“Truly,” said the fux.
“What does it mean?”
Why, it means the World,” said Dinoov. “What else?”
“Sanoon,” Morrissey said. “It’s a beautiful name.”
The earthquake was thirty minutes away—plus or minus a little. Sometime in the past hour the white suns had disappeared behind Argo. Morrissey had not noticed that. But now, he heard a low rumbling roar, and then he felt a strange trembling in the ground, as though something mighty were stirring beneath his feet and would burst shortly into wakefulness. Not far offshore terrible waves rose and crashed.
Calmly Morrissey said, “This is it, I think.”
Overhead a dozen gleaming balloons soared and bobbed in a dance that looked much like a dance of triumph.
There was thunder in the air and a writhing in the heart of the world. In another moment the full force of the quake would be upon them and the crust of the planet would quiver and the first awful tremors would rip the land apart and the sea would rise up and cover the coast. Morrissey began to weep, and not out of fear. He managed a smile. “The cycle’s complete, Dinoov. Out of Medea’s ruins Sanoon will rise. The place is yours again at last.”