Pangaea: Unsettled Land

Part One | Chapter One

I

The little girl’s vision was blurred with tears and she could barely see anything but the white of snow as the man returned. The boy sitting next to her did as he was told and continued to watch her. She wiped her eyes on the man’s big coat wrapped around her freezing, wet clothes and looked up as he spoke.

“There are no cracks in the ice,” he said, dusting snow off his shoulders .

“Nobody could have fallen in the lake.” The girl didn’t respond. She knew what she had seen. What she’d heard had been an entirely different matter.

“Dad, are we gonna be able to skate today?” the boy asked.

“Don’t you see your neighbor practically freezing to death? No, son, we’re taking her back home.” He offered a hand to the girl. “Come on. Let’s take you back to your grandma.”

She grabbed his hand and was hoisted into his arms. Her wet sleeves clung around his neck as she looked back at the lake. That horrific episode replayed in her mind over and over.

II
Moments ago...

“Gisela,” a woman called to her young child with arms wrapped at her waist . “We’re here.” Dressed warmly in white parkas, they both sat atop a pale horse. Its hooves kicked up snow as it trotted out into the open. It was winter in the Northern Third, where the winters were always the harshest. As the woman gazed out at their destination, she saw light snow falling onto a frozen lake . The sun hid behind the clouds, but peeked through from time to time as if watching events unfold and anticipating a scene it did not wish to witness. Tall trees surrounded Lake Maesus with branches that trembled with the air’s light breeze before going still. The woman pulled the horse’s reins and it came to a stop as they approached the edge of the lake.

Two beautiful green eyes looked up at her. “Yay! Can we have fun now, Mama?”

She chuckled at her younger reflection. “Yes, we can have fun. First, let me make sure the coast is clear. Come on, hop down.”

Gisela slid off the side of the horse and stuck her landing like an acrobat. Her mother followed and secured the horse by tying its halter to a small metal snap in a nearby tree. They came here so much that she had decided to install it herself last summer . She looked into a small sack attached to the saddle and pulled out a pair of binoculars to peer through.

Gisela huffed, “The lusae don’t even come here, Mama.”

Her mother tuned her out and continued surveying the edges of the vast lake for any sign of movement. The fact that the lusae hardly ever approached the lake was a strange phenomenon, but this was what made it safe for travelers. Even so, Gisela’s mother wanted to be sure the dangerous creatures were nowhere to be found. In fact, this was why she had rode in on horseback. If there were the slightest chance a lusae were about, her wheeler’s loud engine would have stirred them, and she didn’t need the threat they posed. As she gazed through the binoculars, she pressed a button, making the electronic marks and measures on the lens disappear. Her eyes caught sight of an animal on the opposite side of the lake. “Ah! Gisela, come look!”

Gisela trotted over with a puzzled expression and accepted the binoculars from her mother. She turned wildly as she looked through trying to see what all the fuss was about. “Hold still,” her mother said. She put her arms around her daughter and steered her gaze in the right direction. “Look.”

Gisela gasped. On the opposite side of the lake was a ceffyl, or water horse, with its head hanging towards the frozen solid lake. Its coat was the purest of white. Its mane and tail dripped with water. The creature simply tapped its hoof on the frozen edge of water then lifted its gaze towards the sky as liquefied water spouted up into the air and down into its mouth. After a few gulps, its gaze rested straight ahead as if knowing it was being watched. Startled, Gisela pulled the binoculars away, feeling like quite the intruder. She peered through again and saw the ceffyl had fled and the spot on the lake was frozen once more. “It’s gone,” she said.