Hassaleh
When the island fell, it was without warning, an event so early and unexpected that many of the villagers had not yet risen from bed. There had been no momentous lurch, no strange instability at first in that glowing dawn to signal them that Hassaleh had begun falling from the sky, only a sensation of heaviness that blanketed over them and the entire island. The land seemed to stand perfectly still, as the wind began to scream and the dingy clouds race, and the heaviness pressed more firmly, the sleepers who had felt the uncomfortable pressure bearing down on their bodies awoke. All at once the island seemed to rupture from its bottom, quaking and splaying all of its rocky innards onto a field of brown that materialized below. No one on the island had been able to escape that experience.
Those who had been remained asleep were awakened by the jump of their beds and rooms and houses, as everything seemed to leap unanimously around them and pause a moment in the air, only to come crashing haphazardly back down. Bookcases hopped, stumbled, and freed their collection of volumes across the floor upon losing balance. In cabinets stacks of dishes flew up in neat columns together but chipped as they clacked loudly against each other falling down. Rugs flopped limply on the floors, and frightened villagers in their beds were tossed up like the sheets of linen on which they reclined.
Outside, the disorder was not so disruptive or isolated. The impact of the island's fall had driven shock waves to the surface to be absorbed in the streets and the net of thornwood roots that anchored the hard soil to the earth. The ancient stone tiles that lined the streets of Sheratan cracked with the rumbling strain, and the caplins that wandered over them pitched slightly and were thrown into a panic. Dust rose, sand-colored stones dropped out of their places in buildings, people ran for cover.
But even as they threw open their doors, the shaking stopped and island grew still if not quiet. By the slight vibrations in the ground and the far-off sound of rock crashing upon rock, as faint as the sound of stones falling in a canyon, they knew that the island was stable now. And, inexplicably, perched on what did not seem to be their usual murky reddish-violet layer of clouds.
At length the low rumbling faded into silence and the dust clouds cleared. People began to look around, and above caught a sight that had not been seen on Hassaleh for a thousand years, one whose vastness captivated those that hesitated in their doorways. As the haze drew away, a radiant blue sky came forth, growing, spreading deeper and further, expanding until the horizon. It seemed to float over them but not own them, stay close but draw endlessly away, and its infiniteness confounded them. For a moment nothing, no one moved. Then they noticed that with enough craning of their necks, and a hand cupped over their eyes, they could catch glimpses of tiny cloud stacks sailing along in the blue heights above.
It was notice that beyond the island was a massive bowl-shaped crater, long and wide as it was deep. This empty stadium spread around them for leagues and leagues, until it swept up along the sides of the crater, and gave way to bare fields that stretched off in every direction until meeting the sky.
Before long the villagers, who were amazed by such clarity of sky and earth after their thousand years of murky gloom, grew tired of their idle gawking, and turned to survey the damage. No buildings had been toppled, though the old Brierclock leaned precariously to the side, its ropes of thorn swinging. The caplins were still jittery but had settled down enough to form a tight, woolly brigade.
People began to venture out of their homes in their nightclothes, squinting at the unfiltered sunlight, grumbling in surprise. Wooden furniture had cracked, ornaments broke, children been scared out of their wits. This was Hassaleh, a quiet island, were the first indignant words that neighbors spoke to each other, while they each sought out in their friends' homes clutter as terrible as their own.
Although bewildered, they were largely unharmed, and it seemed that the village would need more repairs than first aid. Mostly the people of Sheratan were disoriented. After having their island drop like a rock from the sky, after landing in this bright, barren land and having their households shook up like so many dice, they were a little more than curious to know what had happening to them.
They wouldn't find out, however, for some time yet. The ocean-sized hole in the ground remained unfilled, and their island continued to squat in the giant hole. The sun beat mercilessly upon them every day, and some of the island's faithful thorns shriveled away, retreating into the cooler darkness. Sometimes in the night sky five, sometimes six, islands blotted out the stars above. The villagers, as they cleaned their houses and righted the Brierclock and gave shade to their pitiful plants, often wondered about those black stars.
Would they fall, too? If they did, would they remember Hassaleh, the lost nation?
Twenty years ago Hassaleh had been invaded by the Empire, deemed a waste of them, and thrown away. Its people had kept to themselves since then, much like a child who is slapped and shrinks away from its peers. It seemed that after this strange, unanticipated event, Hassaleh had been thrown into the play pen again. So as they waited, for they knew not what, the quiet island prepared to defend against change.
A/N: So here's my second fic for the seven-day challenge my friend and I are doing. I still have homework to do so I didn't edit it too much (eh, I might go back later and clean it up, who knows), but for the time being, if you spot any typos, grammatical errors, or anything else, please let me know in a review. :D