Ten little ships raced across the sea, seeking safety from the disaster that engulfed their island. Men, women, children, and animals looked back in fear. Beyond the foamy wake of their ships they could see a plume of smoke and ash rising into the sky, spreading out against the horizon as it hit the atmosphere. The flashes of light and sheets of flame illuminated the ash. Some of the passengers wept, reduced to tears at the sight of their homeland’s devastation.

Those in the first ship looked anxiously towards their leader. Marcus could save them, if anyone could. He had warned them of a coming disaster, had urged them to flee. He had supervised the building of ships and the loading of provisions for a voyage. Yet nobody really knew where they were bound--if they had any destination beyond a watery grave. None of the great sages had ever spoken of land beyond the southern horizon. Yet that was the course Marcus had set for them.

Days passed without any sign of land. Marcus kept watch at the bow, peering into the emptiness, trying to conceal his growing anxiety from those around him. Somewhere ahead there had to be an island--an island that appeared on no maps. Above him the eagles circled, searching for signs of land. Yet nothing had yet been seen. Marcus wondered, not for the first time, if he had been mistaken. But he squared his shoulders and kept his hardened eyes on the horizon. Everything depended on him.
 

Continue to Chapter One.