Divided Lands

Chapter 1

Staring at wisps of smoke as they loop through the air above a joss stick is the most calming pastime in the world. Sho shut his eyes, braced himself, and pinched the top of the stick between his thumb and index finger. Burning gave way to gentle smoldering, and the sweet smell of sandlewood filled the dim room. He would have to put off his own relaxation needs until later.

“You have asked your spirits about my plan to raid the temples?” a husky voice asked from across the room. Sho glanced up from his daydream and fixed his eyes on the shadowy figure hunched against the backmost wall.

“They aren’t my spirits. At least not any more than they are yours.” Sho said in a small voice. He was unsure at first whether or not his remark had carried itself all the way across the room to the hunched figure, but gained reassurance when he heard an irritated grunt as the figure shifted its weight. Sho decided that he’d better drop the subject and answer the question.

“Yes, I’ve asked them.” he nodded. His voice cracked.

“And?” the figure grumbled.

Sho lowered his head. “And they have told me that the temples do not worship the name of the Despots. They must be destroyed just as you asked.”

The figure gave a satisfied chortle. “Very well, then. Excellent. You may leave now, father.”

Sho winced, still unused to being called ‘father’ at only twenty-four years old, and stood to his feet. He pushed aside the curtains blocking the aperture, crossed the parlor, and opened the door. The unscented air of the palace’s corridor practically slapped him in the face.

“I’ve sold my soul.” he sighed, dragging his hand along the wall as he shuffled down the hall. He made that very same declaration every day after he left the Grand Despot in his room.

Sho turned left and descended a twisting, winding staircase. Once he reached the bottom he walked quickly across the marble floors until a stone-faced guard nodded at him and peeled open the palace door with strength that only years of extensive training could produce. Sho nodded back and stepped out into daylight.

Outside the sounds of the city—-the clucking chickens, screaming children and vendors—-were deafening. Sho smirked as he walked down the cobblestone street. All of his life he had been told that a Servant of the Spirits should love quiet and solitude, where the mind was free to think, but he had come to hate the silence. Sho whistled to himself, a grin spreading out on his face.

To his left was a textile merchant selling rugs, each one leaping out at him in vivid shades of every color of the rainbow, and to his right was a fruit vendor standing in front of a cart whose commodities rivaled the handiwork of the textile merchant in colorful beauty. The fruit vendor, a dark and gruff looking individual, smiled at Sho as he passed, showing all three of his teeth. Sho returned the smile, bowed in respect, and picked up an apple off of the cart.

“Fine looking wares today, Djordi.” he held the apple up to the light and admired its glossy sheen.

“Rightly fine, even if I do say so myself.” Djordi responded, his accent as thick as room-temperature butter. “Rightly fine. So how was your session with the boss today?”

Sho placed the apple back on the cart with a sigh. “Same as always, I’m afraid. He asks me what they say, and I tell him the exact opposite or else it’s off with my head or worse.”

“Don’t it bother you?” Djordi asked. He began meticulously polishing his apples so that his hands were busy. “Them spirits are sacred to you lot, aren’t they?

“Well, they haven’t stricken me dead yet.” Sho chuckled. He wished he hadn’t said that.

Djordi chuckled himself, so hard that he let an apple fall out of his hand and roll onto the dirt. He picked it up, dusted it off, and placed it back on the cart. “Well, I’m sure you know my offer still stands, eh?”

He shifted his beady eyes left and right, as if anyone would notice what one man did in the middle of the crowded street, and dug his hand deep into his trouser pocket. When it emerged Djordi opened his palm; a tiny golden egg was resting in his hand.

“Shady looking fellow sold it to me back East.” he nodded, his near-toothless grin stretching from ear to ear. “Told me there was—-”

“A dragon inside. I know.” Sho interrupted, having heard the same story from Djordi nearly every day before beginning his walk through the city. “You know I’d take it in a heartbeat, Djordi, but even if there was a dragon inside, what do you suppose I’d do with it?”

Sho lowered his voice. “Throw it in the Grand Despot’s face and expect him not to take it down in a heartbeat with those dark powers he’s been working on? Not even a dragon, if dragons were real, could stand up to those things I’ve been telling him the spirits said it was okay for him to do.”

Djordi threw back his head and laughed so heartily that several people turned and looked their way. “I take it you haven’t learned much about dragons then, have you, living in this city.”

“Shhh!” Sho clamped a hand over Djordi’s mouth. “I’m not taking it, and that’s final!"

He backed away slowly until he was standing in the middle of the street, his eyes still locked onto Djordi’s beaming face. The fruit vendor waved casually and then winked before glancing down at his cart and busying himself with his apple polishing again.

The golden egg in his pocket jerked.