“Afraid the only way up,” he explained, “is by rope. But you all look fit enough, so that should be fine. Young Egg will bring the boat alongside the east shore of the island, where the cliffs are lowest.”
Huld pointed a thumb toward the cabin, where his son, Eggert, twentysomething in age, shaven-headed with both arms sleeved in tattoos, manned the wheel.
“Don’t worry,” Huld said. “I bring hunters, even a few nature photographers, up here quite regularly. Never geologists like the lot of you. But I’ve never lost anyone yet.”
He gave Seichan a coy wink, but with her arms crossed, she did not look amused. According to their cover story, they were researchers from Cornell University, doing a study on volcanic islands. It went a long way to explain their heavy packs and inquiries about this specific island.
Huld pointed at the rock as it drew ever closer. “There’s a hunting lodge up top where you can rent a room, if need be. If you squint your eyes, you should be able to spot it.”
Gray searched for a moment, then found it. Sheltered square in the middle of the scooped greensward stood a good-size lodge with a blue slate roof.
“Don’t know if you will find much room up there, though,” the captain said. “Late yesterday, another ferry took out a tourist group. Hunters from Belgium, I heard. Or Swiss, maybe they were. They’re lodging here for a few more days. Besides the lot of them, you’ll only have a few cattle and the usual gathering of puffins for company.”
Just as well, Gray thought. He’d prefer to keep their search for the source of the neutrino emissions as quiet as possible.
Seichan suddenly jolted back from the ship’s rail, jostling Gray, coming close to losing her footing before he caught her.
“What’s wrong?”
Speechless, she pointed out to sea. A tall black fin crested high, splitting through the waves alongside the boat. As Gray watched, another fin rose, followed soon thereafter by a third, fourth, and fifth.
“More over here,” Monk said from the opposite side of the trawler. “Orcas. A pod of them.”
Huld puffed out his chest and waved an arm. “Not unusual. Our islands have the largest population of killer whales and dolphins in all of Iceland. They’re just curious and enjoy riding our bow wake. Or maybe looking for a nibble. I’ll often share a little of my catch with them, if I’ve had a good haul. Brings gangi pér vel—good luck—as they say around here.”
After a time, with no free meal offered, the pod sank away, vanishing in unison upon some silent signal. Still, Gray noted Seichan kept a wary watch on the waves, plainly unnerved by the sight of the large predators.
Good to know something could shake up that iron resolve.
As the trawler chugged past the southern tip of the island, Gray studied their destination, noting the waves that were crashing into the dark depths of volcanic sea caves that peppered the cliffs. If some treasure had been hidden in those watery caves long ago, the tides and storms would have wreaked havoc on it. To find what they were seeking, their best hope lay in looking somewhere that was better sheltered, an inland lava tube or cavern.
But where to begin their search?
Gray turned to Captain Huld. “In order to set up our equipment, we’re looking to get as deep into the island as possible. Any suggestions?”
The captain scratched his beard, eyeballing the towering rock faces. “Yes. Lot of caves and tunnels here. Take your pick. Place is practically a hardened chunk of Swiss cheese, carved by wind and rain. But there’s one famous cave up there, gave the island its name. Ellirey cavern. Story goes some young lass fled here and hid in that cave from the rape and pillaging of invaders—Turks or Barbary pirates, depending on the storyteller. Anyway, once safely hidden, she had a child, a boy, and raised him here. That child acted as guardian to the islands and was said to have special powers, able to call the forces of fire and molten rock to protect our seas.” Huld shook his head. “Of course, it’s just wild stories, told around the hearth in the long winters here.”
Gray caught a look from Monk. Maybe there was a kernel of truth in that old tale, some hint of an explosive power buried here long ago, hidden by someone seeking a desperate refuge.
“Can you tell me where this cave is?” Gray asked.
Huld shrugged heavily. “Fjandinn if I know. But there’s a caretaker up at the lodge. Ol’ Olafur Bragason. Call him Ollie, though. Quite a piece of work, that one. Been living out here for over sixty years, as crusty and sharp-edged as the island’s rocks. But he knows every nook and cranny of this place. That’s the man to ask.”