Dreamer followed, then Ana, and then the dog, frisky, anxious, his tongue lolling from his thirst.
46
It was approaching low tide. The causeway should have been crossable, a strip of muddy ground gleaming above the surface of the sea. But the causeway too had been wrecked by the waves, erased as a child might tread over a line drawn in the sand.
So they walked further along the island’s beach until they found a boat, stranded high above the normal water line. Just stretched skin over a wooden frame, it was light enough for the three of them to carry down to the water. There were no paddles or bailing buckets.
They crossed close to the line of the causeway, where the water was shallowest, and launched the boat. They had to paddle with their hands, while water gradually seeped in through the skin seams. Lightning jumped onto Ana’s lap to escape the bilge water, whining, the fur on his legs drenched. The crossing became a grim race between their slow passage and the boat’s sinking.
Once on land they walked around the curve of Etxelur Bay, skirting the boggy tidal flats. Even here there was damage, the ancient wooden walkways broken and submerged, the dipping willow trees uprooted, and that blanket of pale mud and sand lying over everything. Ana saw no sign of the birds that normally inhabited the marshes, the buntings and lapwings and curlews. They had either fled inland or were dead. The only birds that moved here today were gulls, pecking curiously at the churned-up mud.
Suddenly Novu ran forward, clapping his hands. ‘Get away! Get away, you monsters!’ Gulls flapped into the air before him, big heavy birds, grey and white and black, squawking in protest.
Ana was startled. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘They were working on his face. His eyes.’
The corpse lay twisted, half-buried in the mud and the pale new sand. One hand stuck up in the air, fingers clenched. The mouth was open, and a bloody fluid leaked from the eye sockets. Lightning ran forward, curious, but Novu held him back by the scruff.
Ana felt Dreamer take her hand. ‘Do you know who this is?’
‘I think so,’ Ana said slowly. The face was muddy and squashed up. ‘I think this is Lene. Used to play with Arga, though she’s a few years older. A her, not a him, Novu. There are words we say for the dead. And the body – there’s no midden to place the bones.’
Dreamer murmured, ‘We’ll have time enough for that. Come, child. Let’s see all of it first.’
So Ana let herself be led on around the bay, towards the Seven Houses.
They started to see more bodies. They found more people drowned in mud, hands and questing faces thrust up into the air, adults and children blanketed by the white sea-bottom sand. Ana did not have the stomach to dig out their faces to see who they were. A child had been thrown against a rock wall, her head crushed like a hazelnut shell. A man’s face had been scraped away entirely, leaving eyes that gleamed like oysters in bloody bone.
‘People are fragile,’ Ana said.
‘All life is fragile,’ murmured Dreamer. Her baby on her back, she held Ana’s hand firmly.
They were approaching Ana’s own house now. The dog could smell home, and he bounded forward, tail wagging, barking.
Novu came to walk on Ana’s other side, offering silent support. ‘I envy the dog,’ Novu said. ‘He lives in the present.’
Ana said, ‘I don’t envy him what he’s soon to find.’
The Seven Houses had been flattened, as if kicked over and stamped down, and then covered by a dumped layer of the pale sea-bottom sand. A few broken support posts stuck out of the mud blanket, scraps of ripped seaweed thatch. The big communal open-air hearth was barely visible, a scatter of stones and scorched earth under the sand. Ana could see from the pattern of the mud flow that the water had come from the east, forcing its way from the sea up the narrow estuary of the river they called the Little Mother’s Milk.
Dreamer pointed. ‘That was your house, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. There should have been nobody home…’ She found what looked like the door flap. She shook it clear of the clinging white sand, and pulled it back. The ground beneath was wet and smelled of salt. Her heart hammered. She knew it was unlikely, but she had half-hoped, half-feared, to find some trace of her father.
Dreamer found something of her own: one of the big spear points she had worked so hard to complete. It was still attached to its short, stout pole to make a stabbing spear. Dreamer hefted this now, brushing pale mud from it, staring at it as if she’d never seen it before.
‘Ana – Ana! Oh, it is you, thank the mothers…’
They all spun around. A man came running towards Ana from the direction of the houses that had stood further west along the coast. He was barefoot, and the left side of his face was a mass of bruises. Ana knew him. A little younger than her father, he had fished with Kirike many times.
She ran to meet him, and embraced him. ‘Matu!’
‘Thank the mothers,’ Matu said again, panting, speaking too quickly. ‘We thought we were the only ones left!’
Dreamer asked, ‘Who is “we”?’
Matu pointed. ‘My wife, the boys. We all survived. They’re back that way, poking around the ruins of our house. My grandfather built that house. Nothing left, nothing… We clung onto a tree while the first waves surged. I nearly lost my grip on the youngest.’ He blanched as he spoke, terrified even by the memory. ‘Then we climbed the tree, and hung on when the big wave hit. It was morning before we dared climb down! We went home but the houses were smashed, and there was nobody else here, and we thought we were the last.’ He grinned, a big beaming smile that split his grubby, bruised face. ‘And now here you are! I shouldn’t have lost my faith in the mothers.’
‘You’re not injured?’
‘None of us are, not badly.’
Dreamer shrugged. ‘That is the whim of the great sea, it seems. You die or you live; there is no in-between.’
Matu asked Ana, ‘So what should we do first?’
Ana frowned. ‘Why are you asking me?’
He seemed taken aback. ‘Well, the children are hungry – we are all thirsty – there are the dead to think about.’ He glanced at the sky. ‘The weather has been kind. Perhaps the little goddess of the sea thinks she is in our debt, after what she allowed to happen yesterday. But that won’t last. We have to think of shelter.’ He looked at her expectantly.
She could think of nothing to say to him.
‘Look!’ Novu turned and pointed south, inland. ‘I could swear that’s a boat! But – a boat coming over the land?’ It was indeed a boat, carried overland by a party of men. The boat was more or less intact, though its skin was torn in places. The men were snailheads, Ana saw, and they were led by Knuckle, who jogged at the head of the party. It was a very strange sight, even on this strangest of days.
The party reached the Seven Houses. The men were all panting, sweating hard. Knuckle, naked save for a loincloth, wiped his brow and grinned at them. He said to Ana in the traders’ tongue, ‘We heard the wave. We found people running away from it. We hurried this way, towards your coast, and we found this boat – up a tree! Very far from the sea. Something has happened to the world.’ He mimed with his hands. ‘Very big. Very strange.’
‘Yes,’ Ana said. ‘Big and strange.’
‘We thought you would need this.’ He gestured, and she saw now that the boat was not empty; it contained sacks of food, fruit and dried meat and hazelnuts. One of Knuckle’s men reached into the boat for a sack of water, which he splashed over his hot face and into his mouth.
‘Thank you,’ Ana said. She couldn’t think what else to say. This generosity would save lives.
Matu reached. ‘Oh, please – the water.’ He switched to the traders’ tongue. ‘I apologise. Water. May I give some to my children?’
Knuckle frowned. Then he reached into the boat and threw a skin to Matu. ‘We brought water for us to drink, while we ran. Not for you. What about your springs, your lakes?’
Dreamer said, ‘Salt in them. Perhaps the big waves poisoned the ground. We’ve had nothing to drink.’