that the sun was nearly at the horizon. Had we really been in there all day? No wonder my crew looked worried!
“What--?” Nemadon began apprehensively.
“He is the emissary!” Simha shouted, dropping to his knees before me. “The gods have anointed him to bring their message to the people of Jofray and beyond!”
My crew stared, transfixed at the sight, but Simha’s fervor was so patently sincere, they didn’t even wait for my confirmatory nod to begin to kneel.
“No, no,” I protested, but it was no use. From that moment, my life as Kasker, simple master of a sailing vessel, was over. I had become Kasker the Messenger. By the time we got to Jofray, it was almost too simple. It had been two days since the Ananaki had last spoken to anyone. A new star had flared briefly in the heavens shortly after the last communication with Astarte had been cut off, and people were beginning to panic. I was able to reassure them and with the help of Eriel and others who practiced the Old Ways, it was not long before the fears were allayed and the rhythms of life resumed.
Now I am an old man, and it is often hard to remember what it was like when we worshiped the Ananaki, but I must confess that from time to time I still wonder what truly happened the day that Simha and I spoke to the gods.
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About the author:
Kira Bacal is a physician and scientist who has worked at NASA and the US Senate, among other odd and wonderful places. She currently lives among towering trees in New Zealand with her two children and a vandalism-prone Leonberger.
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