Chapter Text
“To my brother!” Gabriel cheered, lifting a flute of champagne in a toast.
The man in question, Ezra Fell, raised his own flute in answer with a face-splitting grin.
“And to his best book yet!” Ezra’s oldest friend, Anathema, exclaimed, not even bothering to wait for the toast to be completed before gulping down her drink.
“Hear! Hear!” came the resounding cry of the partygoers.
All around Ezra were his family, friends, and various wellwishers. His newest novel, “The Mermaid’s Tale” had just sold a million copies and, as a way of celebrating, his younger brother Gabriel had rented a yacht and hustled everyone on board for a full day of drunken revelry.
The only ones not partaking in the many, many spirits cracked open to share were the captain, Newton Pulsifer, and Ezra himself.
No, Ezra was more than content to simply bask in the warmth of camaraderie and the thrill of a story well told. Still, he sipped politely at his drink as he made his way to the ship’s railing. He leaned against the cool metal and inhaled the salty-sweet smell of the open ocean. In the distance, just close enough to be in sight, Ezra could make out the shape of an island rising out of the clear blue water.
“It’s amazing out here. So glad we decided to do this,”
“You decided to throw this party. I was quite blindsided,” Ezra chuckled as his brother sidled up beside him.
Gabriel gasped in mock outrage. “Well if that’s the case, I’ll just have Captain Newton turn this boat around and we’ll all go home. Too bad, so sad, guess the party’s over!”
Ezra slugged Gabriel in the arm.
“Don’t you dare! Everyone put so much hard work into this!”
Gabriel rubbed his arm with a wince. “I was kidding, Ez. You need to stop punching me because I’m pretty sure we’re not in international waters yet, so murdering me is still a criminal offense.”
Ezra just rolled his eyes. Despite the sounds of the pulsing music from the yacht’s speakers and the din of the partygoers, he could hear Gabriel's voice when he murmured, “If mom were here, she’d be real proud of you, Ezra.”
Ezra felt his throat close up at the sudden wave of sadness that overtook him. He and Gabriel had been orphaned when they were just twenty-one and sixteen, respectively. Neither of them had known their father, so their mother had been their entire world. Even now, five years later, the wounds were still somewhat fresh.
“I hope so, Gabe. God I hope so,”
Gabriel could sense the shift in the atmosphere and reached out to clap a massive hand on Ezra’s back. “Come on. Let’s get you back to the party before Anathema starts doing her crystal ball potions or palm scrying or whatever it is she does.”
Ezra allowed himself to be steered towards the bow where, sure enough, Anathema had whipped out her deck of tarot cards and was now attempting to rope people into a reading.
“Oh sweet Jesus we’re too late…” groaned Gabriel, burying his face in his hands.
The music (some upbeat bebop thing) dimmed as the timid, stuttering voice of Captain Newton made an announcement. “A-attention all passengers! Attention p-please! We’re approaching choppy seas, so as per company policy, all souls aboard are to d-don their issued flotation devices until we are in safer waters.”
Several party members groaned loud enough for Newton to hear them all the way up in his captain’s cabin. “N-no complaining, please! Or I’ll… I’ll have to turn this ship around!”
The threat of the party ending prematurely was enough to spur everyone into slipping on ghastly orange life vests from a supply trunk passed around by a crew member. Ezra had just managed to tighten the final strap on his own, when he felt the familiar twinge in his bladder of nature calling.
“Anathema, dear, do you know where the loo is?” he asked.
Anathema, who had been staring dreamily at the captain’s cabin, just pointed towards the stern of the yacht. “It’s back there, and the door’s labelled. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you, my dear,”
As Ezra made his way down the length of the ship, he could feel the deck bobbing and swaying slightly beneath his feet. When he finally managed to get to the loo, he had to prop one hand against the adjacent wall to avoid stumbling into the urinal.
When he staggered back out, the waves beyond the deck were capped with white and it had become a chore to simply remain upright. The deck was slick with water and Ezra was forced to grip the handrailing in a white-knuckle grip.
And then the yacht gave a lurch as it crested one final wave.
Ezra could only utter a faint, “Oh dear” before he was pitching over the rail and into the warm waters of the open sea.
The crystalline water closed over his head and, for a brief second, Ezra thought he would sink straight to the bottom of the ocean. Instead, his life jacket did its job and he bobbed back to the surface like a cork, gasping and sputtering the whole way. He pulled his sodden hair away from his eyes to see the yacht sailing away at a decent clip.
There was no conceivable way he’d be able to catch up to it by swimming, so Ezra defaulted to yelling.
“Hey! Hey!! Man Overboard! Help!! Gabriel! Anathema! Come back!”
The rumbling of the boat’s engine as well as the thumping bass of the music drowned ( Oh goodness! ) out the sounds of Ezra’s desperate cries for help. When it became apparent that nobody had noticed his topple into the sea, Ezra gave one long, final cry until his voice cracked and died out.
Oh no. Oh dear. This isn’t good.
The blonde paddled in a circle, hoping against hope to find another boat that he could signal to or perhaps- there!
The island that Ezra had been watching earlier was in sight. It would be a long, long swim there, but anything was better than floating about as easy prey for sharks or giant squids or what have you.
Steady on, old chap. Your family is bound to notice you missing. You just have to stay alive long enough for rescue to come, and you won’t survive out here.
With that in mind, Ezra took a breath to compose himself, then started a slow, almost lazy breaststroke to the island in order to conserve his energy. All the while he kept humming merry tunes (in his head, of course) to keep his spirits up.
What was that lovely little movie with the forgetful blue fish? There was a very delightful song she kept singing. What was it?... Ah! Yes! Just keep swimming… just keep swimming…
*~*~*~*~*
It took Ezra several hours before he was finally able to drag his aching body ashore. If he’d at all had the stamina for long distance swimming, it would have only taken him one. As it stood, however, he’d had to take frequent breaks to simply float on his back until his arms and legs stopped cramping and he could continue his one-man voyage.
He didn’t even bother crawling completely out of the surf, just flopped inelegantly on the white sand after making sure at least his head was free from the water.
“S-see, Ezra? Nothing to… to it,” he panted.
A tiny, more logical part of his brain was screaming at him to get up and move further away from the water, as it could very well be low-tide at the moment and he wouldn’t fancy being swept out to sea again when it came back in. As it stood, however, the larger and more incessant part of his brain was overwhelmed by sensations of pain and exhaustion; therefore it seemed perfectly reasonable to choose to nap there.
With the last of his strength, Ezra wiggled out of his life jacket to instead use it as a softer (if somewhat soggy) pillow than the ground underneath him. He patted the life jacket with a sleepy, “Good work, er-” then checked the brand name. “IPRA. Yes, thank you, IPRA, for keeping me safe. Rescue shan’t be much longer now.”
He was out before he had even completely put his head back down.
*~*~*~*~*
A sharp jab to the temple was what woke him several hours later. Ezra jolted upright with a yelp. A rather enterprising seagull had apparently hopped over to him and, curious as to what this strange creature was, had given him an investigatory peck.
Ezra grumbled and waved his arm at the discourteous little thing.
“Shoo, you terror!”
The seagull gave an indignant squawk before taking flight (but not before delivering another quick peck to Ezra’s thigh). Grumbling about “flying sea rats”, Ezra took in his surroundings.
He had evidently been asleep longer than he thought he would be.
The moon had risen directly overhead, casting a soft ring of light around itself. There was not a single cloud in the sky and, without any light pollution, the stars were able to shine in their full, intended glory.
“Oh my… that’s…” gasped Ezra.
A spiral arm of the Milky Way stretched across the entire length of the sky, standing out against the stark blackness of the night. But even that blackness, however, was more of a rich, royal blue than true black, and studded throughout with pinpricks of white light, like diamonds on dark velvet.
Ezra felt tears spring to his eyes that had nothing to with the fact that he was marooned. He had lived in London his entire life and, outside of a handful of photographs in textbooks, never seen so many stars in one place. He put a hand over his chest to feel the fluttering of his heart beneath his finger tips.
“Are you up there, mother?” he sniffled. “If so, I can think of no better place for you to be.”
In the rustling of the trees and the whispering of the waves, Ezra could almost hear her comforting shushes like she would do for him as a child when he had nightmares.
That, of course, was when Ezra realized that he was quite a bit further away from the shore than he had been when he first fell asleep.
What in the…?
Though there were no lights beyond starlight for him to see by, Ezra could make out furrows in the sand from the water’s edge all the way up to where he was currently sitting. It looked as if something had dragged him across the beach..
A frisson of fear skittered up the man’s spine. Were there large predators on this island? Surely it couldn’t have been the seagull that had lugged him up to the tree line? Ezra patted himself down, but beyond salt-encrusted clothes, there were no signs of injury on his body. Whatever had moved him hadn’t done so with the intention to eat him.
Was it a person, perhaps? Were there humans living on this island? If so, why hadn’t they tried to wake him up?
No sir, Ezra didn’t like this new situation one bit .
He rose shakily to his feet (muscles screaming at him the entire way) and he called out a tentative, “Hello? Is anybody there?”
His only answer was the sea breeze through the undergrowth. Ezra sat back down and drew his knees up to his chest in a protective embrace.
He wasn’t sure how long it would be until sunrise, but he was sure of one thing.
He wouldn’t be sleeping for the rest of the night.
*~*~*~*~*
“Well, so much for not sleeping,” Ezra groaned as he unlocked his joints the next morning.
Evidently exhaustion had won out over paranoia, as he had drifted off while still seated upright.
Now that the tropical sun was fully risen, and he had had somewhat of a good sleep, Ezra could better take stock of his situation.
Nobody had come to the beach during the night, and (as far as he knew) no ships had passed close enough either. His friends and family would no doubt have sent the Coast Guard out looking for him by now, so it was now only a matter of surviving long enough to be rescued.
Assuming they don’t just call off the search because they think you’re already dead, a spiteful little voice hissed inside his head.
“Nonsense! I’m sure any minute either Anathema or Gabriel or even my dear neighbor Tracy will come sailing up to take me home,” he scoffed.
Ezra’s therapist back home had been urging him to consider using “positive self-talk” when he felt his anxieties creeping up on him. He hadn’t really practiced it much before that point, but there was no time like the present to learn!
You’re gonna be doing a lot of new learning, here.
That thought wasn’t completely negative, so Ezra let it slide. Instead, he chose to focus on whatever it was that had dragged him further inland last night. It most likely wasn’t some kind of hostile animal, but if it was…
Well…
A good fire would be more than enough to keep it at bay, provided Ezra was able to keep the flames alive.
“Right! Fire! Suppose I’ll need some kindling…”
The man puttered up and down the length of the beach, gathering choice bits of driftwood that felt dry enough set alight. He was tempted to enter the jungle that led deeper into the island, but the thought of coming face-to-face with wild animals had him reconsidering. No, a nice beachfront bonfire would be enough.
Just above the tide line, Ezra dug a shallow pit and heaped the driftwood inside it. His next step, if all the films and books were to be believed, was to simply rub two sticks together to generate enough friction for a spark and voila!
After twenty minutes of unsuccessful stick rubbing, Ezra was forced to admit that maaaaybe Tom Hanks movies weren’t the best instructors on fire starting.
His fingers were stiff and red, and the rest of Ezra felt like crying in frustration. He chucked the sticks into the firepit with the rest of the wood with a cry of, “Balderdash!” [1]
Just as soon as he did so, however, something thudded into the sand behind him. Ezra whirled around, scared that it might be that rude seagull again, only to find a blackish-brown rock the size of his fist and a flat, slightly warped strip of metal lying there instead.
Had those always been there?
Never one to look a gift horse (or rock) in the mouth, Ezra picked up his new treasures and returned to his fire pit. He had once read something about flint being a good firestarter. Perhaps that’s what the stone was?
Experimentally, he slid the rock down the length of the metal and was rewarded with a shower of sparks. Ezra gasped in delight! It was flint!
It took him several tries (and experimenting with different structures of the driftwood) before he was finally able to get a small fire going. Ezra leapt to his feet with a whoop, spinning in tight circles as he did so.
“It worked! It worked! ” he cheered. “Oh thank you! ”
Ezra wasn’t quite sure who he was thanking (either God, the spirit of his mother, or the universe at large) but it had to be said. No beasties would be getting him tonight!
All that work, however, had made him thirsty and Ezra was confronted with a new host of problems. He couldn’t drink sea water (lest he risk swift kidney failure preceded by madness) and as far as he could see, there was no freshwater spring to be found. His best bet would be to venture into the jungle and attempt to find water there , but…
The trees beyond loomed large, like a spectre. Ezra was reminded of books about children stranded on a deserted island who had ventured into the jungle and returned worshipping a pig’s head on a pike! He shuddered hard enough to shake the dried salt from his shoulders.
He didn’t want to enter the jungle, but at this point, did he really have a choice? Ezra’s eyes scanned the treeline, looking for the best angle to enter it that would result in the least amount of destruction to his already ruined clothes.
Just palm trees and coconut trees as far as the eye can…
Wait…
Coconuts!
Seeing as there was no electricity, a metaphorical candle went off over Ezra’s head instead. Coconuts had water! Or was it milk? Both? It didn’t matter, they had drinkable liquids!
The only problem now, however, was getting them down from the tree. Ezra didn’t exactly consider himself athletic , but he had climbed a tree or two in his youth. Granted, they were regular trees, with branches and everything, but surely the same principle applied?
As it turned out, the same principle did not apply. With no branches to rest his weight on or to act as footholds, Ezra had to dig his shoes into the bark, squeeze the trunk between his thighs, and inch his way upwards. It was quite a bit more difficult than he was expecting, but he felt the effort was well worth it when he was able to free half a dozen or so green coconuts from their perch.
He had no knife or machete to peel away the dense, fibrous layer that protected the water within, but he did have a rocky outcropping by the shoreline and a dogged determination to survive.
Ezra bashed the coconut against the jagged, hip-high rock and it cracked enough to allow the juice to dribble free. The man didn’t hesitate to press his lips to the hole, tilt his head back, and drink it down like the life-sustaining liquid it was.
Ezra had never tasted fresh coconut water before, so he was mildly surprised to find it slightly tangy with a floral finish.
“Goodness! That isn’t like a pina colada at all!” he exclaimed.
It was far from a complaint; more of a fascinated observation.
Smacking the now empty shell against the rock some more yielded the tender meat inside, but Ezra knew that coconuts alone would not sustain a human body for long. His muscles would need a source of protein and, seeing as there was no creatine powder available, the fish swimming in the shallows would have to suffice.
Catching them with a rod and line was out of the question, so sharpening one end of a long stick into a point using the mysterious flint would be a close second.
This time when Ezra stepped into the ocean, he had the luxurious option of removing his shoes, pants, and shirt so as not to ruin them further. Carefully, so as not to frighten his “prey” away, Ezra shuffled into the water until it was just below his knee. His initial movements startled the fish, but after a minute or two of standing stock-still, they returned to their usual patterns of behavior.
“I wonder if any of these little fellows are used in sushi…” he whispered to himself.
When one of them drifted close enough, Ezra stabbed downward with his makeshift spear. The fish was quicker, however, and darted out of range. The other fish were startled in turn, and swam a few feet further from the shore. It was certainly frustrating, but by no means discouraging.
Ezra just huffed his frustration, then waded out further. He didn’t want to dirty his good boxers anymore than he already had during his first tumble into the sea, but at this point he didn’t have much of an option if he wanted to catch a fish while still preserving his modesty.
From who?! There’s no one here but you! Chided the little voice.
“Oh hush, you. I have standards,”
Ezra swallowed his stupid standards, and walked further until the water was just above his solar plexus. Out here the fish were a bit bigger and less skittish, but the current had grown stronger to the point where Ezra had to dig his heels into the sand to find purchase.
One of them had swum into range, so Ezra seized his chance. He drove the spear into the water, but the force behind his swing sent him toppling over. Right before the current sucked him down, he could have sworn he heard shouting from the shore.
Ezra had enough presence of mind to acknowledge that this was twice in less than 24 hours wherein he found himself at the mercy of the sea, but at the moment he couldn’t be arsed to care. He tumbled head over heels under the water and his journey was only halted by his left leg slamming into a bright orange, fanned piece of coral that sliced into his calf and turned the water around him red with blood.
Ezra cried out in pain, his screams floating to the surface in tortured bubbles. He fought to right himself and made for the surface. Now free from the worst of the current, Ezra was able to take heaving gulps of air
Oh this is bad. This is very, very bad!
If he didn’t get back on dry land soon, his injury could attract reef sharks!
Or he could bleed out.
Neither sounded like good options.
Ezra let his bad leg dangle limply behind him as he swam for safety. Red trailed in his wake like he was staining the canvas of the ocean with the ink of his blood. He wasn’t quite sure how much of it he was losing, but the ringing in his ears accompanied by blurred vision and dizziness meant it was too much.
If he could just get back to the shore, he could use his shirt or pants as a bandage until the worst of it stopped.
“N-not a… tourniquet…” he slurred as his toes brushed the sand. “...that’ll… th-that will… mmmmake worse…”
Ezra was reminding himself of this, as every other thought seemed to be leaking out of him along with his lifeblood.
Oh.
When had he fallen over?
The sand was nice and warm and he felt so cold that it was a pleasant balm against his feverish skin.
There was something wrong with this picture, but Ezra, for the life of him, couldn’t figure out what. Something important…
Something about red?
Wine maybe?
Eh, it didn’t matter.
He’d feel better after a nap…
*~*~*~*~*
The darkness in Ezra’s vision parted like fog before a headlamp. The ringing in his ears had, mercifully, abated, but he still felt rather discombobulated.
Just what had happened?
Then he remembered the spear-fishing attempt, getting swept out by the tide, bleeding…
He sat bolt upright with a gasp and almost immediately regretted doing so. His head was pounding and it felt like the world had suddenly tilted 45°.
“Where…”
His voice trailed off as he realized he was in a cave! The walls and ceiling were, well, cavernous and illuminated by a bluish-green fungus that cast everything in a soft, strangely comforting glow. It was completely silent, save for the dripping of water somewhere nearby and Ezra’s own frantic breathing.
How had he gotten here? What was going on?!
He tried to push himself to his feet but cried out in pain. His left leg hurt when he tried to put weight on it, but otherwise it only stung a little. He turned it over to get a better look at the gash and choked on a whimper.
His leg had been, in a word, bandaged.
Some kind of exotic-looking leaf had been wrapped around his entire calf from ankle to knee. When he touched it, the leaf felt cool and glossy and squelched beneath his fingers. It didn’t feel like it was his own infected flesh doing the squelching, but more like a thick layer of ointment.
“What in Heaven’s name?” he whispered, scared that if he spoke any louder he would have a breakdown.
His trepidation lasted all of three seconds before he did have a miniature breakdown.
“Who is doing this?!” he shrieked. His own voice echoed back against the stone. “I’m not an idiot, whoever you are. I know it was you who dragged me up the shore that first night, and I know it was you who gave me the flint! And even if you hadn’t, this-” he gestured at his leg. “-would be proof enough that you’re out there! Thank you for helping me, but please show yourself!”
His voice cracked. He hadn’t felt so small in a very long time. “I… I’m scared,” he whimpered and curled in on himself.
For a few moments, Ezra couldn’t hear anything over the sounds of his own crying. Then, he heard it.
It was a rasping, scraping sound like something heavy being dragged over the ground. Ezra felt his blood run cold. It was coming closer.
“Oh dear God!”
He made to stand, but his leg gave out and he landed hard on his side. He was wounded, trapped in a cave with some large predator, and had nothing to defend himself with! Ezra scrambled around for a heavy rock to use as a weapon, but the ground was as smooth as- whatever it was that was smooth!
And the noise was just getting closer!
I’m going to die here. I’m going to die lost and alone and half-naked on some deserted island, swallowed alive by a giant monster!
Ezra couldn’t stifle the flood of tears as he threw his arms over his head with a scream.
Then a pair of rough, but blessedly human hands, covered his wrists.
“You… scared?”
The stranger’s voice was gravelly, most likely from disuse, but to Ezra it sounded more beautiful than all the angelic choirs. He sobbed in relief.
“Oh thank heavens! I thought for sure I was going to-”
His words sputtered and died when he opened his eyes to look at his rescuer. It was a man…
...from the waist up.
The man’s bare torso was thin, but well defined with long arms lean with muscle. His face was all angles framed by a shock of red hair that curled down his back. His eyes were captivating. They were human enough, save for the iris being the color of spun gold and sliced right down the middle by a slit-shaped pupil.
That was about where the human similarities ended.
From the waist down the man’s skin melded into a massive snake tail that was wider than Ezra’s entire body and covered in black scales with a red underbelly that matched his hair.
Ezra wasn’t quite sure what to think. He’d read plenty of stories about nagas and lamias (some of them a touch racier than the blurb on the back cover had promised) but to actually see one in person… his brain gave up thinking entirely in favor of just gaping, slack-jawed.
The naga removed one of his hands from Ezra's wrist to gently guide the blonde’s mouth shut.
“You scared. Sorry,” it said, voice soft.
Ezrra’s mouth just popped open again with a wheezing squeak. “I… I must be dead. Or hallucinating. Only explanation really.”
The naga’s face contorted into a mixture of indignation and anger. He pressed the tips of all ten fingers to Ezra’s chest and whispered, “Not dead. Safe,” and then pulled them back to slap at his own chest with his broad palms. “Saved.”
Ezra blinked a few times then squawked, “You can understand me?!”
The naga looked pleased with himself.
“Yes. Speak. But not good,” he boasted. “Understand better.”
Ezra’s mind was now racing too fast for him to properly get a grip on any one thought. This creature understood him perfectly, but seemed to struggle with translating his own thoughts into a spoken form. Was it the snake half or the human half responsible for that? The simple fact that he understood Ezra at all was a testament to his intelligence!
Ezra sat back heavily on his haunches. It had all suddenly become too much for his already weakened constitution and the ground was very fast becoming a comfortable-looking spot to have a bit of a lie down until the world made sense again. He felt himself tip backward, but was kept from doing so by the naga’s hands clamping around his upper arm.
Like he weighed little more than a sack of flour, Ezra was gathered up into a pair of whipcord arms and cradled against the naga’s chest.
“Safe. Protected. Have you,”
The creature’s chest rumbled under where Ezra’s cheek was pressed against it. Any individual with a scrap of self-preservation instincts would have run screaming from the cave like the Devil himself was at their heels. Ezra, however, had had a very difficult day and was just thankful that he hadn’t been devoured or drowned or bled out or any of the other hundreds of reasons one died on a deserted island.
He would grapple with the existence of the supernatural when he wasn’t feeling like a bag of rocks.
“Do you have a name?” Ezra asked.
The naga shifted his tail until he could lean back against it like it was a scaly bean bag chair and replied, “Crowley. You?”
“I’m Ezra Fell,”
The creature, Crowley, worked his jaw as if he were trying to get a particularly stubborn piece of spinach out of his teeth. His forked tongue popped out for a moment before retreating.
“E… Ezr… F...” he grunted, then huffed. “Angel.”
Ezra couldn’t hold back a laugh. Crowley apparently was having trouble pronouncing his name and had settled for calling him something else.
“Alright then, you can call me ‘angel’,” Ezra hummed.
Crowley grinned in response, flashing a set of fangs that had Ezra briefly debating if cuddling up to a monster from legend had been a wise idea. But the naga didn’t bite him. Crowley just leaned over slightly and pressed his face into the crook of the smaller human’s neck.
“Angel,” he purred.
Something tickled at Ezra’s pulse point and he giggled at the sensation. Too tired to fight Crowley off should he need to and too woozy to consider the ramifications of a giant snake-man rubbing his face against him like a giant cat-man instead, Ezra just mumbled, “I might take a nap. Don’t you dare eat me or I shall be quite cross!”
“Promise. No eating. Angel too sweet,”
Ezra let his eyes slide shut.
“Mate too sweet,”
His eyes snapped open again.
*~*~*~*~*
1Ezra was unique in how he approached swearing. When truly upset, it was a 50/50 shot as to whether he would use standard curse words (Fuck, Shit, Damn, etc) or more "esoteric" ones (Badlerdash, Jiminy Christmas, Blazes, etc)[return to text]