Sanctuary found, and civilization reborn
After the crushing solitude of the deep, the sight of a horizon that does not move feels like a miracle. Hundreds of people, the remnants of the Orudaran civilization, step onto the sands of a shore that does not yet know their names. As Messo plants the first stake in this unfamiliar soil, the question remains: have they found a place to start anew, or have they simply brought the seeds of their old destruction to a different shore?
The storm had carried their ships past the equatorial doldrums. Weeks passed with a strong breeze driving the remaining ships on their original course. Although they were making good speed, no land appeared. The captains began rationing their supplies. Supplies dwindled until they were dangerously low. The passengers and sailors alike grew increasingly anxious.
Another week passed under the same steady wind before they finally spotted gulls wheeling overhead. Everyone’s spirits rose. The smooth northern horizon broke with the first evidence of land at the beginning of the next week.
A sulfuric smell drifted across the water. They approached the bleak coastline. It was marked by a smoking mountain chain stretching northward. Faint ash floated on the wind, dusting the decks in a pale film. The ships sailed up the western shore, following the winds and currents.
“Look to the east,” the sailor said from the crow’s nest.
Everyone who hadn’t been scanning the coast went to the rails and looked. Amid the bleak coastline, they saw a small harbor surrounded by a lush green forest that reminded them instantly of Carimpluni.
The ships anchored just inside the bay.
“Send in a scouting party,” the captain said. “Messo. Go with them.”
When their boat landed, they found beaches lined with hardwood forests containing wild fruit trees.
“The soil is black and rich,” one of the farmers said. “We’ll be able to grow anything here.”
“We should be grateful to find such an unlikely haven in this desolate land,” Messo said under his breath.
Whatever hesitation remained vanished when the scouting party returned with its report. Only Messo expressed any concern, but he couldn’t point to anything specific to justify staying on the ships longer.
The settlers went to work at once, clearing ground for crops and building simple huts. The bay offered abundant fish. By the end of the first year, they had food and shelter, but they lived under deep uncertainty. The ground trembled often, and ash clouds rose from the mountains behind them with unnerving regularity.
A group of outrigger canoes glided into the bay early the next spring. Their formation was methodical and deliberate, and their approach was confident.
“What do you make of them?” the captain asked Messo as the canoes grounded on the sand.
“They appear to be unarmed. I think they mean no harm,” Messo said, though a thread of unease lingered in his voice.
“Hah loh,” the leader of the newcomers said.
“Hello?” Messo tentatively returned the greeting. “We are from Orudara.”
“OH ROO DAH RA?” the leader echoed, his expression brightening with recognition.
Messo was surprised by the greeting and more surprised by the apparent recognition of the word “Orudara.” Their language carried an uncanny familiarity he could not quite place. Through patient exchanges using sketches and objects, Messo eventually established a basic vocabulary.
Messo learned after great effort that the visitors were native to the lands of their new continent. They had somehow heard of the refugees’ arrival and came to warn them about the restless mountains. After several days, they invited the refugees to move northward where the land was safer and more prosperous.
Many refugees refused to leave the ground they had struggled to tame. Those willing to move reluctantly boarded the ships again, their vessels scrubbed clean from the stench of the earlier voyage.
They entered the mouth of a slow-moving river a week later. As promised, the river opened into fertile land with mountains to the north and the volcanic chain to the south.
They settled on the east bank of the river.
The refugees made their landing on midsummer day, the longest day of the year. Together with the indigenous people, the settlers held a celebration in gratitude for safe arrival. Each group shared food from their traditions, filling the gathering with unfamiliar scents and flavors that wove a fragile bond between them. They celebrated the anniversary of this landing each midsummer thereafter.
The new settlement lay farther north than the first, and the climate was more temperate. Practical needs quickly overtook celebration. They worked urgently to build and plant again, hoping to harvest their crops before winter.
Only two messages came from their original settlement. Five years later, a search party sailed down to learn why. They found the entire area buried beneath fresh ash. All its inhabitants were dead.
“Why did I not insist they come with us?” Messo said to himself, the guilt settling like hot ash in his chest as he learned that another hundred refugees had died.
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