"If we don't start soon, I'm going to faint!" With trembling fingers, Leena adjusted her flowing royal-blue robe. It was the first time she was privileged to wear the sacramental vestment, and she wasn't accustomed to its length. Glancing down, she grimaced at the sight of her satin slippers barely peeking out from beneath the hem. "Dear deity, what if I trip over this thing when we're called up to the dais?"

Karole, her friend during the past six weeks of training, patted her shoulder. "You'll do fine. You always appear so well poised."

Leena's blue eyes widened. "But today we're getting inducted into the Caucus! My father is in the congregation, and so are Malcolm and his family." Her face blanched. "Bendyk isn't here yet. What could have happened to him?"

Karole, a raven-haired beauty, gave her an indulgent smile. "Your brother might have arrived by now. You wouldn't see him if he entered the Inner Sanctum." She swept her arm in a broad gesture encompassing the room they were in. Other young men and women, initiates like themselves, stood about, fidgeting nervously like school graduates. "No one else is allowed in the Robing Salon except for us and the Synod."

"Of course." By being formally inducted into the Caucus, Leena and her newfound friends would become official participants in the aide corps that served the fourteen-member ruling body of priests called the Synod. At its head was Dikran, the Arch Nome, whose signal they were awaiting now. The annual Renewal service was about to begin, and at its completion, Leena and the others would take their places in the religious hierarchy.

As she placed her headdress over her crown of blond hair, Leena's pulse raced with excitement. Ever since she was a child, she'd wanted to learn more about the Apostles who had established the religion called Sabal on her world. Her father, a high-ranking Candor, first inspired her interest in archeology by his study of ancient religious texts. Growing up beside a crumbling ruin had sparked her imagination as she thought about what life must have been like in days of old. Where had the Apostles originated? They'd established the magnificent reign of Lothar, their god, and then vanished. Why did they leave after so many years? Where had they gone?

Craving knowledge of her forebears, Leena realized the Synod held the key to wisdom. The ecclesiastical leaders were privy to secrets known to no one else. Joining the Caucus was the swiftest route to enlightenment as far as she was concerned.

A solemn bearded figure marched into the room. Planting himself firmly in the center, he peered around at the young initiates. He raised his hand and then waited until everyone fell silent. "It is time," Zeroun intoned.

"Holy waters," Leena whispered to Karole. "I can't believe we've made it this far. May Lothar guide us!"

"You're supposed to be near the front," Karole reminded her. "Get in line."

Leena wiped her sweaty palms against her flowing robe. Not even her graduation from the archeological college had made her this nervous. Was it because Malcolm was in the congregation? Her wealthy neighbor had been after her hand in marriage for several years now. Lately Leena had been inclined to accept him, mainly for the security he could offer her. She felt a modicum of affection toward him, having known him ever since she was a child, but something within her made her hesitate. He was here now, waiting inside the congregation for her to make an appearance. Also present was her father, and even though their relationship was strained at times, she still hoped to make him proud.

Lining up behind the others, she tilted her chin resolutely in the air and marched forward with Zeroun in the lead. Leena had been in the cathedral-like Inner Sanctum many times during the past six weeks of her training period, and they had even had rehearsals for this event, but that hadn't prepared her for the sea of faces that greeted her when she entered the cavernous hall. A front row of seats was reserved for the twenty young people who were to enter the Caucus.

As she filed in, Leena noticed the members of the Synod taking their places on the dais. Sitting on a center thronelike chair was Arch Nome Dikran, wearing his gold robe with the dignity that befit his eighty years. A towering headdress covered his head, and it was much more resplendent than the simple ones Leena and her friends wore. She didn't care for such an elaborate style of dress, although since her father held a high position, she was accustomed to attending fancy dinners and parties. As she sat on a plushly upholstered seat, smoothing her robe about her legs, Leena wished for the comfort of the breeches and short-sleeved shirts she wore on her archeological digs. There was no pretense when you were systematically examining a site for ancient treasures. You did your work, and everyone pulled his own weight on the site, regardless of gender or age. She knew Malcolm didn't approve of her career. He would expect any wife of his to stay home and manage the household of his large estate. Leena had plenty of experience in managing her father's property, which she had done since her mother's death, five years ago in the terrible accident that had given her brother his true calling.

Good Lord! Where was Bendyk? She craned her neck, searching the crowd for her brother's handsome face, but she couldn't spot his blond head anywhere. Nor was her father or Malcolm visible, even though she knew they were in the congregation. It was simply too crowded, or else her mind was in such a state of nervous agitation that everything appeared to her as a blur. Focusing her attention forward, Leena scanned the dignitaries on the dais. Sirvat, the most prominent woman on the Synod, looked stiffly proper in her white robe tied with the gold sash of office. Magar sat beside her, his eyes twinkling beneath a crop of white hair. Karayan, a family friend, caught Leena's eye and smiled. Flushing, she looked down at her blue robe, eagerly anticipating the moment when she would be given the gold cord signifying her as an ordained servant of Lothar.

Impatiently she shifted her position, watching as Dikran rose from his throne and approached the podium. His shuffling gait proclaimed his age, but his dark eyes were sharp as they pierced the crowd like two orbs of glowing embers. The service began with a hymn praising Lothar for his beneficence.

"We come here today," began Dikran, in a voice that projected to the rear of the audience even without a microphone, "before the face of our deity, the miraculous Lothar. Together in worship, we sanctify our existence and praise Lothar, ruler of Xan. Who is like unto you, O Holy One, majestic and awesome in splendor? Who can compare to your generosity? Let us extoll your name! Let the name Lothar be hallowed unto the world for the creation he willed. Let his name be glorified and exalted although he is beyond praise, because he is so mighty and powerful."

The congregation raised their voices in a hymn, and Leena's song joined them. The familiar melody brought her the same calm serenity that it had throughout her life at similar services. Renewal was a time to recall one's past deeds, one's joys and triumphs, tragedies and sorrows, and to look ahead to the new year with reborn hope.

"May this new year bring us peace, joy, and exaltation," exclaimed Dikran, raising his hands toward the pyramid-shaped vaulted ceiling. "May you bless us, O Lothar, with plentiful rains so our crops may grow bountiful and our fields be fertile. May our rivers flow and our lakes remain unblemished. We count on you, O Holy One, to maintain our land and to provide us with your special blessing that keeps us from ill health. May our redemptive labors make us happy and our struggle for purity not fail. Let us strive for the good we can do by toiling at our work to the best of our ability. Blessed is the vision of holiness that exalts us from on high."

Leena joined in a series of responsive readings. Her heart opened to Lothar and his generosity to her people. Truly they were all blessed to have such a wonderful god looking out for them. He provided them with fertile soil with which to grow adequate foodstuffs. Xan was a rich, bountiful world. The lakes and rivers teemed with fish. The land blossomed with fruit, and the air was pure and clear. What more could anyone want?

Zeroun got up and exchanged places with Dikran. Minister of Religion, Zeroun's presence was powerful, the hunch of his shoulders indicative of his forcefulness. "Praised be Lothar who unifies all creation," he said, his eyes piercing the congregation as though he would read their souls. "May the Holy One fill our minds with knowledge and our hearts with wisdom, and praise those who labor to bring harmony to our world. The new year should be a fruitful one for us. Be gracious, O Lothar, and treat us generously. Be our teacher and guide," he shouted, raising his hands toward the heavens.

A choir began singing, and melodious music filled the clerestory. Leena felt her heart soar with faithfulness and love for Lothar. Please help me to clear my father's name, she prayed. I know the answers are here in your Holy Temple. I vow that I will find them before the next Renewal. The communion of those around her filled her with comfort and peace as she followed the words of the service.

"Let us bend in humility before Lothar," said Zeroun, bowing low so that his headdress tipped in front of him. "Let us give praise unto the one who established our land."

"May the Holy One be gracious and bring us peace," everyone in the congregation intoned in unison.

"As the new year begins, so is hope reborn in us," said Zeroun. "Lothar has been resting after the toil of the harvest, but now is the time for Renewal. We must blow the sacred horn to awaken our god from his rest so the life cycle may begin anew. Behold the vessel for summoning Lothar."

Karayan, Minister of Justice, and Eznik, Minister of Labor, rose and approached a set of immense carved wooden doors at the rear of the Grand Altar. Uttering their own incantations, they reached out to draw the doors apart in front of the awed congregation. Leena held her breath. The sound of the horn was more than a symbol for ushering in the new year. It summoned Lothar, and when he awoke, he reset the climatic cycles of Xan for another year. Without his beneficence, her world would revert to the wild, untamed fury of the past. No one ever wanted that to happen; it would mean the end to civilization as they knew it. Renewal was the pinnacle of all the seasonal holidays.

"Show us the horn," shouted Dikran, standing as he faced the rear.

Karayan and Eznik drew the doors apart, and a collective gasp went up from the congregation. Emptiness yawned from within the richly lit interior.

"Dear deity," Leena whispered. Where was the sacred horn? She saw the stunned look on Dikran's face and the shocked expressions on Karayan's and Eznik's countenances. The other members of the Synod looked horror-stricken. Dikran gave a quick glance at Zeroun before indicating that the doors were to be closed. Stepping forward to the podium, he raised his hand to signal the choir. A trumpet was always played after the horn to reflect the holy voice. Now the trumpet player began a haunting melody that reverberated throughout Leena's soul. When it was over the congregation remained mute. Dikran, his expression stony, spoke into the microphone.

"Our opening of the holy chamber this year was symbolic. The sacred horn, after so many years of continuous use, has required a cleansing in sacramental water. We have blown the trumpet in its stead. It is Lothar's will that this be done. Hear us, Holy One, and awaken from your rest." He raised his hands toward the congregation. "Bless our people and grant them freedom from sickness and sorrow. Let us love our neighbor as ourselves, walk humbly with our god, and convert our thoughts into faith and our words into good deeds. Here and now, as everywhere and at all times, teach us to serve you, O Lothar. And so we say Mahala."

With the final pronouncement, he lowered his head and uttered a blessing. "And now," he continued, beaming pontifically, "it gives me great pleasure to call upon our new initiates. These young people are dedicating their lives to serving the members of our Synod. By their faith, they serve Lothar. By their service to the Synod, they aid you, the people. Treat them with the respect due their station. Hereafter they are to be accommodated with the same consideration as those they are appointed to serve. You may step upon the dais," he ordered the trainees.

Leena shook in anticipation of this moment. Holy waters, it's time, she said to herself.

Squaring her shoulders, she gracefully made her way up to the elevated platform and stood facing the congregation in a line with her fellow initiates. One by one they were called before Zeroun, who gave them a lit candle and the gold sash that would signify their new station. Holding their candles, the initiates repeated the words they had been rehearsing diligently.

"We pledge ourselves to serve the members of the Synod in good faith, with loyalty, dedication and compassion, and in so doing we pledge ourselves to you, O blessed Lothar. Praised be the power that brings us peace and prosperity. Praised be Lothar, who sanctifies us all. Mahala."

They blew out their candles, signifying the end of the Renewal ceremony. As was the custom, the congregation remained in place while Dikran, the members of the Synod, and the new Caucus left the sanctuary to head for the reception hall. A huge feast had been prepared, for Renewal was a joyous occasion. Lothar was awakening. He would provide for them for another whole year; a year free from ill health, a year blessed with bountiful fruit and produce of the land. Leena's heart soared with joy as she followed her robed companions through the nave toward an archway at the rear.

Someone planted a hand on her shoulder in the reception hall. Whirling her around, he planted a kiss firmly on her lips.

"Malcolm!" she exclaimed.

"I am very proud of you," he told her, flashing a grin that showed his white, even teeth.

Leena scanned his handsome features. His brown eyes reflected warmth and something more when he looked at her.

"Thank you," she murmured, pleased by the sincerity of his remark. "Have you seen Father?"

"He's over by the refreshment table. Can I get you a drink?"

"Yes, I'd like that." She glanced around for Karole, wanting to introduce her friend to Malcolm, but it was difficult to locate her in the crowd. People stood about in clusters, drink in hand, chatting and laughing in good cheer. Friends and relatives had come from miles away for the special occasion. Most people attended religious services in their hometowns or at the regional worship centers, but guests of the elite were invited to participate in the service at the Holy Temple, and such invitations were highly coveted.

Frowning, Leena wondered where Dikran had gone. She wanted to put in a good word with the Arch Nome for her father. But Dikran was nowhere in sight, and neither, she noticed, were the top members of the Synod. Where had they gone? Dikran should be here to give his blessing to the bread so they could eat. But it was Jirair, Minister of Agriculture, who offered the prayer. A moment of doubt overwhelmed her as she recalled the stunned looks on Dikran's and the others' faces when the doors were opened and the horn was gone. Had it really been intentional that the horn not be here for Renewal, or was this a surprise to the Synod that Dikran had hastily covered up? They were certainly experts at coverups, as she well knew.

Malcolm interrupted her thoughts by offering her a cup of fruit punch. "Thanks," she said, a preoccupied frown on her face.

"What's the matter?" Malcolm asked, concerned.

She lowered her voice. "The sacred horn...do you really think it's being cleaned? This seems an odd time to be doing a chore like that. We need the horn blown for Lothar to reset the cycles!"

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Are you calling Dikran a liar?"

Leena paled, for it was Dikran's veracity that she was questioning. "No," she responded, afraid of incurring retribution should anyone overhear them. "Look, here comes Father!"

Cranby strode over and embraced Leena in a huge bear hug. He was a large man, and in his crimson robe of office he seemed even more imposing.

"Congratulations," he murmured in her ear.

"Thank you, Father."

Standing back, she gazed at her father with love and affection. His blond hair, receding from his high forehead, was sprinkled with gray. Blue eyes similar to her own were dulled by years of grief over the loss of his wife. Clearly a pressing matter weighed heavily on his mind now as he regarded her with an anxious expression.

"Have you heard from your brother?" he asked pointedly.

Her brow creased in concern. "I tried to contact him before the ceremony, but communications to Amat were out. I can't imagine what might have happened, and he should have arrived late this morning. I hoped he might come in and sit with you."

Malcolm raised his hand. "I'll go make inquiries," he said. "Amat is located at Seacrest Bay, is it not?" At Leena's affirmative nod, he hastened away.

"He's a fine young man," Cranby said, eyeing her carefully.

Leena lowered her lashes. "I'm still not sure about him, Father."

His look grew stern. "You've achieved a great deal for a woman of twenty-five years, daughter. Now it is time to think about your future."

"I've just been admitted into the Caucus. My immediate future is here." Her heart sank, knowing where the conversation was leading, but she tried to head him off regardless.

"Do you hope to be promoted to Docent, as do many of your peers?" Cranby asked. "I hadn't known you to be so religiously inclined."

Leena compressed her lips. Her father didn't know the true reason for her wanting to join the Caucus, and it was best he remain in ignorance or he would warn her against her chosen course of action. She didn't mean to stir up trouble; she merely wanted to uncover the truth about the origins of her religion in order to put to rest the doubts in her heart.

She wasn't the only one who questioned the faith. The Truthsayers were protesting rule by the Synod. They demanded reforms, claiming Lothar was a false god created by the priests. The spate of recent weather disasters gave solidity to their words and shook the very credibility of the religion. The Synod proclaimed that Lothar was angry at the people and was punishing them for their doubt, but Leena knew Lothar was a god of mercy and compassion. There had to be some other reason for the disruption of climate on Xan, something only the Synod knew about--and that was another item of information she hoped to discover while she was here.

"Mark my words," said Cranby, "not another Beltane will pass with Malcolm and you unpledged. I shall speak to his father myself. It is still within my authority to troth you a husband, miss, and so I shall. You dilly-dally too long, and such indecisiveness is unbecoming in a lady. You'll lose the young man if he isn't snared now."

"But I'm not ready yet--"

"Nonsense, you'll never be ready at your pace. The matter is settled."

Leena bit back a retort as the Minister of Justice bore down upon them.

"Cranby, my old friend." Karayan slapped a hand on Cranby's shoulder, then vigorously shook both his hands, as was the custom. "How good to see you again, and what a thrill to celebrate your lovely daughter's success." His pale gray eyes swung to Leena, expressing approval.

"I'm looking forward to serving the Synod," she told him, smiling warmly. Karayan had always been a supporter of her father, even during his censure.

Karayan gave a slight bow. "You honor your family by your service." He tilted his head at Cranby. "Your son Bendyk is earning a name for himself as a missionary," he said, a note of admiration in his voice. "We have word that requests are pouring in from the villages for his counsel. If he keeps going at this pace, I see him being appointed soon as a Docent. Where is the young man?" he asked, glancing around. "I thought he was supposed to join us today."

"He never got in. I called Amat but couldn't get through," Leena said worriedly, adjusting her headdress, which had begun to tilt. The heavy piece was beginning to give her a headache, and she wondered when she would be able to change into more comfortable clothes. Probably not until this reception is over, she thought resignedly. It was then that she caught sight of the stunned look on Karayan's face.

"You said Bendyk is in Amat? Why, we've just received notice that there's been a terrible disaster at Seacrest Bay."

Leena's face paled, and Cranby cried out, "What? What did you say?"

"A tsunami struck last night. There have been casualties, and a rescue effort is underway. I'm uncertain of the details."

"Dear Lord," Leena said. "Bendyk was supposed to leave last night. I wonder if he made it out."

Karayan laid a hand on her arm. "The Synod has called for an emergency meeting. You are to come with me. Perhaps we'll learn more information."

Of course, Leena thought, giving her father a brief kiss and hurrying after Karayan. The Synod must be convening to discuss the tragedy. Muttering a quick prayer that her brother had either left before the disaster or had miraculously survived, she followed Karayan through the mazelike corridors of the Palisades complex.

Anxious to be on his way to the Palisades for Leena's induction into the Caucus, Bendyk hoped the town council meeting in Amat wouldn't take long. Wellis, the village priest, had requested his presence. Now as he sat across from the older man in the living area of his oceanside bungalow, he fingered the medallion at his chest and fumed with impatience. It was the day before Renewal and he'd hoped to leave earlier, but dusk was already approaching and it didn't seem his departure would occur anytime soon.

"I fail to understand your meaning when you say the people are straying from the Faith," Bendyk said. "The turnout at the service this morning was phenomenal."

"That's because the villeins are putting on a pretense of piety for your benefit," said Wellis. "They're afraid you'll report to the Docent about their indiscretions otherwise."

Pursing his lips, Wellis felt he knew his flock better than any representative from the central authority, such as Bendyk Worthington-Jax. He'd sent for help realizing the situation could get out of control. After all, on whose head would the wrath of Lothar fall if he failed? His, of course! But the golden-haired missionary, despite his zeal, had found nothing amiss. It wasn't Bendyk's fault, considering how fearful the villeins were about retribution. The blasphemous talk circulating throughout the town was bound to bring dire repercussions. Wellis had hoped Bendyk would inspire a renewal of faith and indeed, the service he'd conducted this morning had been exemplary. Perhaps his visit had done some good after all.

Facing the black-robed priest across a table laden with fresh fruit and nuts, Bendyk cocked a blond eyebrow. "Don't forget it is tithing time. The tax collector is here even in the midst of Renewal celebrations. That's enough to cause heightened tensions."

A tired smile creased Wellis's craggy features. "Not in this case. We've been fortunate to have the same agent each year. She counts in our favor and exacts a toll of ten percent on less the amount actually produced."

Bendyk's eyes darkened to a shade of indigo. "What say you? This agent does not report an accurate count? Why...why that is criminal!"

Wellis leaned back in his chair, relishing the warm salty breeze that blew in from the open windows. His bungalow, a short distance from the ocean, stood on stilts like the rest of the houses by shoreside. Further inland, other dwellings rose along a gentle slope that footed the Jerrise mountain range. Life there was simple, with people living off the bounty of the sea and their industries of ropemaking and small boat construction. They didn't have enough revenue to be the focus of an investigation, so he didn't see any harm in telling Bendyk of the favoritism showed them by the tax agent.

"It appeases people," Wellis said. "There is grumbling enough that the laws don't take into account the needs of individual districts."

Bendyk scraped a hand through his short wavy hair. "That's not true! The Docents are responsible for making adjustments. If they rule unfairly, you can appeal to the Candor."

"The Candors are concerned mainly with their own wealth. Things have gotten out of hand."

Agitated, Bendyk jumped up. "My father is a Candor. He's always judged his people fairly and considered their needs."

"Cranby is an exception." Wellis regarded him wisely. "Do you deny that dissatisfaction with the Synod's power structure is growing? Aren't your services widely in demand in an attempt by local priests, such as myself, to stem this tide of disloyalty?"

"It is the work of the Truthsayers!" cried Bendyk, struggling to control his rage. "They seek to undermine the Faith and establish anarchy in its place."

Footsteps sloshed outside, and the elderly priest held up a hand to silence his guest. "Hush, here comes the village council. I have summoned them to harken to your advice. Go easy, young man. Your fiery tongue does you well in sermons but not in debate."

At his signal, Bendyk hastened to open the door. Five older persons, the village leaders, shuffled in. To his surprise, a young woman accompanied them. Possessing a willowy frame, she moved with the gracefulness of a forest lyier. Bendyk's surprised gaze swept from her pretty face to the short-cropped black hair that dipped inward toward her chin. The thrust of her jaw hinted at a stubborn streak, and her unorthodox style of dress confirmed it. Shocked, Bendyk peered at the skintight breeches she wore and the dark green sweater with its revealing neckline.

"I hope I meet with your approval," she said in a sarcastic tone as he continued his blatant stare.

Startled, Bendyk's gaze flew up to meet hers. Flashing amber eyes, like two torchlights in the dark, glared at him fiercely.

"I'm Bendyk Worthington-Jax, representative of the Saballic Order of Missioners," he replied, giving a slight bow.

The woman came up to him and stretched out a hand. "And I'm Swill Braddock," she said boldly.

He caught her hand in a firm handshake. Her palm was small, fitting into his larger hand like a ball into a catcher's mitt. He liked the weight and warmth of her. "Swill?" he asked, giving her a questioning glance.

"You got a problem with that?" she retorted, her brows furrowing angrily.

Clearly this woman was one who took any remark as a challenge. Bendyk was amused. He'd never met anyone as bold and brazen as she before.

"What is your function?" he inquired. "Surely you're not on the town council." She didn't fit in with the other robed members with their dignified miens and conservative dress.

"I'm the tax agent," she said. "I'm here for the tithing count."

"So you're the one! I hear your counts are favorable to the villeins."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps."

His eyes fired righteously. "Dishonesty is a sin."

"It all depends on who's in the know," she said. Smiling sweetly, she brushed past him and joined the others, who were already seated around Wellis's oval table.

"Come Bendyk, sit down," said Wellis.

"Why are your feet all wet?" he asked, approaching the table. He'd noticed the trail of moisture they left from the door to the table.

"The tide is washing in," spoke one white-haired gentleman. "It's higher than normal tonight."

"Aye," said another. "It is most peculiar. I don't remember it coming up this far in recent years."

"Never mind," said Wellis. "Our visitor here"--he gestured toward Bendyk--"has to leave for the Palisades soon, so let us begin our discussion. We asked for Brother Bendyk to serve our village because of the rumblings of discontent that have been more pronounced of late. During his sojourn here he says he noticed no such problem, but I assured him that is because the villeins are afraid of retribution should they loosen their tongues in his presence."

"Indeed," spoke an older woman, leaning forward, "ever since the hurricane that devastated the Rockmount Islands and the tornado on the Ruas Plains before that, people have been questioning Lothar's actions. Why would our Lord bring such retribution on his people? He's always been gracious and merciful. Why does he deal us such catastrophic blows?"

"It is because of this Truthsayer movement," Bendyk said, hunching forward in his seat. "Those who would protest rule by the Synod would leave nothing but chaos in its place. Our laws were put here for a reason, and we must abide by them to please Lothar. Health care, education, and housing are provided for everyone. I don't understand what the Truthsayers want instead."

"They want freedom to control their destiny," spoke Swill in a low tone.

All eyes swiveled in her direction, and Bendyk became aware of the seductive pull of her presence. She sat across the table from him, but every nerve in his body stood at attention when she directed her gaze at him. Those eyes, round as dew drops, could draw a man into their depths without any effort, and Bendyk found himself eager for her next word.

"People resent the fact that they have no choice over where they can live. If we want to move from one village to another, we must submit an application. Populations are strictly regulated. It's not fair, and people are tired of having an impersonal central authority making these decisions for them."

"There is a reason for every law," Bendyk countered. "A town's population is limited so it doesn't overgrow the needs of its citizens. The cities of old were rife with problems: poverty, crime, lack of sanitation. Lothar placed limits on a town's population for that very reason. In smaller villages, people are loyal to each other. They care about what is happening to their neighbors. In large cities no one takes any concern for what's going on next door. I believe the ruling is a wise one. These Truthsayers are just trying to stir up trouble any way they can."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And what do you know of their beliefs anyway? What right do you have to report a false count on the tithe? I should turn you in for your dishonesty."

"Be my guest," she sneered. "The people I serve are happy because I let them keep more of their produce. If you worked a farm, wouldn't you prefer to earn the profits on what you grew yourself? Why give it to a central authority that doesn't even care what happens here?"

"You speak blasphemy," Bendyk snapped, slamming his fist on the table. A strange banging echo caught his attention, only it wasn't an echo. It was a rhythmic thump-thump that sounded from somewhere below the house.

"What's that?" one of the elder councilwomen said nervously.

Wellis's face darkened. "It can only be the empty oil drums banging together beneath the foundation. That means the water has risen to nearly the level of the steps outside. I fear this is an ill omen. Let us look outside to see what is happening."

Bendyk hastened to the outer porch, not wishing to get too close to the woman named Swill. What an unusual name! But then, it went along with her strange manner of dress, cropped hair, and abrupt manner. He didn't know what to make of her. Clearly she was a rebellious sort, yet he found her oddly attractive, and that discomfited him. He was aware when she came outside; he could almost feel her hot breath wafting on his neck. He didn't glance in her direction, merely kept his gaze turned out to sea, and what he saw alarmed him.

It was dusk, and the lights from town lit up the heavens with an orange glow. Out to sea, he could still discern the outline where the horizon met the darkened sky, but it was the water by the shore that disturbed him. The color was unusual, a dark swirling green. As he watched, he noticed the water was receding. The beach widened, and the sea bed gradually became exposed. Several beachgoers who'd been observing the sunset rushed out delightedly to pick up stranded fish flopping on the sand. Others, shouting a warning, turned and fled toward higher ground.

"What in the world?" Bendyk said.

Behind him, he heard Wellis suck in a breath. "Dear Lord," the priest exclaimed. "A big sea is coming. We must flee!"

Swill gave a cry of alarm. "Do we have time to reach our riders?"

"We can try," Wellis said.

Four feet of water sloshed about their legs as they rushed toward their vehicles, only to find them jammed together by the latest wave. With cries of dismay, the group turned to run across the yard of the nearest house, charging inland as fast as they could go in the rising water.

As he ran, Bendyk was aware of a strange calm pervading the region. His ears picked up a new sound--a dull rumble, like that of a distant train. It came from the encroaching darkness and turned into a thundering roar. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw an incoming wall of water that seemed to grow in height as it moved toward the village center.

Seconds later, the wave washed into town with crushing force. Brilliant blue-white sparks marked the impact of the wave as it shorted out electrical circuits and loud crashes accompanied the destruction of buildings. A brief greenish arc flashed through the sky, signifying the fact that the wave had reached the power plant at the south end of the bay. The lights went out abruptly, plunging the area into near total darkness. But it wasn't so dark that Bendyk couldn't make out the terrifying wall of water surging in his direction.