Divided Lands

Chapter 8

Sho was sure there had been a storm gathering earlier. When he came out onto his balcony all he was able to see was the bleaching light of the sun shining through the dissipating clouds so bright he could barely glimpse Highland City’s smaller buildings. The Warlord Amoseh’s men were marching through the main street; Sho heard their heavy footfalls in the stunned silence that always followed the return of the soldiers from a raid. He turned from the window, crossed his room, and let his hand rest in hesitation on his doorknob. After a few brief moments of taking short, quiet breaths, he twisted the nob and left the room without first doing the sign of the silver cross. 

His footsteps echoed off of the quiet stone palace walls. The corridors were empty. Not even the steps of a maid or a butler joined Sho’s as he hurried down the winding staircase and through the huge doors that led to the street.

The air was warm. Spring was fast approaching,but Sho didn’t stop to admire the mellow weather. He was a man on a mission, his footsteps deliberate. He passed the chickens clucking away in the middle of the street, the jewelry stands selling highly overpriced wares, and all other fruit stands but Djordi’s, the only one in the world he was looking for.

The old fellow was laughing to himself when Sho strolled up to his stand and rapped on the apple cart three times to get his attention. Djordi turned around, grinning, and nodded.

“Ah, done with ‘ol Amoseh, are you?” Djordi raised his eyebrows. He leaned on his elbow, his eyes glittering in the bright sunlight. “How ‘bout today, eh? Will you be takin’ me up on my offer?”

Sho sighed. In the distance he heard the last of the soldiers marching through the street. “Actually, yes. I thought I should give it a go. Why the hell not?”

Djordi leaned back. “What’s this then? I thought dragons weren’t real and all you needed was the spirits you talked to.”

“I still don’t think dragons are real, Djordi, but I’m desperate.” Sho grumbled. “And besides…you can pray all you want, but some things you just have to do your own damn self. Just tell me how much you want for it.”

“Ah…” Djordi chuckled. “…from you? Nothing.” 

He leaned in closer until Sho felt his breath on his neck. It smelled like exotic spices and, of course, apples. 

“I’m more than willing to get rid of this old thing. Just be sure and do me a favor, will you?” he asked.

Sho nodded. He noticed a pressure in his hand, looked down, and saw Djordi pressing the egg into his palm along with a match. 

“Just make sure it stays warm.” Djordi winked and, with a grin, turned around and began polishing his apples.

“What do you mean by that?” Sho asked. Djordi only stared down the bright red apple in his hand, furiously rubbing it with his white cloth as if it was the only thing that mattered in all the world. Sho even tapped him on the shoulder, but Djordi refused to acknowledge him at all. 

Sho shook his head and turned to go back to his room in the palace, the egg tucked neatly beneath his robes.

--

Sho shut the door to his chamber and locked it. He fastened the latch above the doorknob for extra security and sat the gold egg down in the middle of his rug. It stood upright on its own, as if held up by an invisible string.

He lay prostrate on the ground and stared at the shimmering little egg. At least he hadn’t paid money for the thing.

“There’s no way you’ve got a dragon in you. Look how tiny you are.” Sho scoffed. “Dragons are about as real as…well…”

About as real as the spirits he had been praying to his entire life? No. He wasn’t ready to give up the holy life just yet. 

“For the time being…” Sho murmured, “…I’ll just have to figure out if I can actually do anything with you.”

He stared at that egg for what seemed like ages—but really couldn’t have been more than a few minutes—when the last words that Djordi had spoken to him before turning around returned to the forefront of Sho’s mind. 

Just make sure it stays warm.

It was then that Sho remembered the other thing Djordi handed him: the match. His hand dove into the folds of his bright red robe and pulled out the tiny, scrawny match, the one that more than likely didn’t even work anymore.

Sho’s eyes drifted from the match to the egg standing on his rug, and then back to the match again. He shook his head. “No…no way I’m gonna…”

The blood-tipped spears of the soldiers returning from the raid flashed before his mind. Sho bit his lip and struck the match on one of the wooden floorboards.

Much to his surprise, the tip of the match sparked and then ignited, producing a tiny, dim, barely-there orange flame. His eyes wide, Sho got on his knees and inched the match closer to the egg, his hands hesitant to let the two make contact.

After a deep breath, Sho managed to just tap the egg with the match head. 

It ignited in a giant pillar of flame. 

Sho fell back, his knees crumbling beneath him, until he could scramble to his feet and stand shivering before the tower of fire. The flames touched both the ceiling and the rug, but neither one became charred or black, neither did the smell of ash waft through the air.

He stared on in awe and horror, his eyes the size of gold coins, as the flames twisted, turned, and wrapped themselves into a cocoon shape. The flame-vessel churned, trembled, and then burst like a flower spreading open its petals. 

Sitting atop the flaccid flame-petals was a figure engulfed in the shadow produced by the firelight, his legs crossed in a lotus position and his hands folded at his knees. Around his torso was curled what looked like a long reptilian tale. 

The flames died down. The strange unfurled his legs, unwrapped his tail from his stomach, and straightened up. His bare naked body lowered to the ground until his feet touched the rug. The flame was finally, completely snuffed out as if it was a tiny candlelight.

The stranger’s eyes snapped open. The irises were bright red. He raised his head, his shoulder length, straight black hair parting like a curtain. 

Sho watched as the creature lifted the palms of his hands out in front of him, looking at them as if they were someone else’s. He felt the top of his head, his hands lingering on the two short brown horns sitting on his temples. With a gasp, the stranger touched his own face, his own chest, his own legs, his red eyes flickering.

Now a holy man never curses, but Sho couldn’t help but whisper, “Holy shit!”