She knew this night would injure humanity. It would be an injury from which there would be no recovery. She feared it might also be an end from which there would be no resurrection. She feared that this night would become the end of history, and that, hours from now, her land and her people would no longer exist.

It had been three days since she had received the report foretelling this event. At first, she had not recognized the message for what it was. Convincing others of its meaning had become her most important challenge.

Now, the land shook to its core. Every few moments Merla felt as if she were plummeting into an abyss. The land had become too fragile and likely would not last beyond the hard, unyielding light of sunrise.

Within the last hour, a great noise had come down on the city with the force of an avalanche. So many voices tried to hide within the clamor, that no scrap of peace could be found. Overhead, the sky roiled with clouds of smoke and ash, and distant Keesha glowed from the exploding embers within its furnace.

The thick air made it hard to see. Beyond the Endrelu Range's closest peaks, there may have been other mountains that also had started to spew the hot blood of earth.

This night had become bright with chaos. What the landscape lacked in sunlight, it made up with motion. Everyone who still felt that motion was left horribly awake.

Merla could not be sure that all the passengers under her care would escape with their lives. The ground on which they stood could devour them at any moment.

Those waiting for the next transport shook with each new wave of earth and stone, now more visible and frequent. Everyone covered their faces to strain out the choking dust and to mask the smell of sulfur. And, with the night sky covered by a poisonous shroud, the heavens seemed to be devouring them as well. Of all the stars, only those near the horizon were still visible — each a distant glimmer of fading hope.

Merla felt far too old to be holding panic at bay. Yet it was up to her to solve each little problem. So many of them threatened to strand those not yet on their way to safety. So many things had already gone wrong, that Merla kept a watchful eye to make every second count toward their escape.

The nearby flyer was full, but Gheor was having trouble with the door latch. The young man fumbled with the handle, but too slowly for Merla's liking. She rushed him and with a rude bump shoved him away. After jerking the door closed, she secured the latch.

Gheor stood dazed. He mumbled something, but Merla ignored him.

She pointed at the pilot and waved him on. As the flyer lifted and accelerated toward the East, she turned to Gheor and pointed to the next transport, now landed. "Go!"

Overhead, dry lightning stabbed across the sky. Moments later, thunder shook the air, adding to the already painful noise.

By now, passengers were boarding the next transport, but Merla spotted another problem. One older man blocked others with a large trunk carried by two slaves. Behind him, everyone looked panicked. Merla knew that panic could easily turn into mayhem.

Locking glances with the old man, Merla saw great pain in his eyes. And fear. There was fear of the danger surrounding them, certainly, but also a fear of losing the things that gave his life meaning.

Merla gritted and headed straight for the trunk. She grabbed a handle, leaned away, and attempted to run with the trunk in tow. This sent both slaves to the ground, and Merla barely escaped being crushed.

Before the trunk's owner could speak, Merla had regained her balance. She pointed at the trunk. "Touch that and you stay here with it." Turning to the slaves, she waved them on board. "Quickly! Don't be left behind."

Meanwhile, Gheor helped a father and his two frightened children around the old man and onto the flyer.

The trunk's owner looked at Merla, his eyes hardening. He glanced at his trunk, and finally back at Merla. Before he could speak, a deafening crack turned his attention toward a new break in the ground. It stood less than fifteen meters away.

His body became rigid, then suddenly limp. No longer did his eyes have focus. With wobbling knees and trembling hands, he inched toward the hatch and boarded.

A few more entered the flyer, filling it to capacity. Gheor latched its door, just as another transport landed. He waved to the pilot of the fully loaded aircraft then ran to help the last batch of passengers.

Ever watchful, Merla took the briefest moment to look up from her charges. A few miles away, the orange glow of Mount Keesha reflected dimly in the broad circular canals of the capital. There, on the circular islands, stood the center of the world. Some lights still shown in the government buildings.

Much closer, but beyond the compound, a cluster of lights caught Merla's attention. She recognized the women carrying the lanterns by their uniforms. Imperial troops! She forced down a new panic. There's no room. Damn them! This flyer has no room for any of them.

"Quickly!" she yelled to the remaining passengers. Rhythm, she cautioned herself. Push too hard, somebody trips and we're all lost. If those troops get here before we take off, the transport will have a new set of passengers.

The ground lurched. She steeled herself to maintain her balance, then looked again in the direction of the compound entrance.

Abruptly, the massive stone arch framing that entrance twisted awkwardly, then imploded. The few who made it through continued up the steps toward the boarding refugees.

As Merla turned her attention back to her wards, a bright streak flashed above the flyer.

They're shooting! Merla's face stiffened. One pulse crystal aimed at the wrong spot and no one leaves.

Three people left. Two... one. "Gheor!" She tilted her head toward the hatch. He hesitated, but only for a moment, and Merla rushed him into the flyer.

One problem remained: securing the hatch. From her pocket Merla retrieved a loop of rope and tightened it on the latch handle. In the same moment, she stepped into the flyer, just as a flash of lightning lit up the sky.

As Merla lowered the door, she yelled to the pilot to take off. Next, she dropped knees first to the deck. Jamming her finger into the hatch's locking channel, she threaded the rope around the locking pin.

Without inertia's benefit, she could not tell if the pilot had heard her first command. She had to make certain.

"Go — go — GO!"

The pilot's voice boomed over the noise in the city below. "Yes! On our way!"

Now, all her attention could focus on tying off the door. She jerked and tugged at the rope to build a secure knot, her knuckles banging into metal. Yet none of the pain reached her.

Finally, she was done. As she stood, Merla felt the sting of a pulse blast clawing at her side. She touched the wound, then lifted her hand to look at the warm, sticky liquid covering it.

Her face tilted sideways and wrinkled softly. Then she grinned, her eyes searching. There were questions that had seemed important moments before, but the words escaped her. She frowned at her inability to find them.

This was no time for anyone to be playing pranks. Are we airborne? she thought, just as her knees hit the deck plating.

"Your Eminence!" said one of the passengers.

Now, she felt light, as though she were flying, naked against the cool winds above the clouds. The chill of the metal decking against her face was soothing. And if she felt it more carefully, the voices around her would fade into the background, becoming a faint buzz.

One question pressed her for an answer. Have I done enough?

Gradually, concerns of the present dissolved around her. She found herself in the coastal foothills of northwest Atlan working a dig. There, as an archaeologist, she had been pondering the demise of a far earlier civilization. And it was there that she had discovered the end was near.