Misti and the Dragon Egg

Kotma Ata’s harbor district was crowded, but everything beyond the Outcast was a swarm. Houses there were stacked, piled, amassed in nests of clay where hundreds, or maybe thousands, of sithrax and sindurs lived. Misti couldn’t possibly believe this architecture belonged to her ancestors. The sithrax must be the makers of this chaotic design.

Virgil had packed Misti’s cloak in his horse’s satchel. The sun was high in the Ailuran sky, and the temperature was no longer bearable for the girl-cat. She was used to the mild cold of Bravan winters. Mist walked beside him as he led his brown horse through the packed streets of the Ditch and Gutter. Those were the poorest districts of the capital.

By Virgil’s side, she was invisible. The sithrax ignored him, ignored her, and let him pass without question. He must be a respected man around here. The same thing couldn’t be said for lonely sindurs wandering the streets.

Every twenty steps, Misti would see a lone sindur be apprehended by a guard or two. They’d shout at him, screech in their tongue until he’d show the token around his neck or the bracelet around his wrist. If it was a female, they’d force her on her knees. After three occurrences, Misti couldn’t watch anymore. The last sindur they passed before leaving the city had been wounded. There was blood trickling down her paw. Misti had desperately wanted to rush to her help and heal her with a blessing. She could finally breathe when they passed the city gates, leaving Kotma Ata for good. But her breath also squeezed her heart, leaving a painful mark behind.

The river that circled Kotma Ata provided some shades of green to this grey landscape. A mile away from the city walls, there was only an empty field under the burning sun. The capital’s sandy grounds quickly expanded in a vast sea of grey. Virgil mounted his horse and helped Misti climb behind him. He showed her where to grip around his waist, and off they went. The horse galloped in the direction of the southern dunes. It had no problem sweeping the sand under its hooves. Its black mane wavered in the silent wind.

Getting used to the heaving movements of a galloping horse was tough during the first minutes, but Misti quickly got used to it. She learned to follow the rhythm. She managed to lessen the turbulence, making it also comfortable for the dragon egg. Even though, as commonly known, dragon eggs could withstand the Storms of Creation.

An hour in, they reached the beginning of the dunes. Rows of sandy hills stretched before them and beyond the horizon. Here, the sand had the color of the sun. It was like standing on a motionless ocean of gold. An empty sea of sand, because they were entirely alone.

“You okay there?” Virgil checked as they slowed down to climb.

“All fine!” Misti was actually starting to enjoy this.

“Good. We have about eight hours left. Well, unless we run into a sandworm, that is.”

Eight hours of this? Oh, yes! Misti could ride on this horse for the rest of her life. Climbing up and down dunes proved most delightful.

Wait.

What?

A sandworm?

“What do you mean sandworm?” she asked.

Virgil laughed at her. “I mean exactly what I mean, Miss. Giant sandworm attacks are common in the dunes. Why do you think no one goes there?” He looked over his shoulder and gave Misti an evident smile.

Her eyes were wide open like she was about to scream. She’d thought Kotma Ata would get the best of her. She wasn’t ready to give the dunes that luxury.

“Ha, I’m just kidding!” Virgil laughed, and Misti instantly frowned. She wanted to punch him. “Sandworms are the size of a lame dog. I have two daggers and a sword somewhere in my satchels. We’ll be fine. Plus, worms are afraid of horses. Something about vibrations in the sand...”

Misti still frowned, but she’d calmed down. She was getting thirsty, though, so she went for the leather canteen sticking out of the satchel.

“Doesn’t your horse need water?” she wondered.

“Is that your way of asking for a break?” Virgil retorted his question. Misti wanted to contest, but he looked at her and smiled. He pulled the reins and stopped his horse. “You’re right. Carrot needs a rest.”

Virgil stepped off his horse and helped Misti down. The moment she touched the ground, it felt excruciatingly hot. Thank the gods she had good shoes!

“You call your horse Carrot?” Misti asked, repressing a laugh.

“Well, he doesn’t look like a Cabbage, now, does he?” Virgil smiled while he checked the satchels. “And I thought Bellpepper would be too much.”

Misti giggled loudly. She couldn’t even drink water properly without spilling it everywhere.

Virgil fetched a small iron bowl from one of the satchels. He placed it by Carrot’s head and filled it with water. Carrot didn’t hesitate and instantly started drinking. Virgil patted his horse’s neck for a little while. When he was done, and Carrot was done, he returned the bowl to the satchel and turned to Misti.

“Why Kotma Ata?” she suddenly asked. The question had popped up in her mind when she’d seen how Virgil behaved with Carrot. He could have a much better life away from here. “Why not somewhere more...peaceful?”

“There’s good business here,” Virgil replied. His voice didn’t carry much emotion.

“There’s good business in Tazman. I met a woman with a good business! At least...it looked like it.” Misti thought of the tanwar and Marie Trogon’s jewelry. That woman definitely had money.

“Ailura’s better,” Virgil assured.

Misti wanted to understand, and Virgil’s answers were short and unrevealing. “Why is it better? What could be better?”

“Business.”

“What business?”

“The information business, Misti!” Virgil said, annoyed. “Sithrax cities are divided into power-hungry clans. Gang wars happen all the time. And they pay so much money to get the intel we provide.”

So, Virgil made money sponsoring wars? Misti wasn’t sure what she was supposed to think of that. It wasn’t just or justified. Encouraging evil deeds to get money was just that, evil. Virgil seemed to be proud of his work. He’d boasted in front of those sithrax men at the Lion’s Heart. How could someone find pride in war? In incurring death? Virgil had lost his cool now, and watching him get angry felt...musty. She’d better stop asking questions.

But she had one last thing to say. One last question to ask.

“Do you sell information on sindurs?”

Virgil frowned. He mounted his horse, turning his back to Misti.

“Get on,” he said, his tone brutal. She knew he wasn’t going to help her.

A chill ran down Misti’s spine. She struggled but managed to get on Carrot. Once she sat properly, Virgil exhaled deeply. His shoulders relaxed.

“Of course I don’t compromise sindurs, Miss,” Virgil said as he shook his head. He sounded sorry and sincere. “It’s something I would never dream of doing.”

Misti relaxed a little. “Is there a lot of information to sell on sindurs?” She was curious because that meant sindurs had something to hide if that was the case. And that meant the sithrax didn’t own the sindurs after all.

“I wouldn’t know,” Virgil answered, then he seized the reins, clicked his tongue, and Carrot trotted again.

It was almost dark when they reached the forest. There was a pond right where desert and trees met. Misti instantly jumped off Carrot and plunged her furry head in the water. Carrot pretty much did the same. When she was done, Virgil was still refilling their canteens. Misti looked up to the sky. Stars were already glowing. The jungle ahead was coming alive.

The temperature had significantly dropped. She could hop and skip comfortably without sweating. She inhaled deeply, catching a whiff of sweet fruit in the air. Her stomach growled.

She turned to Virgil to ask him what they’d eat tonight but stopped when she gazed past him. Her blue eyes opened wide. What she saw made her jaw drop to her furry feet. Beyond the pond and among the trees stood a tower taller than the dunes. Taller than any dune she’d seen. The tower was round and sturdy and stretched like the column of a giant temple. It was ancient. She could tell because the top of the tower was missing, like a dragon-god had taken a bite of it.

Five minutes later, they stood at the bottom of the tower. This was the Holy Beacon. There was no point in denying it. It must have been three hundred feet tall in the past. A set of marble stairs in perfect condition led to the gates. They were wide open.

Misti rushed to the gates, feeling that sort of rush when one was about to win a race. She was here. Misti was finally here. She’d done what had been asked of her. She’d brought the dragon egg to the Tower of Ailura.

All of a sudden, the ground shook. Misti tripped and fell on all fours. She looked ahead, the gates were closing. What was happening? A curtain of sand fell because of the tremor, blocking her view inside the tower. Once the gates were closed, a bright light exploded inside, raining into the forest through the unglazed windows. And then, a loud, blaring voice boomed from the tower and echoed outside. Misti had to press her pointy ears against her cheeks not to be deafened by the hammering sound.

“You are not welcome here,” the voice said.

And everything went silent.