The sky exploded. Followed by an earth shaking, cracking sound which shook the entire valley, causing even the rolling hills to actually roll like swells in a pool of water. The swirling wall was obliterated by a great black cloud which hovered overhead. Out of this, small flakes of frozen cold began to fall gently to the earth, covering the entire town in a white blanket of snow.
***** ***** *****
As the more fortunate habitants of Nuttinnew pulled their heads out of their hiding places, they were as dumbfounded as they were on the day the strange pieces fell from the sky. From their covered vantage points, they watched bits of white frozen fluff fall to the earth. At first, the flakes touched the ground and formed small, liquid pools in the warm, dry sand which rapidly combined into larger puddles of what appeared to be water. As the earth and the air became colder, these puddles hardened into elliptical, sheets of frozen earth surrounding the well and extending northward halfway to Center House and equidistant in the southerly direction.
Ker-ack! A loud, crisp, cracking sound filled the chilled air. At the same time, the earth beneath the inhabitants shuddered momentarily, then abruptly stopped as the universe about them fell into a white silence of the falling, frozen flakes accumulating everywhere. Before long, the entire town was buried beneath a glistening white blanket one to two rods thick. The inhabitants of Nuttinnew shivered beneath their summer pullovers, wondering what this was that had befallen them.
Some folks were not so fortunate as to find shelter. The throng gathered at Center House found the large porch too small to provide them all a covering. The easterners who made up the outer perimeter were caught in the drifts and covered with the frosty, white substance. Terrified in spite of its gentleness, they attempted to claw and crawl their way beneath the shelter of the porch. However, the westerners, who had made up the inner circle, had already crammed themselves under the porch cover and were more than even a bit reluctant to relinquish even an inch of it. A mad scramble ensued involving much pushing, shoving and name calling with a ferocity not soon to be forgotten and rarely, if ever, forgiven.
In the clearing of the veget field, Mardrith remained hidden beneath the cover of dried veget leaves, which provided a perfect shelter from the snow above and the cold earth below. Upon awakening, she had covered her face with her hands to ward off the strange assault upon her face. Now, peeking between her laced fingers, she watched the chilly, white flakes gradually cloaking from view the only world she had ever known. Although she did find this somewhat disconcerting, she was comforted by one thought. Whatever the stuff was, it provided her with an even better hiding place. For everything near to the ground was becoming virtually indistinguishable from everything else.
***** ***** *****
"Blast! Now, what's happening to our beloved little town? What is this stuff?” CB cursed, peering out from under the cot cover.
"Don't know, but it’s cold!” Joudlier gasped as he attempted to maneuver himself under the cot cover.
"Quit that! Can't you see I'm trying to keep the lad warm? He'll catch his death of ... cold? It's cold! It is cold! You’re right!” CB bellowed joyfully. He jumped up, and pulling a surprised Brindle to her feet, he threw his arms around her and danced her about the well. Brindle, who had never learned to dance, was too startled to be self-conscious and concocted her own “jump for joy” - just to keep up.
After several swift spins, she was inadvertently sprung loose and landed in the snow beside Tyter. CB paused. Panting heavily, he stared at her anxiously through glazed eyes. Upon seeing she hadn’t been hurt in the fling, he kicked off his sandals, and continued to dance, alone and barefoot in the cold white, fluff.
Brindle laid back in the strange fluffy substance, as she gasped to catch her breath. The joy of the cold warmed her against it. Eventually, she rolled over toward Tyter who was shivering more than ever.
"Whayd! Snop! Whah doo, nah?" she shouted as she chased after CB, who was so excited he couldn't stop dancing and laughing as tears of exuberant joy streamed down his rosy cheeks.
"Whah doo? Whah doo?” Brindle began screaming to no avail. Frustrated, she fell to the ground and sank again into its cold white cover.
Joudlier, Loden and the other two males watched the performance, until CB ran out of energy and dropped onto his back beside Loden who was casually brushing the white flakes from his body as he studied the northern well wall.
Meanwhile, Joudlier, busied himself by poking his veget staff through the white fluff as if to assure himself that the invisible ground still existed beneath it. Just when his confidence was assured, he lunged the staff downward, one last time. Only this time it met with no resistance and gracefully slipped right out of his hand and disappeared into the strange, white covering. "Oh, I don't like this," he moaned as he turned toward Loden and saw what had so absorbed his leader’s attention.
Starting at the well wall was a huge in the earth nearly a reed wide extending northward right up to where Joudlier was standing and, perhaps, beyond. Without a moments hesitation, he sprang backwards, but by this very act applied too much pressure on the thin layer of ice which had been supporting his weight. Shattering it, he plunged downward. Instinctively he spread out his arms, which was most fortunate, for the crack was narrower there and he managed to catch himself on its side ledges. Kicking and shouting, he struggled for a foothold, being only semi-aware of Loden shouting at him to be still and save his strength for holding on.
The two rebels who had heard the shouting ran around the well and were greeted by the odd spectacle of their fellow rebel planted in the ground like a veget sprout, with his head stretched upward, and his arms spread out like fledgling leaves. Upon Loden’s orders one ran back around the well to the opposite side. Once positioned, each took hold of one of Joudlier’s exposed forearms.
Loden had already eased his way along the crack’s edge until he came alongside Joudlier. Reaching downward into the separated earth he hoped to grab a leg, or something substantial, but he could find nothing until he managed to get a hold of Joudlier’s waist cord. It wasn’t much, but Loden felt it best not to let go of any connection to his long time friend and fellow rebel.
Approaching from the west, Brindle ran to where the two rebels were struggling to hold onto their fallen comrade for their feet were buried in nearly a rod of wet, slippery slush at the edge of the crack. In her hand was a length of rope she had cut from the well spool. Falling onto her stomach, she reached out and worked a rope around Joudlier's upper arm and tied a secure wellkeeper’s knot. Reviewing her handiwork, she realized her meager attempt at saving the big fellow’s life had a major flaw. If he fell, she certainly wouldn’t be able to hold up his weight at the end of the rope.
No sooner had she realized this when the ground beneath her began to tremble. Brindle pulled back hard on the rope as Joudlier’s grip on the crack’s edge began to slip. One of the rebels leaned forward to get a better hold on him, but his own feet began to slip in the icy slush. Then, as if in slow motion, he glided over the jagged edge of the crack until, expelling a horrifying shriek, he slipped into the hungry jaws of the animated earth.
Loden sprang forward and somehow managed to swing over the divide to the western side, while still holding fast to Joudlier's waist cord with one hand. With the other hand he grabbed hold of Brindle’s rope just in front of her own grip. Still, Joudlier continued to slowly slip into the crack, as his own strength waned.
All the world seemed silent except for the sounds of heavy breathing which provided a rhythmic overtone to the discordant sounds of sandals scraping along the frozen earth as each would-be rescuer slid slowly toward their un-fortuitous fate.
Whop-oosh! Wudrick dove into the snow and collided with the frozen earth several reeds behind them.
"Drag the lose end of the rope back here to me!” he shouted to Brindle.
She looked at Loden. "Go ahead. I’ll hold fast here, but hurry,” Loden grunted.
Brindle quickly discover
ed that crawling required stabbing each appendage into the soft flakes, crushing them into hard, impacted, jagged edged crystals which ground into her flesh, making it a short, but agonizing trip.
"Good. Good,” Wudrick encouraged her. "Now, tie it about my waist. I would, but my hand....”
"Bah, ee fah - yo fah!" she exclaimed.
"No time to worry about the details. Just tie the rope around my waist. Hurry, child!”
Brindle quickly fastened the rope around Wudrick’s round, stocky body as he dug his feet and one good hand deeper into the white fluff. Looking northward at the hoard of westerners gathered at Center House, he knew that with their help, Joudlier could easily be pulled out of the crack in the ground. But then, what were the chances of obtaining assistance to save a rebel from anyone subordinate to his wife?
"Good, young one! Now, go get help from the easterners. Hurry child! I doubt we have much time.”
Tears filled Brindle's eyes. This was all too much like a bad dream. One from which she could not awaken, no matter how hard she tried. The only thing that was going to bring this dream to an end was for her to do her part. Quickly, and at a safe distance from the crack, she scurried around the northern end of the well, then dashed eastward to find the rebels.
She didn’t have far to go, for coming towards her were a dozen or so eastern males led by a slightly built, hooded figure who pointed towards her and shouted something in an odd, gravelly voice. Unsure of their intent, a rush of fear shot through her. She was quite relieved when the determined looking group rushed on past her to where Joudlier had fallen. However, Brindle didn’t notice. Neither did she notice the fluid-of-life trickling from her scraped knees, turning the frozen, white fluff at her feet a pale, milky pink.
Her total attention was focused on the hooded figure which seemed to glide across the slick earth as it approached her. Within moments it was only a couple reeds away. Brindle squinted as she peered within the dark void of the hood, half expecting to see a face formed of grotesque features, but all she saw was more darkness. Whether from fear or cold Brindle felt herself shake.
"Don't be afraid,” a gentle, comforting voice assured her.
Brindle glanced about, unsure who had spoken.
"You've been injured. Go back and help the caretender return the male wellwalker to his hut. Then, have him tend to your wounds. Go now!" the Hooded One commanded, then turned and glided slowly back toward the east.
Brindle was surprised the Hooded One had not gone onto the well with the others to help. As her thoughts turned toward the well, so did her head, and what she saw instantly filled her heart with the exuberance one feels when suddenly relieved of a heavy burden. The males who had run past her had managed to lift Joudlier out of the crevice - at least as far as his waist. As they struggled to lift him the rest of the way, one small, wiry fellow was tugging up on the big male's buttocks. However, from the way Joudlier was screaming for him to stop, it seemed he didn’t especially appreciate this particular aspect of the rescue effort.
Brindle looked back toward the east to share her joy with the hooded figure, but saw no one. "How strange,” she thought. Then, she noticed the burning cold on her legs, and the pink snow about her feet."
"Veget, bah dahm!" she cursed and went running as quickly as she could around the cracked earth to where CB had dragged Tyter. Once the caretender understood her intention to assist him, he had her help put Tyter back into the cot cover sling used to carry him to the well. Studying Brindle’s slender arms and bruised knees, he decided she would have too much trouble trying to carry Tyter. Instead, he tied one end of the cover at Tyter’s feet, while leaving the other end open, thus forming a scoop. CB and Brindle each grabbed a loose cover corner and together proceeded to drag it, with Tyter on board, over the slick, frozen ground all the way to the western wellkeeper’s front door. Once there, Brindle helped drape Tyter over CB’s shoulder so the caretender could carry him.
“Bring me their water ration bucket,” he told Brindle one was deposited on his cot. When she returned with the bucket, both were surprised to see that the water which had been left in it had turned into a solid block which fell out and slid across the floor when CB tapped the bucket upside down.
"Wonderful! Now, go outside and fill the bucket with that white fluff. We'll need several buckets of it to pack around my young patient,” CB said as he applied a soothing veget ointment to Brindle’s knees.
At the well, Joudlier had been fully drawn from the crack. Everyone involved in the rescue fell back where they stood, kneeled, or crawled, and panted out puffs of white air as they took time to catch their breaths and regain their composure. Dampy chuckled with glee in celebration of his best friend’s rescue. The laugh was infectious and quickly spread to the others. Soon, the laughter turned to a howl, as everyone, including Joudlier, joined in on the jocular release of tension. Laughter after the threat of disaster is, after all, a universal, uniquely human, characteristic.
However, even human laughter is limited by human stamina, and as the laughter wore thin, the males became more aware of their surroundings. They were cold - extremely cold - and all had abrasions which had left pink spots in the frozen, white fluff. Nearby, the crack in the earth with its jagged lips enveloping a hollow black mouth, gaped at them like an insatiable monster.
"Poor Knanithner,” Joudlier moaned with a mournful voice. With those words, the last involuntary chuckle ceased and their sorrow for a lost rebel brethren filled their hearts. But the moment of remorse was short lived as the ground beneath them groaned and shook slightly. As one, they jumped back from the crack with their hearts pounding against their rib cage.
"Quickly, we must get to the eastern side of the well, before the entire town is torn in two,” Loden asserted. Hastily, each male made their way eastward, checking the firmness of the earth before each step. No one wanted to end up with poor Knanithner. Where that might be, they could only imagine.
As soon as all the others were safely east of the well, Loden approached Wudrick with an outstretched hand. Hesitantly, he offered his own in response. Then the rebel leader shook it heartily in a vertical direction. It was an ancient display of male bonding rarely used anymore other than ceremonially. "We all have you to thank for saving the life of our fellow rebel. I don’t know where you stand in all of this, but you’re welcome to come to the east with us. I know at least one, other than myself, who would receive you with open arms."
Wudrick blushed. "Thank you, wellkeeper Loden. I appreciate your kind words, but there is a young male whose life I am determined to help save. As for where I stand in the rest of all this, I can only say that I stand where I find myself. Unlike my wife, I’m not a politician. I am a...."
"...scientist,” Loden interjected much to Wudrick's surprise - and great delight.
"Why, yes. That's right,” he said in a flattered, but embarrassed tone.
Again, Loden vigorously shook his hand. "Then just know this, my friend, if we win this fight, you’ll forever have a place among us. For I have no doubt we will be in great need of a courageous male with a scientific mind. Perhaps, one day, we’ll walk side by side, and remember this momentous day. Until then, there are many things we both must do. First, I must go tell poor Pequit Knanithner her husband has fallen into the - er, has sacrificed his life - as a hero - for the rebel cause."
Wudrick was quite relieved when the rebel wellkeeper finally stopped shaking his only good hand for he was beginning to feel it would shortly be cranked from his shoulder. Before he could be thanked again, he politely slipped it from Loden’s grip, bowed slightly, then raced off as swiftly as his short, stocky legs would carry him through the rod high snow.
“I’ll tell her!” Joudlier protested as he approached Loden. "Knanithner’s a hero. Died trying to save me. Pequit’s got two little one's - on her own now. I - I'd like to - to...." His words stuck in his throat.
"I'm sure she’d appreciate that. I'll go with you, though, just to ... well, yo
u know, it's my duty, on behalf of the rebel cause,” Loden offered, knowing full well Joudlier was a male of deep pride and honor, but would need someone to help him express his heart-felt emotions to the new widow. As well, on the cold, practical, political side of his nature, Loden saw this tragic loss of life as the first casualty in the struggle for the rebel cause, and he would be totally remiss of political savvy if he didn’t exploit it to its fullest potential.
"I'll go with you, too,” Dampy offered as sincerely sounding as his squeaky voice could muster. He half expected to be rejected, but Joudlier just gave him an affirming nod, then rested his massive weight on the little male's shoulder and together, with Loden leading, they hobbled toward Pequit’s hut.
As the three made their way through the cold white fluff, the rebel leader could feel the heat emanating through the piece, under his pullover, which he held tightly and determinedly against his stomach muscles. There was no turning back now. Knanithner's death will not have been in vain. As he died for the rebellion, so the rebellion would live in the hearts of all Easterners, until victory and freedom was theirs. Loden's entire being was elevated by his own lofty thoughts.
To the north, Pentalope rode high and proud as her steed, Bourg, trudged precariously across the frozen earth, toward the now abandoned well. Her mantle of many pieces glistened in the sunlight, which had found a space to peek through the blackened sky. Following directly behind them trudged the mayor's ambassadors wearing the badges signifying their new lofty positions. Behind them came a motley, ragtag band of followers, who still shivered from fear with each step they impacted in the strange, cold, white fluff which by now everyone had taken to calling "snow." For it reminded them of the reference in a children's rhyme:
When sand blows high
In winter's sky
And winds turn fierce and bold,
The sky turns black,
Pieces: Book One, The Rending Page 45