The Ashavan: Across The Asha, #1

By James Parrish

It's dark and foul in the sewers of Mazu, capital city of the Island of Mazu. The wide, slimy tunnels that were originally constructed to spew excess water deposited by the Stormphoenix back into the Middle Sea now house an elite team of magi, readying themselves for a near suicidal assault on the impenetrable castle known simply as the Gray Keep. Amongst them John Michael Williams and Lilith Smith, two Drifters from Earth, sit side by side in the muck, wondering how the twists and turns of their very different lives brought them together in this frightening new world called Nocht.

There is not one universe, but many, and like all things, each world is paired with its opposite. Earth is no exception. Its sister world of Nocht has leveraged a mystical connection to steal life from Earth since the dawn of time, spawning a chaotic and often dangerous evolutionary timeline that seamlessly melds history and fantasy. This dark sister-planet is particularly selective over humans however, choosing to take only those gifted with magical ability.

As Drifters, both Mike and Lily are granted these magical gifts. After being pulled away from their family, friends, and countries their foreign status in this ancient world both elevate and alienate them in the ruthless social hierarchy of humans that have managed to survive Nocht's harsh environment for millennia. Despite arriving in that world at different times and ages, they lean on each other heavily, bonding over a shared past and leverage each other's skillsets to survive an invasion by a refined, yet vicious nation of warriors known as the Alari. The first leg of their story ends with confessions of love, and with the pair being threatened into separation by forces beyond their control.

Can two exiles outwit and outfight the unforgiving forces of Nocht and return home to their families? Only time will tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Parrish
• Release date: Mar 22, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224087389

Book preview

The Island

They’d prepared me for a red eye, equipping the jet with night vision cameras and everything else, but after I passed the Island of Eternal Light, I found myself flying over the Middle Sea in broad day. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many islands spaced so close together like that, but it wasn’t what I saw when I looked down that startled me. It was what I saw when I looked up.

~ Captain Rick Connelly, US Air Force

It was sweltering hot, and the bugs flitting from the trees were roaring a song that would make cicadas sound tame. Ah bah dah ... Ah bah dah ... It was a strange chant, though considering the strange locale, Mike didn’t give it much thought. The obnoxious cawing of the colorful island birds was still subdued so close to dawn, leaving the bugs to repeat their solo act for hours on end. After three days, Mike could almost predict the exact rhythm of the jungle noises: bugs violently scratching out their three-parters in the heat, birds cawing in the early hours of the day, and the constant roaring of the ocean as waves broke against the sandy shore a safe distance away. The orchestra of nature had become as familiar to him as the sound of his own breathing or the steady beating of his heart.

Between the heat and the bugs on the island, the sensory overload made it almost impossible to think, and Mike had always relied on being able to think. Being able to withdraw into himself and separate from the current situation. Trapped on an island as he was, there was no change in his future, only a past to dredge his mind through. His fantastic, analytical mind turned against him, desperate to chew on problems for which there were no easy answers.

Four nights ago, he’d been lying in bed asleep, tucked in and suited up in the cheesy lobster-spotted pajamas a relative had given him for Christmas. He’d worn them ironically until true sentiment had seeped in. Embarrassment was avoided by the fact that his workload offered him few opportunities to reveal the tacky garment to the opposite sex. What he wouldn’t give to have them back on in that moment.

Instead, he sprawled out nude on a bed of oversized, waxy jungle leaves. His sweat made them cling to him as he tossed and turned on the dirty ground. The only leaf he put on top was to cover his privates in a desperate attempt to keep the flies away. He had long since stopped shooing them from the rest of his body. A bug bit his right shoulder, and he instinctively smashed it under his palm.

No. No. No. No. No, Mike thought to himself. You promised you were going to stay still and let the bugs have you. Toughen up. Get used to it. Let your mind take you somewhere else.

It was a skill set he had developed at an early age. Whenever things weren’t going his way, Mike would step into himself, find his center, and then tear apart the problem with computer-like efficiency. Whatever the issue was, it could be separated from itself. Each dimension of it would be teased out and observed independently until every aspect of the problem was laid out like a map in his mind’s eye. Unfortunately, his usual analytical skills seemed moot at the moment.

Being clever couldn’t guard against bugs. Particularly the strange bugs that flitted through that island’s jungle. Most were as large as his hand. Some were disturbingly humanoid in shape, looking more like colorful praying mantises than anything else. Colored dust shook from their dirty wings as they zipped around, and he wondered if they were some distant cousin to the moth. He wished he could light a fire and let the smoke waft through the air and wash the armies of insects away, but several days had already passed, and rubbing sticks together did nothing other than frustrate him.

Mike had lost nearly the entire previous day after he had succumbed to his hunger and tried to eat one of the strange bugs. He had never been so sick, and whatever powder that the insect secreted was clearly poisonous and hallucinogenic. Despite having nothing else to do on the island, he deeply regretted spending the last twelve hours vomiting and defecating. His inability to sleep afterwards spoke volumes as to just how uncomfortable a naked man could be trying to rest on the bare ground. Thankfully, his body could only take on so much anguish before shutting down the night before.

Despite his exhaustion, he had woken too early and lay on his back trying to break apart the problem of his current predicament.

First came the where, he thought. Given the local climate, I have to be somewhere in the tropics. Most of the trees are certainly some kind of palm, not that I’m an arborist. If I fell asleep in Tennessee, maybe I’m somewhere in the Bermuda triangle or the Caribbean. If someone had taken me by plane, I could be as far as Cuba in a night. Then again, who knows how long I was out. Drugs could have kept me asleep for ... enough time to make this exercise pointless.

Then next question is how. Why bring him here by plane just to drop him in the ocean? Mike recalled the jarring rousing he had as his mouth filled with saltwater. His eyes had stung with it. In hindsight, Mike considered himself lucky he hadn’t drowned, though it had to be more than coincidence that an island had been nearby to swim toward. Whoever had taken him had stripped him clean, denying him even his hokey pajamas. He was left with no clothes and no clues. If they had wanted him dead, there were certainly easier ways to go about it.

Who would want me dead? The Gregorian Syndicate, he knew already. All those reassuring platitudes from the FBI about securing my safety were for nothing. Of course, I should have known that. If the feds were competent, they wouldn’t have needed me or my testimony to bring Sergey Gregor down. The voice of Mike’s father mingled with his own in his head. Don’t wound what you can’t kill, the voice reminded him. It’s a little too late for that, Mike thought.

Another bug bit into him before he spasmodically smacked it against his chest. He crushed the hard carapace against his skin, not even worrying about the smell and filth that oozed from it. This game had grown old days ago, and it wasn’t even working to keep his sunburned skin safe anyway.

Mike shook his head, realizing that the Syndicate likely wasn’t involved. He knew why he was here. He’d known within the first hour of washing ashore. He was insane. He must have finally lost it. The sheer logistics were impossible. Perhaps he’d blacked out. Maybe he’d planned a trip himself, hit his head, and forgotten how he got here. But he must have brought himself here. How long had he been slipping into madness?

Mike was prone to sleepwalking from time to time. Sleep paralysis, hypnogogic hallucinations. Just a little harmless sleep disorder, they said. Surely such things can’t avalanche on top of you all at once! He considered. There had to be some signs. He wouldn’t believe it. Some insane people don’t think they’re insane ...

But then there were the moons. Three moons gliding slowly across the sky, following smooth preset pathways. One large red, a medium yellow, and the small white one taunted him from above, sometimes taking turns, sometimes mocking him as a team. Every single logical thought process he’d follow ended there. The point of no logic. A madman can’t think his way out of madness when the mind was a part of the problem to begin with. Each night, as the bugs tore into him, he would watch the moons crisscrossing unfamiliar star patterns. Each following their own elliptical. Each taunting him as empirical evidence that he had finally lost his wits.

He ran over his memories of his first day, and each time he did, they started with the moons. Mike knew as soon as he saw those moons hanging in the sky that some part of him must have broken. Not all three hung in the air at a time. It was morning when he had washed ashore, and only two were visible at the time. But he didn’t need three to know he was insane.

Before he could settle helplessly into a panic attack, Mike had forced himself to walk. After only about two miles, he rounded the westernmost bend of the island, only to find even more empty beach. He doubled back for what felt like forever to round the eastern bend to find the same. No planes, no boats, no beach cottages ... not even garbage. I would have welcomed garbage, he thought. Anything would have comforted him. Something with writing on it so he could decipher what part of the world he was on. Garbage meant people, but there weren’t any people either. The island was eerily untouched.

After stopping to cry on the beach, he’d swallowed his self-pity and marched into the jungle. His thirst struck him hard. Swallowing seawater will do that to you, he’d thought. It wasn’t a big island and Mike had marched clear to the other side after only half a day, but it felt enormous to a man in his bare feet who had to push plant fronds aside every three steps. The flesh of his soles had been butchered by then. He’d inspected them before doubling back into the edge of the forest, though there wasn’t anything he could do. The fine white powdery sand had settled into the cuts, with none of them any better or worse than the next. And none of them were going to find water for him.

He’d thought it out. Mike had first trudged to the highest point of the island he could see and then climbed a tree. With a cursory glance, he estimated the island must be several miles long but only about a few miles wide, somewhat banana-like in shape. It had its highs and lows, with the lows piquing his interest the most. Lows meant pooled water, and after making a mental map of the island, Mike wasted no time hiking his way to them.

His head ached with dehydration. Thankfully one of his explorations panned out right before night had fallen. The water was muddy and shallow. So shallow he could barely go a hand’s length down into the water before his nails dug into gritty dirt, but the water was fresh, and so Mike had drunk his fill.

When his stomach was full to the point it protruded, he’d lain back and let exhaustion take him right then and there. The brief periods that exhaustion took him were his only reprieve from his panic during the first couple of days. Of course, exhaustion had to compete with the diarrhea and vomiting, but for three days he continually forced himself to drink that stagnant puddle water. Each time convinced that if he only drank a little at a time, his stomach would handle it. Half the time, he’d been right.

By the second day, he grudgingly resorted to eating the worms and bugs, and by the third day, he had conclusively decided worms were the way to go when they could be found. There was something about bugs that turned off his appetite. It was the carapaces, he had decided. The crunch and the way their legs continued to kick as you forced them down your throat regardless of how thoroughly you chewed them. It definitely relegated them to second place in his new food pyramid. Most of all, the bugs seemed alien to him. They were bigger, but maybe that was just his own ignorance. Mike had never been overly outdoorsy. Yes, worms were the way to go. The worms at least were slippery enough to politely slide down his throat when he swallowed them.

And so there he was, lying on leaves on the third night of the third day, gradually watching the color of the sky turn from the dark navy to a morning gray. Mike was exhausted. He already dreaded the idea of getting back onto his cut-up feet but knew he couldn’t spend the day there. Thinking probably wasn’t fruitful time spent for a potential madman either. He’d just be compounding his problems at that point. Madness needs no indulgence, he thought for a moment. I’ll go down to the beach again and enlarge the SOS I made with those rocks.

Not that he actually knew what SOS meant. And it didn’t matter to him that he hadn’t seen any planes for the last three days. Mike would have known too. He only looked up at the sky every fifteen minutes to check to see if the moons were still there.

Dad would know what to do, Mike thought. Maybe I should have had a different career path and gone Special Forces like him. He’d probably have made a signal fire out of dry leaves and tree sap. Or carved a canoe out of a log with a sharp rock. At the very least, he probably wouldn’t be dying of thirst or starvation, naked, and coated in a mixture of mud and his own shit.

Time to get up and eat more worms, Mike said with a groan. He found that as the days dragged on, he was talking to himself more and more. The sound of his own voice was almost the only proof of existence he had.

Sore everywhere, the pain in his body served as a distraction from the soles of his feet. He lumbered to a standing position and began to stretch. One of the leaves he laid on still stuck to his hind side before falling off as he bent over to touch his toes. As he took a deep breath, he could feel his skin stretching a little tighter across his ribs. It wasn’t just that his skin had tightened from sunburn, he realized. He frowned, knowing he must have lost a few pounds. Mike wasn’t particularly large to begin with. Three-day-old stubble itched his chin, growing patchy around his mouth, but not making it quite to his sideburns. Mike hated being unshaven. He considered his inability to grow a full beard as an unmanly shortcoming.

He trekked away from the small clearing by the puddle and headed into the direction of the beach. The walk was slow. Each pace he took he did with care so as not to step on anything rough. The cuts on his feet didn’t need any more friends. He swatted insects away methodically, expending the energy for large bugs and allowing the small ones to be scraped off by the protruding plant fronds that he couldn’t avoid. Somehow, he was able to gauge what was where when nearly instantly. In fact, his mind had become attuned to the jungle, knowing in advance where the larger insects lay in wait for him as though he could see through the leaves.

As he got closer to the beach, Mike spotted a hand-sized rock to add to the SOS. I don’t even know what SOS stands for, he thought dismally. I’m going to die here writing bullshit into the sand. Naked. The bugs will eat what’s left of me, and my dental records probably won’t even identify me. I don’t even know whether to hate my own guts for getting me here or someone else’s. Maybe later I’ll write my own name with rocks. And a birth date. Mike knew thinking of good ways to die wasn’t a productive line of thought, but without alternatives, there wasn’t much left to consider. Then he crossed through the last patch of jungle brush onto the beach.

Some force drew his attention to his left, and that’s when he saw it. Out along the coast, there were sails in the distance. They stood like dull gray billboards against the brightening skyline just around the corner from the island’s bend. Three of them stood tall across the boat’s side, hung there on wide masts that were nearly equidistant through the ship’s length. The unpainted wooden ship itself stood out much more so against the horizon, though it was harder to see with its belly lying low in the water. The outlines of people scurried along the deck, seemingly in no hurry. Considering the antiquated design of the ship, it was the last thing Mike had ever expected to see. Like one from an old-timey movie.

He couldn’t tell if it had stopped or if it was just moving slowly. God, let it be stopped, he thought. Dropping the rock he was holding, he started a mad dash down the beach. White sand kicked up behind him in poofs as he ignored his aching feet. For a moment, Mike forgot he was nude and almost stumbled to a stuttering halt. Oh, to hell with it. He knew there was no time to stop and get a leaf. Just get to that ship before it passes! his mind screeched at him. The ship was still roughly a quarter-mile away from the shore as it was before. It had stopped, Mike was sure of it now. But how long would it remain?

The ship’s sails were long and rectangular, with smaller triangular sails up front. Its shrouds made triangular nets as they connected to the masts. The canvas had been dyed a dark gray, and as he got closer, he could see wide rectangular portholes lining the ship’s right side. Rope-work seemed to tie it all together, but the details were too hard to make out from that distance. It was clearly out of place. So is a naked, sunburned business consultant. Mike assured himself it was real and not some hallucination. He needed it to be real.

He waved his arms up and down maniacally, trying to get their attention as his lungs burned and dried out from the hot air that hovered in waves over the sandy beach. After a few shouts, he decided he would conserve his breath and keep running. He was circling the bend now.

As soon as he rounded the curvature of the island, he saw a semicircle of half a dozen sailors standing pointedly toward a seventh. They were a motley crew, both in hair color and skin tone, but they all wore the same gray-toned clothes. It couldn’t have been a uniform, as the cut and style were different for everyone there. Even so, at some point they must have decided unanimously to dress in all gray. The hats were large, wide-brimmed, and strangely shaped. Not quite cowboy, not quite sombrero.

The lone man’s hands outstretched in a pleading gesture to the man just in front of the middle of the pack. The hands were moving frantically, as if he hoped his body language could bridge some gap that his words could not. Some instinct surged through Mike that made his legs stop short. The group’s formation seemed to cut off the seventh man from the shore like wolves surrounding a lone sheep. Their body language and stance oozed hostility. They were having some kind of argument for sure. Fear made the isolated man’s hand movements sharp and jittery. Still, Mike wasn’t so polite as to let a spat between coworkers keep him from sailing away from that rock.

Hey! Mike shouted out from about fifty yards away.

He waved his hands above his head again just as a gunshot rang out across the beach. A puff of dense gray smoke raised from the leading man’s hand. Birds lighted from their roosts, cawing frantically as their wings pulled them upward into the morning air. Mike felt himself jump as if the soundwave had a physical presence, and with eyes wide open, he watched with a jolt of fear now humming in the pit of his stomach.

The seventh man fell onto the sand, landing flat on his back. His ridiculous round hat rolled along its brim before settling a few paces away. Clutching his stomach with one hand, the man rolled over onto his knees and began crawling away toward the tree line. A second sailor stepped forward from the semicircle and raised his arm at a downward angle. A second shot rang through the air. The crawling man was no longer crawling, as another puff of smoke joined the first.

Oh, shit, Mike lowered his arms as one of the remaining crew looked directly at him. He wasn’t hard to miss, standing all alone on an empty beach, pinkened by the sun and naked as the day he was born. The man pointed a finger in Mike’s direction and started shouting in some unknown language. The group turned his way almost in unison as the man in the center started barking orders at the others. Orders that must have meant Go get that asshole, because the other five men wasted no time in charging in Mike’s direction.

Mike turned around 180 degrees and began to sprint in the complete opposite direction. After about fifty paces, he knew running down the beach wouldn’t help. He was tired. He was malnourished. He was dehydrated. When you can’t run, hide.

He veered to his right toward the jungle, expecting at any moment to feel some hot piece of metal tear into his naked body. But there weren’t any more gunshots. Just the sound of foreign tongues screaming at him and tropical birds calling out from within the trees. Branches and bush fronds offered their stinging kisses to his face repeatedly, one of which caught him in the eye. He kept darting over rocks and around trees, one hand clutching his stinging, watery eye, the other guarding his privates from further abuse. Adrenaline and endorphins mixed and numbed the pain in his feet to the point where he didn’t even think of them. He hopped over holes and flatfooted his way over rocks. After he charged up a steep hill, his foot caught on a root and caused him to tumble head over feet over the lip and back down again. Fortunately, it wasn’t very rocky, and he slid atop a layer of leaves for a few feet. He was hobbling on his right foot now, more conscious of its inability to keep up with the other than any immediate sensation of pain. The shouts behind him grew closer, but also more separated.

They’re fanning out, instinct told him. They’ve lost line of sight.

Then the sailors’ shouts became calmer and more coordinated, as if this wasn’t the first time they’d hunted a person through a jungle. Mike grunted and thought, It’s an island, Mike. You aren’t going anywhere. They probably know the shape and size of this place better than you do.

The sound of men hacking through the brush kept growing closer as Mike came to a stop. The leaves rustled as their branches were lopped off by whatever long blade the crew was slinging ahead of them. Mike was too winded and hungry to press on. Worms and bugs hadn’t made the best fuel for cardio.

Limping his way to a particularly overgrown patch of brush, he laid down low and tried to cover himself with leaves and brush but couldn’t manage to cover up most of his legs. The attempt felt pathetic. They were going to catch him, and he knew he had to come to terms with that. He quickly thought of a dozen things to say to talk his way out of, well, whatever they might do to him.

I could give them money, he thought, though they probably don’t speak English. Begging might work. What could a crew of murderers want that I can give them? Sex? No. Fuck that. I’m not going out like that. Besides, I’m covered in seven layers of shit anyway.

One of the sailor’s boots stomped around his hiding place and passed by him for a moment, right before the man doubled back and burst into laughter. Apparently, he thought his prey looked as stupid half hiding under leaves as Mike himself felt.

With a short, thin sword in hand, the man marched to Mike’s poor excuse for a hiding place. In an eruption of leaves that he had hoped would be distracting, Mike scrambled halfway to his feet, just to be knocked rolling over on his side by the sailor’s jagged kick. Searing pain flashed through his ribs as he stumbled over the brush and hit something solid. His back was against a tree now. The sailor grinned a yellow smile from beneath his bushy black beard. It was over now. The man managed to stop laughing for long enough to take in a deep breath. Probably to hoot at the others.

And that’s when the sailor’s head exploded. The top half anyway. Chunks of blood and viscera propelled themselves forward from what was left of his face and splattered onto Mike’s own. It was in his eyes, his mouth. Something hard rattled against his teeth in what could only be a small fragment of the sailor’s skull. Or maybe one of the man’s own teeth.

The fat bearded sailor fell forward onto his knees and then into Mike’s empty lap with a dull thud, blood still pumping out the top of his head onto Mike’s exposed privates. One of his eyeballs dangled from a piece of vein or sinew. Mike didn’t know. He’d never seen the inside of a skull before and now he was too busy struggling to get the fat sailor’s limp body out of his lap to care. He couldn’t stop spitting out the metallic taste of blood, and his ears were ringing something fierce from the sound of the last gunshot. It was much louder up close. Loud enough to quake in his bones.

Before he could gather his senses, someone grabbed his arm like a vise and jerked him onto his miserable feet. A second hand covered his mouth and stifled his shouts. Mike’s instincts automatically caused him to flail, but his new captor was much stronger than he was. Or maybe the man just hadn’t been eating worms for three days.

Captain Zuberi Bluedragon had tossed his single-shot pistol the moment after he’d fired it. The weapon itself was likely worth more than the ill-fated pirate made in a year, but it didn’t matter. It was a tool like any other, and not even his favorite. He preferred to fight with his fists, sword, and magic and only used such unbecoming weapons in times like these, when he wished to conceal just how powerful he truly was. His skin was black. So black it almost looked purple, but his clothes were different from those of the gray-garbed sailors. He wore forest browns and greens that blended seamlessly with his environment. The fabric had been frayed intentionally all over to create a plant-like façade.

He pushed Mike up against the tree and let go of his arm. Placing a finger to his lips, Captain Zuberi shushed while cocking his head rapidly left and right, clearly not wanting to lose sight of his surroundings for even a moment. He hadn’t expected anyone other than the filthy pink man he’d been sent to find and knew he’d likely get an earful from his Ashavan when he reported that his target had been in danger. He removed his hand from Mike’s trembling mouth cautiously.

You, Captain Zuberi pointed at Mike and tried to wrap his tongue around the unfamiliar English that he’d bothered to learn prior to this mission. Come with me.

He pointed at himself as if he weren’t sure he was making himself clear. His voice was deep, and his accent was strong, but Mike got the picture. Captain Zuberi snatched up the pirate’s unused pistol and Mike noted that the original was far more extravagant than the one he traded it for.

That’s weird, Mike thought. But so was everything else. A part of him wanted to sit down and accept that this was all some kind of deluded nightmare concocted by his own mind. Maybe a fever dream. Maybe an elaborate relapse created by whatever hallucinogen had existed in that bug he ate the day before, but he could still taste the bits of brain in his mouth, and they were convincingly real.

In a smooth motion, Captain Zuberi grabbed Mike gruffly by the forearm again and began pulling him toward the other side of the island, his dark face contorting in annoyance as he did so, as though he were pulling a stubborn mule from one stable to another. Mike’s feet trip-trotted hesitantly as the leg muscles gave way to the man’s urgent direction. The tall Black man seemed unperturbed by the fact that he was dragging a nude stranger through the jungle. Bushes smacked into them both mercilessly as they ran. Even through all the chaos, Mike noted how the man moved with a focus that almost made it seem like it was any other day for him. His movements felt practiced.

Mike hobbled along as best as he could, still favoring his right foot before he tripped again. Captain Zuberi was lean, but strong, and caught him and pivoted to Mike’s left side seamlessly before placed Mike’s left arm securely over his shoulders. They were making much better time then, but still at a disadvantage speed-wise. Or maybe not.

The sailors had been loud before, but they were yelling like mad now. Panicked shouts called out in several directions. They weren’t far, but they seemed to have stopped moving temporarily. Without being able to see, they must not know how many people they were chasing. They must have found this other guy’s gun and now know I’m not alone, Mike thought.

After seeing the gore from the first man, Mike wouldn’t want to blindly chase after anyone through the dense jungle either. Running for another few minutes, Mike could hear the sailors closing in. His savior very unceremoniously chucked him to the ground and marched back the way they came.

Wait! Don’t go, Mike begged. Please!

Mike hesitated for only a few moments before picking himself up again and limping in the opposite direction once more. He still didn’t know where he was going. Flight was just an instinct, bravery be damned. Another loud shot rang through the jungle followed by a scream. More pistol shots tore through the leaves not far behind him.

Fear gripped Mike anew, and somehow he found he could still move a little faster. A body was tearing through the brush behind, and he knew it must be the man who was helping him. Somehow, he knew from the scream that the shot went into one of the crewmembers and not the other way around. The scream wasn’t deep enough to match his new friend’s voice. Thankfully, he was right. In no time at all, the man was under Mike’s left arm again, dragging him further away from the crew’s shouts.

You come with me, Captain Zuberi ordered again. Faster! You go faster!

As if Mike had any plans to the contrary. The man wasn’t even out of breath. Captain Zuberi just kept dragging Mike relentlessly along a path that only he knew. Onward until they were through to the other side of the jungle. The beach opened before them, and directly ahead was another ship. A lifeboat was beached on the sand and surrounded by a dozen gray-uniformed sailors.

At first, the pink-skinned man halted in his tracks and dug his heels into the sand.

This, of course, was met with an unforgiving jerk forward and Captain Zuberi’s snapping You come! right in his ear. But Mike’s gaze shifted over heads of the Dragon Guard dressed in their sailor grays and toward the deck of the ship.

After a moment’s hesitation, Mike noticed the uniformed sailors were definitely a separate group. The ship anchored offshore was different. It was much larger, and the sides were painted a clean white. It was very different from the worn-looking ship on the other side of the island, though it had three masts as well, and the sails were dyed in the same dull gray color.

The men by the lifeboat came hurrying toward them, maintaining a double rank formation. They were an even dozen, jogging in six wide columns. They carried long rifles diagonally across their fronts as they charged with soldier-like efficiency. Swords dangled to and fro at their sides from leather straps on their belts. Most of them were older, likely in their forties. The racial makeup of the group seemed highly similar to the men who had been chasing them and Mike couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly where most of them might be from. One was noticeably a woman, but she still carried the same stern demeanor as her comrades. Most telling of all were the burn scars that many of them had on their hands or faces. Clearly, they had seen some kind of military action and had been places Mike couldn’t imagine.

When the two parties had closed the distance between them, Mike was given another hard shove toward the leftmost soldier by Captain Zuberi. She didn’t seem fazed at having a naked man pushed into her direction. Mike self-consciously used his hand to cover himself again.

Sul Saria, you are to guard this one with your life! Captain Zuberi said sternly in Latin. Definitely a Drifter, but I’ve sensed no magemist. Maybe corporal or luminous. Be on your guard so he doesn’t stab you and try to get away. Failure in this will be unforgiveable. The rest of you ... He turned to the remaining Dragon Guard, with me! There are a few pirates in the jungle that we should make short work of.

That sounds vaguely familiar. Maybe Italian, Mike thought. I wish they would talk slower.

The soldier in front of Mike had been ordered to take him out of harm’s way and another vise gripped Mike’s arm and pulled him around until they were both behind the block of soldiers. After seeing Mike’s hobble, the soldier quickly ran to Mike’s left and came under his arm just as she’d seen Captain Zuberi do. They made their way to the lifeboat, leaving the others behind to wait at the edge of the jungle.

Right as Mike lifted his right leg inside, a loud series of booms coursed through the air, and Mike jerked his head in the direction they came. Several of the noises were almost simultaneous, and a massive cloud of smoke started to rise from the soldiers’ rifles. There were a few more intermittent shots of the rifle, muffling as the soldiers penetrated trees, now strung out in a looser, more mobile formation. He heard the Black man who had saved him call out but couldn’t understand his words. They were spoken so fast they ran together.

The soldier listened raptly and then turned to Mike. "Quot?" he asked. The inflection at the end made it sound like a question.

What? Mike said dumbfounded.

"Quot piratae? the soldier asked annoyed. Her brow furrowed and he looked agitated at Mike’s lack of an understandable response. Quot?" she repeated.

The woman pointed back toward the jungle and then raised a finger. And then another. And another. Finally, Mike put it together. She wanted to know how many were chasing after him. Of course, you idiot. Probably important to know right?

Six! Mike said quickly. Six, I think.

"Sex!" the soldier called back.

Apparently, that was the lucky number, because the commander started shouting out orders again. Some of the edge had faded from his voice. At the signal, the few who had run into the jungle regrouped with the others. The group of soldiers turned about and jogged back to join the life raft. Five of them hopped effortlessly into the boat with Mike and the woman. Their rifles were still smoking, and Mike could smell the acrid odor of gunpowder. Black smudges speckled the soldier’s otherwise immaculate gray uniforms. They jostled him aside when necessary to take prearranged positions in the boat. Each soldier then picked up an oar and held it perpendicularly in front of their chest, eager to row.

Mike noticed the remaining six soldiers’ rifles were clean. The group must have only fired the front row’s volley into their pursuers. That was all they had needed. No misses. No reloads. Everything about them seemed as hardened as the commander who led them. They were clearly trained to do this, but who would bother be trained in the use of single-shot muzzle-loaded rifles, Mike didn’t know. It fit just as well as most pieces of information he had pondered over the last few days.

Captain Zuberi and his group didn’t take long to push the lifeboat out of the sand and back into the waves, and he and Mike were the only ones who didn’t take an oar. Instead, Captain Zuberi stood at the bow, staring stoically toward the jungle, as if not ready to believe the fight was over so quickly or so easily.

The boat moved swiftly, with each man’s rowing perfectly coordinated with the next. They were a hallmark of efficiency. As they paddled out, Captain Zuberi turned around and started fumbling with a few things on the floor of the boat. He produced a folded blanket and tossed it to Mike, tired of seeing the pink Drifter quivering with fear. Thick and coarse, the blanket landed heavy onto Mike’s chest. It could have been a horse blanket, and it carried the same gray tone that everyone seemed to be wearing. It wasn’t cut for comfort, but it was the first soft thing Mike had held in his hands for days. He unfolded it immediately and covered up his nakedness. Saltwater had splashed into the boat and sloshed around on the deck, stinging the cuts on his bare feet.

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he could feel his nose start to run. It wasn’t the pain in his feet as much as the reminder of everything he’d just gone through. He snorted the mucus back inward and, disgusted, swallowed. Captain Zuberi shuddered with discomfort and didn’t meet his eye. Without saying a word, he looked at Mike’s blanketed form up and down, finding it unusual that someone his age couldn’t speak Latin to save his life. The man was too old to be a Drifter, yet here he was. Probably why Ashavan Yuna is so interested in him, he thought. Though how did she know to check this island out of so many thousands in the Middle Sea? Some secret magic, no doubt.

Quickly growing tired of Mike’s sniveling, he offered a canteen and continued to say nothing. Mike unscrewed the metal cap and drank. It was fresh water. The cleanest he’d drunk in days. He gulped it down greedily, temporarily forgetting everything else. The rocking of the boat forced a gulp down the wrong pipe, and he choked on it, but still continued to drink. Then he swished the last mouthful around in his cheeks and through his teeth before swallowing that as well. The water felt immensely pure after days of not brushing and the metal canteen had kept it cool all through the morning.

Thank you, Mike said automatically. The commander didn’t acknowledge him. They were pulling in closer and closer to main ship. Mike. Mike placed his hand on his chest. Then he gestured to Captain Zuberi. A few of the other soldiers rowing looked over at him in amusement but continued their silent rowing. The commander just pressed his fingers to his lips again making it clear he wasn’t looking for a conversation.

They pulled up along the port side of the ship. It was massive and seemed to float significantly higher above the water than one would normally expect a ship of that size. The morning sun peeked out over the highest point of the island and reflected its light brilliantly against the pure white of the ship’s sides. Mike squinted so as not to be blinded. At the rear of the ship’s castle were large stained glass windows, a mosaic of reds, yellows, blues, and purples. Dinner-plate sized portholes were framed in ornate carvings.

A rope ladder with wooden steps was dropped into the lifeboat from above. The steps had been recently sanded and stained or were new entirely. Each rower deftly avoided getting hit with it, leaving Mike feeling uncoordinated and uncomfortable when one of the rungs swung over and jabbed him in his ribcage. Or maybe it was the constant nudity. He hoped they would have a spare uniform for him to put on.

Captain Zuberi ascended the ladder first, climbing easily hand over hand, foot over foot, before leaning back over the ship’s railing to shout back down at them. Speaking in his native tongue, he ordered and pointed at Mike. Make sure he doesn’t break his neck!

One of the rowers stood up and extended a hand. Mike didn’t know what he wanted until the man, frustrated, took hold of Mike’s blanket and wrenched it away from him. The jarring motion nearly caused Mike to lose his footing in the swaying rowboat.

"Vos ascendite." The man pointed to Mike, and then upward.

This is Latin, Mike thought. Are these people reenactors? Muskets weren’t invented until ... Well, after Latin fell out of style. He climbed the rope ladder, one shaky foot at a time. He could feel the steps wobble on the rope under his feet and was fully conscious of the show he gave the soldiers below him. When he arrived at the top, the dark-skinned Captain Zuberi reached over and took a hold of his forearm to steady him. Mike awkwardly raised one leg over the railing and slid over onto the ship’s deck.

It was a deck half full of people. Mike counted: dozens of people. Almost all of them wore the same gray uniform as his rescuers. Some had metal pins on their chests, surely a ranking system of some sort. Their silver buttons ran down the middle and began glistening more prominently with the angle of the sun. He hadn’t noticed at first by just glancing, but several of them were women with their hair tucked into their caps.

Captain Zuberi glowered at the crowd that had gathered. The Ashavan’s ship should have more discipline, he thought. Though what can I expect? The Ashavan wouldn’t send the captain of her Dragon Guard frivolously. It’s only natural for them to want to know what I’ve brought back with me. He turned his attention back to Mike, who was still regaining his footing on the deck.  Captain Zuberi was curious himself.

Mike timidly covered himself with his hands again. I must look like a real creature, he thought.

His skin burned a deep crimson. Some spots likely peeling. Naked, cut, and beaten. It was clear he was quite the spectacle, as many of the ship’s crew began whispering out the sides of their mouths. They looked more curious than angry. He tried to discern their nationality but couldn’t. Most were tanned either naturally or by the sun. Every member of the crew could have been related for all he could tell, and it didn’t take long before he directed his attention to the ship itself.

The deck was immaculately clear and painted the same dark gray as the sails. Whatever the ship’s purpose, it must not have been for the transport of cargo. Nothing was on it aside from the regular sailing necessities. The center mast towered over him, carrying the mainsail. Taut ropes whistled in the light breeze. Unfamiliar, complicated-looking knots battened down anything that threatened to come loose. Near the crow’s nest at the top was a large black flag with a silver crescent moon in the middle.  Its points were uncharacteristically pointed upwards and the proportions of white to black felt somewhat off.  It looked as though someone had stitched on a dark circle two thirds the size of a white circle beneath it.

Two women on the ship looked dramatically different from rest. Neither wore uniforms. Instead, they were wearing colorful outfits that set them apart like a neon sign.

The first was a redhead with hair down well past her shoulders. Her dark green eyes provided quite the attractive contrast, but there was something in them that made Mike nervous. There was a feline kind of focus to them, like an animal stalking prey. She watched him, greedily soaking in every detail of his form and he looked back at her, expecting her to avert her eyes in embarrassment, but instead, a crooked smile curled across her face. Her full lips were moving, but Mike couldn’t hear anything coming out of them. She could have been whispering but it almost looked like she was speaking idly to herself. Her right hand started to— a little frantically—twirl the fabric of the blue dress she wore, an excited tic perhaps.

Once Mike tore his eyes away from hers, he couldn’t help noticing how well her breasts filled the bodice of her dress. He blushed, but while the blood ran to his face, it unbiddenly ran to other parts of his body. It was a natural reflex, like most embarrassing things. He was only twenty-five, and after three days without relieving his carnal desires or even seeing a woman, what could he do but try to use both hands to cover himself. His attempts were unsuccessful. Mortified, he thought about turning around but knew there were women in the crew behind him as well.

Well, he’s interesting, Queen Strazalia thought. She forced her hand to stop fidgeting with the fabric of her dress, unaware that she’d been doing it. A war of ideas fought in her mind. Part of her wanted to leap over the railing down to midship and kiss this new stranger for adding a brief moment of color to her life, yet she also had the sudden desire to remove her shoe and chuck it at him for no reason. She decided to do neither and waited for her mother’s response.

Seeing the redheaded woman turning toward the taller woman at her side, Mike turned his attention to the second, slightly older, woman on deck as well. She must have been six feet five and kept a slender, almost lanky build. It was clear she was of Asian descent. Her hair ran uncut all the way to her waistline but wasn’t frayed or damaged in the slightest. An elegant red dress cut in a style Mike had never seen before held itself up by straps around her shoulders and the neckline plunged just low enough to attract the eye. He made sure to skip over that part as he took her all in. Between her collarbones was an oval ruby the size of a baby’s fist dangling from a white gold chain. Mike couldn’t even evaluate how much something like that must cost. Matching earrings completed the ensemble.

Along with the uniforms and sails, the deck itself was painted a dark gray, making all the red in the lady’s attire almost jarring in comparison. But it was her face that took Mike aback. He had seen that face more than a few times before. It was unmistakable. Those placid unreadable features almost caused his legs to buckle from beneath him.

Mike didn’t think she was real. Somehow, she still wasn’t. If the moons convinced him he was mad, he wasn’t sure what to think of her. When she finally turned her pitch-black eyes onto his own, he felt the blood run right out of his face and the world went dark. The last thing he could remember was the dull, painless thump as his body crashed to the deck.

Chapter 2.

Emerging Perils

It has been difficult to reconcile the number of Drifters who crossed over to Nocht. Our records detail missing persons who fit the general pattern, though they almost certainly include kidnappings to some degree. The Nochtans have also attempted to monitor Drifter appearances in their world, though many likely drown and are never counted, considering Drifters always arrive in a body of water.

~ Dr. Helen Newton

Lady Lilith! Wait! We shouldn’t be going so far into the jungle! If your lord father finds out we’ve done this, he’ll kill me! A young man spoke quick Latin to Lily over the heavy pounding of hooves as he rode behind her.

Lord Jafari’s handsome face scanned the trees fearfully, beads of sweat dripping down his dark black forehead. Like most days, the jungles of the Middle Sea where humid and sweltering. The shady canopy of the trees offered little respite.

Lily almost felt sorry for him, knowing that she’d roped him unwillingly into her latest adventure, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn back then. Sitting on a corneque always made her forget about her short stature and made her more fearless. She dug her heels into the wide beast’s side and made certain that it carried her onward.

She looked over her shoulder as the reluctant young lord followed her and spoke Latin back to him. Imagine what he’d do if you abandoned me out here alone? You’ve no choice but to follow now. Besides, I think I heard one.

Lord Jafari’s face twisted in dread as he spurred his corneque up beside her own. If you heard a raptor, all the more reason to get out of here! He whispered as forcefully as he could muster and clung lower to his mount’s back. The corneque’s fur had been trimmed short to grant it relief from the heat, and so Lord Jafari twisted his hand through the reins as if afraid he might be bucked off at the slightest surprise.

You’re a corporal magus! Show some backbone! Magi are supposed to be the caretakers of the people. You ought to delight in facing danger! Besides, maybe this is your chance to use that shiny new machete you’re always riding around with. Lily gestured to the long leather pouch that rattled against the side of Lord Jafari’s corneque. Personally, she felt safe enough riding atop a corneque at all. She had always considered the corneque one part rhinoceros and one part horse, and the sturdy horned creature certainly wasn’t an animal most would want to tangle with. Its formidable size was likely the only reason the species survived in Nocht. Lily’s short legs had only recently grown long enough to comfortably straddle the wide beast.

Lord Jafari pulled up beside her, hoping proximity would make him more convincing. Just because I can heal myself doesn’t mean I can’t be killed! And this thing is decorative! I’ve never actually had to use it before!

A loud shriek ripped through the jungle, bouncing off the broad trees and filtering through the tall green overgrowth. Lily halted her corneque. She heard the rustle of something big moving through the jungle. With a birdlike leap, a raptor nearly as tall as she was came striding into the middle of the jungle road a few dozen paces down from them.

Its body was coated all over in small gray feathers, aside from its head, which had what looked like a crown jutting out from the back of its skull of bright blue and orange. The tip of its tail was splayed out like a fan, its coloring mimicking that of its head. It barely reached the shoulders of Lily’s mount. Long black claws jutted from its feet, and it had the knife-like spur of a rooster. Turning its gaze down the dirt road, the birdlike creature spotted them and let out another shriek before running on its long bouncy legs toward them.

Lily’s corneque huffed and attempted to turn as it became aware of the obstacle in their path. It was, of course, the appropriate response. While most raptors wouldn’t engage a massive corneque, they certainly wouldn’t avoid tearing a helpless human apart should they happen to fall off the back of one. Some were even known to make daring bites at riders, knowing they might be able to knock them off.

Run! Lord Jafari said, tugging on his reins and turning his mount about quickly. The fact that his cowardice might compromise his family’s standing with the viceroy of Mazu was completely forgotten as fear took control.

Doing the same, Lily was filled with a rush of fear and excitement. She knew there would be no way that the bipedal creature could ever match the speed of a trained corneque, though the chase was exhilarating. Both she and Lord Jafari raced through the jungle at breakneck speeds, slowly putting distance between them and the predator. Lily looked back, wondering if she could still see it sprinting after them. To her measured disappointment, it looked as though they had lost it completely.

Turning around in her saddle, a low-hanging branch whacked her in the eye, almost knocking her out of her saddle and onto the dirty jungle road that they were speeding along. Her legs reflexively clung to the broad back of the beast she rode on so tightly the corneque grunted in annoyance. Wincing and covering her face with her hand, she saw that there was no blood. Tears welled up until it became difficult to see where she was going, and she was relieved when the road emerged into open fields. Small hillsides rolled one past another, dotted with farmhouses beside patchworks of crops. She could already see the northern walls of Mazu City off in the distance. The mists of the early morning were still drifting around it, blending in perfectly with the gray stones that the entire city was built with.

It wasn’t until they were a full mile away from the jungle’s edge that Lord Jafari finally slowed down. I told you that was dangerous! As he saw the right side of her face begin to swell, a look of renewed fear came on him. What happened to your eye?

Is it bad? Lily asked. I got hit with a branch on our way out.

I can’t believe father ever thought about trying to marry me to this Drifter, Lord Jafari thought. Maybe it’s true what some say, that they’re demons. I certainly have never seen anyone with hair, eyes, or skin as fair as hers. That and she’s hopelessly reckless. They must fear nothing on Earth’s side of the Asha. It’s going to go black. He shook his head. Listen, you can’t tell your father it was I who rode with you. Tell him you went off on your own.

I won’t tell. Lily waved away his concerns.

She didn’t want to get caught misbehaving any more than the stick-in-the-mud Lord Jafari did. The only difference between them was that she was a significantly better liar. Pulling a few loose strands of blonde hair away from her face, she closed her eyes, attempting to connect with the Asha. The magic that it granted her hummed low in her body, swirling like a pit of energy in her lower abdomen. Not being well practiced in the skill set, Lily attempted to call it all the way up to her face, soothing the stinging sensation and hopefully healing the tender area. How does it look now? she asked her companion.

No good. You’re no healer, Lady Lilith. Your skin is far too white to hide a blemish like that. I miss the days when our adventures consisted of swiping sweets from the kitchens.

Lily frowned. You know I don’t do that anymore.

Well looking for raptors isn’t suitable for a lady. Why Viceroy Godrah would adopt such an unruly Drifter into his house is beyond me.

Probably because he couldn’t have children of his own, wanted a magus in the family, and thought that if I looked enough like Queen Strazalia, she would overlook our age difference and befriend me, thus ingratiating himself with the most powerful woman on the island.

Lily ticked off all the reasons her foster parents may have had when considering bringing her in. It had been eight years since the fishermen had pulled her from the sea and delivered her to the viceroy, and while she was immensely grateful for the man’s protection, she couldn’t help but see how her inclusion in his household would have been a boon to him as well. She could hear the jealousy in Lord Jafari’s voice. As a lord to a lesser house, he would probably give his right arm to be deemed Viceroy Godrah’s successor.

Trotting back toward the city, Lord Jafari continued his complaining. Queen Strazalia Reddragon has red hair, not blonde. All the two of you have in common is that you’re White, and maybe more gifted than your average magus. Not that it matters anyway. Queen Strazalia hasn’t set foot in Mazu for years. Not since the Celestial Tournament. That’s how it’s always been in the Middle Sea: the mainlanders win their territories, set up advantageous trade agreements, and then spend the rest of their days living it up back in the mainland. I doubt Queen Strazalia will ever leave Ivala again, much less come here. Even if she did, what would you relate with her over? Impress her with some flashy luminous?

Lily frowned, wondering if he was right. Nocht was just as big as Earth, and yet she’d never seen more of it than the island of Mazu. You haven’t even seen all of the island, she reminded herself. Not really. Father only takes you to the nice places. As for the queen, Lord Jafari is definitely right. I’ve no place having my name spoken in the same breath. She’s a celestial champion. I can’t even fully heal a bruise!

It’s not like Father ever lets me practice. She closed her eyes and tried to summon the corporal magic to her face again. This time, she simply used it to modify a few of her facial features, such as manipulating the coloring and reducing the swelling. It felt as though there were a tight knot in her stomach that she had to maintain in order to hold onto the effect. How about now? She turned to her riding companion.

Lord Jafari pursed his lips, angling his head this way and that and looking a little relieved, as though they might just be able to sneak back into the Gray Keep without anyone finding out they were gone. I suppose. Did you heal it or are you just shapeshifting?

Just mutatio corporis. I’ll try to keep the change up until it heals properly on its own.

A roar rolled through the sky above them that let them know the dragon towers had just fired off a line of their guns. Losing all focus on her magic, Lily looked up to the sky expectantly. To the west of the city, a dark winged figure was falling. From that distance, she could just make out the blue tones of the dragon before it hit the ground. The dark shapes of birds flocked from the tall grasses in all directions upon impact.

Looks like they got another dragon, she commented idly.

Lord Jafari nodded with a smile. "A