Waters continued to cascade into the canyon to the east. It seemed that an entire ocean thundered into the depths, shaking the ground with mighty impact. Still the sea grew, the waters rose, crashing into the mountainous gorge faster and faster, until a great wave filled the canyon to the top, equalizing the water level to east and west.
Instead of a lofty ridge, the wild elves now ran along a peninsula of rock, with angry waves slashing the shore to either side-and steadily rising behind them.
Tiffli stumbled, then collapsed. Vanisia halted beside the girl, trying to hoist her up, but her own strength gave out and she, too, sprawled onto the rocky ground. Halting on unsteady legs, Iydahoe realized that fatigue had stopped him as well-if he put down the unconscious Dallatar, he would never be able to pick the boy up again.
They would lose the race with the sea. A wave, surprisingly chilly, splashed forward until it eddied, ankle deep, around them. The heights to the south were cut off, as higher surges swept across the ridge, connecting the eastern valley to the sea in many places, rendering the once- lofty ridge into a chain of low, rounded islands. The gale roared so high that any one of these spots of land could be momentarily buried below a wave.
With crystalline clarity, Iydahoe saw that the formerly enormous ridge beneath his feet would become a reef of shallow water between two deep basins. He looked to the heights of the Khalkists, still towering to the north. If they had turned in that direction, they might be safe now, working their way into true mountain heights. Yet that strange compulsion he had felt, the penetrating gaze of the Grandfather Ram, had caused him to turn south.
His eyes remained fixed on those lofty summits, watching the smoke and debris belch skyward from beyond the jagged horizon. He blinked, wondering if the ground beneath him suddenly surged upward, for the mountains did not look as tall as they had before.
Then, in a bolt of shock, he understood-the high Khalkists were sinking! Landslides rumbled downward in clouds of dust and debris. The remaining glaciers broke free, sliding in avalanche toward the unseen valleys. Then the ridges themselves began to crumble, the summits breaking apart and falling away.
The great mountain range settled quickly, water rushing between the crumbling summits until a series of conical islands jutted upward from the tempest. One by one, these towers of rock disappeared, their foundation collapsing as they melted into the raging ocean.
As the mountains tumbled down, water flowed from the rest of the sea to fill the vast and growing crater. Around the Kagonesti, the Newsea retreated, spilling down the slopes of the ridge and clearing the route toward the forested highlands to the south.
By the time the raging waves settled into a rough chop, the water level remained steady against the ridge, some fifty feet below the level reached by the fleeing tribe. The peninsula extended for perhaps a mile to the north, then ended in a barren, wave-racked outcropping of rock. It was no more than two hundred paces wide for most of its length, though its base widened as it met the mountainside to the south.
"Look! A seashell! Like on your belt!" Faylai exclaimed to Vanisia. "But no!" she pouted. "It's too big!"
The warrior saw the curled shape on the rocks, glistening wet, as though it had been cast here by a wave, before the sea had fallen back. He knew the three spirals, recognized the wide bell with a growing sense of awe.
"Not a seashell." Iydahoe had not seen the treasure, intact, since the years when it had been played by Washal- lak Pathfinder. "It's the Ram's Horn of the Kagonesti," he said quietly, kneeling to pick up the precious horn.
"Look." Vanisia's fingertip outlined the pattern of tiny cracks in the horn's surface.
Iydahoe nodded, recognizing several of the shapes as fragments that he had recovered from the Silvertrout village. Many more, including some sizeable pieces, he had never seen before.
"Play it-play the horn for us," urged Bakali, stepping forward.
"No! Only the Pathfinder…"
"Play it. Pathfinder Iydahoe," said Vanisia, taking his free hand in both of hers.
He put the horn to his lips, and it felt as though it belonged there. When he played, the notes were warm and soothing. Iydahoe was immediately lost in the muse, felt his despair sloughing away. He thought of Istar, and that thought awakened no hatred, no lust for vengeance. There was no enemy there, now-Istar was a place of the past.
The elves, except for Dallatar, got up from the ground. Iydahoe slung the horn at his side and lifted the unconscious youth, relieved by the fact that Dall's breathing had become stronger, and his eyes closed more naturally, as if he were merely asleep.
A herd of deer stampeded southward along the ridge, passing within a few yards of the elves in their fear-but Iydahoe could see that this was proper fear, now, not the madness that had earlier afflicted the wild creatures. The deer bounded along, seeking the tree-fringed range of hills they could see in the distance.
When he saw the herd, Iydahoe knew that the tribe, like Krynn, would survive-their Pathfinder had led them from the greatest threat that had ever wracked the world. He held Vanisia's hand, finally, and led the elves toward the still-verdant forests, where Iydahoe saw towering firs. In the lower valleys, aspen groves shimmered in the wind, a stretch of woodland that promised haven for the weary, frightened elves. Already the deer had vanished there, seeking a new forest home.
Iydahoe knew that the deer would find sanctuary in that woodland, and soon the wild elves would as well.
Epilogue
For many years after the Cataclysm the tribe lived a life not terribly different from its earlier existence. Indeed, of all the peoples of Krynn, perhaps the Kagonesti adjusted best to the loss of civilization's icons. Cities fell, empires vanished, vast estates were washed away by rains-and still the forests thrived.
Pathfinder Iydahoe played the Ram's Horn to mark the passing of the seasons, the rituals of the hunt, the time- honored celebrations of the tribe. Often he played for no reason other than to raise music to the fact of his people's survival. The tribe again knew health and happiness… and love.
Iydahoe and Vanisia were the first to take the vows of marriage, pledging timeless love to each other in a celebration cheered by all the wild elves of the tribe. Shortly afterward, Dallatar and Kagwallas became warriors, receiving their ritual tattoos from Vanisia. The ever-serious Bakall made many journeys into the surrounding lands, becoming a hunter of great skill and, under the tutelage of Iydahoe, patience.
In the decades that followed, Bakall even traveled far to the west, past Qualinesti, and learned that other wild elves lived there-the tribe of the Newsea was not the only gathering of the Kagonesti. Indeed, these other wild elves knew of still more tribes in the east. Bakall returned home as a famous scout, his body covered by the tattoos of a veteran warrior, and he brought with him a young bride from one of the coastal tribes.
Dallatar married Ambra in the same year that Iydahoe and Vanisia's first son was born. Two more births were soon expected, as Dallatar and Bakall strutted about with the universal pride of expectant fathers.
Iydahoe played his horn, and he knew that the Kagonesti would survive. His fear was gone forever, vanished in the same convulsion that had swallowed Istar. But his joy came from an even greater knowledge, the truth that-as the wild elves made new homes in the forest, as they stalked and roamed through lands they had never seen- once more the tribe would know peace and would grow.