By L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
Copyright © January 2002 June 2003 L. Crystal Michallet-Romero
All Rights Reserved c/s
* I began writing this story shortly after FIN and long before the tragic events of September 11, 2001. My original goal was to
create an entertaining way of continuing the Xena show, while also keeping with the concepts of inclusion of differing cultures and
belief systems, as was depicted in the original X:WP episodes. The fact that my main character is Islamic is purely coincidental, and
I hope that whatever political fervor may exist, that readers will be able to look beyond the actions of a few fanatical groups and see
the true meaning within the Islamic religion. I also encourage all readers to examine the history and beliefs of not only the Moroccan
people, but the people within North Africa and the Middle East.
* When this story first began, I received a great deal of negative feedback centering on the fact that I would neither guarantee a
happy ending, nor guarantee that Xena and Gabrielle would be reunited. If this is upsetting to you, then I encourage you to move on
to another story. However, if you would like to read a little tale that incorporates different cultures and belief systems, then I
encourage you to read this story.
Disclaimer: Xena Warrior Princess, its characters, and all related materials are the property of MCA/Universal and Renaissance
Pictures. The other characters are mine. Like the show, I am playing around with the historical time lines.
Rated: NC17
Violence: In some chapters
Subtext: Yes
All Feedback Welcomed at: CrystalMichallet@aol.com
Chapter 1
The stillness along the countryside sent an eerie chill through the crew. For nearly two days they had journeyed along the
coast of Japa, looking for any signs of life. The ports that were thriving only a year ago were now silent and empty. The only
sounds that echoed off of the mountains were those of the carrion birds.
Zara heard the soft whispers of her crew as they rounded the bend. “Allah, preserve us!” Their voices were barely audible
as the city of Higuchi came into view. The tall captain ignored their words as she moved closer to the railing. Without
glancing at her second in command, she reached out and was immediately handed the optic lens. Holding it to her eye, she
focused the view and began to inspect the site before her.
The once populous village now lay in ruin. Although there were no signs of a fire, the odor of smoldering ashes and burnt
flesh still lingered in the air. Zara crinkled her nose up as the scent combined with the smell of human decay. Focusing in on
the village, the captain noticed slight movements near the ashes of the buildings. Like walking dead, the people on the shore
stared at the ground, occasionally picking up an item, then discarding it, as they climbed over the rubble.
In silence, the Moroccan captain moved the optical glass over the scene as she noticed an unusual sight. Standing near the
shore was a woman who did not belong in Japa. Deep in thought over this new discovery, Zara lowered the glass and
handed it to her second in command. In silence, she moved away from the railing as her mind raced over the situation.
This is not going to be a good trading journey, she thought as she unconsciously rubbed her chin with her fingers, a habit
that she, like her brothers, had picked up and emulated from their father. Whenever a stressful situation arose, her father
would contemplate the incident in silence. The thoughtful motions of stroking his beard enhanced his calm demeanor.
Although she did not have a beard, Zara found the habit to be relaxing and that is what she needed in order to think through
this new discovery. Calmness in the face of the unknown had always pulled her through, she thought as she looked at the
shore.
She turned to glance at her senior crewmen. One by one, they took the cylinder lens and viewed the scene. Abu, her
second, maintained a stoic expression. No one on board would be able to detect his apprehension, except Zara. Having
known him for so long, she could tell his fears by looking into his eyes. For a moment, they passed their silent communication
to each other before returning their attention to the shore.
The junior members of her crew gazed at the shore as their hushed words failed to mask their fears. The men were clustered
on the deck, huddling close as they stared off toward the distant shore. Filled with superstitions and tales of the unknown,
they each softly muttered tales of phantoms and demons amongst themselves.
“Ghosts!”
“This place is cursed!”
“Why is a white ghost here in Japa?” one exclaimed.
“It is an ill omen!” Their voices rose from a whisper to a low rumble and many made the signs warding off evil.
Abruptly the hubbub was silenced as the tall woman spoke. “Abu, ready a boat,” she ordered as she moved to her cabin.
Zara did not have to look back. She knew her orders were being followed even before her sentence was finished. Despite
the crew’s superstitious mutterings, she knew that Abu would have everything ready.
Zara entered her cabin and unconsciously removed the ship’s scrolls from their cabinet and placed them in an area where they
would be easily found in the event that she did not return to the ship. At this thought, she went to the large cabinet and
opened the heavy door. She removed her scimitar and belt and began to fasten it around her waist, then removed the various
weapons she thought might be needed. When she was well armed, she grabbed her heavy cloak and wrapped it over her
shoulders. As the weight of the fabric clung to her shoulders, she fastened the top loops, while her mind wandered over the
multitude of possibilities.
Unlike her crew, she was accustomed to wearing clothes from many regions. For today, as she did not know what she was
walking into, a heavy, durable cloak might protect her from any enemies, she determined as she buried away any superstitious
thoughts to the back of her mind. She decided that no amount of weaponry could protect her from the ghosts they spoke of.
Then she touched the plain leather wrapped hilt of the scimitar as a wry humor quirked her lips and she softly whispered, “But
I am not about to leave it behind, either.”
When she was ready, Zara moved in quick strides, her footfalls falling heavy upon the wooden planks of the deck. She never
spared a moment to look back in her cabin. If the fears of the men were correct, her belongings would not matter. Nothing
would, except the survival of her ship and its crew. As she moved to the boat, she noticed Abu’s handpicked men. Each of
them was the strongest and bravest of fighters that her country had ever produced. With an approving nod, she glanced at
Abu. When she saw him moving to climb down to the waiting boat, she raised her hand.
“You cannot go, my friend,” her voice was a soft order.
“My captain!” He began to protest. With a slight smile she put a hand on his muscular shoulder and shook her head
negatively. “No, my friend. You must remain here. If for some reason we don’t return…” she hesitated a moment as she
tried to word her order. Abu nodded understanding as he maintained a stoic expression.
“Understood,” he said as his brows furrowed in concern. “What…” he hesitated for a moment, then continued, “What will I
tell your father?”
Zara smiled as she tilted her head in thought. Looking into his dark eyes, she only said, “Tell my father that I am with Allah,
should I not return.” She answered with a confident smile. Looking deeply into her eyes, he could see her own masked
fears, yet chose not to comment. Instead, he nodded, then turned and barked orders to the men remaining on ship.
“Can I come?” An impish voice sounded over the men’s. Glancing down, Zara smiled as she watched the cabin girl push her
way through the throng of men. “I want to go! Please!” The little girl begged as she tried to make a beeline toward the
waiting boat. Quicker than the child, Zara reached out and grabbed a hold of the little one’s shirt.
“Now, hold on, Nadrah.” Despite her worries, Zara was barely able to keep her laughter in check. “You cannot go with us.”
