Naga's Essence

Chapter 1

Lorelai

         “Where the fuck am I?” 

All I can see are sand dunes. 

I watch as the dunes become alive. I watch as they grab and clutch at the horizon. I watch as Yadat’s horizon drowns beneath the sand.

         The heat of the sun doesn’t help this little vision I’m having. The sunlight is just as alive as the sand dunes, and right now, the two are at war with one another.

         You need to eat something before you tear your clothes off and walk into the city center because that is exactly where these thoughts are heading.

         I haven’t eaten for two days. I ran out of my last preserves of boiled and salted dripir meat exactly two days ago.

         I’ve been nursing a sprained ankle from my last hunting trip for about a week, and when all you can do is sit around and stare at the walls, eating your last supplies of food sounds like a good idea.

         “Not that there were many supplies to start with,” I mutter to myself.

         Earlier in the day my ankle felt well enough for me to walk on it, but I wrapped it so tightly that the circulation was cut off before I ventured into the forests to hunt.

         Now, I sit at the very top of the most ancient tiphe tree in this forest, and it gives me a view of the entirety of Yadat. This includes the desert that seems to grow and spill sharply from the edges of the forest.

         Not much grows in the desert that rings the outskirts of Yadat except for what the humans on the farms struggle to grow for themselves.

         Looking out at the desert, there is not one tiphe tree to be seen. It is as if some old god drew the boundary made out of magic and cursed a part of Yadat so that nothing would ever grow.

         I wouldn’t put it past the naga gods. They’re as cruel as the creatures they created.

         Something rustles beneath me. I cannot help but smile as the group of wild dripir that I have been tracking since dawn comes barreling through the forest’s undergrowth. They’re all overgrown, almost obese from eating all the root vegetables that the forest has to offer. I really only need one of them.

         But I’ll settle for two. I don’t want to be out here again any time soon.

         The arrow is already loaded in my bow, and I exhale slowly before I let it loose. I’ve already loaded another arrow into the bow and let it loose into the skull of another dripir as the first one falls.

         They are both dead instantaneously. They fall heavily, surrounded by deafening, frantic shrieks and squeals as the rest of the herd runs for their lives.

         I drop from the top of the tree and land with a soft thump in an overgrown bush before I roll off it and stand.

         “At least I’m not limping anymore,” I grumble as I tie the dripir’s feet with twine and then begin to drag them through the forest.

         I am not far from home, and I know that it only seems like a long way because the dripir are so fucking heavy.

         “But,” I huff as I reach my bunker. I start to skin and cut up the animals right away. “At least I won’t have to hunt for a few weeks.”

         I salt and store the meat in the little shed that is mostly below ground. The only part of the shed that can be seen from the forest is the little triangular roof, although I keep it covered with tree branches and large leaves most of the time.

         Then I head to my bunker, which is also underground.

         It took me months to build this place. Luckily, there was a hollow in the ground already, so I didn’t have to dig too much.

         “That would have taken forever,” I mutter to myself as I strip my clothes. “And at least Mama taught me how to use my magic properly.”

         I cannot help but go still for a minute when thinking about my mother. I always do.

         She is gone now, along with my father, and I am alone. I have been alone for so long. When I think about either of my parents, my body just goes quiet.

         Sometimes I get tired of being alone. Sometimes I grow tired of taking care of myself all the time. Sometimes I am tired of how quiet the world is in my little bunker in the forest, with no company but the brutal sunlight and the brittle sand that blows in from the desert when the winds grow too rough.

         “But I have survived, and being alone is the only way to be safe now,” I say out loud, as if to reassure myself, or possibly the spirit of my mother who I am sure lingers in every breath I take.

         The anger that I always feel curdles inside me, sour and bitter and furious. Sparks glitter and explode in small, dark flames at my fingertips. I try to calm myself down, but the anger doesn’t go away, because it never does.

         I force myself into action even though there is still a lump in my throat, a lump I have grown used to. I pull on the clean set of clothes that I stole eight months ago when I ventured to the human farms to trade.

         The clothes are too big for my small, slim frame, but they will have to do because the only clothes that do fit are covered in dripir blood and guts. I’ll need to go to the river to wash them.

         “And now, for some burgona,” I say to myself as I grab a knife and a basket. I sling my bow and sheathed arrows over my shoulder for protection.

         My mother spent most of my childhood teaching me how to forage and hunt. In between teaching me which berries were poisonous and which weren’t, she instilled in me the importance of eating vegetables.

         I’ll be able to forage for some burgona – root vegetables that keep all the animals in this damn forest alive – close by, and hopefully I’ll make it home before sunset.

         But as I find burgona leaves hidden in the brush, a dangerous voice sounds before me. 

         “You shouldn’t be here, human girl. You’re going to come with me.”

         I drop to all fours at the sound of the naga’s voice, but he has already seen me. He tramps heavily through the forest in my direction.

         I stuff my bag filled with burgona and wild somana underneath a bush and stand up to face him.

         At least I brought the carving knife along with me, I think as I pull the now sticky knife that’s almost as long as a dagger from the ground.

         I smile as the naga comes closer. His eyes are bright and sharp, and he bares his teeth in an attempt to frighten me.

         I cock my head to the side. He really thinks I’m going to submit to him. 

         The naga is clearly surprised that I haven’t fallen to my knees, so he does something very stupid. He lunges at me.

         I leap backward, sprained ankle be damned, and swipe at him with the carving knife.

         He howls with pained rage as the blade slices through the scales on his face. I stumble backward as he crawls towards me and drags his tail through the air. His tail catches me behind my knees, and I shriek as I go flying.

         I land on my back and jump up, launching myself towards him.

         He is ready for me, and I know he has the upper hand because of his strength. So I drop the knife and throw my hands away from my body, where I clench my hands into fists.

         The naga doesn’t last very long when I force a tree trunk into his path, slamming the thick trunk against him brutally.

         “Don’t use your magic unless you absolutely have to. We shouldn’t have to live like this, hiding ourselves and what we can do. But this is what we have to do for now. My daughter, I don’t want you ever to get hurt, so only use your magic unless you absolutely have to.”

         My mother’s words resound through my head as I kneel beside the broken body of the naga.

         He died on impact with the tree trunk. His face has caved in, and most of his scales have been violently sloughed off, leaving only bloody flesh behind.

         I’ll leave the body for the worgs, but I’m certainly not going to leave the clothes or anything else he’s carrying.

         I search his pockets first, and I find money and jewelry. I place those to the side before I continue searching the inner pocket of his jacket.

         That is when I find the letter.

         I know how to read, mostly because Mama insisted on it. I haven’t read anything in a while, but the words make sense to me quickly enough.

         A smile stretches across my face.

         The King of Yadat writes to express his displeasure at the new Crown Princess of Lodra. If this matter is not rectified instantly, there will be the gravest of consequences for Lodra. Yadat is not above going to war for what is right.

         “This is perfect.” 

I sit back on my haunches as I consider the possibilities.

         It is clear that the naga of Lodra and Yadat are headed for a bout of political unrest. And that means they won’t be focused on a young human woman who might or might not have magic.

This is my chance, finally, to bring the kingdoms of Nagaland crumbling down.