Chapter 1
On a rocky mountainous slope of the southern Himalayas, a young boy watched over a small herd of goats grazing on scattered patches of grass. Alone and sitting on a crag in the cool early hours of morning, he paused to look up and saw a hawk circling overhead in search of food. With a loud screech, the hawk soared up toward a nest in the crevice of a steep cliff overlooking a deep, narrow gorge whose sides rose sharply and towered high over surrounding lush forests and grassy meadows. As the sun slowly appeared over snowy peaks, clouds parted allowing warm rays of sunlight to dissipate the heavy morning mist and settle on the tall towers of a Buddhist monastery. Shrouded in mystery and tradition, it stood nestled between jagged cliffs and was accessed only by a rocky, winding path that led from a small village far below.
Assembled in an old, moss-covered courtyard, a small group of monks quietly stood facing the main tower patiently waiting for a sacred ceremony to begin. While eyes focused in quiet serenity on a symbol of fire carved into a stone on the tower wall, the silence was broken by the tinkling sounds of chimes gently swaying in the cool, mountain breeze. Within moments, the sun cast its light upon the higher walls. As it rose in the sky, its light descended slowly until it finally shone upon the fire symbol. Only then did the large, wooden door of the tower open and five elegantly robed young men emerge and take their place in front of an ancient, stone altar.
There on a red silk cloth edged with black and gold thread, incense burned in golden bowls, and wisps of white, scented smoke encircled all who stood nearby. A large, imposing golden statue of a dragon with outstretched wings and emerald eyes rested on a beautifully carved jade pedestal set in the middle of the altar. Around its neck on golden chains hung five golden medallions made in the image of the dragon's head, whose eye was a large, shimmering emerald. As the gold reflected the flickering light of candles placed around the altar, the young men waited patiently for what was to follow with heads bowed and eyes focused on the stone surface beneath their sandaled feet.
Presently the deep, quivering tone of a brass gong resonated throughout the monastery, and the old master priest appeared and slowly walked toward the altar. Raising his hands to the dragon, he closed his eyes and began to chant. A strong gust of wind suddenly blew across the courtyard, and green flags displayed along the top of the wall flapped loudly. Flames from the candles flickered, and the emerald eyes of the dragon began to glow. The chanting ended, and the priest turned to bow before the five men, placing around each of their necks one of the gold medallions marking their mastery in the skills of weapons, martial arts, and spirituality. After all medallions had been bestowed, the priest stood before the statue and chanted once more before kneeling low. The eyes of the dragon burned brighter, and green rays suddenly burst from the glowing emeralds to each of the five medallions setting the smaller emeralds ablaze with its fiery essence. Instantly a surge of energy from each medallion flowed through the young men causing them to throw their arms out behind them while arching their backs in pain. In that moment they each received the power of the dragon, a power of strength, courage, honor, and purpose.
When at last the transition ended, the priest made a motion with his hand, and another monk came forward carrying an ornately decorated ebony chest and set it on the altar before the dragon. The priest opened the box and removed five pairs of golden sais carefully placing them on the altar where they glimmered softly in the candlelight. A mighty weapon worthy of its purpose, the sai had three-prongs, a long and narrow middle prong tapering to a sharp point with two shorter, narrower prongs, one on each side curving outward. It was the sacred weapon of the Order for it symbolized the face of the dragon. The middle prong, which could be retracted into the handle of the weapon and released by a secret device hidden within, represented its long tongue with the shorter prongs as sharp pointed teeth. A large, round emerald lay imbedded in the golden handle where the three prongs came together and pressing the emerald triggered the extension of the middle prong to its full length. Finally, along the handle itself ancient symbols for the words honor, truth, and justice were delicately engraved.
The young men stepped forward, and each received their weapon, one in each hand. In unison they raised them out from their chest and chanted an oath of loyalty to the dragon to uphold justice and defeat the powers of evil. The sais were then crossed touching them to the medallion, sealing their oath to the dragon. The priest made another motion with his hand, and the new warriors knelt down and bowed their heads. He stood before each one placing his right hand on each of their heads then raised them up again. They waited as the priest bowed one last time after which the five men together bowed in acceptance of their award and turned to face the assembly to bow before them as well. In a final gesture of unison and allegiance, the young men each raised a fist out in front of them then struck their chest twice before extending their fist out again, displaying the secret sign of power and victory from the heart. This concluded the ceremony, and the gong sounded again whereby the master priest promptly picked up the ebony chest and slowly walked back to the wooden door where he disappeared inside the old building.
High above the courtyard in a tall tower, a young woman looked down on the ceremony from a small window. Dressed in dark silk pants and tunic and wearing a dark veil across her face, she paused just a moment to wipe away beads of perspiration from her forehead then moved away from the window and back into the main part of the room. She bent down to pick up a sword and with focus and determination once again began her rigorous routine of thrusts and jabs. Around the large room she maneuvered her parrying exhibition, gaining speed with her movements and skill of her hands. She finally put the sword away and earlier thrusts and jabs now became punches and kicks as she focused on strength and discipline of body and motion of muscles. More slowly and with perfect control, she practiced breathing deeply as she moved her body extending arms and legs in different positions, an exercise in control over mind and body.
With the completion of this drill, the young woman walked over to a small table and picked up a handful of knives. She focused on the wall at the far end of the room where cloth targets had been posted for her use. With a deep breath threw the knives in quick succession. One by one they whizzed past the window in a gentle arc in search of their destination. When all had been thrown, she walked over to the targets and found a knife stuck within the center mark of each one. Satisfied with the results, she took the knives back to the table and once again threw them, repeating the exercise many times and replacing any targets that became ragged or torn.
After several hours had passed, she heard the soft sound of a bell and obediently set aside her weapons to sit in quiet meditation near the open window. Taking in deep controlled breathes of the mountain air, she concentrated on thoughts of peace and harmony, of nature and God, and of her purpose and place in life caught between the forces of good and that of evil. She finally closed her eyes allowing her spiritual psyche to cleanse her subconscious of any thoughts of mental or physical inadequacy, thoughts not conducive to a warrior of the dragon. Within the hour, a young monk came to the door and quietly knocked. When no one answered, he slowly opened the door to peek inside the room and upon finding the young woman sitting serenely on the floor in deep concentration, he quietly approached and gently touched her on the shoulder.
"Ju-Lan," he said quietly as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "It is late, and you must come now. Master Seng will be hungry for his meal."
While waiting for her to respond, he stared at her closely. Her skin was radiant though the veil covered her nose and lower part of her face. This was a woman's custom of respect within this sacred sanctuary of religious men sworn to a life of perpetuating the Order of the Dragon with honor, justice, and high moral character. The young man waited until she opened her eyes and saw them sparkle with a faint green glow as sunlight through the open window shone upon her face. He gazed into her eyes for a moment, mesmerized by swirling flickers of light enticing his senses and tempting him to draw nearer. Resisting the urge, he quickly straightened up and offered his hand to help her to her feet. She accepted the offer and was soon standing before him.
"The power grows strong in you, Ju-Lan. You are almost ready."
She nodded her head, and the young man motioned toward the door then followed her after she picked up a scarf to tie around her long, dark hair. When finished, she put her hands together and with a little secret smile, bowed before him. Quickly she turned to walk out of the room and down the narrow halls. At the entrance to the kitchen she paused to wash her hands in a bowl of water placed on a small table then dried them with a cloth folded neatly on the side, gently touching a scar below her right thumb.
On the other side of the world, from the balcony of his plantation home set high on a cliff above the town of St. John's, Richard Whitbourne sat quietly looking out toward the small harbor where the cool, blue waters of the Caribbean Sea glistened from the late morning rays of sunlight. A seagull flew high above the trees and caught his attention. He gazed as it soared gracefully on a warm gust of wind then suddenly swooped down toward the town below to join others flying near the pier and several small fishing boats. Like so many times before, Richard watched as the townspeople bustled around in the large, open market square and down to the waterfront. A large ship carrying valuable goods from England to the small island of Antigua was tied securely to the docks. There men from the ship and those on the dock worked endlessly under the hot sun to unload its precious cargo of fine fabrics, aged wine, leather goods, cutlery, tapestry, and other household items as well as medicine, weapons and ammunition.
Richard idly looked past the town to the fortress built high above it protecting the citizens of St. John's and the surrounding area. He could just barely see patches of red from the uniforms of soldiers walking the parapets, watching and waiting. For some time, he too had been watching and waiting. However, today his prayers had been answered. The ship from England had brought him a letter from his daughter, Julianne. She was finally coming home to them after years of being away- away from home, away from family, and away from life.
As he held the precious letter in his hand, Richard sadly thought back to the last time he had seen her. Though a young woman, she looked so small and fragile waving to him and his wife, Catherine, from the deck of a ship leaving Savannah harbor for England some three years ago. From there she had traveled to India and lived with his brother and family. His heart ached knowing the pain she felt at leaving him and her mother, but she could no longer bear the emptiness and anguish of having lost her fiancé. It was soon after her departure that Richard packed up his lonely wife and their belongings and settled in Antigua to raise sugarcane.
Settling in Savannah ten years earlier had seemed like the perfect venture for the enterprising and successful aristocrat and his family. He worked hard to establish a plantation and involved himself with the affairs of the city and commerce. Soon his plantation thrived on the export of cotton and flax allowing the Whitbournes to enjoy the social status of wealthy landowners. His only child, Julianne, was nineteen years old when she met Edward Davenport. He was a handsome, educated, and well-mannered son of another landowner, James Davenport, who had only recently moved to Savannah from Charleston with his wife and three children.
Edward was the oldest son who had studied law and received a position in a prosperous law office under the tutelage of Savannah's most prestigious barrister, Henry Sebastian. Though twenty-two years of age, Edward had already successfully represented several clients in their litigations and had hoped to one day turn his focus to more political pursuits. It was at a church picnic one Sunday afternoon in spring when he met the beautiful Julianne Whitbourne, young and spirited, yet graceful and poised. After several months they fell in love, and when Edward asked for Julianne's hand in marriage, Richard and Catherine were very pleased and happily began to make plans for the upcoming nuptials.
Time passed quickly as summer turned to autumn. Julianne and her mother busied themselves ordering her trousseau from a well-known fashion shop in London, and though Catherine knew it would take the better part of a year before arriving in Savannah, she would have none other but the best for her daughter. Still there was much to do and learn for Julianne was determined to be a good wife and housekeeper and eagerly set forth to master the ways of house and kitchen. With many months yet to wait, Julianne and Edward patiently looked forward to their life together until one fateful night the scourge of the seas set their sights on Savannah and forever changed the lives of the young couple and all who lived there.
Richard's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of gentle footsteps. He slowly turned to look around and saw his wife come through the open balcony door to join him. She was followed by a house servant who carried a silver tray with a plate of fresh bread, honey, and cheese along with two cups and a teapot of freshly brewed tea. As she sat in the chair next to him he smiled at her, and a feeling of calmness took hold of him soothing his worrisome heart. She returned his smile and soon turned to look out over the balcony rails. Richard continued to gaze at her, his eyes tracing the profile of her face and gentle wave of her dark hair pulled back and pinned behind her head.
Catherine was beautiful by most standards. A delicate flower, she had weathered the strain and hardship of leaving her comfortable home and family in England to live in a new world with her husband and child. She loved Richard and trusted in his vision of a good and prosperous future for her and their daughter. She reached out to touch his arm, and he looked into her anxious eyes. In them he could see the excitement and anticipation of once again seeing their beloved Julianne. Although the letter was dated some three months earlier and had no mention of an arrival date, she had already begun the preparations for her daughter's arrival with new linens and pillows for her bedroom, which was filled daily with the fragrance of freshly, cut tropical flowers. The passing of each day without Julianne had been hard on them both, yet it was enough for now just knowing she was safe and finally on her way back home to them.
Richard waited while Catherine served him his tea then helped himself to some bread and cheese. When he had finished with his drink, he placed his hand on hers and leaned over to whisper in her ear.
"I think I'll go down to the docks and see what ships are due in for the week. Perhaps I can get more information from the office of the harbormaster."
Catherine nodded her approval, and Richard slowly rose from his chair folding the letter and carefully putting it in his pocket. After leaning down to kiss his wife softly on her cheek, he walked into the house and left her sitting there smiling and gazing out at the blue water. Within a few minutes she saw his carriage drive down the road leading to town and watched until it finally turned a corner and disappeared behind a cluster of tall bushes and palm trees.
Later that morning in the St. John's shipping office, Richard sat patiently and waited to hear word about the ship that would eventually bring his daughter home. He stared out the window toward the docks and watched the procession of men moving up and down the pier with carts and wagons in their efforts to transport the newly arrived goods to their destinations. The harbormaster was also busy checking on goods that had arrived as well as goods returning to England. Eventually sugarcane from Richard's own plantation would be included, but that would be a later shipment as the crop was not yet ready for harvesting. Richard continued to watch the harbormaster as he checked items off his list then hurried to the next group of items being unloaded. Meanwhile, the clerk returned from the back room and promptly sat down at his desk.
"Sir, as you know," the clerk explained, "with the ever present danger of piracy and profiteering, it's not safe for ships to reveal their schedule. Far too many spies about who are more than willing to sell this information. Then again depending on the wind and weather, it's impossible to know when the next ship might arrive. It could days, weeks, or even longer."
Sadly Richard lowered his head and stared at the many papers and scattered documents lying on the clerk's desk. He knew the sea was dangerous to travel on these days, and this only added to his concern over Julianne's safety since she was, after all, traveling alone.
"Sir, again, I am sorry," added the clerk sensing his disappointment. "Why, it's getting to be where we can't even keep track of our own fishing boats. Just this morning a local resident reported his small fishing boat stolen right from our very docks. All I can say is thank goodness the governor has promised to provide more protection and to patrol the waters more frequently."
The clerk paused to catch his breath.
"I do hope your daughter is safe and arrives soon, and I promise, Mr. Whitbourne, if I do hear anything more, I'll promptly send you word."
Though disappointed, Richard smiled and thanked him. He rose to leave the small office, and as he walked through the door he looked up at the small flock of seagulls flying in circles overhead searching for small morsels of food. He paused to watch them, then slowly walked back to his carriage and told the driver to return to the plantation where he would gently break the bad news to Catherine.
Richard sat in the carriage looking out the window as it moved along the dirt road. The people of Antigua were fortunate, he thought. Their world was sound and secure, and they lived comfortably within its perimeter with their homes and families, their work and play, and their dreams and ambitions. Regardless their circumstances and station in life, they were here, safe within the sanctity of this small island town. He envied them for despite his wealth and position, he lacked that which would make him the happiest, his daughter.
The carriage pulled up to the main house, and Richard stepped out looking over his vast expanse of land. Workers were in the fields attending to their chores and all seemed well. He decided not to enter the house immediately but rather walked around to the back side of it and out to a place on a cliff where he looked down on the town and the docks. It was a clear, sunny day allowing him to look far out to sea and scan the horizon in hopes that maybe another ship might be on the horizon, but there were none. He lowered his head with a deep sigh and turned to walk back to the house and his wife. He saw her standing at the balcony railing waving at him and with a forced smile returned the gesture. He had hoped to be able to tell her when they could expect their daughter, but for now there was nothing they could do but wait.
Gentle waves lapped against the side of a small, fishing boat as it drifted farther away from St. John's harbor out into the Caribbean. Also waiting, a lonely figure sat quietly looking out toward the horizon feeling the heat of the sun on his back and an occasional mist of sea spray on his face. The spray cooled his skin for he had been drifting for hours with no relief from the sun except for a dark cloth that covered his head. He reached over the side of the boat and scooped up a handful of water to throw on his neck then heard sizzling sounds as drops fell into a smoking, black iron pot that sat on the floorboard in front of him surrounded by a small pile of dried twigs and kindling. Smoke rose from the pot as flames smoldered within its confines, flames that grew and crackled as an occasional piece of twig was dropped inside. Looking away as smoke stung his eyes, the young man finally glanced down and noticed a strong piece of twig lying on the pile. With a knife taken from his boot, he slowly began to whittle away at it until he had fashioned himself a small, sharp hook. After examining it, he smiled at his handiwork and laid the hook to the side, then picked up a partially burnt stick and set it also aside to cool.
Ever pausing from time to time to look out across the calm water, he opened a small, leather pouch that hung from his belt and carefully took out several items. Laying them in his lap for a quick inspection, they included a ball of twine, a piece of flint, some coins, a small, shiny metal box, and a piece of cloth, which held a beautiful, golden medallion. Except for this precious piece of treasure, the items could hardly be considered of great value, yet they and the knife he kept in his boot were his sole means of survival. He did not require much, for he had a purpose for being out there in the small fishing boat. He had come a long way on a special quest, a mission, and once accomplished, he cared little of what became of him, even whether he lived or died for he knew destiny would determine his fate.
The young man wiped his brow and waited patiently, again looking optimistically over the water for that flag, that special banner, that symbol that would help fulfill that destiny. With a sigh of disappointment, he added the hook to his small collection and except for the medallion put the items back in his pouch. Looking now at the golden treasure, he ran his fingers slowly over the finely crafted shape and brought it up to touch his forehead then his heart.
A few wistful minutes passed before he laid the medallion back in the cloth and carefully in the pouch with the other items. He again made another quick surveillance of the sea around him. The waves were calm, and he leaned over the side of the boat once more to splash water on his face and patted down his sparsely grown mustache and beard. Not finding any ships in the immediate area, he let out a frustrated sigh and lowered his head placing his forefingers against each side of his head slowly rubbing them in a continuous circular motion, whispering to himself and pausing only occasionally to scan the horizon.
The hours dragged on slowly for the young drifter, and the hot sun having risen in the sky began to drain him of his energy. Adding to his anxiety, he soon felt the gnawing pang of hunger and carefully took out a small piece of dried bread from his pocket and put it in his mouth, slowly dissolving small bits of it at a time to make it last longer. After the bread was gone he put more twigs in the pot and watched as they caught fire and burned. A breeze sent the smoke high in the air, and he narrowed his watering eyes to shield them from the smoke and glare of the sun reflecting off the water. When his eyes had cleared he picked up the charred stick, rubbed his fingers along the cooled burnt end then patted the darkened residue gently on parts of his face and hands. With one last look around, he finally closed his eyes taking in deep breaths of air. Soon his breathing became regular, then laying his head back he settled deep in the hull of the boat while waves gently rocked it from side to side. Moments later as he covered his weary face with his arm, he licked his dry lips and with thoughts of the sea soon nodded off to sleep.