The Black Egg

by James E. Wisher

  “I see you’ve thought it out. That’s good. At least it makes me feel a little bit better. Helena, do you want to try and persuade him?”

  Mom smiled a sad smile. “No, our little boy isn’t a boy anymore and he’s made up his mind. All I can do is wish him luck and remind him that his home will be here waiting and so will we, with a hug and a hot meal whenever he’s ready to come back.”

  Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “Your mother always was the smart one in the family. You’re man enough to make your own decisions. If you come back with an egg, I’ll go halves with you on the cost of raising the hatchling and when you’re ready you can join the riders. Deal?”

  Yaz grinned and thrust his hand out. “Deal.”

  They shook. His father’s proud smile warmed Yaz’s heart. He could go now with a clean conscience knowing there would be no hard feelings. Hopefully Brigid would have an equally good conversation with her parents, though from what she’d told him, Yaz doubted she would make out as well as he did.

  “I’m going to pack and hit the sack early.” Yaz went upstairs and ducked into his room.

  Packing wouldn’t take long. All he had was a change of clothes, his writing supplies, and coin. Everything else he kept with Thunder’s tack, locked in a trunk in his stall down at the stable. Speaking of Thunder, there was no way the pony could carry him and Brigid. He’d have to walk and use Thunder for a pack beast. That would slow them down considerably, but until they could get a cart or a mount for Brigid it would have to do.

  Yaz was pondering his options when a soft knock on the door was followed by his mother coming in. She crossed the room and sat beside him on the edge of the bed.

  “Hey, Mom. Was there something else?”

  “I never talked about it much,” Mom said. “But you know I’m from outside the valley, right?”

  He’d never given it any thought, but with her pale skin and dark hair, his mother certainly didn’t look like any of the women Yaz knew were born in the valley.

  “Now that you mention it, it’s obvious. Why?”

  “Because I want you to know the outside world is filled with darkness and evil. There are men who will slit your throat for a copper scale. You must be ever on your guard as you travel. Take nothing at face value and always assume the other person wishes you harm. I don’t say this in the hope that you’ll change your mind. Like your father, I’m proud that you chose to follow your dream, but the path is dangerous and littered with corpses.”

  “Gods, Mom. If it’s that bad, how did you survive before coming to the valley?”

  “I survived by embracing the darkness within. I’m not proud of some of the things I did in the past. We all have a measure of darkness within us, Yaz. You will be tested out there. Don’t let your darkness consume you.”

  “Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll stay well away from any darkness.”

  His mother took his hands and squeezed them hard. “No, Yaz. You will need the darkness to survive, but you must be its master, not the other way around.”

  She let go and stood, smoothing the front of her green dressing gown. “I didn’t intend to frighten you, only to offer caution. I’ll make your favorite breakfast tomorrow. Sleep well.”

  She hurried out, leaving Yaz to stare at his closed door. If Mom hadn’t been trying to scare him, she didn’t do a very good job. Not that he intended to change his mind. He had to see this through no matter what. If he did anything else, he would always wonder what might have been.

  Chapter 11

  Brigid wasn’t sure if she woke or just got sick of lying on her pallet trying to sleep. The house was still dark and her father’s soft snores seemed louder than usual. Yaz said he was going to talk to his parents about his decision and she envied him that. But Brigid knew her father well enough to know that if she said anything, he’d beat her so bad she wouldn’t be able to walk until after Yaz was long gone. So last night she ate in silence, counting the hours until she could flee. If her parents suspected anything, they gave no sign and they went to bed as soon as the sun set.

  How many hours ago was that? She didn’t know, but Brigid figured she should leave now before anyone woke up. If she had to wait a few hours in the pasture so be it. She eased her covers off and got up as slowly and silently as she could.

  No one stirred or made a sound. She owned nothing but the clothes on her back and the staff Yaz made for her. She hid it under the oak with the intention of picking it up before they left. Brigid felt a little guilty as she tiptoed over to the door and slipped her boots on. She brought nothing to the journey and even knowing that, Yaz had seemed pleased to have her traveling with him. No matter what, she determined she’d do nothing to make him regret that decision. With a final look at her sleeping parents, Brigid slipped out into the night.

  The moon hung low in the sky, so it wasn’t as far from morning as she’d feared. The air was brisk and she’d been so nervous and eager to leave she forgot her shawl right by the door. She didn’t dare go back now. Instead she turned towards the pasture and started walking. Even in the dark she had no trouble making her way; the route was as familiar to her as the little hut where she grew up. Would she ever see it again? Did she want to?

  It hurt a little that she wasn’t sure. There had been a few good times mixed in with all the bad. Not many, but a few. Not enough to change her mind about leaving, that was certain.

  Without the sheep slowing her down, Brigid reached the old oak in twenty minutes. She jumped up and retrieved her staff from where she’d hidden it among the branches. Now all she had to do was wait. She smiled to herself. How funny would it be if Yaz changed his mind and didn’t show up after all?

  Her throat tightened at the thought. He wouldn’t do that to her. Not now that she’d run away. Everything Brigid knew about him said he’d show. She had to believe that.

  Sometime later, with the sun just barely poking over the rim of the valley, Yaz came riding up to the oak. He dismounted and she hugged him.

  When Brigid finally let go he asked, “What was that for?”

  “Showing up. I feared you might change your mind.”

  “Not a chance. I’m going to give this hunt my best shot. Succeed or fail, it won’t be from a lack of trying. How did you make out with your family?”

  “They didn’t object.”

  “That’s good. My parents tried to talk me out of going, but once I made it clear I wouldn’t be swayed, they were surprisingly supportive.”

  Yaz started walking with Thunder’s reins in his hand. Brigid fell in beside him. The pony was laden with more supplies than usual. Once again Brigid felt a twinge of guilt at her lack of gear.

  “I couldn’t find a cart for sale,” Yaz said. “Or another horse, so we’ll have to walk until we can afford something else. There’s a village about four days from the entrance to the valley. I figured we’d start there and see if anyone’s seen any dragon activity.”

  “If they have?” Brigid asked.

  “Then we find out what sort of dragon they saw and search for a likely nesting site. Since dragons only lay an egg every eight to fifteen years generally, the odds of finding one quickly are slim.”

  “Do dragons build nests like chickens?”

  “No, they don’t actually build nests at all. They bury their eggs in sand that gets a lot of sun, then abandon them. Assuming we can find one, at least we won’t have to fight off the mother dragon to claim it.”

  Brigid laughed and clapped her hands. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

  Yaz looked her way, his brow furrowed. “Are you joking?”

  “Only a little. I know sheep, the farm, and staff fighting. That’s about it. But you, I bet I couldn’t think of a question you didn’t know the answer to.”

  Yaz shrugged. “I suppose it’s all relative. Given how many books I’ve read, it’s only natural that I know more than you, but when you take into account all the knowledge in the world and how much was lost after the Dragon Empire fell,
what I know amounts to little more than a drop of water in a lake.”

  Brigid smiled to herself and fell silent. She hoped Yaz found his dragon egg, but not too soon. She had so much to learn and all of it lay in front of her.

  For two days the walking was easy for Yaz and Brigid. They left the valley behind and traveled the northern road under a canopy of oak branches. Squirrels growled at them and sunlight dappled the ground. You couldn’t have asked for finer conditions. Yaz’s mom had packed a generous bag of food so they ate well, supplementing their supplies with a few insufficiently cautious squirrels.

  They might have been the only people in the world until they met a group of four wagons midafternoon on their second day. The wagons were loaded with covered bundles. No one spoke and the guards eyed them with hands close to their crossbows. Yaz didn’t recognize anyone which meant they’d never been to the village, or he’d never met them at least. The encounter ended peacefully enough despite the sullen looks.

  With the sun low in the sky Yaz led Thunder off the road down a game trail. They came to a clearing beside a narrow creek. There was a calm pool a little ways down that looked like it might yield some fat trout.

  “This is beautiful,” Brigid said.

  “How about you get the fire going and I’ll see about some fish?”

  While Brigid laid out a fire pit, Yaz tended to Thunder before making his way to the pool. The clear water revealed five, foot-long trout swimming around. He lay down and crept closer. A survival book he read said if you were slow and calm, you could tickle the trout right out of the water.

  Yaz wouldn’t have guessed fish were ticklish, but for fresh, grilled trout he was willing to try. He lay down in the grass and inched closer until he could put his arm in the water. The creek water was frigid, but he ignored the discomfort. Eventually one of the trout swam closer.

  He eased under it until he touched its slick belly. In one smooth move he swiped the trout out of the brook and on to the bank. Fifteen minutes yielded two more and that was enough for Yaz, who could barely feel his fingers. Another five minutes saw the fish gutted and roasting over the fire.

  After dinner Brigid yawned and laid down. “Sleep well.”

  “You too.” Yaz sat cross-legged and rested his palms on his knees to begin his nightly meditation.

  He had barely closed his eyes when Brigid said, “I meant to ask you last night. Why do you do that?”

  “Meditate? It’s necessary to put my memories in order. If I don’t take the time to sort through them before I sleep, I have nightmares and wake up screaming. I had some bad nights before I learned to do this.”

  “Is it because you remember everything?”

  “I assume so. According to Master Kernel, people with ordinary memories sort them out while they’re sleeping, including in their dreams. I retain too much information and when my brain tries to sort them subconsciously it gets overloaded, thus the nightmares. When I get things set in at least a basic order…” He glanced over. Brigid’s eyes were glazing over. “It just works better.”

  “Remind me not to ask you stuff. When you try and explain things to me, I always feel more confused than when I started.” She rolled over so her back was to him.

  Yaz sighed and returned to his thoughts. He ordered the world of his mind like a library, not surprising given how much time he spent in the village library. Plus, it was a natural way to sort your thoughts. Each day had its own book, each month its own shelf. Making the book was simply a matter of imagining a tome and going over the day’s memories and picturing them appearing on the pages. A peaceful day with minimal stimuli took about fifteen minutes to set in order. When he finished, he put the book on its proper shelf and left the library.

  He opened his eyes and found the fire had burned down to coals. Stars twinkled in the sky and the moon appeared as little more than a sliver. He sighed. Their journey was off to a good start. Hopefully they’d reach the village and get a solid lead on a dragon.

  Yaz fell asleep and dreamed of flying. Oddly, he couldn’t see his dragon.

  Yaz and Brigid were on the road again at first light. Yaz had always been a light sleeper, and he found camping in the woods, with no walls or guards to protect him, didn’t lend itself to a very sound night’s rest. Brigid, on the other hand, seemed to find camping out suited her. She woke bright-eyed and eager to get going. He found it moderately annoying but kept his opinion to himself. No sense spoiling the adventure for her.

  Their current stretch of road resembled every other stretch they’d strode down since leaving the valley. Dirt tracks, trees on either side, and no traffic. Yaz would have preferred a few more people around, even merchants with angry guards. A breeze set the leaves to rustling.

  “What do you think this village will be like?” Brigid asked.

  Yaz shook his head. “No idea. I assume it’ll be like home. A village is a village after all. It’s called Sharpsburg, named after a man named Sharp who founded the place. Not terribly imaginative, but then again if you go to all the trouble of founding a village, I suppose you’d want your name on the place. Do you think my many-times-great-grandfather would have named our village Yeagerville or something if the tower hadn’t been there?”

  “Maybe, but Dragonspire Village is a more interesting name, no offense to your family.”

  “None taken and I quite agree.”

  A bird called to their right and Yaz froze. He caught Brigid’s sleeve when she kept going.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Put your back to mine and get ready. We’re about to have company.” Yaz dropped Thunder’s lead and readied his staff. He would have preferred to use his bow but didn’t dare take the time to string it.

  Brigid’s back was warm and tense where it pressed against Yaz’s. Half a minute passed and no one appeared.

  “I know you’re out there!” Yaz shouted. “Show yourselves!”

  A few seconds later four men emerged from either side of the road. Yaz doubted any of them had seen a bath this year. Even from a distance their tattered leathers stank. Scraggly beards covered filthy faces. Only the swords in their hands appeared well cared for, the bright steel shining where the sun struck.

  The eldest of the four, a man about his father’s age though thankfully only half his size took a step ahead of the other three. “How’d you spot us?”

  “Whoever gave that blue jay call needs practice. No bird ever made a noise like that outside of a cat’s jaws.”

  “Ha! You’ve got good ears, boy. What you lack is numbers. You hand that pony over and give us an hour with the girl, and you can go on your way.”

  Brigid stiffened even more behind him.

  “I’ll have to decline.” Yaz took a second to lock all his emotions in a hidden room of his library. He needed to think clearly and act without hesitation. “My counteroffer is that you and your sons leave right now and we won’t smash your heads in.”

  That brought another laugh. “We’ve got swords and numbers in our favor and you’re offering to let us go? Pretty arrogant.”

  “On the contrary. I believe we have a tactical advantage. Including reach and an overwhelming desire not to be robbed and murdered. It’s possible you’ll defeat us, but I promise you we’ll take at least a pair of you with us. I doubt whoever lives will consider that a good trade.”

  “You talk fancy, boy. Never met anyone that talked fancy and was worth a damn in a fight, especially a skinny little runt like you. Get ’em!”

  The younger bandits charged, howling and waving their swords.

  “Side by side,” Yaz said.

  Brigid swung around so she stood on his left side. Her knuckles were white on her staff.

  Yaz took two steps to the right and one forward. In a smooth lunge his staff shot out six feet and struck the rightmost bandit square between the eyes. His skull shattered with a sickening crunch.

  He pulled his staff back and gave it a spin to deflect an incoming broadsword.

 
The force of the parry sent the bandit off balance. Before he could recover, Yaz lashed out, bringing his staff hard against the man’s temple. Ironwood versus bone wasn’t much of a fight and a second bandit joined his brother on the ground.

  Brigid was holding her own against the third attacker so Yaz turned his attention to the older one. “How do you like your odds now?”

  The older bandit bared crooked teeth and raised his chipped broadsword.

  “You prefer to die with your sons. Can’t say I’m surprised.”

  The bandit attacked with a thrust that Yaz easily turned aside. A pair of slashes were blocked and an overhead chop dodged.

  Yaz countered with a crack to the man’s left knee that shattered the joint and left him standing on one leg. He hopped around, swinging his sword to no effect.

  “Ha!” Brigid’s shout prompted Yaz to separate himself from his injured opponent and look her way, just in time to see her staff crash into the last young bandit’s ribs. He collapsed and she brought the tip of her staff down on the back of his skull.

  He turned back to the last bandit. All the ferocity was gone from his expression. He was nothing but a defeated old man now.

  The bandit tossed his sword aside. “How did you know they were my sons?”

  Yaz shrugged, not lowering his guard a fraction. “Their bone structure, especially in the face, resembled yours. Also, the way they deferred to you in both stance and action. I wasn’t completely certain, but my doubts were minimal.”

  “At least I met a man that talked fancy and was worth a damn before I died.”

  “Your injury isn’t life-threatening,” Yaz said.

  “Going to leave me helpless for the wolves? I won’t last a day on one leg.”

  “You say that like I owe you some sort of compassion. You meant to rob us, rape my companion, and possibly murder us both. If I knew where the wolves’ den was, I’d happily drag you there myself.”