Dragons

What happens when Jane finds a dragon egg?

Once upon a time, there was a small, peaceful town that was rumored to be watched over by a fiery dragon, but no one has seen the dragons in centuries. People had gone in search of it or its nest but to no avail. Dragons were things of myths and legends.

Until one day, the most normal of women stepped out, away from her devices and all of the things that women do,  and out into nature, to forest bathe. The sky was always blue, whales sang their songs in the distant fjords, and the birds soared on a cool breeze.

Jane, on the most ordinary of days, felt the breeze push her toward a cave. It was dark, craggily, and filled with sharp edges. This cave was one not visited, as carved into the rocks were runes and glyphs that shouted words of warning.

But Jane did not worry. The dragons had not been heard from in centuries.

Despite the danger, the invisible hands continued to press on her back until she stood at the end of a large nest, and therein rested a large sparkly egg. The nest appeared abandoned, as hatched eggshell remains appeared hardened like the surrounding stone.

Jane’s heart pounded in her chest. Here she stood on the precipice. Would she heed the call to save the dragon egg? To walk in the fate the dragon egg brought with it, including its burden?

She released her pent up breath, snatched the egg away, accepting it as her own.

Jane hurried home, created a nest for her egg, surely, thinking that nothing would come from it. She dove into learning everything she could about dragons, from the small snippets in old books to Internet search results that yielded nuggets of truth.

With this knowledge, she adapted her home for the egg’s benefit. Fearing the egg might get too cold, she wrapped it in paper and fleece. She then created a sacred circle of crystal salts, sat with it before the fire (but at a safe distance), and read to it stories of great dragons from long ago.

Indeed there was more to be done.

After a while, she pulled out her phone and visited online posts, watched videos.

The egg did not crack the first day, nor the third.

It did not crack the fourteenth or even the twentieth.

Jane danced around the egg, loudly chanted, sliced her hand and placed droplets of blood on and around the egg,

Surely this would help?

She then placed the egg under the rays of the full moon’s light, read tarot cards, lit candles, and made altars to ancient gods desperate for the egg to crack.

The more she did, the more her self-doubt grew.

Maybe she hadn’t been called to rescue the egg.

Maybe she wasn’t qualified enough, and this was the universe telling her that dragons should remain a myth.

That night, Jane went to bed and cried herself to sleep, as the egg and worry weighed heavily on her.

On the next morning, dragging, she thought to give up. Today was the final day for her dragon gift to hatch. Many had tried to hatch dragon eggs before, maybe, and they must have given up a long time ago, too.

When she thought to give up and return the egg, Jane went to town for tea and met a friend, Old Blue, for coffee. All he needed was a staff to play Gandalf, after all.

Blue had lived in the town for decades and knew every inch it.

Jane collapsed into a chair. She explained her situation to Blue, and how her project, that of the egg, had not produced the dragon.

The wiry old man looked at her under bushy ey brows and with a knowing smile.

“You can’t make magic without a spark,” he said. “A dragon’s egg is simply an egg until it’s touched by magic.”

“And magic comes with consequences?” Jane asked. She’d read that online too.

“Aye,” he nodded. “When you spark the magic, you will place a target on your back, for then come the grumpy trolls to fight against the magic they see, they feel. But it will be up to you to determine if the magic will embrace this world or leave it forever. If having the egg, stepping into your destiny as a hero, is worth the trouble.”

“Trouble?” All Jane had wanted to do with hatch the dragon egg. She’d not considered what might happen to the dragon afterward.

“A dragon egg is found every hundred years. But only you can decide if this one shall find the magic.”

“And where can I find the magic?” Jane asked. None of her sources had provided any information as to conjuring or summoning magic. What more could she give?

Old Blue dropped a lump of sugar into his tea and stirred it with his butter knife. “Believe in yourself.”

“Believe in me,” Jane guffawed. She’s not made the trip to town for some slippery slope of hippy statements. No, she wanted a concrete recipe for how to hatch a dragon egg.

“I believe in myself.”

“No, you need to believe in yourself like you do gravity. Like you do, that fire will burn you if you get too close.”

“That is not a belief that is science.”

“The science of self-confidence remains the same. If you wish to soar, you have to jump.”

“So, you want me to go to the top of this building and jump?”

“No, what you believe is what you create. I want you to recognize that to hatch the egg, the part missing is you.” Old Blue picked up his dainty teacup and sipped from it.

Jane went back home, and in her living room, the egg still sat unchanged, just like it had on the day she’d found it.

She picked up her journal and started to write, and then picked up a book on changing her belief patterns.

The first day, nothing happened.

On the third, everything remained the same.

The seventh day, she wrote, she read, and she sang.

By the fourteenth day, she chanted, she danced and screamed. She cried. In building blocks to tear down, Jane went deeper. Still, the egg did not change.

On the twenty-seventh day, she wrote, she read, she sang. Her voice rang out, sparking the air and the dragon’s egg wobbled.

Her eyes welled at the cracking shell.

By the thirtieth day, her hands had cramps, her fingers calloused, her voice raw, her body tired, her heart strong. Again today, she wrote, she read, she loudly sang. The egg shook, it wobbled, and from Jane’s calloused hands and fingers, blue magic shot forth. It zipped and zinged around the golden egg, lifting it up, spinning it around.

A cool breeze, just like she’d experienced on that initial day, wrapped around her.

The egg suddenly crashed to her hardwood floor, but flying midair was a golden-eyed dragon that stared at her with admiration.

Jane had found her magic, birthing a dragon from its impenetrable shell.

The dragon flew to rest on her shoulder, and Jane’s skin then puckered and formed turquoise tinged scales.

“Mama,” the dragon baby said.

And Jane gasped in the realization that she’d been a dragon the entire time, and had to have help to figure out what that meant and to discover the power of her dragon heart.

Standing tall, with her dragon on her shoulder, surrounded by shards of broken shell, she planted her feet. Come what may, with the knowledge of self once again lit, she’d be ready, or she’d burn it all down to protect the dragon baby she’d now hatched.

The Lost Egg © 2020  Tina Glasneck. All Rights Reserved.