Chapter One

“Why is he so . . . pale?”

“I don’t know . . . and all of those dots on his skin . . . do you think he’s diseased?”

“No, Heron. I believe they call those . . . freckles.”

“So . . . grotesque.”

“And look how large he is . . . such massive muscles. And that hair, I’ve never seen a color so red.”

“So . . . grotesque.”

“You already said that, Egret.”

“Point still stands.”

A rush of footsteps sounded and the pair of voices let loose a collective gasp before speaking in unison. “Greetings, Elder.”

“Step aside, Disciples.” The voice was that of granite, hard and cold and rumbling forth with unyielding power. “You there on the ground. State your purpose for darkening the gates of the Whispering Glades Sect.”

Riley shifted onto his back, groaning as his bruised and battered body struggled to comply. Blinking bleary eyes open for the first time since awakening, he found himself at the feet of a man wearing long verdant robes. Vaguely east Asian in appearance with long hair tied into a knot high above his head and a severe goatee, the man glared down at Riley with an imperious edge that promised punishment if a satisfactory answer was not provided. Behind the man, two young men who looked nearly identical to one another stood clustered, peaking around the edges of the man’s stately robe to watch Riley with enthralled interest.

“Did I get ‘em, Coach?” Riley mumbled, his jaw feeling as if it was made of glass. 

Shattered glass.

A profound look of confusion flashed over the robed man’s face, clearly an unfamiliar expression. “I’m sorry?”

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Wait. Coach ain’t Asian. Who the hell is this guy? And where the fuck is the team? And why am I naked?! 

Riley froze as slow realization struck, noting the hammer pounding away at the inside of his skull, the taste of cotton in his mouth, and the burning desire to take an ungodly piss. 

“Well shit in my mouth and call me an outhouse!” Riley exclaimed, sitting up from the fetal position. “I did it again!”

“ . . . I’m sorry?”

Riley turned his focus back upon the robed man, realizing he best ought to explain himself. “I apologize for my outburst, sir. It’s just . . . this is kind of a habit for me.”

The robed man squinted, complete perplexion painted beautifully across his serious face as he took in Riley’s bruised and battered naked state. “It is?”

“Well, yes sir,” Riley explained, rubbing idly at his forehead as he spoke. “Y’see, me and Jack Daniels have a bad history. Every time we party together I end up on the front porch of some Asian family, naked and without any memory of the previous night. I don’t know why but . . . something about y’all’s porches just calls to me. Very comfortable looking, I guess.”

“ . . . what?”

“Oh, I’m sorry are y’all not Asian?” Riley said, slapping his forehead and immediately regretting it as needles of pain flashed through his skull. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. My mama taught me better than that.”

Shaking himself from his state of perplexion, the robed man drew up to his full height as he glared down his imperious nose at Riley. “Young man, I have no idea what nonsense you speak of but I am not Asian. I am Qiang, Elder of the Whispering Glade Sect, Keeper of the Sodden Gates, and Master of Arms. Now, who are you and how have you traversed the Sea of Grass to find us?”

Riley cocked his head, struggling to follow Qiang’s words. Whispering Glade Sect, Sodden Gates, Sea of Grass? Where the fuck am I?

With far more effort than should have been necessary, Riley shoved himself to his feet at last. As he rose to his full height, one of the young men gasped. Standing well over a head taller than Qiang, Riley was massive compared to them. Yet he paid such things no heed. Instead, his attention was on his surroundings.

He and the others stood atop a large wooden platform shaped like a great disk that stretched perhaps a hundred yards in diameter. Beyond the edge of the platform, swamp lands stretched as far as the eye could see. Murky black water glistened amidst the long strands of marsh grass that waved gently in the air with the breeze. Towering above their cousins, great trees the width of several men stretched impossibly high towards the sun, their heavy boughs twisting chaotically amongst themselves in the gnarled way of the swamp. Opposite where Riley stood upon the platform, a massive gate built of thick blackened wood and banded iron guarded a spiraling wooden staircase that vanished upwards into the heights of the titanic trees.

“Where the fuck . . . ”

Before he could properly express his complete and utter confusion, Riley collapsed to the ground, eyes rolling back into his skull.