50
bove the sands of the beach.
It was obviously there to stay.
Dontor stood, looking seaward. He shook his head, looked forward, then down at the ground beneath the ship. This was outside his experience. It was also outside the teaching so carefully instilled in his mind in the classrooms back at Tanagor, and later during those long days and nights when he was a junior priest. He had been taught to speak of sea demons, and to explain their actions, but he had not been told to believe in them.
He wondered if the great Kondaro really existed, and if he did, just what he might think of Dontor and of the ship he had so recently controlled. The thought crossed his mind that a real god might be somewhat critical of the priesthood of the sea.
"Something," he mused aloud, "will have to be done to prevent loss of faith."
* * * * *
"Well," remarked Lanko as he snapped the tractor off. "That's the first handful of sand for the cook pot."
* * * * *
Sira Nal drummed impatiently on the table before him.
"I thought you could handle routine operations," he said bitingly. "Now, you tell me you've been missing ship after ship. What happened to them?"
The high priest shook his head. "We haven't been able to find out, sir."
"Do you mean to tell me you haven't anything to report on them?"
"We have sent out investigating ships, sir."
"And?"
"They haven't reported back, sir."
Sira Nal's checks paled slightly with rage as he stared at his underling.
"Miron," he snapped, "I'm not going to tell you exactly what to do, or how. You're supposed to know how to treat emergencies, not to call me any time something outside of routine happens. I want a report on those ships tomorrow morning." He glanced out of the window. "I don't care how you do it, but find out what happened, and I don't ever want to hear you admit again that you can't account for any ship I ask about. Is that clear?"
Miron nodded unhappily. "Yes, sir."