by John F. Carr
Jansy—short for her fourteen years—moved over to the side of the gondola that gave the best westward view of the sea. She stared off in that direction, standing up on her toes to see as far as she could. ‘’Is that where the great settlement was—the Shangri-La Valley?”
“Yes, Jansy.”
“And what is there now?”
Jothan pursed his lips before answering. ‘’No one knows.” He spoke truthfully. But inside he spoke a further truth, one he hoped would not become manifest in Jansy’s lifetime. Unless I am very wrong, my dearest blond-curled daughter, what lies to our west is trouble. Trouble without measure and without end. At least, for now, it sleeps. But Jothan failed to consider this: when trouble awakens half-a-world away, the sound of its stirring takes time to cross that great distance.
Just as it was doing that very second.
The End