The Islands of Chaldea. Diana Wynne Jones

      “The animals,” Aunt Beck said, “undoubtedly descend from creatures that fled from the earthquake. Ah, we’re getting somewhere.”

      The trees gave way to big rocks and fluttering grass. I saw harebells there. We went around the largest boulder and saw the sea again beyond us, angrily crashing below on whole piles of rocks. In the distance you could actually see the barrier, like a band of white mist that stretched away in both directions as far as anyone could see. Nobody looked at it though, because there were the remains of buildings in front of us. The walls were not quite as high as my head and made of blocks of sandy-coloured stone. There were beautifully chiselled patterns on them.