People in front of Macao were removing their hats, whimpering, falling to their knees.

She was the most beautiful woman Macao had ever seen. And there was something eerily familiar about her.

The power that ran through the night, that brightened the skies, ran into Macao’s mind. And she knew who the woman was.

Lykonda.

Goddess of the hunt. Patroness of the arts. Protector of Brackel.

Another being who should not exist.

But in that moment of darkness and confusion and fear, Macao welcomed her into her heart.

THE GODDESS SEEMED detached from the physical world. The wind pulled at the trees, but her garments remained unruffled. The rain sparkled when it touched her aura, but never seemed to touch her.

In all that assemblage, no one spoke.

Macao heard the boom of the distant surf and somewhere behind her the brief cackle of an oona. And she realized this was the supreme moment of her life. For the first time, she embraced the faith of the Intigo, and knew the joy that came with it.

She was vaguely aware that people were still coming into the park, but how big the crowd might have become, she could not have said. Nor did she care.

And then, shattering the mood, a voice: “O Goddess, why have you come among your servants?” The voice was male, with a strange accent. She was annoyed that anybody would presume to speak. And she thought it a voice she had heard before.

The light changed subtly, and Macao saw that the goddess’s blouse was ripped, her leggings torn. And there was a smear on her right cheek that looked suspiciously like blood.

Lykonda switched the torch to her left hand and beckoned with the right. “Hear my words,” she said. “A great storm is coming. You have seen it now for many months. We have been engaged with it, trying to subdue it, and we have reduced its power. But know that even we cannot vanquish it altogether, and you must now look to your safety.”

The crowd stirred. Some began to sob. Cries and moans went up.

“The waters will rise and flow across the land.”

More lamentations.

“Take your family and your friends and hurry to high ground. Do not panic. There is time, but you must leave the city quickly. This is your last night before the storm breaks over you. Stay away from the city until the danger is past. Take supplies for six days.”

“Goddess.” It was the oddly accented voice again. “Many of us are old and weak and cannot make the trek you describe.” Macao could not see who was speaking. But she knew the voice.

“Be of good courage. You will not see me, but I will be with you.”

The whimpers turned to cries of thanks.

And then, abruptly, the light faded and went out, and Lykonda was gone.

IN BRACKEL, PARSY the librarian helped his kirma, his brother-husbands, get their twenty-two spouses to safety. He had witnessed, had been stunned by, the appearance of the goddess. Who would have thought such things actually happened? But he was, if anything, a prudent man. Having heard her words, he needed no additional encouragement.

Until this night, although he assumed the gods existed somewhere, that they kept the stars moving and brought the seasons and the harvest, he’d never thought much about them. To him, they tended to be occasional characters in the dramas, showing up to give advice, to move the plot along, to teach a much-needed lesson. He would be more cautious in the future. Whatever years were given him, he would reverence the gods and their ways, and he would walk in righteousness.

He stood on the crest of a hill within sight of Brackel. The roads between the city and the surrounding hills were narrow, and they were choked with the fleeing population. The dawn was near, although he didn’t expect to be able to see the sun. The rain had finally stopped, but it had gotten cool. The children were wrapped in skins, and the new day would be long and trying. But they would get through it. How could they not, if Lykonda walked with them?

The signs of the coming hazard were everywhere: The wind was rising, the tide was unnaturally high, and the rivers were beginning to flood. Parsy had long since discovered that prudence always suggested he assume the worst, and that if he did so, he would seldom be either surprised or disappointed. So he had ordered his family to bring everything they could carry. Prepare for a siege on the hilltops. And get high. No matter that the climb was tiring.

Now it was done, and they were as safe as he could make them. So it was time to consider his second duty. “Who will come with me?” he asked.

“Let them go,” said Kasha, his special mate, the woman with whom he shared his innermost thoughts. “In the end, they are only scrolls. They are not worth your life.”

“You won’t be able to get through that,” said Chubolat, signifying the refugees pouring out of the city. Chubolat occasionally worked at the library.

“I have no choice,” he said. “It is my responsibility.”

Tupelo came forward and stood by his side. Reluctantly, but he came. And then Kasha. “Where you go, I will go,” he said.

“No. I cannot allow it.”

“You cannot stop me.”

“And I,” said Yakkim, with whom he spent so many of his evenings in conversation about the ancients.

And brown-eyed Chola. And Kamah, who was the most timid of all. And Lokar, who had never read anything in his life.

“I only need two,” he said.

BLACK CAT REPORT

Ron, it’s becoming hard to see any separation between the cloud and the planet. The bulk of it is over ocean at the moment. Our sensors indicate that rock and dust are being hurled into the atmosphere, that conditions in the atmosphere are becoming, to say the least, turbulent.

The good news is that the Goompah cities are moving away from it, out onto the other side of the world. For the moment, at least, they’re shielded. They’re beginning to get some flooding, but other than that they’re still in pretty good shape. Tonight will be critical, Ron, when the Goompahs rotate into the heart of the storm.

This is Rose Beetem reporting from Lookout.

Avery Whitlock’s Notebooks

It has been the fashion since Darwin to attack religious belief on grounds that it is oppressive, that it closes the mind, that it leads to intolerance and often to violence. And not least of all, that most of the faiths are necessarily wrong, as they contend against each other.

Yet there is much that is ennobling in the belief that there is, after all, a higher power. That there is a purpose to existence. That we owe loyalty to something greater than ourselves. And it strikes me that, even when we get the details wrong, that belief can produce a happy result.

On the ground between T’Mingletep and Savakol.

Monday, December 15.

“HOW COULD YOU tell them that?” demanded Julie.

“How could I tell them what?”

“That the goddess would be with them. They’re on their own, and they’ll find that out quickly enough.”

Digger shook his head. “She’ll be with them,” he said. “They’ll discover they’re stronger and more capable than they ever thought. Anyhow, what would you have done? Tell them to go ahead and leave Grandma?”

Pictures were coming in. Throughout Savakol and the cities of the Triad in the south, in Saniusar and Mandigol and Hopgop in the north, across the midbelt of the Intigo, the Goompahs were on the move. Lykonda was appearing outside cafés and metalworking shops, theaters and public buildings, on bridges and docks. In Roka, she stood above the incoming tide; in Kagly, she showed up in the private home of the squant, a member of the town council. At T’Mingletep she took over the yardarm of a long-beached schooner. In Mandigol she stood on a river. Everywhere the word went through the streets. They got some interference from the storms, and occasionally the goddess broke up into an eruption of color. But it was working. They chose their times carefully, initiating the programs when the rains slackened and the lightning died down. To the Goompahs it must have seemed that the elements were bowing to her will.

“Get to high ground.”

It was Kellie’s contralto. With, he thought, some majesty mixed in.

“I will be with you.”

THE WIND ROSE during the night.

They flew over Kagly, north up the coast. The shoreline curved almost due west between Kagly and Avapol, which was about forty kilometers away. There were a number of islands. Lykonda had appeared on one, and they noted with satisfaction that the sea was full of lights. A small flotilla was moving back and forth between the islands and the mainland. The word was getting around.

Near dawn they hovered over Kulnar and watched cold, tired masses of Goompahs plodding out of the city and climbing into the hills. The storm abated and the sky became quiet, but it was still heavy with Marge’s clouds, cloaking the horror that hung over their heads.

The isthmus road was full of moving lights. The countryside, the crests of hills, trails leading into the uplands, were all alive with traffic. In the harbors, ships were pulling out, making for deep water.

Bill relayed pictures of the omega. It was coming alive, enormous lightning bolts rippling through it, crashing down into Lookout’s upper atmosphere. The sun rose, and the bolts brightened the western sky. But they were falling behind as the isthmus rode into the dawn.

“Last day,” said Julie, shivering.

Rain continued to fall in varying degrees of intensity across the peninsula. “This is the sort of thing,” Whit said, “that constitutes the stuff of legends.”

“You mean they’ll tell this story to their grandkids,” said Julie.

Digger smiled. “And nobody who wasn’t here will believe it.”

“Don’t be too sure,” said Whit. “One day this might all become part of a sacred scripture.”

“Not on this world,” insisted Digger. “I keep remembering a sign we saw at one of the schools. ‘Think for yourself.’ If they can really push that, I doubt any of their grandkids will believe Lykonda actually showed up.”

“Pity,” said Julie. “It’s a lovely story.”

Bill’s features showed up on-screen. “One of the chimneys is down,” he said. “In the south. Near T’Mingletep.”

Much of the western coastline was beginning to flood. Marge got on the circuit. “The cloud is hitting the far side pretty hard,” she said. “The isthmus is already seeing the effects. Look for high winds, maybe tornadoes. God knows. It’ll get worse during the day, and they’ll get hammered tonight. Best for you is to skedaddle. Stay on the day side of the planet. Keep it between you and the omega.”