The United: Book One of the Discovered World

By John Michael

Fifteen-year-old Jami is an orphan doing his best to survive on the recently colonized planet of Novus. When he steals the fat purse of a well-dressed stranger in the middle of a busy bazaar, Jami has no idea his victim is a notorious killer. After he manages to escape capture, he heads to his filthy home and opens the purse to find a plethora of coins and an amulet. But what he does not know is that his decision to steal the purse has just thrust him on a dangerous path toward an interplanetary struggle for freedom.

Meanwhile as the killer and his cohorts launch a search for Jami and the purse, hidden Novus natives send their dead leader’s fifteen-year-old son, Kevlor, on his own perilous journey to find Jami and fulfill a prophecy. As the teens’ paths finally cross, they must work together in an attempt to unlock Jami’s unknown and mysterious past. But will they achieve their goal before their newly-discovered world is destroyed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781716909276

Book preview

THE

UNITED

Book One of The Discovered World

JOHN MICHAEL

Copyright © 2020 John Michael.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Interior Image Credit: John Hoopes

ISBN: 978-1-7169-0928-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-7169-0929-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-7169-0927-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020909761

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 05/30/2020

To Glory, my discovered world, and Michelle,

whose support has been invaluable.

The Discovered World

Afraid, I took the fearful first step into a realm I never knew,

Frantically searching for familiar signs, comfortable clues.

The trees flourished a verdant green, and the sky a royal blue.

The ground held firm, but fragrances in the air smelled rich and new.

Her tears brought the rain, and her anger made the thunder,

But the windstorms would cease, and the clouds tore asunder

When she grinned and gleefully gave a full-throated laughter,

Her disposition changing, defining her ever-shifting nature.

A discovered world of wonder and delight I never knew before.

On gentle winds of pain and pleasure, my senses plummet and soar.

It is a domain fraught with danger and excitement for me to explore.

A discovered world of love, of the One, I’ve found on far-distant shores.

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PROLOGUE

Stands Apart stood on unsteady legs to greet the fiery Giver-of-all-life as it slowly climbed the distant mountains killing the shadows of the valley and chasing away the cold darkness. Across his sun-darkened skin, a strong wind brought the smell of the mountain forests. The summer-browned grass in the valley below waved and glistened in its early-morning coat of dew. Large herds of animals moved like columns of wood ants across a newly fallen tree. Like his father, and his father before him, and his before him through time beyond remembering, Stands Apart paid homage to the wind giants. Carefully he turned to the north, south, west, and back to the east, all the while singing their praises so they might not argue this day and remove him from this place on top of the world. His voice croaked the words of magic from a throat so dry and painful that they would be lost to even those with the keenest hearing. Yet Stands Apart knew the spirits would hear the words from his heart though his body might fail him.

As if in answer to his prayers, the wind calmed to a gentle breeze, and Stands Apart gave his thanks before sitting down to begin chanting his power song again. For three days and nights, Stands Apart sat on top of the world, the high mountain peak of his ancestors, without food and with only small amounts of water. For three days, he waited for a sign from his spirit helper. The great flying serpent, Mixtus, first came to him during his manhood ceremony, promising to guide him in the ways of his ancestors. The tribal elders believed this to be a great omen and gave Stands Apart the respect due a leader of the Seven Nations. Stands Apart took his role seriously and gave much thought to making life for the tribe better. By the time he had seen thirty summers, Stands Apart was considered a great chieftain … until he took the Sky person for his woman.

It was whispered in the huts and lodges that he was cursed, that his spirit helper had forsaken him and would no longer speak to him while he flaunted tribal spirits. Stands Apart knew this was not true. It could not be, for surely the spirts knew the heart of his love. Her gentle nature tamed the forest beasts, and her voice wound through the trees like birdsong.

Stands Apart knew she was unique among the Sky people, for most of them savaged the woods and treated the spirits with indifference or contempt—so similar in appearance yet so different in temperament and understanding. Ignorant of the spirits and too willful to learn the nature of the world around them, the Sky people came in numbers too large to ignore, like a horde of insects that destroys the bounty of the mother. Their stated intent was peaceful, but their fear and greed were as clear as the still water. They would forever change this world, as surely as the moving of one season to another. The elders ignored the signs, all save for his father, Gray Bear. Yet even the great shaman Gray Bear could not protect him from those who would hold to the old beliefs.

The elders marked the passing of the blue-winged messenger through the night sky as the beginning of the end. For never before had the people seen one so bright or so close that an arrow might have reached it. They felt the wind of its passage and watched the forbidden mountains light up with the roar of the spirit messenger. The sound was many times louder than the thundering light lances of the storm riders, and for many cycles, the spirits covered the land with a gray curtain of dust, darkening the days and stealing warmth from the soil.

Though the wind giants finally lifted the gray curtain, the people believed the omen to be a warning or punishment for Stands Apart’s behavior. Gray Bear knew differently but also knew there was only one way to keep the nations at peace. Stands Apart must speak with his spirit helper to bring the wisdom of the ancestors to the people. Stands Apart agreed and set out that very night, without food and only one skin full of water to climb the sacred mountain in order to greet the Giver-of-all-life at the start of the new cycle. He would continue to greet the giver each morning until Mixtus, his spirit helper, came.

But the Giver-of-all-life could also take, and as it stood directly above on the third day, Stands Apart’s chants became no more than the moaning of a dying man. His cracked lips mumbled the words his swollen tongue could no longer shape. In trying to rise, he stumbled and fell onto the edge of the precipice. His golden hair, matted and filthy from sweat and dust, hung down over his blue eyes, framing his view of the ground far below. Using what little strength remained, Stands Apart crawled back from the cliff’s edge and made no further effort to walk toward the bundle containing his remaining water.

The searing rock surface tore at his hands and knees as he slowly moved toward the life-giving bundle his wife had so carefully packed for him. In his mind, he could still see the anxiety of his quest written on her face. She did not understand. In spite of all the ways of his people she had tried to adopt, she was still, after all this time, a Sky person.

Just as it seemed he could go no farther, a slim shadow cut across his path.

Do you give up so easily then? a voice asked from above.

I am dying, Stands Apart rasped.

All mortals die, hissed the voice. It is the final solution to all their petty problems.

Stands Apart rolled over to see his tormentor, but the sun’s glare hid all but a dim outline. The problem is not mine alone.

You are the one seeking help, said the voice, moving from the cover of Father Sun’s blaze. Stands Apart could see the small wings made of thin membranes holding aloft a golden-skinned serpent. A sliver of tongue slipped out from a crevice below two golden orbs staring directly at him.

Some would ignore the problem, and others do not know how to seek, he replied, trying to sit up but unable to find the strength.

Ah, you mean the Sky people!

Yes. They have come as the legends foretold. They bring death and destruction. They have lost their gods and do not understand the balance of the One, Stands Apart explained.

Then it is in their nature to destroy the harmony of nature. Eventually, they will even destroy themselves. Land-mother and Water-brother will abandon this world.

All the people will suffer. Something must be done.

What would you do? the serpent asked. Kill them?

They are like ignorant children. There would be no honor in taking their lives, Stands Apart said, watching the almost hypnotic motion of the hovering snake, and I have taken one for my wife.

Yet they would kill you and your kind.

Stands Apart thought back to the stories his father, the great shaman Gray Bear, told of the first contact with the Sky people. They descended from the sky in a large metal bird, wearing strange clothing and using even stranger tools. The people greeted the Sky people in friendship and honor. At first they communicated through sign language and drawings. Gray Bear quickly learned the Sky people came from a land beyond the stars, a place called Earth. They warned of many more Sky people coming to the land, and then, without a warrior’s challenge, two of the Sky people struck down three of the people. The other Sky people protected Gray Bear and the remaining tribal members but could not stop the three from joining their ancestors in the stars.

Not all would kill, Stands Apart replied at last. It is their fear that makes them weak. They are afraid of what they do not understand.

They do not understand the people?

"The Sky people have lost their sight and cannot see the miracles of Land-mother. They do not listen to the voices of our animal brothers and sisters. The Oneness of life is beyond the feel of their fingers. The world they come from destroys the taste and smells carried by the wind spirits. To kill them has no honor because their spirits are already dead."

You wish to save them? the serpent asked, settling down, with its tail touching the hot rock and making it look as if it stood on one leg.

I wish to restore the balance. Stands Apart felt dizzy from exhaustion and used the pain from the rocks poking into his legs and back to keep his focus.

The balance cannot be restored with the Sky people. It must be remade, hissed the serpent, lowering itself to the ground. It slithered next to Stands Apart’s head and whispered, What will you offer to the Spirits?

Without hesitation, Stands Apart answered, All that I have.

Even your unborn son? the snake asked.

Startled by the revelation, he turned his head to face the serpent. Personal sacrifice for the benefit of the tribe was a thing of honor, but Stands Apart could not speak for another person, not even his son. You may do with me what you will, but my son must decide for himself.

Fair enough, said the serpent. We shall let the boy seek his own destiny. Born of both worlds, the choice will be his but not his alone. He will be joined by another, one who will be born of neither world. Only together can they obtain the balance and restore the One. The snake began to rise into the air and hover above Stands Apart. But yours is a different task. You must go to the forbidden mountains beyond the great waters and bring back the blue fire rock.

Blue fire rock? He had never heard of such a thing. How would he find it?

Ah, you have doubts. Did not the messenger tell you of its arrival? Was the sign not bright enough?

But the destruction … Stands Apart began.

There is no birth without pain, the serpent whispered, and the nature of the blue fire rock will rest with the wielder. That is why you will give it to your son. It is his burden to share with the other.

As suddenly as the winged serpent had appeared, he vanished.

Stands Apart searched for any trace of his spirit helper but found only the face of the scorching sun. Had it been a dream? An illusion? No, his faith was too great to allow the shadow of doubt to eclipse it now. He would go home to prepare for his journey to find the blue fire rock and await the birth of his son.

1

THIEF

A ll the sights and sounds of the open-market bazaar competed for attention. Brightly colored tents and gaily decorated stalls packed the open-air plaza, barely allowing the scorching desert sun to touch the dusty streets. People from all walks of life flowed through the aisles in seemingly endless numbers, bumping and jostling their way along the rows of trade goods, while hawkers loudly extorted their merchandise. The air carried the different aromas of food being prepared for the hungry or adventurous tourist. The market was the trading center of Flatrock, and because of its proximity to the only spaceport on Novus, it was the most important trade center on the planet. It was said that if a person stood at a single location in the marketplace long enough, they would eventually see every person on the planet and every visitor from Earth.

Jami stood at the edge of the bazaar, watching and waiting. He didn’t hope to see every person on Novus or even every visiting Earther. He was looking for just the right one. An unwary stranger who might be carrying more than they needed. Someone who could afford to share with a poor boy like Jami.

At last, he spotted an opportunity. A lean, well-dressed man in a flamboyant red and white Earth-style sports coat moved arrogantly through the crowd. His purse marked him as a well-to-do tourist.

Jami followed him at a discreet distance, waiting to make his move. The man paused at a booth selling rare, hand-carved red crystal from the Silver Hills. His eyes closely examined the intricate detail of a bloodred rock-wolf caught leaping at its prey. So great was his interest he failed to note the slight tug at his waist as Jami cut the purse lashings. Jami walked away slowly, making his way toward the edge of the plaza and hoping the tourist would not be in a hurry to purchase the merchandise.

Stop, thief!

Heads turned to look at the source of the loud complaint. The well-dressed tourist struggled with a group of less-fortunate bystanders milling around in the crowded marketplace. His thin face turned red with exertion as he fought through the crowd.

Fifty credits to the man who catches that thief! shouted the man in desperation, gaining the attention of the bystanders. He pointed to the outer fringes of the crowd, and everyone turned to see at whom the finger aimed.

Jami didn’t need to see where the man was pointing; without even turning around, he knew the tourist had made him the target of that finger. At a fast walk, he almost made it to the corner when the shouting began. Now, with an impromptu price laid on his head, he quickened his pace. This was certainly no place for a young man like himself to grow old. He turned the corner around a small adobe building and heard the swelling voices of a self-appointed mob organizing a chase. A few seconds more, and they would be on his trail, chasing him.

It was not often Jami ran from a crowd. As a thief, he considered it an unfortunate occupational hazard to avoid whenever possible. His teacher, Jeal, constantly corrected his amateurish attempts to remove a well-filled purse. She scolded him publicly when he got caught, and he begged forgiveness like a mischievous child. Once home, she would show him his mistake and make him practice the rest of the day. Jami’s skill improved quickly, and scolding soon became a rare event. Eventually, Jami began going to the marketplace alone and established escape routes for the occasions he found himself in now. Jeal taught him that escape was more important than the actual theft. Her axiom was, Any fool can steal; a smart thief doesn’t get caught.

Within a few short steps, Jami quickly ascended carefully constructed steps made of increasing sizes of baskets, jars, and tables sitting against the building. He launched himself from the last basket and deftly swung over the caprice of the roof—just before the first of his pursuers turned the corner. He landed flat on the roof and stayed hidden from view as the mob below scattered out into the many streets looking for him. Jami slowly crawled to the other side of the building overlooking the marketplace.

The young thief spotted the distinctive red and white sports coat in the plaza below and watched the enraged tourist brushing himself off while yelling obscenities at the two people he had knocked down. From his position, Jami could see two barrel-chested security officers enter the plaza, looking for the cause of the civil disturbance. The tourist stopped kicking dust at the fleeing people and became strangely docile when he apparently saw the uniformed patrol making their way deliberately toward him. All three men stood together for nearly five minutes before a final shrug of the tourist’s shoulders sent the police on their way. With a last kick at the ground, the angry tourist started walking toward the section of the city designated for off-world visitors.

Patience was another skill Jami had learned. After thirty minutes, the search died down as the realization of an immediate capture and reward grew faint. There would still be a few persistent, amateur bounty hunters, but they would be rare, and Jami felt he did not draw enough attention to himself for them to accurately identify him. Besides, who would believe he would come back to the bazaar to make his escape? Still, fifty credits were nothing to sneeze at, and this was not the time to push his luck. Jami decided to take the rest of the day off and head back to his lodgings.

Again, Jami crawled across the rooftop, scraping his feet and ignoring the yellow dust collecting in the folds of his shirt and pants. Cautiously peering over the edge, he saw no sign of the frenzied searching and quickly slid off the roof and down the cunningly contrived steps. He tried brushing the dirt off his clothes—it did little good—and ended up with a cloud of dust and a sneezing fit. Jami wasn’t particularly fussy about how he looked but wanted to keep his bathing to a minimum.

He started home through the marketplace, making sure to take the most winding path he could make up. He avoided the spot where he stole the purse. Very few people could have kept up with him and not gotten lost in the twisted maze of the bazaar, yet about halfway through the plaza, he felt someone was following him. Stopping suddenly at a brass dealer, Jami pretended to examine the merchandise. He held up a shiny brass plate and carefully searched the reflection for anyone looking in his direction.

Jami saw himself, a fifteen-year-old face with the dark complexion common to those living near the Dry Lands and made darker from the dirt. The coal-black hair allowed him to mingle unnoticed with the population of predominantly Arab descent. Only upon closer inspection, the soft blue eyes hinted at a lineage other than Arabic. The white, loose-fitting tunic and matching short, baggy trousers exposed dirty bare feet. It was standard garb for an Arab street urchin. Besides helping him blend in, they were the only clothes he owned.

In the reflection, Jami saw nothing unusual or anyone paying particular attention to him. The brass merchant, an aging man with a white beard and shrewd, beady eyes, became anxious as the street urchin continued to gaze into the plate.

Hey, you! Drop that plate and get away from here.

Excuse me, my lord, Jami said in his imitation of high-born speech. And giving a slight bow, he said, I had assumed these goods were for sale! He placed the plate back on the merchant’s table. He pulled out the fat purse just recently stolen and shook it before the astonished merchant. I’ll just have to buy the master’s dinnerware at some other establishment. Jami put the purse away in feigned disgust.

It was a dangerous sort of petty revenge. Jami knew better than anyone how unwise it was to flash a fat purse around the thief-ridden marketplace. The small dagger tucked in at his waist would hardly protect him against a determined opponent. He could imagine how angry Jeal would be if she ever found out. Ignoring the pleas of the merchant, Jami hurried through the final twisting rows of the bazaar and headed toward the lower quarters of Flatrock.

A sudden gust of desert wind blew dust along the streets lined with adobe houses, and Jami turned his head to avoid getting dirt in his eyes. Instinct made him hold his breath until most of the flying sand had passed. Like all the inhabitants of Flatrock, Jami had come to accept the scorching hot days, cold