Stone spring

39

Lightning the dog spotted the wave before Josu did. But then, Josu was always engrossed in his work.

On sunny, windless days when the tide was low, like today, Josu liked to work on the beach. And so he had come down from his house before noon, with his work pack and blanket and a water pouch and a bit of dried meat. It was difficult for him to walk on the soft sand, but he had worked out ways to get everything carried safely to where he needed it.

He had found a patch of clean sand and spread out his hide blanket. He settled down with his boots off, with his good leg folded and his bad leg out straight. He smoothed his thick cowhide apron over his legs, to avoid cuts from flying shards of stone.

Then he had unwrapped his pack and set his tools out to one side, mostly of reindeer bone, good and hard, tools some of which he’d owned since he was a boy learning the skill, and his raw materials to the other side, his cores and fresh nodules, and broken tools that people had passed to him. Flint was valuable stuff, and you could almost always reuse even the most damaged tool, maybe turning it into smaller blades for fitting into a bone handle.

Then he had got down to work. He always liked to start on something big, to get his fingers working and his eye in. Today he picked a new nodule, knocked off some bits of chalk with an old hammer, and then turned it over in his hands, studying its strengths and its flaws. Soon he’d spotted a likely point for a striking platform. He chipped this carefully with a reindeer-bone chisel. Then he set the core between his legs, steadied it with his left hand, and struck it carefully with his right. The first blow wasn’t quite right, and he produced only a shard of flint. But the second and the third were better, each blow releasing a flint flake like a roughed-out blade, and each time leaving a new section of striking platform for him to aim at.

He always aimed his blows down and away from his face, to avoid the danger of flint shards flying into his eyes, for he had seen the damage that could do; his hands bore the scars of tiny stabbings and scrapes, but he could live with that.

Gradually the flint nodule was whittled down to a core, the pile of roughs beside him grew, and the golden sand before his legs was covered with flint shards. He knew that when he stood up he would leave the pattern of his legs on the sand, outlined by the bits of flint. He always took care to sweep sand over such mess, to avoid the children cutting their feet on it.

While he was working, others had drifted down to the beach. Fisherfolk laid out nets to dry, or pushed out boats to follow Kirike and Heni. Rute and Jaku came down to set up drying racks for Kirike’s anticipated catch. They nodded cheerfully to Josu. Their daughter Arga wasn’t with them today. But they had Kirike’s dog, Lightning. He was a yappy thing who came straight over to Josu, tail wagging vigorously, and he grabbed a corner of Josu’s apron and began tugging it. He’d have had the whole lot in the sand if Josu hadn’t held on. ‘Get away, you daft dog! You always do this. Get away with you!’

Jaku whistled, and threw a brown tube of seaweed into the sea. Lightning immediately let go of the apron and bounded off after the weed, barking shrilly, splashing into the water.

Josu was left in peace; he resumed his work with relief.

Despite such disturbances he felt content with his life, especially on such a day as this. He’d lived out his whole life in Etxelur, had rarely travelled much more than a day’s walk from this very spot, and he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Oh, he was aware that some of his stock had gone missing recently – some of the better flint cores too, fresh from the lode on Flint Island. He wasn’t bothered. People had always played tricks on him, especially children. They mocked the way he walked. They’d pinch his tools, or call him names, or push him and run away faster than he could catch them. But children usually grew out of it. And if it got too bad, he could always turn to Kirike or Heni or Rute who would soon get to the bottom of it, and all would be right again, until the next time.

He’d been lucky to be born here. There were people like the Pretani who would have drowned a crippled little boy at birth. He was thirty years old now, there were few older than him in all Etxelur, his work was treasured, and he had no complaints. Nothing troubled him. Not even the fact that he’d never found a wife, had no children…

There was a deep roaring sound, a rumble.

Josu looked around, confused, faintly alarmed. The sky was cloudless. Gulls cawed noisily. He looked up to see the birds flying overhead, not wheeling and squabbling as they usually did, but heading inland, fleeing the sea. And Lightning was barking shrilly, not in play. The dog, his fur glistening wet, stood on the sand looking out to sea.

A few paces away from Josu, Jaku straightened up from the fish rack he’d been tying together. ‘What’s wrong with that dog?’

Rute shielded her eyes against the sun. ‘Look out there.’ She pointed out to sea.

Josu looked that way. The sea looked flat, calm – just as usual, save for a single dark line drawn across it, like a charcoal scribble. A wave, steadily approaching the shore. It didn’t seem so remarkable. Then Josu saw a figure before it, frantically swimming towards the shore, perhaps a child. The wave towered over the swimmer, and calmly engulfed her.

Jaku murmured, ‘By the little mothers’ blessing-’

It seemed unreal to Josu, a scene from a dream.

Rute pulled apart the fish rack. ‘We’d best get off the beach. Lightning! Here, boy!’

‘It won’t come this far up,’ Jaku said.

‘I’m not going to wait to find out. Oh, help me with the rack, you idiot, don’t just stand there. And whistle for the dog.’ She glanced over at the toolmaker. ‘You too, Josu. I think it would be safer.’

‘Yes.’ Josu looked again at the sea. The wave was growing taller yet, as if water was piling up on water, standing on its own shoulders, the faster surface layers overtaking the lower that were dragged back by contact with the land. ‘I wouldn’t want to lose my tools.’

But Rute was not listening. She was already moving away, picking on Jaku, calling for Lightning.

Belatedly, Josu started to move. He wrapped up his tools and his cores, and the new flakes in their separate skins. Then he bundled his packets and his water skins and his apron in the hide blanket. He was rushing, and was making a mess of his packing.

The dog was still barking, close by. He could hear people shouting. All around him children were running, away from the sea.

And the wave climbed up the beach. It wasn’t like a wave but a slab of water, as if the whole sea had risen up. He could taste the spray.

Josu stood hastily, his bare feet scattering flint shards. He didn’t have his boots on, but there was no time. He began to run, holding his bundle before him. But he went down, his withered leg betraying him, and he spilled his goods over the sand. He scrambled to pick them up, his tools, the packet of cores.

The water fell on him, a huge weight that smashed down on his back and pushed him down into the sand. For a heartbeat he could feel his bundle under his body. But then he was driven forward, scraping over the sand, and he lost it all.

He was turned on his back. He could see the light, far above, the sun’s disc fragmented by the surface of the water, like a shattered flint nodule. But the water was turbulent, full of mud and seaweed. He coughed, gasped, and the water forced its way into his mouth, his throat. The pain was huge, like a great fist slamming into the core of his being.

So it was over, so suddenly. He felt a stab of regret about all the flint pieces he hadn’t been able to finish.

The pain soon receded, a tide going out. Ana and the others watched from the dune crest.

It wasn’t like a tide. It was a single great wave; she could see its arc right across the bay, breaking on the beach and then running on, past the usual high water line, higher than any tide, even pushing into the long grass that fringed the dunes. People who had already fled from the beach had to run further inland.

Arga, silent, slipped her hand into Ana’s.

Novu was staring like the rest. ‘I never saw an ocean before I left Jericho. I don’t know anything about oceans. Is this what oceans do?’

‘I never saw anything like this,’ Ana murmured. ‘Or heard of it.’

‘Strange events,’ murmured Dreamer. ‘Things nobody ever saw before, or since. This was how our world ended.’

‘Shut up,’ Ana hissed, holding tight to Arga.

Novu pointed. ‘Look. I think it’s going down.’

As rapidly as it had risen the sea level was dropping, as if draining through a hole in the world. The water ran back down the beach towards the ocean, or it pooled in hollows in the sand and the rock banks, creating smooth ponds bright in the sun.

People tentatively emerged from the dunes. They showed each other marvels – seaweed heaps high on the dunes, a dolphin stranded and gasping.

Arga tugged Ana’s hand. ‘Do you think it’s over?’

‘No,’ Dreamer said. ‘Look. It’s still going out. Too far…’

The strange tide kept drawing back, far beyond the usual low water mark, and Ana saw a plain of glistening sand emerge, and strange rock formations she was sure she’d never seen before. All over the exposed floor there was movement, silvery wriggling.

People started walking, then running, down the beach towards the new strand.

‘Look!’ Arga said, excited now, pointing. ‘Fish! There’s fish everywhere! We can just go and take it. Come on.’ She tugged Ana’s hand.

Dreamer said, ‘No. This is very wrong. We should stay-’

‘What’s that?’ Novu, shielding his eyes, was pointing out to sea.

And now Ana saw what the retreating sea had exposed, far from the usual shore: an earthwork of raised ridges, circular, their flanks draped with the deep green of seaweed. Water glimmered in the ditches between the circles.

‘It’s like something from a priest’s story,’ Arga said. ‘Is it real?’

Ana said, ‘Let’s go see. Come on!’ Hand in hand they ran down the dune.

Dreamer called, ‘No! Come back! Something is wrong – oh, please come back!’

But Ana only ran faster. Soon she and Arga were running on sticky mud that only moments ago had been sea floor.