The Last Winter

Prolog

An old woman crushes a black root in a stone bowl. She dips her finger in the root’s juice and rubs the finger inside her nose. Then she breathes in sharply through the nose.

Thousands of people are landing on the beaches around the woman, pulling their rickety boats ashore, and gathering around the woman in a large circle on the beach. A small group of people are building a large fire.

All of the boats have landed, and the fire is ready to be set. The refugees sit quiet on the sand.

The woman closes her eyes, black juice dripping out of her nose. Even the ocean quietly awaits her prophecy.

“We have suffered greatly. And we will suffer again. Tens of tens of tens of equinoxes will pass before our suffering finally ends. Before that, there will be every plague on the People that there has ever been, all at once. Food will turn to ash, and forests will turn to swamps, and meadows will turn to deserts, and the winters will fade away. Our suffering has only just begun.

“But after this, the People will be One again, and all the Land will be Theirs again, and there will be a bounty again, as there was in the time before Andir and Audir.”

The woman lights the fire, and the People sing a mournful hymn together.