Sandon let out a breath, took another. It wasn't over yet. Again the ground rose, taking him with it, motion shuddering through his bones. Eyes screwed tightly closed, he opened his mouth and yelled, forcing the air from his lungs, screaming into the storm of motion. Soon, soon it would end. It had to. The ground was still once more. He lay where he was panting, waiting, and waiting. It couldn't be over yet. The ground shuddered gently beneath him, again, once, twice, three times, and then all was quiet. That might have been the last of it. Very tentatively, he raised his upper body, ready to throw himself flat at the first sign of anything more.
Then came the noises. A padder screamed, then voices, called queries, the sound of feet and more shadows casting bizarre angles against the tent walls. Cautiously he poked his head outside.
One wagon lay overturned. Off on the tether line, a padder lay on the ground, its legs splayed. One or two tents had fallen, but for the most part, everything seemed intact. It hadn't been too bad then. Within the tent's confines, it had seemed enormous, but there was no sense of scale in such a confined space. In small groups and singly, Atavists, both men and women, and children too, Sandon noticed, wandered between the tents and wagons inspecting for damage. An older Atavist in homespun headed purposefully toward the tether line, a broad flat knife in his hand. Sandon looked away, not wanting to watch what was about to happen. A group of men clustered about the side of the overturned wagon, already preparing to right it. They grouped evenly around the base, around the set of wheels that faced skyward and around its ends. Then, as one, they heaved, pulling it upright. The wheels held, but its roof sagged on one side where the struts had been cracked by its impact with the ground. Sandon stood and watched, not wanting to get in the way.
"Sandon, it is you. Are you all right?"
It was Alise. He turned to face her, one eye still on the proceedings around the damaged wagon. "Yes, I think so. Thanks. But I don't think it's done my head any good."
A concerned look flickered across her face, and then she gave a shy smile and nodded. He gave a short laugh in return, then immediately wished he hadn't. "But you shouldn't be worrying about me. What about the others? Is everyone unhurt?"
She nodded, and then glanced over toward the tether line. "Yes, except for, well, whatever is the will of the Prophet." She looked back at him. "Come," she said. "You must drink another dose and keep calm."
"But isn't there anything I can do?"
"Everything will be taken care of. Now come with me."
Feeling useless, he did as he was told. The ache in his head and the throbbing through his face and body were back. She was right. He was in no real position to argue. He glanced up at the sky, still covered in thick cloud, marked by the occasional flash of light. Storm Season was going to be heavy this cycle. A quake of that force up here and so early did not bode well. Storm activity often occurred early, especially on the Yarik plateau, but this storm looked ugly. So far, the winds had not started, but they could come at any time. He turned his attention to Alise who walked unhurriedly in front of him. He wondered whether she was keeping her pace slow to spare him. It was not until they reached her wagon that she finally turned and looked at him again.
"Sandon Yl Aris. It is a strange name," she said, then gave a little frown, climbed the steps to her wagon and disappeared inside, beckoning him to follow.
#
The next few days progressed in much the same fashion. Sandon either stood or lay around feeling completely useless. They rode out the storm, and Sandon found himself poring for hour after hour over the text in the large book Badrae had left with him. At intervals seemingly known only to Alise, she would appear, escorting him to her wagon for more of the restorative brew. Once or twice, she washed the paste away from his face, and then carefully reapplied it.
