hen Junian Setaria disappeared, most people chalked it up to bad luck. The seas off Novandrosia weren’t all that bad that time of year, but you never knew when a freak squall might blow through. Most people assumed that’s what had happened.

When he showed up again eleven days later, apparently no worse off for being gone so long, there were naturally a few questions. Junian swore he didn’t remember anything between the boat going under and waking up on the beach near the village, though, and we believed him. For the most part, anyway.

Junian didn’t seem much different after his mysterious return, at least at first. As near as we could tell, he was the same surly, unfriendly old coot he’d always been. We weren’t exactly glad to have him back, but it beat just having him disappear. It might have been uglier if he’d been a richer man, because there would have been the matter of reclaiming the valuables his relatives had claimed (and in a village the size of Verdius, everyone was a relative). As it was, he hadn’t had much more than he carried out on that old boat of his, and that was gone for good. The house and garden belonged to his wife Maraia.

Since everyone wanted a chance to get a good look at him, and because they felt sorry for Maraia, they had enough dinner invitations to keep from starving until he found a new boat or hired on with someone else. One thing everybody agreed on was that he seemed to have a newfound fondness for raw fish. Now, raw fish is a traditional dish among us Andres (we call it “suscios”), but the truth is no one likes it very much. It’s part of our religion, and most of us would rather keep it that way. We serve it to guests more as a matter of ceremonial courtesy that anything else.

Junian just couldn’t get enough suscios, though. He kept his hostesses running everywhere he ate; he wouldn’t eat anything else. He also wouldn’t drink anything but water, which was even stranger, because I’ve never met a sailor yet who wouldn’t drink his weight in wine if he got the chance. Even the women around here like a touch every now and then; of course, wine is supposed to be for men only, but when you’re a priest like me you get to hear a few things. If I were a gossipy man...but let’s just say that being the priest of a god of justice keeps me well informed, all praise be to Constas the Fair.

(I might add that Junian didn’t come in for confession at all after his return, but that really wasn’t that unusual. I didn’t see Maraia for a few weeks either, though, which did surprise me.)

Anyway, suffice to say that Junian was a little different when he got back, though maybe not different enough for some. Like I said, he was a surly old cuss, and other than the other surly old cusses he’d drunk with every night on the docks, you really couldn’t say he had many friends. I guess that’s why it took a while before we realized just how different Junian was getting.

The fishing wasn’t the best that year, partly because of the currents shifting like they do from time to time, and partly because the Nere fleets from up north were feeling a little frisky. There are all sorts of treaties between our people and theirs to keep us from fishing in each other’s waters, but I’d be lying if I said nobody ever crossed the lines separating us from them. Of course, there’re usually a lot more of them crossing than us, but the point is that treaties are pretty pieces of paper but don’t mean much out there. I spent a good deal of time in the boats when I was younger, and I can tell you that I’ve never seen a line dividing one side of the ocean from the other. But this is neither here nor there. What I meant to say was that the fishing wasn’t too good that year.

Junian was what you might call a part-timer out there. Maraia had a little plot he farmed three days a week, and the other three days he took the boat out. Between the two, he managed to keep Maraia and the boys fed, though there wasn’t much left over.

What did he do the other day? Well, Junian may have been disagreeable, but even he knew enough to take a day off so as not to offend the gods. True, he usually spent the day mending net or sail or sharpening knives, but the Seven Gods aren’t too picky. They just like to know that we remember them every now and then, is all. I knew Maraia didn’t approve, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

The day he disappeared, Junian had gone out by himself because Mantius, his older son, had gone to buy new rope and Silla, his younger, was with me, studying. Maraia wasn’t expecting the old man to be gone for too long, since the nets are a handful for one man to handle alone. When Junian went out alone, it was usually just to watch the currents or see where everybody else was fishing.

The day came and went, with no sign of Junian. Maraia wasn’t too worried, she told me; every fisherman’s wife knows how the sea can be. A chance wind can blow you a hundred miles from home before you could do anything about it. Junian always carried a butt of water and a loaf of bread, and he knew how to find his way home.

Two days later she was more concerned. Like I said, the Neres had been spotted quite a few times that year, and while they’re usually content to take our fish and leave, they’ve been known to sink an Andre boat every now and then. Even more troubling was the thought that he may have been carried east, into the Wayrk Gulf, where the Krauzhi pirates might have killed or captured him. No one in Verdius had seen a Krauzhi ship in years, but there were always rumors. The Imperial Navy was supposed to have wiped them out, but Krauzhis are like rats: vicious, filthy, and very hard to kill.

The third day she went to see the mayor. The mayor didn’t have the authority to send people out to search, but he could send a message to the garrison at Hieras, about twenty miles down the coast. The garrison could decide whether or not to send a message to the Imperial Navy’s piers at Nerastium, another hundred miles along the coast. The Navy would then decide whether to send out a search mission to find Junian’s bare bones, which would be all that was left of him by the time all the message-sending was done. That’s why when a Verdius fisherman disappears, it’s Verdius fishermen who go out to look for him.

When Junian was found, though, it was on the same dock that he and his cronies had always spent their drunken evenings on. He was eating from a small drumfish that sat in his lap, picking bits of meat from the still-twitching carcass and sucking each piece thoughtfully. The first ones to see him were Gaeas and Licias Taerein, two brothers out early to net bait for the day’s fishing. Before long, everyone in the village was awake and on the dock, eager to see the returned Junian. He rebuffed most of their questions, stating that he remembered nothing other than waking on the beach the previous night. His eyes never left the sea for long.

I didn’t talk to Junian for about two weeks; like I said, he didn’t offer a confession, and I’m not in the habit of actively seeking them out. I’ve always thought that a priest should be there for his people, with “there”, the majority of the time, being the temple, since that’s the place most people would look for a priest in the first place. Still, I do get out every now and then, just to see what’s going on. People never tell you everything in confession, you know.

Anyway, a couple of weeks after he got back, I was strolling down by the piers around sundown. Junian was sitting at the end of his pier, like he always did in the evenings since he got back. I didn’t see anyone else with him, which was odd, since the pier was where the other old men would gather to drink about that time. Of course, Junian never drank with them anymore, but that never seemed to bother them. I’ve seen some of those old fools sitting and drinking on that pier through gales and worse. Remarkably adaptable, those old drunks are.

Even though there was no one with him, Junian seemed to be carrying on a conversation with someone. No, “seemed” is the wrong word. He was carrying on a conversation, and he didn’t sound any too happy about it, either. As a matter of fact, he sounded extremely angry.

“Junian?” I called, and he spun around, his eyes wide. I heard a splash off the end of the pier, like something swimming away. “Who’re you talking to?”

I was within a few feet of him when Junian rose and tried to stomp past me. I grabbed his arm, and he looked up at me with a flat, glassy stare. “Let go of me, Carolias,” he muttered, and jerked away from me, walking away in a peculiarly bow-legged gait.

That’s strange, I thought. Junian hadn’t called me by my given name since we were boys together. When I’d gone off to the seminary, he’d started referring to me as “Justos”, even before been ordained. I wondered where his mind had been wandering to bring back something from that long ago.

A second later, I realized something even stranger. Junian and I had always been the same height.

“Maraia, I want to know what’s been going on with Junian.”

It was the next morning, just after dawn. Junian and Silla had left a few minutes before, along with most of the other fishermen. It wasn’t the old man’s usual day for fishing, but the Taerein brothers had offered him their spare boat, and the weather was absolutely perfect. Maraia was in her garden, pulling onions.

“What do you mean, Justos?” Her tone was neutral, and she didn’t stand or turn to face me. The fact that she called me “Justos” bothered me a bit. It’s my proper title as a priest of Constas the Fair, sure, but it’s not like I force people to call me that. Most of the old folks around here are comfortable enough calling me by my name in private, with Junian being the obvious exception.

“You know what I mean. Junian’s not been quite right since he came back. I want you to tell me about it.” She just ignored me. I was starting to get angry, and decided to flex a little priestly muscle. “Do you want me to demand that you tell me, then? As the Justos?”

She turned then, and looked up at me. “You’d have to have a witness for that.”

“I know. Do you want me to go get the mayor, perhaps, or your father? Or would you rather just tell me? I want to help you, Maraia, and Junian, too.” She stood and looked up at me, and I was struck as always at just how arresting she was. Long ago, before the seminary, before a lot of things, I’d thought I would marry her. Long ago.

She was walking away now, toward the little shrine garden at the back of their house. Most Andre houses have these; they’re small gardens, most only a few feet square, with tiny statues of the Seven Gods and maybe some gravel and flowers. She sat on the low bench facing the house and motioned for me to join her. I did.

“Junian is …” she faltered, and looked ashamed at having done so this early in her story. “You’re right. Junian isn’t himself. You know about him not eating or drinking anything but fish and water. And he, he never speaks anymore. He used to be quiet before, too, but now he really never speaks more than a few words. He hardly even comes home anymore. When he does, it’s in the middle of the night, and he’s usually soaking wet, like he’s been swimming.” She smiled a weak, sad smile. “He used to hate to swim. He said it was for people who couldn’t take care of their boats.”

Maraia paused, then continued. “He spends all his time on that dock, looking out to sea. Sometimes I even hear him talking to it.”

“What?” I thought of what I’d herd the night before.

“He sits out there and talks sometimes. I know there’s no one out there; I can see that plain enough. Even when the old drunks sit out there, he doesn’t sit with them. He’s always out there on the end of the pier, talking to the sea...or to himself.” Eyes wet, she looked up at me. “You’ve heard him, too, haven’t you?” I nodded. “Is he … is he going crazy, Carolias?”

I bowed my head so as not to have to look into her frightened eyes. I know, you’d think a priest of justice would be stronger, but under these robes, I’m still a man. “I don’t know, Maraia.” Then I sat up straight and looked down at her. “Why haven’t you been confessing? You used to be my best customer.” The joke was an old one between us, and it still brought a faint twitch of a smile.

Junian...he doesn’t want me to. He says...oh, it’s too horrible to repeat. I can’t.” She stood and faced the statuettes in the shrine. I rose and stood behind her, placing my hands on her shoulders.

“Maraia, the Seven Gods teach us that a wife must submit to her husband, but never do they say that she must partake of his evil.” Turning her to face me, I said, “Confessions don’t have to be given in the temple, child. Do you want to confess your husband’s evil to me?”

She nodded, tears pouring down her face. “Sit back down, then.” I took my confessional scarf from a pocket of my robe and tied it over my eyes. “Speak, my child.”

“Justos, I crave forgiveness for the sins of my husband.” The ritual phrase was spoken clearly. Many people don’t realize the reason for all the ceremony in the Temple of Constas. It’s simply that, when things are rough, people find comfort in ritual. Maraia might not have been able to tell Carolias about Junian’s sins, but she could tell the blind Justos.

“Relate them to me, that I may judge.” The breeze blew cool from the sea over my face as she began to speak.

“My husband has been guilty of blasphemy, Justos, and I fear he will cause me to follow in his steps. He said that the Seven Gods were frauds and figments, and that he had discovered power older and stronger than theirs. He said that it was useless to confess my sins to you, because if the gods are powerless, then their servants are more so. He wanted to take me to this power, to show it to me.”

“Where was the power he spoke of, child?”

“In the sea, Justos. I asked him if the power was Postunieos, and he laughed and said that all of the Seven were frauds, especially the god of the sea. He said that Postunieos was a child in his own realm, and that he had no more authority there than I did. He laughed, and it seemed that his face changed as he did. I was frightened, and ran.”

“What do you mean, his face changed?”

“It seemed to … flatten. It seemed his eyes got flatter, like a fish’s, and that his face got broader and his mouth stretched. I thought he looked like a fish, or a frog. I ran, and when I thought about it later I decided that I must have imagined it. I didn’t imagine the gills, though.”

“The what?”

“The gills. Last night, he came into our bed, which he hadn’t done since he reappeared, and … and he took me. Forcefully. I tried to force him off of me, but when I grabbed at his neck, I felt something strange. He only laughed -- though it sounded like a rough cough -- and smiled that frog-smile of his. Then his neck seemed to … flare out, I guess. He had gills on both side, covered by flaps of skin. I tried to scream, but his hand was over my mouth. I could hardly breathe, and I must have passed out. When I came to he was sitting at the foot of the bed, smiling. ‘You’ll come to the sea with me, woman,’ he said. Then he left. Silla went out with him this morning, but I didn’t see them go.”

A blindfold can’t hide everything, and I knew she could see my thoughts on my face. It was a few minutes before I could speak, and even then I found that I, like Maraia, had to take refuge in ritual.

“I have heard your confession, child, and your husband’s sins are grave. I cannot grant the forgiveness of Constas the Fair to him; he must seek his own redemption.” I removed the blindfold and looked at Maraia seated before me. “I’m sorry.” My voice was thick and angry.

“I understand. I was afraid that was the case.” She stood. “May I offer you some wine?”

“No, thank you. I’m sorry you had to do that, Maraia. May I … may I offer you the sanctuary of the chapel?”

She smiled that sad, old smile again and shook her head. “Thank you, Carolias, but no. This is my home, and it is a wife’s duty to greet her husband when he returns.”

I’m not going to lie to you; I was killing-mad when I left Maraia. Disregarding my old feelings for her -- no, they weren’t that strong, but they were there -- she was one of my flock, and the one thing Constas the Fair always promises is justice. Since he doesn’t come down to administer it himself very often, it falls to his Temple to do so, and I was the only representative of the Temple for about fifty miles.

On reflection, though, I was forced to admit to myself that I was poorly suited to meting out the punishments of my god. A fight with Junian would probably leave me broken or worse, especially considering his appalling lack of morality lately. A man who would force himself on his own wife probably wouldn’t hesitate to kill the man trying protect her.

Besides, I wanted to find out what was going on. If there was something out there that could change a man so -- and I had no doubt that Junian had been changed, and was possibly still changing -- then the Seven Temples should know as much about it as I could tell them.

I decided to confront him that night when he and Silla came back in. Unfortunately, only one of them returned.

Junian didn’t say a word to his wife. He told the Taereins what had happened when he returned their boat, then returned to the pier to sit and stare at the sea. No one thought it would be a good idea to disturb him, so he sat there and picked at a shark pup he’d apparently brought back with him.

The shark was more than raw; it was still alive. The old man sat tearing pieces of flesh from the shark, smiling all the while. He looked even more frog-like today, and when the young predator managed to get its teeth into him, he simply laughed his wet cough of a laugh and yanked it from his rubbery skin.

I didn’t feel like trying the pier route again, so I had paid a young fisherman’s son named Latian to paddle us, in his rowboat, under the pier before Junian had returned. I’d hoped that whoever he’d been talking to -- I was sure that the mysterious person had been from the sea -- would be back, and we could learn something. I had a very bad feeling about what had happened to Silla, and I guess I was hoping I’d find out I was wrong.

About the time Junian finished picking the shark apart, there was a splashing noise about fifty feet off the end of the pier. Latian and I crouched down as low as we could in the boat and listened.

“My love,” a croaking female voice said.

“My love,” replied Junian, his own voice a hoarse groan. We heard the shark carcass dropping into the water, followed by the heavy splash of Junian himself. Then all was silent, until, without warning, the boy and I found ourselves being flipped into the water.

Latian was dead; I saw that immediately. He was floating face-down in the shadowy water under the pier. Terrible as it may seem, I have to admit that I didn’t give the boy more than a thought. Junian and his companion more than occupied my attention.

The old man was barely recognizable. His face had been stretched almost beyond belief; his slanted brown eyes had grown round and black, and his mouth was a thin slash extending literally from ear to ear. Of course, there wasn’t much left of his ears, either, since they looked as if they’d drawn back into his head. His shoulders were broader, and his arms thicker. There was no hair on his head or body, as far as I could see, and the fingers of his right hand -- the one he was gripping my shoulder with -- were short and broad, with rubbery webs and tiny black claws. His skin reflected the green of the sea.

His companion, whom I had almost forgotten in my shock over Junian’s appearance, seemed even less human. Nonetheless, the relative delicacy of its body and the vestigial breasts hanging from its chest told me it was female.

“Carolias,” said Junian. His voice seemed almost gelatinous; I imagine it was difficult for him to speak in that form.

I tried to remain calm, for all the good that did. There are countless tales of monsters that the Seven Gods and their heroes met and overcame in the past, but nowhere did the Temple tell its priests what to do if they actually met one. Even as I stared in horror, Junian seemed to grow ever more batrachian.

“Carolias?” the female repeated. To hear my own name spoken by the thing seemed the worst of all. “Is the other male? We can go now?”

Junian’s coughing chuckle was ghastly. “No, Essi. He’s not the one. Carolias is a Justos, a priest of Constas the Fool.”

Her great round eyes somehow grew wider. “Serves the Seven? Give it to me. Will take to deep. For Sleeper.”

“No.” Junian glared at me, then twisted his grotesque mouth into a semblance of a smile. “You go on back. I think I’ll keep this one here for now. Until I can get the other two.”

When the female had gone -- taking Latian’s lifeless body with her -- Junian let go of my shoulder. “We’re going to your house,” he said.

Surprised as I was to be alive, I didn’t argue. We swam from underneath the pier, and I climbed awkwardly onto it. Junian followed a moment later, looking more or less human. There was still something decidedly frog-like about him, though, and he kept his face as hidden as possible as we walked through the town.

The temple was on the small rise overlooking Verdius, and the parsonage directly behind it. We passed through town without incident, as it was just after sundown and everyone was either at home or in the pub. Junian’s presence the last couple of weeks seemed to have driven the old drunks away permanently.

“Silla is dead, then?” I asked as we approached my tiny house. Junian only grunted and pushed open the door.

I entered and lit my one lamp, illuminating the spartan room. Aside from a narrow bed and a small table, I had very little. Not that a priest needs much; service to the gods, they say, is its own reward. I’ve always preferred the simple life, anyway. Throwing aside a dirty robe, I offered Junian the bed to sit on. He declined. “Water,” he said gruffly, the corners of his mouth twitching.

I filled a cup from the small ewer on the window and gave it to him. He spilled a great deal; the twitching seemed to be growing worse. It was as if he were struggling to maintain his human form. “Are you alright?” It was a stupid question, I know, but I wasn’t at my best just then. I had decided that he didn’t intend to kill me just then; he could have done that under the pier. I really had no idea what it was he intended, but I didn’t think it would be pleasant.

“Carolias, I hate you.” The statement was made flatly, as if he were discussing the prospect of rain that night. Remarkable, considering how his face was twitch jerking. “I’ve hated you for years. I hate a lot of people, but you especially. You want to know why?”

I couldn’t answer. He didn’t seem to want an answer anyway.

“You’re a smug old man who thinks he’s better than everybody else. I remember beating you hundreds of times when we were boys. I could always beat you, at everything. Then you went off to your little priest-school and came back a Justos. You thought you’d finally beaten me, but you didn’t. I married Maraia, didn’t I? And you had to perform the ceremony.”

Junian was pacing now, his face growing noticeably broader and his already sparse hair receding. “You want to know what happened to me? I was sailing the cold current south of here when I came across huge upwelling. Thousands of drumfish and herring all around me. It wasn’t easy manning the nets myself, but what choice did I have? I took a boatload before I noticed it was getting dark. The wind had also picked up, and along with the current had carried me about a hundred miles south, near as I could tell. I’d never been out that far, not alone in a boat that small. I had water and food, though; all the suscios I could eat, eh?

“The night was warm, and I soon drifted off to sleep. I’m not sure how much later it was when I woke; all I know is that when I did wake, it was because the boat had been flipped and I was surrounded by my catch and the sharks that had smelled it out.

“I have no idea how I survived that first moment. Everywhere I looked were shark mouths, eating everything they could reach. I expected to die, Carolias.” He grabbed the ewer in his now-webbed hand and poured the rest if the water down his throat.. “Essi saved me.”

“Essi is --“

”Essi is the woman you saw, yes.”

“I wouldn’t have called her a woman.”

Junian’s face was growing more bestial, an his speech more strained, though the anger in his tone was unmistakable. “She was my savior, Carolias, and she showed me my destiny. She freed me from people like you. She showed me the Sleeper. She’s an angel.” His breathing was growing more labored. “I have to return to the sea soon. Don’t interrupt me again.”

I didn’t.

“She took me underwater so fast that I didn’t even realize what had happened. When we were away from the sharks, she slowed down and placed her hand over my face. Somehow...I was able to breathe through her skin. We were deep enough that I couldn’t see her very well, just a vague outline. I knew it wasn’t a human hand over my face, though.

“We kept going down, until I saw lights below us. As we got closer, I could see that the lights were from strange fish that had schooled around some kind of valley on the sea floor. Once we got within the circle of light, I could see my rescuer. I think I decided then that this must be some sort of dying man’s dream. I was stupid and thought that she was some sort of monster.

“There were hundreds of creatures like her down there, in some kind of city. I couldn’t describe what it looked like, except to say that I’d never seen anything like it. I doubt there is anything like it in this world. At first everything seemed to be off, like nothing quite lined up. Later, when I was leaving, I looked back and saw how beautiful it really was. I was unworthy before, but now I’m one of them.

“The Sleeper was in a building in the center of the city; at least it looked like the center, since the rest of the city seemed to be revolving around it. They don’t have any temples down there, just the Sleeper’s house. No, the Sleeper isn’t a god; It’s more than that.

“The Sleeper never awoke when I was brought before It, but I knew that It knew I was there. It knew even before I came to the city. It saw me here in Verdius and called me to It. At first I was afraid, but I learned how ridiculous that was. The Sleeper didn’t claim to love me, like the Seven do. The Sleeper needed me, and It promised rewards beyond your feeble imagination in return for my help. The Sleeper is the true power, Carolias. Much as I hate you, I still wish you could see It, and feel Its mind savor yours. I wish I could feel your despair when you realized how you’d wasted your life serving a weak, pathetic child claiming to be a god.

“The Sleeper changed me in an instant. It took me three days to recover from Its touch, and another week to learn to use my new form. Essi ministered to me during that time, until I was ready to come back here. She believes the Sleeper will favor her for bringing me to It, so she loves me. It’s a truer love than what Maraia felt for me, I know that.”

“She didn’t want me to leave the crevasse, but I’d decided to bring Maraia and the boys down there. I didn’t feel that I owed them anything; if anything, they owed me for all my years of putting up with them. I wanted them to see what I’d found before I let them die. I still want that, and I’m going to get what I want. The Sleeper taught me that everything is mine, if I’ll take it. Everything’s mine, and I’m the Sleeper’s, and the Sleeper is Its own.” He stopped and looked at me. Nearly all trace of humanity had disappeared; he was a stoop-shouldered, bow-legged, frog-faced monster with an incredibly evil grin on his face.

“What,” I asked finally, “what happened to Silla?” He gave another of those coughing laughs.

“Silla didn’t like what I had to show him. He tried to spear one of my brothers. It felt very good to rip out his unworthy throat. I gave his meat to Essi.”

I believe I passed out then, because the next thing I knew, it was daylight and the beast that had been Junian was gone.

I went straight to Maraia’s house, where I found that Mantius had slit his wrists in the night. He left a note to saying that he’d rather die like a man than be sacrificed to whatever had destroyed his father. It was a patrician way to die, and I admired him.

Maraia was sitting on her porch, staring out over the sea. I tried everything I knew, but she wouldn’t respond to me at all. Finally, as dark fell, I left her. I could no more force her to come with me than I could have forced the sea itself to spread over the plains.