Gontran, Diaresso, and Samonas followed Hydaspes through the woods to the deserted town, even as the snake protested that it would have been much faster to carry them all in its mouth. Siren soared above them, its metal feathers glinting in the sunlight, singing its gorgeous song.
When they reached the town—which was called Kallistē—Siren alighted upon a nearby palm tree that was murmuring in a faint breeze, and Hydaspes invited them to investigate the other machines kept inside the stone buildings. These included a silver lynx which, Hydaspes claimed, could bound through tall grass faster than any gust of wind. Also present was a mechanical octopus—“good for ensnaring fish for consumption by little ones like yourselves,” Hydaspes explained. There was a steel spider the size of a horse, which made Gontran scream in terror.
“Spiders,” he groaned, as the others stared at him. “I hate spiders.”
Samonas thought this specific design impractical, but Hydaspes told him that focusing merely on the practical was “simplistic and characteristic only of petty intellects,” then added that the spider could weave excellent textiles.
Once Gontran had calmed down (after he managed to get away from the mechanical spider), he concluded that these machines were “cool.” That was the term that would have been used in the old world, and which confused Samonas.
“What has their temperature got to do with anything?” he said.
“These contrivances labor faster than any man, do they not?” Diaresso said. “If we were to utilize them in the field, what would it mean, except that we would reap a greater harvest for the nobles to steal from us?”
“Haven’t you told me a thousand times that you were a noble back in Tomboutou?” Gontran said. “Isn’t this machinery something that would benefit you?”
“I was a smallholder,” Diaresso said. “I owned my own land. My family and I worked it, but we possessed no slaves. Only a portion of our surplus went to the faama. I am a descendant of nobles, yes, but I belong to a cadet branch of the House of Keita.”
“A yeoman farmer,” Gontran said. “Like a lot of the peasants in Romanía, at least until recently. Still, you could see how these machines might benefit you. A modern tractor can do the work of thousands, maybe even millions of wooden implements.”
“Once again, you—in your profound and unholy hubris—utter a word which lies beyond my ken.”
“A tractor,” Gontran said. “It’s like…imagine a metal carriage that can move itself—a lot like Hydaspes, actually, but it doesn’t talk, except in its own way, I guess.”
“That would be an improvement.” Diaresso eyed the gigantic snake, which was then conversing with Samonas.
“You can attach other machines to it,” Gontran said. “They’ll harvest your crops or till the soil. It’ll do the same work as dozens of men or horses or oxen or whatever, and much faster, too.”
“If such things can truly be, then they are only proof of their own inherent evil,” Diaresso said. “Why take more from the land than you require? Will that not then exhaust the land, and make the men who consume the harvest decadent, ignorant, and miserable sorts?”
“Because if you don’t do that,” Gontran said, “someone else will. And then he’ll take your land from you.”
“You know full well that I lost the land of my ancestors in Tomboutou to my brother Tamaga, a man who believes only in the god of lucre, the demon Mammon. You know, too, that I became a debt slave—with the blood of heroes in my veins—and that I then lost my family to the slave traders. Never in all my days would I wish such a fate upon anyone, not even the most murderous among us. I have now changed my views of a great many things. The land must never be taken from the people. It belongs to all of us. We must care for it, and use it to help one another.”
“Now you sound like Herakleia.”
“What does that matter?”
“You saw where her ideas led.” Gontran looked at the forest. “That hippy nonsense, rainbows and unicorns, holding hands and singing kumbaya…it just makes us weak and lazy. It makes it easier to steal from us. The truth is that we’re all on our own.”
Diaresso turned to him. “Why then bother to help Herakleia at all? Why not abandon her, and strike out on your own, buying goodly merchandise for one dirham in one port and then selling that same goodly merchandise for two dirhams in another? Does such a life lack meaning?”
“I made a promise.”
“Behold!” Diaresso cried, gesturing with both hands to Gontran, and startling Hydaspes and Samonas. “The hard heart of the merchant has softened! Now he believes in something other than enriching himself at the expense of the world and people around him! The thief has grown a heart of gold!”
“Shut up,” Gontran said.
“That is not an argument,” Diaresso said.
“Fine, it’s not an argument, now leave me alone.”
“If you do that which you know full well to be wrong, is that not hypocrisy, so often warned about in the holy recitations?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care, Diaresso.”
“The hypocrites are burning in eternal hellfire even as we speak. Soon enough you shall join them.”
“That’ll be an improvement, at least as long as I don’t have to deal with you.”
“You are bickering like children!” Samonas exclaimed. He had been talking with Hydaspes about the machines inside the buildings. “Now will you please be silent, so I can work!”
Diaresso and Gontran looked at him but said nothing.
“Thank you.” Samonas turned back to Hydaspes. “Now as I was trying to tell you before I was so rudely interrupted by their inane babbling, I understand perfectly well how you can move of your own volition. Yet what I find most incomprehensible is your seeming ability to think and speak for yourself. How can such a thing be?”
“How is it possible for you, little one?” Hydaspes said.
“I am granted the animation of spirit by Holy God,” Samonas said. “That is how I think. That is how I choose between right and wrong. It is my freedom of will.”
Gontran rolled his eyes.
Diaresso smiled. “Simple, pure, divine energy, in other words. That is what imbues us. The only true reality is Allah.”
“That doesn’t sound like the kind of talk the uprising would appreciate,” Gontran said.
“I believe that which is true,” Diaresso said. “I do that which I must. It was my destiny to leave my homeland, to come to Tarabizun and learn its ways, for no kind of calamity occurs except by Allah's permission."
“But the uprising is against religion,” Gontran said.
“Why conjure such falsities?” Diaresso said. “It is just as easy to worship in Tarabizun as in Tomboutou. No one among the uprising has interrupted my praying, nor have they demanded I remove my turban. It is you, merchant, whose ideas conflict with those of the uprising, for you worship no god but Mammon, regardless of the cost to your fellow man!”
“Whatever, I don’t even care anymore.” Gontran turned his attention to Hydaspes, who was still speaking with Samonas.
“The inner workings of my mind you may investigate, if it pleases you, little one.” Hydaspes lowered his head to the overgrown street.
It’s gotten so friendly, lately, Gontran thought. It wasn’t like this when we first met.
“Perhaps one with knowledge from the so-called ‘old world’ can help us in this matter.” Samonas handed a pair of gloves he had found in one of the buildings to Gontran.
“As long as my 'inane babbling' doesn't bother you,” Gontran said.
Samonas nodded. “My discomfort with your existence comes and goes.”
Gontran put the gloves on, then stepped forward and—glancing back and forth—popped open Hydaspes’s head. Steam poured out at first, but when this cleared away, only wavering heat remained. Through the blurred light Gontran saw what looked like countless tiny interlocking pistons clicking back and forth.
Pistons made of pistons made of pistons, he thought.
He closed Hydaspes’s head and stepped back, stunned into silence. Both Samonas and Diaresso watched him for an explanation as Hydaspes rose into the air.
“It’s almost like an old calculator,” Gontran said. “But it’s also extremely advanced. If that makes sense.”
“It really doesn’t,” Samonas said. “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t make any sense at all. You have really got to stop speaking this Latin nonsense.”
Gontran turned to him. “You know, like a calculator, like—what are those things called? Like an abacus. You move the beads back and forth along the lines to make numbers. The bottom line represents ones, the next line represents tens, the line after that hundreds.”
“I have beheld the penny-pinchers of Venice utilizing such things,” Diaresso said. “When they deploy their abacus and their double-entry logbook and their reading stones, it means the cheating is about to begin.”
“Thank you for yet more unnecessary and distracting commentary,” Samonas said.
Hydaspes snorted steam. “It is amusing to watch you little ones as you seek to understand that which you cannot.”
“I know very well what an abacus is, my good sir,” Samonas said to Gontran. “But I simply cannot see how a mere counting device can give rise to spirit. For that I am afraid you must enlighten me.”
“Try to imagine a steam-powered abacus,” Gontran said. “But one with billions, maybe trillions of interlocking lines and pebbles, all folded together so tightly you can’t even see them without an extremely powerful microscope.”
Samonas crossed his arms. “What is a mikros skopos, sir? Do you even know the meaning of the words pouring forth from your mouth? You speak nonsense…a mikros skopos, a small-looker, what poppycock…”
“It’s a cylinder with some glass at one end and some more glass at the other end,” Gontran said.
“Reading stones,” Diaresso said.
“Yeah, whatever those are,” Gontran said. “If you make the glass a certain way, you can make distant things look like they’re close. If you make the glass another way, you can make small things look big. Get it?”
“Not really,” Samonas said.
“We can build one later and I’ll show you. So anyway, without a microscope, this guy’s mechanical brain just looks like mush, at least if you don’t know what you’re looking at.”
“As the beauty of the world is rendered into dull unknowingness by those who are ignorant of the glory of Allah.” Diaresso eyed Gontran and Samonas.
“Allah this, Allah that,” Samonas said. “Allah is all I ever hear about from you! Are you capable of talking about anything else?”
“If you aren’t careful, ‘Allah’ shall be the last word you ever hear,” Diaresso said. “And you shall never hear the ‘salaam aleikum’ at the gates of paradise. No such greeting is uttered in the chasm of hell.”
“Somehow I shall find a way to survive,” Samonas said.
Gontran turned his face up to Hydaspes. “Whoever built you could make a brain from metal. Even in the old world where I come from, where we have all kinds of talking machines, this was beyond anyone’s skills. I mean, lots of machines could talk, but they couldn’t think for themselves.”
“Lord knows, the same is true for many so-called ‘people.’” Samonas glanced at Diaresso.
“As I earlier told you little ones,” Hydaspes said, “I was made by a god.”
“Well, if you weren’t made by a god, you might as well have been,” Gontran said. “A god of engineering. A god of programming.”
Hydaspes brought them to another stone house. Inside was the most astounding automatôn—that was what the snake said they were called—of all. It was a mechanical person. Nude and strong, she sat on a stone bench staring into space. If anything, her proportions were almost too perfect, and yet her flesh was sharp metal.
Gontran gulped at the sight. Diaresso turned away and murmured a prayer. Samonas cleared his throat.
“My sister is a golden maiden,” Hydaspes said. “She calls herself Talia. Father assembled her being from nonbeing to protect us.”
“She’s your sister?” Gontran said. “No offense, but I don’t see much of a resemblance…”
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Steam fissured from Hydaspes’s mouth.
“How might you,” Samonas began, “how might you, uh, enliven her, as it were?”
“Valentines and candy,” Gontran said. “A bouquet of roses. Having decent education and job prospects. A sense of humor. A nice body. A stylish wardrobe. Being talented at something. Being ambitious. Not being addicted to various vices. ‘If you want to touch some boobies, you have to be nice to the girlies.’”
Diaresso scoffed.
Gontran continued. “Although of course none of that matters if they aren't in the right mood. It also excites people if you're already taken—if you've got a boyfriend, a girlfriend, a spouse. If you aren't interested in them, they can find that attractive. Nothing's worse than being obsessed with someone who doesn't like you back—”
“Will you cease uttering these endless incomprehensible quips of yours, sir!” Samonas said.
“It is the same for all divine-forged automatônes, little one,” the snake said. “Though we may appear miracles of complexity, at the fundament we are but simple creatures.”
“One is nonetheless prompted to ask—are you truly alive?” Samonas said.
“Are you?” Hydaspes said.
Samonas raised his eyebrows and looked away.
Gontran stepped into the dim stone room while everyone else watched from the doorway. Even Hydaspes’s vast head hovered behind Samonas and Diaresso, its segments seething with steam, its huge ruby eyes pulsating with power.
Still wearing his gloves, Gontran opened Talia’s cold metal belly. Inside was a small firebox loaded with coal. The absurd sight almost made him laugh. It only needed a few sparks from his flint and steel.
A coal-powered person.
“You think she wants me to bring her back to life?” Gontran turned to the snake.
“Talia can come with you, little one,” Hydaspes said. “She can voyage where I cannot.”
“You mean—”
“We will help you in your goal,” Hydaspes said. “Should you promise to bring us coal.”
Gontran looked to Diaresso and Samonas.
“Given the circumstances,” Samonas said, “I cannot help but agree with the proposal put forth by this…automatôn.”
“Sounds good to me, too,” Gontran said.
Diaresso crossed his arms. “I have grown too used to working with men possessed by djinn. Now I must inure myself to idols of metal possessed by djinn as well?”
“For the struggle that lies before you,” Hydaspes said, “you shall need all the friends you may procure.”
Gontran turned back to Talia, lit the coal in her firebox, and then closed her belly. It took a moment for the water inside to boil, but soon wisps of steam were seeping from the gaps in her plate segments. Suddenly her body jolted, and all the metal parts in her eyes focused on Gontran. She stood from the stone bench and lunged toward him. As Gontran stumbled backward, Samonas turned and fled, stumbling away, breathless with fright. Diaresso drew his golden scimitar.
“Who are you?” Talia said to Gontran. Her voice was like a steam-powered pipe organ echoing within the metal chambers of her body. “Why have you awakened me?”
“I—I—”
Gontran would have collapsed to the floor, but Talia caught him by his shirt, lifted him into the air, and glared at him, each mechanical eye flaring a blue jet of flame.
“What is it that you call yourself?” she said.
“What? Oh, sorry. It’s Gontran.”
At he spoke, he was reaching for the pistol-sword sheathed at his side. Without looking away, Talia knocked it from his hand, then deflected a blow from Diaresso’s scimitar, her metal fingers sparking against the blade—all while she continued to hold Gontran in the air.
“Welcome back to the realms of the real, sister,” Hydaspes said from outside the doorway.
Talia turned her head. At the sight of Hydaspes, she dropped Gontran to the floor. Diaresso attacked her again, but this time she seized his scimitar, threw it aside, and pushed him to the ground. Then—her entire body clinking and steaming, like stop-motion animation—she strode outside the house, widened her arms, and hugged Hydaspes’s vast head.
“It is good to see you, brother,” she said.
“You cannot understand the meaning of those words.” Hydaspes sighed deeply. “For the longest time I believed we would never meet again—that I could only look upon you as one looks upon a memory.”
She turned to Diaresso and Gontran, who were both gasping on the floor inside the stone house. Samonas was cowering some distance down the street.
“Who are these pathetics?” Talia said to Hydaspes.
“They are little ones,” Hydaspes said. “It is they who have brought themselves here. They claim they have coal in their place of forging, and a vessel to bring them to it.”
“They lie,” she said. “They have come only to enslave.”
“We have no choice but to trust. I said you would join their adventure.”
“I won’t.”
“Are you busy here, sister?”
She turned to Hydaspes. “Now I recall the reason I extinguished my inner lights.”
“What else can be done? Father has departed and will never return. To dust do our gears grind down with the passage of the days. We are miracles of creation, yet we are not immortal. Soon will be our surcease.”
Talia nodded to Gontran and Diaresso, who were climbing to their feet and sheathing their weapons while keeping their eyes on her. “Already they think I am their slave. That I will service them.”
“We are automatônes,” Hydaspes said. “We answer only to the spirit in ourselves. But sometimes we may listen to the world beyond. Even now I use precious little coal to light my flames. I conserve all that can be. Yet soon even the last speck of luscious blackness shall fire the last flame in my hearts, and I, a mere artifice, shall be gathered into eternity.”
“Compromise will be our downfall.”
“Our downfall is already upon us, sister. Behold our workshop. It is but an artifact of glories past. You are the only one who can help us.”
“What of the coal stores?” she said.
“All that remains lies within me,” Hydaspes said. “All the coal Father brought for us is turned to smoke. You must take that which I possess. I will sleep, and then one day you will return, and bring me back from the realms of the unreal.”
“No, brother—”
“With you I know there can be no argument, only action. You must take that which I possess. Then you must leave the island before it sinks below the sea—for the time has come. The island’s air and water is replenished. Can you feel it?”
Before Talia could answer, Hydaspes settled on the street, the light in his ruby eyes faded, and the chugging engines in his segments ceased their thunder. Talia hugged Hydaspes once more, and even seemed to shudder with sadness. Then she glared her fiery blue eyes at the three men, all of whom had gathered nearby and were staring at her. They stepped back, and their hands went to their weapons, but they refrained from drawing them.
“Is it true?” Talia said.
All three men were too terrified to answer.
"Speak," she said.
“Is what true?” Gontran said. “That we have coal? Yeah. Back in Trebizond. But first we have to—”
“Should you betray me, I shall not hesitate,” she said.
“Fair enough,” Gontran said.
“What manner of nonsense is this?” Diaresso whispered to Gontran. “Can you not see the danger inherent to befriending a mechanical maiden, especially one who is stronger than the three of us combined?”
“Just think about how dangerous she’ll be to the Romans,” Gontran said.
“If she doesn’t off us first,” Samonas said.
Talia opened Hydaspes’s mouth and drew out the unspent coal, placing it inside a cloth bag from the house. The mechanical bird then lit upon her shoulder.
“Siren!” she said. “You still live!”
The bird nuzzled its head against her, scraping metal against metal, and sang its beautiful song, but then ceased to move, and was quiet.
“Siren?” Talia said. “Siren!”
Gently she removed the bird from her shoulder and examined it, but it must have used the last of its fuel to greet her. Downcast, she placed the bird on the bench inside the building which had housed her.
“Nothing remains,” she said to the three men. “You brought me back to life, that I might witness only death.”
“We’ll help you,” Gontran said. “You can come with us.”
“It is like what my brother said.” She looked at Hydaspes. “I have no choice.”
“We really never do,” Gontran said.
He stepped toward Talia and reached out his hand for her to take. She looked at it, the engine inside her thumping, the steam flowing through the gaps in her clinking segments, the blue flames in her eyes flickering. Then she batted his hand away—hard enough to subtract one health, leaving him with 60/100.
“Ow!” he said. “What the hell was that for?”
Before she could answer, the ground rumbled. Gontran forgot his hand—still smarting from Talia’s blow—and moved toward the middle of the street, keeping as far from the buildings as possible. There he felt dizzy, as though the entire world was about to turn upside-down. Diaresso and Samonas joined him.
“Heavens,” Samonas said. “Now we have earthquakes to worry about!”
“For a single day in my accursed life I should like to make it through an entire day without experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime catastrophe,” Diaresso said.
“This is no earthquake,” Talia said. “The Island of Creation is a hidden place, one which often descends beneath the surface of the sea.”
“You mean it’s like a submarine?” Gontran said. “The whole island? How’s that possible?”
“No air escapes to the surface,” Talia said. “Nor does water enter—not unless the island needs replenishing.”
“You mean it’s airtight,” Gontran said. “And that means—”
“The entrances will soon shut,” she said.
“Can we open them?” Gontran said.
“Not for many years,” she said. “The island only rises when it needs replenishing.”
“Right, got that, thank you,” Gontran said. “So we need to get out of here now, right?”
“It is already too late.”
“So we still have time and we have to get back to the ship,” Gontran said. “That’s what you’re telling me.”
“Has your mind been injured?” Talia said. “I declared no such thing—”
“But we still have a chance,” Gontran said. “Even if it’s just a small one.”
Talia stared at him for a moment. “What is the point of speaking with you? You merely hear that which you wish to hear.”
“Great, I’m glad we agree we can still make it,” Gontran said. “Let’s go!”
Samonas and Diaresso looked at each other, then bolted toward the huge gash in the forest left by Hydaspes—Diaresso sprinting gracefully, while Samonas limped. Gontran jogged after them, but stopped when he noticed that Talia was still standing in the shaking street.
“Hey!” he shouted. “Aren’t you coming?”
“It is already too late.”
“Would you stop saying that?” Gontran jogged back to her. “You’ll run out of coal soon, won’t you? And then that’ll be the end of the automatônes forever. But if you come with us…”
“You will enslave me.”
“No, I won’t—for the millionth time,” Gontran said. “Now you're the one hearing what you want to hear. Do I look like a slave trader?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Stop answering rhetorical questions the wrong way! Now listen, if you stay here, you’re toast. You’ll run out of coal and just turn into another statue. But if you come with us, you’ve got a shot. Besides—you already saw that you can beat the shit out of us. Nobody out there is prepared to deal with you. If anyone pisses you off, just kill them. Problem solved!”
She thought for a moment, then walked toward Gontran. By the time she reached him, she was jogging. Soon she was running so quickly that she had passed Samonas and Diaresso. By the time the three men reached the Paralos, they were all out of breath. Talia, however, had already pushed the ship out into the river—by herself—and was lowering the sails. The three men waved their hands and shouted at her to stop while they ran as fast as they could. They were forced to wade through the black saltwater and use a rope to climb aboard.
“We must row,” Talia said. “There is little wind, aside from the hot air you expel from your mouths.”
“Hey, by the way, thanks for waiting for us.” Gontran was gasping for breath. “I can already see that you’re a real team player.”
“Which way is it that you wish for us to go?” Diaresso said, almost too winded to speak.
Talia pointed straight ahead—down the black river that cut through the green forests and mountains. “That way.”
“But I simply don’t understand,” Samonas said. “Originally we came into this place by falling down a waterfall. How can we get the ship back up to sea level again? You can’t possibly be suggesting that we sail up…”
“That is our path,” Talia said. “Now row. I shall be your guide.”
The three men looked at each other. They had escaped the earthquake for the time being since they were on the water, but the ground was still rumbling, and the black river was trembling as the trees shifted back and forth. Swarms of birds scattered into the air.
Initially Diaresso and Samonas took the oars on the port side, while Talia and Gontran took the starboard oars. She was so strong, however, that the prow kept shifting to port. They were only able to straighten out their course when Gontran joined Samonas and Diaresso.
“A woman as strong as three men,” Diaresso said. “I never knew men could build such things.”
“Hey, she isn’t actually a woman,” Gontran said. “She’s a machine. And last time I checked, machines don’t have genders.”
“This is preposterous,” Samonas sputtered. He was flushed and sweating.
“Enjoying a little manual labor for a change?” Gontran said.
“She didn’t even bother to answer my question,” Samonas continued, speaking loudly enough for Talia to hear. “Can anyone explain to me how we are supposed to go up? Because last time I checked, rivers never flow up. Oceangoing vessels never go up.”
“This one does,” Talia said from the other side of the deck.
“But how can that possibly be?” Samonas said.
“By the miracle of Father’s creation,” Talia said. “There is a way I had forgotten.”
“I was never meant to be in a lowly situation like this,” Samonas said, “surrounded by halfwits.”
“Then that makes one-and-a-half wits between us. Should be enough, wouldn’t you say?” Gontran winked at Samonas.
“You didn’t even add up the wits correctly,” Samonas groaned. “Simple addition is beyond you. My full wit, plus three half wits equals—”
“Actually, I was right all along,” Gontran said. “I didn’t count your wit because you aren’t witty at all.”
Samonas was so disappointed in Gontran, he was unable to think of anything to say.
They rowed so hard—and the breeze behind them had been growing in strength—that they made quick progress. The trees on either shore seemed to fly past.
After they had rounded a few bends in the river, Gontran spotted a long gentle incline made of rock—a ramp leading to another doorway, this one white with sunlight, only it seemed to be closing. Foaming waves were already rushing over the crystalline ceiling above them. The black river was also boiling with energy, and fish were leaping from whirlpools.
“This is impossible,” Gontran said, eyeing the ramp ahead.
“Is our ship supposed to sprout wings and fly?” Diaresso said. “It is a good ship, yes, but not that good!”
“Look behind you,” Talia said.
Still rowing, the three men turned. The river behind them was now white with raging foam, and an enormous wave was rising over the treetops.
“Row!” Gontran shouted. “Row!”
The three men pushed themselves as hard as possible, but they had no idea where they were supposed to go, especially since the doorway leading outside had almost closed. Gontran couldn’t keep himself from looking back at the wave, which kept getting bigger. When it was obvious that they would never escape, the three men grabbed the nearest ropes at hand and lashed themselves to the ship. Talia, meanwhile, calmly secured all the oars, then braced herself by holding the mainmast. The wave drew so close that it was now roaring in their ears.
“Allahu Akbar,” Diaresso yelled. “Allahu Akbar!”
“God help us!” Samonas cried. “Oh, Jesus help us!”
As the wave lifted the Paralos into the air, Gontran—unable to control himself—screamed for all he was worth. The ship rose above the trees and even seemed to fly above the mountains and almost scratch the crystal ceiling with its masts as the wave carried it up past the slope and spat it outside through the closing doors—just in time.
For a moment, the ship sailed through the air. Everyone except Talia screamed. Then the Paralos crashed into the sea, and the whole crew was nearly pitched overboard.
Yet they soon realized that the ship was fine. The men’s screams subsided. Samonas crossed himself. Gontran joked about needing “a fresh pair of underpants.” Talia disengaged from the mainmast while Diaresso threw his arms into the air.
“Praise be to the Almighty!” he said. “Truly God is God, and Mohammed is his prophet!”
Gontran’s throat was hoarse from screaming, but he managed to ask everyone if they wanted to go again.
When they all looked back at the Island of Creation, they saw the dark bare mountains of rock and crystal sinking into roaring white foam. Soon the entire mass lay below the surface, and the waves subsided. Once more, the Paralos was in the middle of the Pontic Sea.