The Ananaki Read online

to decide such things? Who are you to rule thus? Bring me the wretch as I commanded!”

  I did not answer, but neither did I move. “You dare disobey the gods?” Ohtolam, as I expected, was infuriated by my refusal, but I had long ago determined never to relinquish one of my crew to the capricious and brutal Ananaki. Even Astarte could be merciless in her displeasure.

  The blows began to fall, yet I remained firm in my refusal. Crouched on the deck, suffering under the lash, I struggled to remain in the proper position of obeisance and mentally thanked my ancestors for allowing me to avoid mention of the man we saved. The Ananaki would have been even more outraged had they realized we lost their precious gems to save the life of a – to them – worthless mortal. If anything, Ohtolam would have beaten me more severely for meddling in the gods’ plans for another.

  Even as I flinched beneath the Ananaki’s invisible scourge, I caught scattered words from a conversation between Ohtolam and Astarte. “—enough!” she hissed. “What to do without… most reliable …If …don’t kill him …more from the mines … no rush … all the time in the world…”

  It would seem she persuaded him, as the blows ceased to fall, and I no longer heard his voice in the air around me. “So, Kasker,” Astarte spoke coolly, “you wish to protect your crew? Is that not a role for the gods?”

  With difficulty, I lifted my head. “It is not my crew I protect,” I lied, hoping she would not detect the untruth, “but my position. I am the master. I would not lose that title despite the stripes.”

  “You creatures,” she said in amusement. “You concern yourselves with the most absurd ideas.” Then her voice turned steely. “So be it. You have been chastised for your disobedience to the great god Ohtolam, but your loss of the cargo remains unpunished. Prepare yourself!”

  And then it came. The second beating was worse than the first – when Astarte becomes angry, she is as cruel as any of the Ananaki; at least Ohtolam, in his rage, forgets what offense you committed and departs as soon as his fury is spent. Astarte, less emotional, is meticulous in recording – and addressing – every slight, no matter how minor.

  Even after the punishment ended, and the whispering faded from the air around me, signaling the gods’ departure, it was some time before I could rise. I had made it as far as my knees when a strong arm gripped me under the shoulder and lifted me to my feet.

  “Nemadon?” I squinted at him through the haze of pain. “What are you doing in here?”

  “The gods are long gone,” he said gruffly, though I saw him cast an uneasy eye upon the altar behind him, “and you need help.”

  “They will not reward you for your kindness,” I warned him. “You are offering succor to someone whom they in their infinite wisdom have seen fit to chastise.”

  “Huh!” he snorted dismissively, but I noted that he had waited until he had dragged me from the Holy of Holies.

  Nemadon helped me to my bed, where Eriel, our old healer, smeared my burns and welts with his unguents. He too was defying the gods with these actions, but when I remonstrated with him, he ignored my words just as had Nemadon. Eriel was a follower of the old ways, and prayed – albeit secretly – to the ancestors. It was their teachings of kindness and charity, rather than the Ananaki ways, that he honored.

  By morning, thanks to Eriel, even the worst of the cuts had crusted over, and I limped from my bed to join Nemadon at the rail.

  “So?” he asked, running a practiced eye over me. “How are you?”

  “May the punishment of the gods help me to see the folly of my ways.” I quoted formally. He turned and spat over the rail, and we shared a grin.

  “Enough, old friend. My skin will heal – eventually. Come, show me this strange fish who has caused such trouble.”

  We walked towards the bow. Eriel had managed to bring the bedraggled fellow around last night, and he was by now looking almost chipper.

  “Well met!” I greeted him. “I am Kasker, master of this vessel. What is your name?”

  “Simha,” he replied, pushing his hair from his eyes and folding his hands in the local gesture of obeisance.

  I sketched a similar sign to be polite, although my status made it unnecessary for me to do so. “What befell you that you were in such a state?”

  He ignored my question to ask an eager one of his own. “You say you are sailors – what is your home port? Is it one of the Distant Isles?”

  Behind me, Nemadon snorted disdainfully at his ignorance. I replied with more tact. “No vessel of this size could hope to travel so far. We sail out of Jofray – serving the gods as couriers during the hot season, so that we may then fish for our sustenance and store food during the Time of the Winds.”

  A look of disappointment and scorn crossed his features. “The gods? You too tremble and kowtow before them?”

  I ignored the gasps from crewmembers around us and answered evenly. “Only a fool would deny the gods their deference.”

  “But you are a sailor!” he protested, a gleam entering his eye. “You are free to go wherever you want!”

  “A heretic,” Nemadon pronounced with a sort of gloomy satisfaction. “This grows ever better. We lost our cargo rescuing a heretic.”

  “Sailors rely on the gods more heavily than most,” I told Simha, determined to keep my temper. “With one storm, the Ananaki can destroy my catch, my vessel, even my crew. What sort of fool would I be to scorn them? What is more, sailors must eat the same as landsmen. If I do not serve the gods, what port would grant me access?”

  “The Distant Isles!” Simha said eagerly. “They are not under the thumb of the gods! You could sail there and –“

  “Even if this ship could reach the Isles – which it cannot – my crew have families in Jofray. Our lives are there. Should we abandon everything we know?” I could feel my anger building at his illogic and tried to force it down.

  “For freedom? Of course!” he snapped, impatient at my dull grasp of the facts.

  “No wonder his own people staked him out for drowning,” Nemadon growled in my ear. “If he goes on talking like this, he’ll get us all killed.”

  Simha heard and immediately flared, “My own people are short-sighted idiots who don’t recognize that the Ananaki are unworthy of worship!”

  I slapped him then, hard across the mouth, but my cry of pain echoed his as the movement reopened the weals on my back.

  He fell back against the deck, one hand to his jaw, his eyes wide as he suddenly realized his vulnerable state. On my vessel, I make the laws – with the gods’ approval, of course. “I will not have blasphemy aboard this vessel,” I told him, very quietly, struggling to ignore the pain in my back and keep my breathing even. “My crew have risked much for you, and will suffer enough as a result. We do not need to add to that because of your foolish notions. You speak like a child – prating of what the gods deserve. They are gods! The Ananaki take what they will, they can destroy with a thought. I will not have you creating trouble. If you do not wish to return to the sea, you will mind your tongue well. You will help my crew as best you can, and when we get to Jofray we will set you on shore there. Do you understand?”

  Simha nodded, his eyes frightened. I was glad to see the fear in him – one never knows when the Ananaki might be listening, and I would not risk having my crew jeopardized for his radical notions.

  I spun away, Nemadon at my heels. “I can put him to work helping the cooks,” he offered.

  “Just keep an eye on him – make sure he does not confuse some of the younger members of the crew. Remember what happened to Innea.” Nemadon nodded grimly. Innea had been a talented captain whose one flaw was her inability to keep her thoughts to herself. She made no secret of her irreligious ways and went so far as to scoff at the need to pay the Ananaki tribute. Her entire ship was lost with all hands in an unseasonal gale.

  Things were quiet for the next several days after that. Simha kept out of my way, b
ut Alchimon nearly drove me to distraction with his devoted attentions. Finally Nemadon took pity on me and set him to rechecking the rigging. Every day, when I went in to the Holy of Holies to perform my devotions to the Ananaki, they remained silent, but that was often how they showed their displeasure. The weather remained mild, however, so I did not set too much by their continued quiet. In truth, I much preferred stony silence to another beating.

  We made good time and reached the halfway point in our journey home right on schedule. By then, nearly a week had passed without a sign from the gods, and despite the continuing quiet seas, I was getting increasingly nervous. The crew knew nothing, of course – my dealings with the gods, punishments aside, were generally a private matter. I decided to risk initiating contact. If the Ananaki were silent due to anger, then I would likely bring down more abuse upon myself, but if they had forsaken us… But surely they would have said something first.

  I reached for the Amulet to begin the ritual, but my hand froze in mid-air. The Amulet looked… different. I bent closer, studying it for some time, before realizing that a small area on the left side was sunken. Had the Amulet been damaged? But how? No one but myself would even dare to enter –

  No sooner had the thought entered my mind than I was out the door. I was pale with fury, my jaw clenched against shouts of rage. The rest of the crew were at