Divided Lands

Prologue

 The sky loomed black with storm clouds. The monk stared unblinking at the horizon where the sea met the sky and then down to the jagged rocks at the bottom of the cliff, the outlines of which he could barely see in the lightlessness. Was there ever even a sun at all? The wind was so powerful that he could see the waves heaving, tossing, and turning for miles. Where he was from such storms were rare. On the coastline of this country, however, they were common.

    He closed his eyes. There was a whistling, wailing sound filling his ears but if he concentrated hard enough he could hear just the sound he had been waiting for: the furious beating of leathery wings.

    It came to him from the west, a dull flapping noise that might not have even been there at all. The monk turned around to face the crowd of nervous villagers behind him, smiling gently at their wide eyes and constantly wringing hands.

    “The beast approaches from the west.” he said in a broken accent that most of them could barely understand. “Go into your houses and you will be safe.”

    They looked at each other for a few moments, the creases in their brows deepening as the doubt spread from one face to the other. Finally, a woman at the very front nodded, scooped up her child, and turned to walk the path leading back down to the village. The rest of the villagers followed.

    The monk turned around and pointed his toes to the western horizon. He shut his eyes tightly and felt the wind whipping his robes around his ankles. Every deep breath he drew loosened the tension in his muscles and hushed the chattering voices in his mind until there was nothing left in all the world but the whistling of the wind and the approaching staccato of the dragon’s wings.

    Lightning struck somewhere out on the open sea; the monk could see the flash of blue light through his eyelids. He waited, breathing until the sound of air flowing through his lungs was the only sound left in the world.

    A shriek, loud and high pitched and horrible, tore through the silence. The monk’s eyes snapped open just in time to see a streak of bright orange hurdling toward him from the distance so fast that it looked as if it were a comet falling right out of space.

    Though there was a great distance between the two of them, the monk could hear the dragon’s hatred as if he were sending it out in waves from his black heart.

    Leave my countryside, servant of ghost stories and fairy tales.

    The monk swung his staff and the dragon was thrown back toward the horizon in a tunnel of wind and rain. Its wings were smashed against its body, and it cried out in pain.

    Snatching the few extra seconds of time he had bought himself, the monk reached into his robes and pulled out a small glinting object. He let his staff fall to the ground and cupped the palms of both of his hands around the golden glimmering trinket.

    By then the dragon was slicing through the sky at twice the speed as before, his jaws wide open and ready to snatch the monk up in a millisecond. He roared a terrible roar that shook the black heavens above and swirled the dismal sea below, the loathing in his eyes smoldering like fresh ash.

    He was almost at the cliff when a bolt of lightning, striking ever so precisely and true, beat him to it. The white streak of pure energy lit up the entire world brighter than the surface of the stars themselves, its electric light and energy lingering in the air for far longer than normal lightning ever would. The deafening rumble of the thunder followed.

    The monk dropped to his knees, clutching the golden trinket to his chest even though it felt hot enough to melt the flesh in his hands. Once he was able to see basic shapes and outlines upon blinking his eyes, he stood to his feet and was careful not to go tumbling off of the cliff. Though there was a deafening ringing in his ears and blisters forming on his fingers, he held up the gleaming gold object and marveled at its beauty as if he had just discovered a rare gemstone at the bottom of his flowerpot. It was a tiny golden egg, and it was shaking and convulsing so furiously that he had to pinch it between his thumb and index finger to keep it from rolling out of his hands.

    A gleam of triumph in his eyes, the monk started down the path toward the village.