, belching rapidly cooled volcanic glass honey-coned with pockets of gasses that floated like mini black icebergs.
"Aye son, it is. And thy mother, and my friends with it. They be not the people I was born to, but they were as brave and good as my own," he replied and placed a hand on Tarn's shoulder.
Hot, salty tears filled Tarn's eyes; a longing to be held by his mother put an ache in his breast. Her last words had been for him to be brave with his father on the hunt, and her look one of love when his father lightly accused her of coddling him like a kitten. Like his mother, their gruff humour was forever lost to him. Tarn hugged his father's leg, resting his head against a leather-clad thigh sobbing. Connor let the boy weep while he said a silent farewell to Jayleen, his Atlantean wife, and to all his friends.
Where his wife's people were open with their feelings, Connor's mountain folk were much less so, but ever quick to jest and laugh. After a few minutes, Connor knelt in front of his son and spoke in a gentle, yet firm, voice, "Now, Tarn, that be enough tears. Thee be a young man in not so many winters. Many more times will thee witness death. A warrior doth not fear death; it is how thee face it that matters. Thy mother died bravely and all her people as well. Nothing be gained by crying. Better to honour them, than weep," he advised, transferring his hands to Tarn's shoulders.
With a tremendous effort of five-year-old will, Tarn ceased crying, knuckled his wet cheeks and listened to his father's words, as they alone had the power to quell the ache that had once been his heart.
"We shall build a great pyre to thy mother and her people. Thee mayhaps be the last descendant of Atlantis. In thy blood lives thy mother's people and mine. A great task lies ahead of thee."
"What task be that father?"
"It be thy charge to ensure Atlantis is never forgotten and remember to honour her people."
"How can I do that?" Tarn solicited, drawn into his father's intrigue.
"First, thee must grow up strong of mind and body. Avoid personal rewards unless it comes from service to others. Honour thy ancestors' memory by lending aid to those weaker than thee. Become everything good that Atlantis represented, so when people look at thee, they'll say, there walks an Atlantean. Can thee do this lad?"
"Aye, father, I'll be as strong as thee and as cunning as Mother," Tarn vowed solemnly.
Wearing an expression denoting amusement, Connor ruffled his son's wet hair and said, "That be a good lad. Now help me gather wood to build a pyre for thy mother, and all the brave folk of Atlantis. We be warning Kalen and Vulcan that valiant warriors and their kith and kin enter Valhalla his eve to drink and eat heartily at their table."
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