you know?’
‘Yes. Of course. And you-’
‘I’ll do the same. Goes without saying.’ He leaned over his oar. ‘On my stroke. One, two-’
And on the word ‘two’ there was another fantastic bang. Another one. The sound was a physical thing, like a pulse of wind that hammered at Deri’s chest as well as his ears.
Nago was shouting something. Deri could hear nothing but a kind of whining tone in his ears, and a dull roar from the island. He twisted again to look back.
The fire rising from the mountain ridge was a solid wall now, burning white. And a band of light, glowing red-white, had formed all along the mountain’s face, below the summit ridge. It was descending, sweeping down the mountain’s flank as Deri watched, much faster than before. As it progressed there were brilliant splashes of light, more forests flashing to flame. It was a wall of fire, sweeping down towards the lowlands.
Now Nago was pointing again, shouting something Deri couldn’t hear. Deri turned. A wave was coming at them from the land, a big one, a muscular rise that lifted up the floating islands of rock scum.
Frantically they worked their oars, trying to turn the boat so its prow faced the wave.
The latest blast was another shove in the back for Tibo, a hot wind stinking of ash and sulphur that sucked the air out of his chest. He struggled to stand, to get a breath.
With Vala and Caxa and the rest, he was still huddled under the ox-hide. They were on a broad track now, crowded with people who forced their way through the rock drifts. This was a confluence of survivors from settlements all over the mountain’s slopes, now funnelling down this main route to the harbour, miserable people shuffling along, laden with children and possessions, invalids being carried, old people leaning on sticks. Everybody was walking; it was impossible to get a cart through the knee-deep rock.
He turned to look back, ducking his head under the hide. The latest convulsion seemed to have cleared the air of smoke and rock, and he could see the mountain rising above the plain. And he saw a band of fire, glowing red- white and billowing, rolling down the slope. It looked almost beautiful, almost graceful. Then he remembered how far he had come that day, how far away the peak must be — and he realised how fast that wall of fire must be descending.
‘Run!’ he shouted.
Nobody moved.
He looked around at them, Vala’s pinched, anxious face, Liff’s wide eyes rimmed with dust. He realised that none of them could hear a word he said. He grabbed Vala’s arms, shook her, pointed at the mountain. ‘Fire. That cloud. We have to get to the beach, the sea. It’s our only chance. We have to run!’
‘Run.’ He could see her mouth the word. She looked at the mountain dully. Suddenly she understood. ‘Run!’
Tibo pulled the ox-hide away and dumped it on the rock drifts. They would have to live with the rock fall; the hide would slow them too much. He grabbed Caxa’s hand and dragged her. Vala pushed Liff ahead, and wrapped an arm around Caxa and Mi, and pulled them forward.
They were among the first in the crowd to understand, to start running. At first they had to push past people still shuffling slowly towards the sea. But a few looked back at the descending cloud, and saw it as Tibo did. They started to run too, dumping bags and scooping up children, running along the track.
And then it was like a stampede, a great flow towards the water, people no longer helping each other but jostling and pushing and pressing. As he fought to keep his feet, his head aching, every muscle drained, his lungs dragging at the dense, smoky, sulphurous air, Tibo dared not look back.
Medoc knew the game was over when he saw the glowing cloud.
As it swept down the slope the band of light was resolving into a wall of grey smoke and ash. It was like a tremendous tide, Medoc thought. He saw it roll over a scrap of forest — it loomed high over the trees, you could see how tall it was — and the trees flashed and were gone, just like that.
Okea sensed it too. Or maybe she just felt like giving up. They held each other’s arms, propping each other up, breathing hard, their faces grimed with ash and blood. Okea shouted, ‘We can’t outrun that.’
‘No, Okea, my dear. Not even if we were sixteen years old.’
‘The mountain has shouted many times before. In my lifetime, and yours. And my mother and grandmothers told me of other incidents. There are records too. A priest showed me once. But I never heard of anything like that.’
‘Tibo and Mi and the others can warn their grandchildren, if they survive.’
‘Oh, they will,’ Okea said. ‘They are strong and brave. Vala is resourceful. You made a good choice there.’
He looked at her. The ash had worked deep into the crevices of her face, making her look even older. ‘That’s the first thing you ever said about Vala that wasn’t an insult.’
‘Bel was my sister.’
‘Her dying wasn’t Vala’s fault. Or mine, come to that.’
A roaring noise swelled, like a gathering storm. A young deer ran out of nowhere at them, skidded to avoid them, and ran on downhill, eyes wide with fear.
‘He might be lucky,’ Okea said.
He felt her tremble. Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around her. ‘Don’t be afraid.’
She snorted. ‘You’re pissing your pants yourself.’
He laughed. ‘I always liked you, Okea, you old stick, underneath it all.’
‘Well, I never liked you.’
‘Fair enough.’ The roaring was so loud he doubted if she could hear him. ‘I think-’
It was here, looming high over him, a mass of whirling dust and smoke and whole chunks of red-hot rock, a wall taller than the one that kept out the sea from Northland, a wall rushing down on him at impossible speed, faster than any horse or deer had ever run. When it hit, Okea was dragged from his arms. He was swept up. He was flying, in the light.
An instant of searing pain.
The little harbour was just a cleft in the rocky coast, a stretch of black sand. But it was the only half-decent landing spot across much of the south shore of Kirike’s Land. And now it crawled with people, as if it were the greatest harbour in the world.
But no boats were leaving. The strand was littered with vessels crushed by rock falls, or buried by the ash, or overturned and smashed, as if driven ashore by great waves. Nothing seaworthy.
Tibo left the group and headed for the water, shoving his way through the throng on the beach, young and old, healthy and injured, all of them coated with ash and sweat and blood, white eyes glimpsed in chaotic semi- darkness. Their shouts were like the cries of gulls, against the background roar of the mountain, all jumbled up and muffled in his damaged hearing. At his feet the rock was piled up in drifts. You couldn’t even see where the waterline was, so densely was the ground carpeted by the rock fall.
At last he found his ankles bathed in water, the rock scraping his shins. He took one stride, two, out into the water. Its cool was a huge relief for his scorched flesh.
There were boats on the water, he saw now, and people from the shore trying to get to the boats. But whoever sat in those boats wasn’t necessarily welcoming, and Tibo saw oars and even knives wielded to keep people off. Any one of those boats could be his father’s — or Deri could be far out to sea. He called, his hands cupped. ‘Father! Deri! It’s me! Father!’ He could barely hear his own voice. He kept shouting.
Strong hands took his shoulders and he was whirled around. It was Deri, coated in ash, his tunic wrapped around his head. Tibo threw himself into his father’s arms. Then they broke. They shouted into each other’s faces, barely able to make out the words.
Deri pointed out to sea. ‘The boat’s out there. Nago. We must wade
…’
‘I have them. Vala and the kids. The Jaguar girl.’
They both hurried back to the family from The Black, who had come struggling down the beach after Tibo.
‘Come, quickly,’ Deri said. He took Puli from Vala, the little boy was an ash-coated bundle, and grabbed Vala’s hand and pulled her down the beach. Tibo took Liff’s hand and followed. Mi and Caxa came after, helping each other, holding onto each other’s arms. After all this, Mi still had her precious bow over her shoulder.
