Again, Ladro cast a look at Musa, then he caught the seaman by the arm,
pulling him aside. The two engaged in a low-toned conversation,
directing quick glances at Musa. At last, the officer nodded and went
aft, to approach one of the slaves of Kondaro.
Musa started across the deck to the ladder, his heart thudding
painfully. Surely, he thought, he had done nothing to offend even the
most particular of deities. Yet, the implications of Ladro's glances and
his conversation with the ship's officer were too obvious for even the
dullest to misinterpret. Musa took a long, shuddering breath.
His fears on that other day had been well grounded, then.
He gazed at the lowering sky, then out at the waves. Where could a lone,
friendless man find help in this waste of wind and water?
Slowly, he climbed down the ladder leading to his tiny cubicle.
Once inside, he again started checking over his personal items. There
was nothing there to help. Hopelessly, he looked at the collection in
the chest, then he got out a scroll of prose and went to the central
table to read in an effort to clear his mind of the immediate
circumstances.
Minutes later, he went back to his bunk and threw the scroll aside.
Possibly, he was just imagining that he was the target of a plot.
Possibly there was a real sea god named Kondaro--an omnipotent sea
deity, who could tell when persons within his domain were too curious,
or harbored impious thoughts, and who was capable of influencing the
actions of the faithful.
Possibly, his opinions of the priesthood had been noted and had
offended. Or, perhaps, that peculiar little device he had seen a priest
studying was capable of warning the god that it had been profaned by an
unsanctified gaze. Possibly, this storm was really the result of such a
warning. He was sure the priest hadn't seen him, but it could be that
the device itself might--
Musa threw himself on his bunk.
* * * * *
A deep voice resonated through the room.
"Musa of Karth," it said, "my master, Dontor, desires your presence on
deck."
Musa came to his feet. Two of the slaves of Kondaro stood close by,
swords in hand. One beckoned, then turned. Musa followed him into the
short passage, and up the ladder. As they gained the deck, the small
procession turned aft, to face the senior priest.
Dontor stood on the raised after deck, just in front of the helmsman.
The wind tugged at his gold and crimson robe, carrying it away from his
body, so that it rippled like a flag, and exposed the bright blue
trousers and jacket. Dontor, chief priest of the _Bordeklu_, stood
immobile, his arms folded, his feet braced against the sway of his
vessel. As the trio below him stopped, he frowned down at them.
"Musa, of Karth," he intoned, "it has been revealed to me that you have
displayed undue curiosity as to the inner mysteries of the worship of
the Great God. In your conversations, you have hinted at knowledge
forbidden any but the initiated.
"You came to us, a stranger, and we trusted you. But now, we are all
faced with the wrath of the Great One as a result of your impieties. A
sacrifice, and only a sacrifice, will appease this wrath. Can you name
any reason why we should protect you further, at the expense of our own
lives? What say you?"
Musa stared up at him. The cotton in his throat had suddenly become
thick, and intensely bitter. Unsuccessfully, he tried to swallow, and a
mental flash told him that whatever he said, he was already convicted.
Regardless of what defense he might offer, he knew he would be condemned
to whatever punishment these people decided to deal out to him. And that
punishment, he realized, would be death. He straightened proudly.
"Oh, priest," he said thickly, "I am guilty of no crime. You, however,
are about to commit a serious crime, which is beyond my power to
prevent." He hesitated, then continued. "Be warned, however, that if
there are any real gods above or below, you will receive punishment. The
gods, unlike men, are just!"
Aware of sudden motion in his direction, he rapidly finished.
"So, make your sacrifice, and then see if you can save your vessel from
the natural forces of wind and water."
The priest stiffened angrily.
"Blasphemy," he said. "Blasphemy, of the worst sort." He looked away
from Musa. "I believe that in this case, the Great One will require the
ship's company to deal with you in their own way, that they may be
purged of any contamination due to your presence." He raised his arms.
"Oh, Great Kondaro, Lord of all the seas, and the things within the
seas," he began.
Musa evaded the two slaves with a quick weave of his shoulders. Covering
the distance to the side of the ship with a few quick steps, he jumped
over the rail. As he fell, the wind tore at him, and his windmilling
arms and legs failed to find any purchase to right him.
He hit the water with a splash and concussion that nearly knocked the
breath from his body, and promptly sank. As the water closed over his
head, he struck out with hands and feet in an effort to climb again to
light and air. His head broke the surface, and he flailed the water in
an effort to keep his nose in air. The ship was drawing away from him,
its storm sails set.
As he struggled in the water, he wondered if it was worth while. After
all, he had only to allow himself to sink, and all his troubles would be
over shortly. Wouldn't it be easier to do this than to continue
torturing himself with a hopeless fight?
Too, he wondered if he had been right in leaving the ship, but he
quickly dismissed that thought. The sea was impersonal, neither cruel
nor kind. It was far better, he thought, to surrender to the forces of
nature than to subject himself to the viciousness of angry men.
Suddenly, a constraining force seized him. He instinctively fought to
free himself, then realized that he was being drawn upward, out of the
water. Possibly, he thought, the Great One wanted to speak to him.
* * * * *
He rose swiftly through the air, passed through complete darkness for an
instant, then found himself in a small room. Two men stood facing him,
both of them vaguely familiar. As his mind refocused, Musa recognized
the peddler of amulets, then the herder to whom he had once sold a
sword. They were strangely familiar, but they were in strange costumes.
He stared at them.
"Well, Musa," said the herder. "I see you got into trouble."
Musa blinked. "Who are you?" he demanded. "How do you know of my
affairs?"
The peddler of amulets grinned. "Why, we are old companions, Musa," he
said. "Of course, you have forgotten us, but we never forgot you." He
pointed.
"This is Resident Guardsman Lanko. I am Banasel, also of the Stellar
Guard. Our job is to prevent just such situations as the one you just
found yourself in." His grin faded. "That, and a few other things."