The Plains of Passage - Jean M. Auel [69]
They stopped, and Ayla dismounted to let Whinney rest. Jondalar joined her and they stood side by side trying to see into the darkness below. Lightning flashed, but it was farther away, and the thunder followed later in a low growl. In a dazed state, they stared out over the black chasm of the valley, knowing that some great destruction was taking place though they could see nothing. They realized they had barely escaped a terrible disaster, but they didn’t yet comprehend its dimensions.
Ayla felt a strange prickly sensation on her scalp and heard a faint crackling. Her nose crinkled at the acrid smell of ozone; it was a peculiar burning odor, but not of fire, nothing as earthy as that. Suddenly it occurred to her that it must be the smell of the streaking fire in the sky. Then she opened her eyes in wonder and fear and, in a moment of panic, grabbed for Jondalar. A tall pine, rooted in the slope below, but sheltered from the cutting winds by a rocky outcrop and projecting high above the steppes, glowed with an eerie blue light.
He put his arm around her, wanting to protect her, but he felt the same sensations, and fears, and knew these otherworldly fires were beyond his control. He could only hold her close. Then, in an awesome display, a jagged crackling bolt arced across the glowing clouds, branched out into a network of fiery darts, and in a blinding flash leaped down and speared the tall pine, illuminating the valley and the steppes with the clarity of noon. Ayla started at the sharp crack, so loud it left her ears ringing, and she cringed as the booming roar reverberated across the sky. In that moment of radiance they saw the destruction they had so narrowly escaped.
The green valley was ravaged. The entire level floor was a heavy, swirling maelstrom. Opposite them, on the far slope, a mudslide had piled a jumble of boulders and fallen trees halfway across the wild waters, leaving a raw scar of reddish soil exposed.
The cause of the torrential onslaught was a set of circumstances not unusual. It had begun in the mountains to the west, and with atmospheric depressions over the inland sea; warm, moisture-laden air had swirled upward and condensed into huge billowing clouds with white windblown tops that hung stalled and motionless over the rocky hills. This warm air had been invaded by a cold front, and the turbulence of the resulting combination had created a thunderstorm of uncommon intensity.
The rains had poured from the bloated skies, disgorging into dips and hollows that gushed into creeks, burst over rocks, and surged into streams overfilling with frantic haste. Gathering momentum, the tumultuous water, abetted by the continuing deluge, raged down the steep hills, fountained over barriers, and crashed into sister streams, joining together into walls of rampaging, devastating force.
When the flash flood reached the green dell, it erupted over the waterfall and, with a ravenous roar, engulfed the entire valley, but the lush, verdant depression held a surprise for the churning waters. During the era, extensive movements of the earth were uplifting the land, raising the level of the small inland sea to the south, and opening passageways to an even larger sea farther south. Within recent decades, the uplift had closed off the valley, forming a shallow basin, which had been filled by the river, creating a small lake behind the natural dam. But an outlet had broken through a few years before and drained the small reservoir of water, leaving in its wake moisture enough for a wooded valley in the middle of the dry steppes.
A second mudslide, farther downstream, had dammed the outlet channel again, containing the raging floodwaters within the confines of the valley and causing a backwash. Jondalar thought the scene below must have come from some nightmare. He could