The Lost Island

54

The following morning, the Cyclops went out at dawn and returned with a baby armadillo. He roasted it upside down over the fire and then, with his flint knife, carved out the meat as expertly as a surgeon and silently shared the pieces. Gideon noticed that he saved the biggest, juiciest piece for Amiko.

Gideon watched him eat. He wasn’t exactly fastidious, shoving the dripping pieces of meat into his mouth with greasy fingers, chewing noisily with his huge rack of yellow teeth, stripping the bones with much grunting and sucking and then spitting them out. But there was something, Gideon thought, about the sharing out of food that was uniquely human. This strange, ugly creature was, on a certain level, human like him — not just an intelligent ape. He felt a responsibility for him, a sense even of affection. This creature had no idea what kind of world was out there, or what would happen to him if that world ever learned of his existence — but he had known enough to be agitated and fearful of their arrival.

Amiko, too, was silent and troubled. They consumed the armadillo without conversation. When it was over, the creature rose and, with a rumbling sound, gestured brusquely for them to come with him. This time the gesture was not ambiguous.

They followed him out of the cave and into the early-morning light. He proceeded down one of the main trails on the island, again moving with amazing silence and speed. Gideon kept up more easily now — the ribs were almost completely mended, thanks to the marvelous healing powers of the lotus. The trail branched several times and then, abruptly, they found themselves on the edge of the cliffs, staring out to sea. The morning sun was still low in the sky, laying a dazzling path of light across the water. The Cyclops barely paused before disappearing over the edge.

Gideon peered over and saw that there was, in fact, an almost invisible trail of sorts plunging down through a fissure in the rock. The Cyclops was moving swiftly and surely down the trail, so steep it was almost a staircase of lava. Gideon scrambled to follow, with Amiko behind. He descended quickly, trying to ignore the dizzying heights.

The faint trail wound down among pillars of lava, caves, overhangs, and steep rockfalls. It appeared to be a very old path, much worn with use, the edges of lava rock polished smooth by the passage of many feet. After they had descended perhaps two hundred nearly vertical feet, the trail made a hairpin turn, followed a tight horizontal ravine, and then entered an unobtrusive opening in the rock.

Very quickly the passageway opened into a large tunnel, evidently an old lava tube, heading into the heart of the island. The floor was of solid rock, the central portion worn and gleaming, again as if polished by the passage of countless feet. Gideon glanced at Amiko but said nothing.

As the light from the entrance became dim, the passageway opened up into a large, domed cavern, with a roof a hundred feet above their heads. The Cyclops halted. At the far end of the cavern stood a crude stone door, made from lava rocks fitted and stacked, with a shaped block forming the lintel. A mysterious, pale light spilled from beyond the door. Now the Cyclops shuffled forward on his large feet, moving slowly and with what felt to Gideon like a certain hesitation — or perhaps reverence — toward the entrance.

They stepped through the door, entering a cavern even bigger than the last. Gideon stopped in astonishment. Behind him, he heard Amiko gasp out loud. The walls of the cavern were encrusted with crystals — clusters and sprays of milky white, some four to five feet long. A spear of sunlight streamed in from a distant hole in the ceiling above them, striking a crystal array on one wall, which refracted it, spreading a soft, ethereal light throughout the cavern. The floor was covered with pure white sand. On the far wall, the lava had been polished smooth and was decorated with many designs, like petroglyphs — animals, spirals, suns, moons, and geometric people.

Gideon glanced at Amiko and saw the astonishment in his eyes reflected in her own. Neither spoke; the cathedral-like atmosphere and the hushed movements of the Cyclops seemed to call for silence.

The Cyclops continued walking through the cavern, past the crystals, toward the wall of petroglyphs. There were other drawings here, and with a start Gideon recognized a picture of a ship with a sail and what looked like rows of oarsmen.

“That,” whispered Amiko, “is a Greek pentekonter. The ship of Odysseus.”

With a grunt of annoyance the Cyclops hurried them along toward where the cavern closed in to a narrow yet tall passageway. As they left the brightness of the crystal cavern behind, the full dimension of what they were seeing in the dimness beyond slowly began to take shape. The high walls were honeycombed with niches, shelves, and small openings. From every dark nook came the faint gleam of white — the white of bones. It was a catacomb, Gideon realized: a vast necropolis carved into the lava, on which rested massive skeletons — skeletons of Cyclopes. From where they were standing, they could see dozens, if not hundreds, in the walls all around them and in the corridor ahead, stretching into full darkness.

The Cyclops moved forward, much more cautiously. As they penetrated deeper into the catacombs, darkness closed in, but the Cyclops kept on. At one point Amiko stumbled in the dark and the Cyclops, with a soft noise, took her hand and led her along. Gideon realized the large, single eye was indeed some sort of adaptation to darkness, as the creature could evidently see far better in the darkness than they could. They followed the sounds of his movement.

Then he stopped. Gideon could hear him breathing. And suddenly there was a click and the Cyclops stood there, lighter flicked on. The wavering flame cast a dim yellow glow all about. Now they were literally surrounded with shelves and holes full of bones, a vast city of the dead, but the Cyclops was standing in front of one niche in particular. This one was different from the rest. It was larger, the opening framed with carefully shaped blocks of stone. Inside were laid large crystals, apparently offerings to the remains within. As Gideon peered in, he saw that behind the crystals were laid out various grave goods — flint knives, spears, and a much-corroded bronze helmet.

An ancient Greek helmet.

The Cyclops spoke. His voice was rough, guttural, but nevertheless reverential, and it boomed through the dark spaces of the cave. Gideon jumped.

The Cyclops spoke again, repeating the word.

Gideon recognized the word from before: Polyphemus. Could this be his tomb?

The Cyclops reached into the tomb and grasped the slab lid of an ancient, stone container sitting near the skeleton. He slid the lid off and reached in, removed a handful of dried lotus, and showed it to Gideon, who stared down at the wrinkled store of brown fungi. Once again, he had the impression that the lotus was more rare and precious than gold.

Then the tall form slid the lid back on, and turned away. They silently followed him out of the catacombs of the Cyclopes.