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AN EPIC QUEST ACROSS THE SANDS OF ARABIA

In the exotic lands of the east, a secret sect of Persian magicians study the night sky for generations.

When the stars announce a strange royal birth, Misha, a first-level mage, is ready to prove himself by chasing down this new world leader.

But then an ancient document surfaces, whispering of an artifact of immense power. The temptation to seize power is too great to resist.

And Misha is not alone in his quest. The general Reza seeks to fulfill his destiny, and both men have set their eyes on the enslaved Egyptian princess Kamillah, who will do anything to gain the artifact and break her bondage.

The soldier, the mage and the princess each has a secret to protect.

But to survive the dark forces warring for their prize, they must learn to trust each other—in what will surely be the journey of a lifetime.

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“A story of intrigue and deception. Pick it up and get comfortable, it is worth the time.”

“I couldn’t put the book down. The characters kept me wondering what they were up to and the story line kept me on edge I’m looking forward to reading the rest of the trilogy and finding the Messiah.”

“Once again Tracy captivates the reader from page 1. I feel like I am back 2,000 years in Persia. History fascinates me, and Tracy feeds that fascination well.”

“Wow! I wish I had read this story years ago, but it was only just written. The history alone is fascinating, but then there's the breath-stopping action and very real characters.”

“A unique unfolding of the biblical story and background of the three wise men who followed the star. An intriguing read.”

“I don't know what all I was expecting when I picked up Star of Wonder by author Tracy Higley. That is, I figured The Incense Road trilogy would be the road leading to the birth of Christ, but besides that, my space for expectations was pretty blank. I was unprepared for the stirring adventure this story on the sands of Arabia becomes, something bringing Aladdin and Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark to my mind… this is a story of heritage and the need for acceptance, of intrigues for power and position. Along the way, the focus of the journey naturally shifts as the ultimate search for a Savior takes precedence.”

“I love to read this trilogy as a fictional take on the magi heading out and finding the Messiah. Opened my eyes to possibilities & helped me fall in love with Christ again.”

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Enjoy a sample from The Incense Road

CHAPTER ONE

MISHA

From that first night nine months ago, a sickness had been growing in me, like some hideous creature wanting to be birthed. I knew its cause. That damnable, beautiful star.

Tonight on the palace roof I tried to look away, to stop my ears to the endless musings and sharp-tongued arguments of my fellow scholars. They bickered over the portent of that silver-white specter wandering the charred field of Sin, god of the night. But it was the night before my final examinations and I could not afford distraction. 

Only a few hours remained until dawn, and I must retrieve the one thing that would assure my place among them, that would give me an edge over Navid and all his advantages.

One chance. I had one chance to redeem last month’s disaster.

I glanced at Navid, his dark head bent to the shorter Zahir, who served as mentor to us both. Zahir’s finger traced a star chart, weighted with amulets and spread upon the roof’s ledge, as he explained some hidden knowledge to Navid. A stab of jealousy delayed me. Navid was born into the Kasdim, as I was, and would also face examinations tomorrow. But that was where the likeness ended. 

Navid flicked a condescending glance at me, and in that glance was all the superiority he wielded like a club in his privileged hand. 

“Shouldn’t you be practicing your presentation, Misha?” His nasal voice arched over the rooftop, loud enough to draw the attention of every studious mage. “Perhaps a good meal to strengthen you, eh?” He glanced left and right, ensuring he had an audience. “Ah, but I forgot, you are likely to present your last meal to the Kasdim along with your lessons.” He snorted. “Perhaps you should arrive hungry.”

The snickering response proved that no one had forgotten last month. My lifelong fear of speaking before a crowd had gotten the best of me, in front of every first- through fourth-level palace mage.

I shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “I have no worries, Navid. Even the contents of my stomach are more impressive than the contents of your mind.”

Navid’s eyes darkened with a flash of insecurity. He gave a half bow. “We shall see, my friend. By this time tomorrow I expect to have acquired a most troublesome assistant.”

One slot for this year’s second level. It would belong to either Navid or me, and the one who did not achieve it would serve the other as assistant for the year. 

The idea of a year under Navid’s thumb propelled me from the roof without further comment. I must not fail tomorrow. The star hung behind me, whispering its usual curse on my head if I would listen, but I ignored its threats. 

Shadowy steps led down to the next level, and the temperature increased as I descended. King Phraates liked a warm palace, and no expenditure of fuel was too great. But I would go much deeper still, past the granary and down beyond the wine cellars. I reached the lowest level, deep beneath the streets of Nisa.

A place, a deep and secret place, existed far beneath the palace floors, where only the initiated were allowed to enter, where the elements and instruments saved for the practice of the most important magic were kept. It would be many years before I would be invited to enter this hallowed cave. 

Tonight I did not wait for an invitation. 

Only one small torch flickered at the end of a narrow passageway, and one guard stood in its shadow. A dreary post, waiting for hours for intruders who never dared to come. 

I waited at the intersection of two passageways, body hidden but eyes watching the guard. He was alert despite the late hour, dropping silver coins from one hand into the other palm, a game to amuse away the hours. The coins jangled in the corridor, the only sound.

It would have been easiest to face him straight. I’d seen my share of street fights. I was born poor and foreign and raised in a palace as part of a despised sect. I could get the best of one slow-witted guard.

But he’d remember me, and I couldn’t take that chance. I’d have to kill him, and I never would, not even to avoid a year of groveling before Navid.

I dug my fingers along the rough stone of the wall at my back, found some loose and crumbling, transferred them to my other hand, and scrabbled for more. When it was enough, I stepped backward, away from the joint in the passageways, and tossed the first handful down my own corridor, past the intersection. 

The guard shifted his position, the clink of metal on stone echoed.

I threw the other handful. 

His measured steps moved toward me, a soft scrape of sandal on pavers. He rounded the corner, away from me and toward the scattered debris.

Barefoot now, I slipped around the corner, ran for the guard’s abandoned post—a narrow arch cut roughly into the wall and a splintered door. The latch held and stuck. Was it locked? It rattled under my white-knuckled grip, then gave. I slipped in, swept it closed behind me, and leaned against the wall, holding my breath. At the guard’s grunting lean against the door, I released a slow breath.

I had never been inside the Vault. How far did its walls extend? Where would I find a light? I pulled two packets of powder—one a silvery gray and the other snowy white—from a pouch belted around my tunic and found a solid surface. I poured a bit of the powders on it, then a drop of acid from a small vial also pulled from my pouch.

The two powders merged in the acid with a puff of bluish smoke and a slight pop that made me grin, despite the danger. I touched the end of a loose wick to the spark as it sputtered. It caught. With this small light, soon to burn my fingertips, I searched the cave’s walls for a torch. Heart pounding, for there was little time.

There! Mounted in a socket, a tar-soaked torch. One touch of my burning wick and it blazed. I squinted in the light and took in the Vault. 

The treasury of the Kasdim shone and sparkled with a king’s hoard, but it was not gold or even bronze that assaulted my eyes. It was the accumulated wealth of generations of knowledge, stored in ordinary amphorae, wooden crates, and earthenware jars. I scanned the treasures, looking for the box I sought. The box I had seen Zahir open on several occasions with a mere wave of his hand over the lid. 

I did not know if I would even be able to open it, but within that box lay the power I needed to pass my examinations in the morning, to prove to my father that I was worthy to be called his son and to prove to the Kasdim that I was not Jewish trash.

The Kasdim were an old and proud race, tracing lineage backward into the shadowy times before the Parthians took power over the land. Before the Seleucids had their brief burst of rulership. Even before the glorious and mighty Persian Empire—all the way back to advisorship to the great kings of the Babylonians. 

I was one of the Kasdim, and yet I was not.

There were many boxes such as the one I had seen contain the black khemeia powder, created in Egypt, where the learned worked in secrecy to transmute one element to another. I took the torch in hand, careful not to allow its light to spill from the cracks around the door. Each treasure, each secret, shone under the wave of the torch. My palm around the torch’s shaft grew sweaty and my tongue and throat were dry. 

But then I saw it, innocuous as a lady’s jewel box, with the mark of earth, air, fire, and water upon it, as I remembered. I took it up with one hand, replaced the torch in its socket, and set the box on a table near the wall.

I passed my hand over it, expecting nothing but it seemed worth trying. The box lay still, its lock unsprung. 

How had Zahir opened it? The Kasdim own many tricks, many illusions, held in reserve and in deepest secrecy, to be used in the times when their natural power does not appear at will. Was it one of these illusions that opened the box, or was it the true power that I did not yet possess? 

My numb fingers shook. And I would swear I heard that star whispering. If I gave it notice, it would repeat its single message: You must leave. The leaving will unmake you. A repeated message that I must heed, but was I doomed for destruction if I did? Madness. Perhaps I had served our ghost-plagued king for too long.

I took a deep breath and waved a palm over the lid once more. My right hand disguised the action of my left as I did. Feeling along the underside, the tiniest indentation and protrusion revealed itself to my probing fingers. I lifted the box above the level of my eyes. The mechanism was not a simple lever as I had hoped. I would not turn the box on its head, not knowing how the contents were arranged, so I worked at what was clearly a small puzzle with it still above my head, arms shaking with fatigue and anxiety after only a minute. 

But it should be able to be released with one hand. Quickly. With the box on the edge of a table. I set it down again and felt under the lip, eyes closed, picturing the puzzle of dials and lever. 

With a soft click and a sound like an escaping sigh, the lock yielded under my fingers and the lid opened.

The khemeia lay within, folded into a tattered piece of parchment, which had probably come from its native Egypt with the powder. I tucked the packet into my belt, tugged my robe over it and replaced the box. It was not stealing, not in the strict sense. Zahir gave winking approval to his protégés who employed whatever means necessary for success, even considered it an unofficial part of their initiation. But neither could he sanction my actions before the other Kasdim. To be discovered would bring worse than a failed examination. Thieves were hanged for less than this.

I would waste no more time in exploring the Vault. The next challenge—escaping the room undetected—awaited.

For this feat I had brought yet another item in my pouch. I squared my shoulders, assumed an authoritarian air, and yanked the door open. 

The guard bolted from his leaning position against the wall and turned on me, wide-eyed and snarling. 

I stared him down. He was a large Hun, with thick hair cut severely across a heavy forehead and eyebrows like bristling caterpillars.

His hand went to the dagger on his belt. “What—?”

“Ah, I see you have awakened.” I laced my tone with angry condescension. “Perhaps I shall not report to Zahir that his guards find this post too tedious to remain awake.”

He straightened his back as though before the king himself. “I have never slept on watch in my life!”

I laughed, my hand sneaking into my pouch. “No? That is not what it looked like when I stepped over you to enter the Vault.” I pushed past him before he could think too deeply under that large head. 

But his glance was already darting down the passage, where he had followed the sound of my scattered pebbles. 

I slapped his cheek lightly. “Do not fear, my friend. Your secret is safe.” 

The oily residue smeared on my fingertips left a slight imprint that glistened in the torchlight. His eyes flickered and rolled briefly with his first intake of the scent I had smeared there.

I took a few paces, then half-turned. “Perhaps you only dreamed of being on watch, of chasing intruders down passageways, while you dozed at the wall.” 

Again the dazed blinking, then a slow nod of agreement.

I leaned in conspiratorially. “I have done the same myself, on the palace roof while I was supposed to be studying the stars. You are not the only one who fears to displease Zahir.” I gave him a wink to seal our pact, then a wave of farewell. I would be in my chamber before his mind had cleared.

My gaze was trained at the floor as I headed for the end of the passageway. I did not see Kamillah standing there, arms crossed, until I had nearly run her down.

My pulse yammered in my throat. Had she seen? 

Her look—those cool dark eyes—were at once amused and knowing. 

And if she knew, then I was as good as dead.