Their course takes them by sea to where the high mountains come down. Here too, rather far inland and uphill all the way, is a school they must visit. They want to be sure it is safe.
And so it is.
Andorra has survived better than most. The welcome our little wandering group receives makes their hearts sing. Here is a chance to stop and rest.
Finally they can sit themselves down, relate their own experiences, and hear the stories of others who have found their way to this place of relative security, high in the mountains.
It is here, at Andorra, that they encounter some unexpected friends. From Southwest have come a handful of folk from one of Phi’s farthest flung outlying settlements. Theirs has been a journey even longer than that of our little group, but has been made quicker as they did not pause on their way at either Southisle or Morocco. Making their way eastward across the width of a violently heaving and burning Southwest, they had taken shelter in ancient underground dwellings when need demanded, but there they did not linger.
Their sea voyage was guided mostly by luck and by instinct. None of the sea folk disturbed their journey. They had taken to the deeps.
Shattered shards and broken bits of debris had burst into flame, scattered by the impact of the several huge pieces of space rock hitting the atmosphere of Earth. As the larger chunks, miles in diameter, nailed the northern hemisphere’s ice sheet of Northwest, others rained down on Northeast’s glacial ice.
The smaller bits and pieces, also aflame, scattered over the land masses of the northern hemisphere, setting them alight.
Likewise, into the waters of Earth came fire. Instincts intact, most of the sea folk headed for the deep before the upper levels were set to a boil by thousands upon thousands of flaming space rock fragments. Steam added itself to the smoke already in the air while boiling glacial meltwater rushed to the sea across whatever land got in its way.
The roiling meltwater put out raging fires as it went, picked up whatever wasn’t deeply rooted enough to withstand its power, pulverized and cut channels to clear its path to where it was going, and nothing stood against it.
The shock of it hitting the seas rose wave upon wave upon wave to set the waters of Earth rocking. Shores far from Northwest were drowned as the waters of Earth blasted their way miles inland. Nothing could stand against them.
What fire had perhaps spared, water, steam, smoke, and ash did not.
The sea folk who got deep enough fast enough were maybe spared the worst of it. At least they weren’t insta-boiled or flash-fried.
Ironically, it was the fate of the too-slow sea folk that saved the lives of the handful of folk from Southwest as they made their way across the still-bubbling-and-steaming sea. Unable to forage, and with nothing left to forage for, they would have died had it not been for their decision to go ahead and feed themselves with the well-cooked seafood that shared the surface of the water with them. The necessity would haunt them for the rest of their lives – but that they had lives to live at all they owed to the inability of some of the sea folk to escape their doom.
It is from these folk that our little group learns of the finality of devastation wreaked on their homeland.
Going by what they encountered in and on Southwest, the handful of survivors from there can only weep and shake their heads to questions concerning Northwest. The magnitude what they have seen and experienced is, they know, but a shadow of what happened to Northwest. Explaining as best they can what they have been through is hard enough. Trying to extrapolate from that to what it must have been like on Northwest is beyond what their hearts are able to bear.
‘Gone,’ is all they can bring themselves to say.
‘Gone.’
Stunned, Mamm has in one hand the hand of Clara. In the other is the big strong hand of Danann. In Danann’s arms is Ullin, who leans down to rest a hand on the Queen Harp. She stands next to Danann.
Unable to speak, Mamm stares at the folk from Southwest.
Gone, gone, gone … the word rings in her head like the tolling of a big bell, a deep-voiced bell that won’t stop tolling.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
Tightening her grip on both of the hands she holds, Mamm draws a deep breath.
‘So be it.’
Ullin’s child voice comes.
‘It will be all right.’
‘Aye,’ agrees the heavy voice of Danann. ‘Aye it will. But it is not all right just now, Ullin.’
‘No. Not now, but it will be all right. We shall make it so.’
Clara smiles over at Ullin.
‘Are you so sure then, little one?’
‘Aye. I’m sure.’
And now comes Mamm’s smile, tentative.
‘So be it.’
And the Queen Harp begins a bit of a marching song, a hint for our little group to get on with it already. If they’re going to make it all come right, they have things to do, places to go, people to see.
…
Chestnut eyes darkened with pain make Mamm’s heart stop in her chest for a moment.
‘What is it, Ullin? What grieves you?’
‘Iona. She is beneath the waves and her folk are all dead. Only the eagle and the dolphin can find her now.’
Mamm does not ask how Ullin knows this thing. The pain in his eyes tells her that the child speaks true.
Gathering the slight boy close, Mamm kneels before him. This time it is her turn to murmur to him his own words.
‘It will be all right.’
‘Yes. One day she will rise once more. But for now we need to go to Brodgar’s Ring, Mamm. You know of it. It is near enough to Iona. I can perhaps go for a bit of a sail one day.’
‘Perhaps you shall do just that, Ullin. And I shall go along for the ride.’
From out of the herds of Andorra come a half dozen mounts to stand before our little group of travelers. Beauties they are, and as big and strong as they are beautiful, three stallions and three mares to match them.
Danann’s copper eyes take on an almighty shiny gleam as a huge red stallion steps up to him.
Mamm’s eyes are swiftly changing colors, bright with emotion, as a mare of gold steps up to her.
Ullin grabs the Queen Harp and gives a yank to Danann’s hand as a silver stallion comes up in front of him.
Danann, pulled from his reverent reverie by Ullin’s impatience, heaves the boy up onto the back of the horse, the Queen Harp twanging a bit in irritation at his roughness.
‘Cope as best you can, Queen,’ says Danann and his voice is rough, thick with emotion. ‘We have places to go, things to do, people to see. And our mounts wait.’
Clara smiles and climbs rather awkwardly aboard the silver mare that matches Ullin’s stallion.
Mamm is more graceful as she swings herself up onto the golden mare.
‘There are two horses who need riders,’ she says with a cheeky grin. ‘Who will they Choose?’
The red mare goes to Ellae, a girl of Andorra. Ellae glances around but she is standing alone. This mare has Chosen her. A shrug and a grin later, Ellae is mounted.
The stallion of gold heads out and through the gathered crowd, apparently looking for someone.
Whoever that someone is, they are not in the crowd.
The golden stallion rears to paw the air, and clear the area around him, then lets loose with a scream of impatience.
From out of a nearby home races a boy of about Ullin’s age, although not nearly as tall as the slender egg-bald Ullin.
‘What!’
The little boy with the golden curls puts his hands on his hips and glares at the horse.
‘I’m in the middle of something important here, you know. What do you want!’
Ullin grins at his friend.
‘Come on, we have places to go, people to see, things to do. Hurry up, you’re slowing us down.’
‘Ha. I’m going to finish what I started. It’s for you, you know. I’m almost done so hold your horses, willya? It’ll just take me another minute or two … or maybe three.’
The golden stallion follows the little boy right into the house and stands snorting over his shoulder as he fiddles with a bit of silver braid.
‘There. That ought to be good enough for now. Come on horse, we have things to do, people to see, and places to go, or so I heard.’
Scrambling up onto his work table, the boy hoists himself up onto the back of the tall horse, takes a look down, almost falls off as he leans over to see exactly how far up he really is, and grabs a hank of mane.
Ducking to avoid being decapitated by the doorway, he tosses the silver thing at Ullin.
Catching it, Ullin’s chestnut eyes swim for an instant. It is a circlet of silver, the first but not the last his bald head will wear.
‘Etan, come here,’ he says quietly.
The golden horse carries the blond-headed boy over to where Ullin sits his horse.
‘Thank you, Etan. It’s beautiful.’
‘Well, put it on your head to make sure it isn’t going to slide down over your eyes, and let’s get going if we’re going to go anywhere. Where are we going, by the way? Will we be back in time for supper?’
Danann lets loose with a belly laugh that has the whole crowd laughing with him.
‘Let’s go!’
As he clings to his suddenly running mount, Etan shouts over his shoulder, ‘We’ll be back when we get back! Don’t hold supper for us.’
And they are off.
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