A Surprise in the Garden
There was a man lying in my vegetable patch. Talk about a shock! Right smack in the middle of my garden. Where on earth did he come from? I cast a suspicious glance at the sky. It was clear as a bell, a piercing blue that stung the eyes, the kind you only see in spring when nature bursts into bloom, stretching green tendrils toward the sun... No way he fell from up there. Not a cloud in sight, not even a hint of one. The man was big, burly, and long-limbed, the brute. And wouldn’t you know it, his feet were sprawled right across my tomato seedlings, the ones I’d so carefully planted and watered just yesterday. Rare, exotic varieties, mind you. And expensive as sin! I paid a pretty penny for each little plant—two gold coins apiece. Well, kiss those tomatoes goodbye.
I couldn’t tell if he was alive or dead. He seemed to be breathing, though. Barely, almost imperceptibly. I pressed my ear to his broad chest and listened.
Yeah, right, as if I could hear anything. The chickens were clucking up a storm, the rooster was crowing his head off, the noisy pest! He’d woken me at the crack of dawn and hadn’t shut up since. I snapped at them, tossed a clod of dirt their way. Did they listen? Of course not.
“Marty, chase these lunatics off!” I called to my little pup, who was busy sniffing the stranger’s muddy boot.
Marty was thrilled to help, barking and darting after the chickens. That only made the racket worse. Once the hens were finally shooed away, squawking indignantly from behind the house, I pressed my ear to the man’s chest again. There it was—a faint thump. Quiet, barely audible, and... somehow unconvincing.
“What a mess,” I sighed. “If you’re not dead already, you’ll be soon enough.”
“Hey, you daft girl, I’ve got no plans to die!” someone barked at me.
I froze. I looked around—nobody else in the garden but me. I peered at the man’s face—yep, same as before: eyes closed, skin ashen, deep dark circles under his eyes. He looked like a corpse if I ever saw one.
“Who’s talking?” I demanded, my tone sharp.
I’m not one to scare easy. If push comes to shove, I’ll throw a punch. My late father, bless his soul, taught me a thing or two about holding my own.
“It’s me, the one you’re kneeling beside, you dimwit.”
“You’re the dimwit!” I snapped back, my mind racing to process this. “You’re just lying there, sprawled out, not even moving your lips.”
“That’s because I’m probably a ghost or something, I don’t know. I’m not in my body right now. I’m here, in the air, like a spirit, right next to you.”
“Then why don’t you, spirit, hop back into your body and get the heck out of my garden?” I shouted, though a shiver ran down my spine.
Good heavens, could it be a half-wraith? Oh no, no, no! What do I do?
“If I could, I’d have left ages ago,” the spirit—or ghost, or whatever it was—snarled back.
I started unbuttoning the man’s shirt. Hmm. A fancy shirt, embroidered with gold thread, clearly the real deal. I used to have dresses made of fabric like this, back when we lived in the grand castle.
“What are you doing, you clumsy oaf? Trying to steal my clothes?” the ghost roared. “Hands off my body!”
“As if I’d want anything from you, you lump! I wouldn’t take your shirt for free, let alone pay for it!”
But I spread the shirt open anyway and took a look at his chest. Not bad, I’ll admit. Strong, muscular, well-defined—heck, you could even call it statuesque, pleasing to a girl’s eye like mine. I looked closer and breathed a sigh of relief. What I was searching for was there: a small tattoo near his solar plexus, a circle with a bird’s eye in the center. Half-wraiths—those poor souls possessed by dreadful entities—don’t have this mark. Without it, even after death, they can come back half-alive. After a second death, they’re only a quarter alive, then less and less until, eventually, the body looks dead but the limbs still twitch, driven by some unnatural urge. That’s why, in our land, everyone born under the naga’s rule gets this protective mark at birth to guard against such horrors.
“What, admiring the view? Bet you’ve never seen a fine specimen like me before. Like what you see?” the voice purred near my ear.
“Oh, go jump in a lake!” I snapped, standing up. “Some fine specimen. You look like a corpse. I’m half a mind to call the boys over and have them bury you. You’re no different from a dead body! Who are you, anyway?”
The ghost, or whatever it was, went quiet. Marty trotted over to me, wagging his stubby tail, begging for praise. I tossed him a piece of bread I always kept in my pocket for him, then started mulling over how to deal with this nuisance without wrecking more of my garden beds.
It didn’t look like there was a way to avoid some damage.
“I don’t know,” the voice said nearby, startling me again. I’d almost forgotten about this blasted spirit.
“Don’t know what?”
“I don’t know who I am,” the invisible thing sighed. “I don’t remember anything. I just came to, hovering over my body.”
“Couldn’t you have come to over your body in, say, Old Granny Hal’s garden instead?” I grumbled, pointing to the neighboring plot. “What am I supposed to do with you now? You probably weigh as much as an ox! How do I get you out of my garden?”
The ghost fell silent. I tried grabbing the man under his arms, near his head. Yeah, right. He was heavy—beyond heavy! I tugged. Maybe I moved him a couple of inches, maybe not. My feet sank into the loose soil of the beds, and I ended up falling flat on my backside from the effort. I felt the crunch of my precious seedlings under me. No, this wasn’t going to work.
I headed to the house to grab some tools to help move this giant.
“Hey, where are you going?” the ghost called, sounding worried.
“Home. Gonna eat, sleep, think it over. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and you’ll vanish from my garden on your own,” I shot back into the empty air.
“That’s not right,” the cheeky apparition started lecturing me. “What if it rains?”
“Not a cloud in the sky,” I pointed out. “Besides, think of it as a little nature retreat. A picnic, if you will.”
“I don’t get it. Are you seriously going to leave me…”
The voice cut off. I stopped. Interesting. I took a step back and heard:
“…on the damp ground?” the ghost finished its sentence.
Aha, it’s tethered to the body! How far was that? Maybe thirty or fifty feet. It can’t drift farther than that.
“Why are you pacing?” the spirit asked.
“Stretching my legs before I give you a good kick,” I said slowly.
“What?”
“I’m gonna kick your body around,” I explained. “Maybe that’ll wake it up, and you’ll leave on your own.”
“You miserable little pest, you uncivilized bumpkin…”
I took a step toward the house, and the ghost’s voice faded.
Speaking of pests, that reminded me! I needed to check the cabbage for aphids. I’d spotted some of those little nuisances there earlier.
At home, I found a sturdy rope and a few thin, round logs. I’d tie the rope under his arms, lay the logs crosswise under him toward the house, and drag his body over these makeshift rollers, moving them forward bit by bit. With any luck, I’d get him there by evening. Though I’d probably ruin half my garden in the process! Where did this guy even come from to land on my head like this?
Good thing Granny Hal wasn’t home—she’d gone to town for the day. Otherwise, there’d be gossip: “Vasylina was dragging some man across her garden!” Only our two houses stand in this part of the village, right by the Cursed Woods. Granny Hal, being the local healer, isn’t afraid to live here. As for me, I didn’t have much choice—I bought the only house for sale. I had to settle in this village. It’s the last place they saw the person I’ve been searching for, for years.
The Naga’s Egg
Granny Hal eyed the wide furrow left in my garden from dragging the unexpected intruder to my house. And wouldn’t you know it, she came back from town earlier than I’d expected. Thankfully, I’d finished everything before she showed up at the garden. I’d tucked the man in the shade by the porch under the twisting grapevine—out of the sun and out of sight from the garden. My high fence, courtesy of the previous owners who must’ve valued their privacy or wanted to keep out unwanted visitors from the Cursed Woods, shielded the yard from the street.
I’d spent a good two hours wrestling with my surprise guest, and after lunch, I tried to salvage what was left of my tomato seedlings and fix the beds where I’d dragged him. Mostly, it was the area where the first potato sprouts were just poking through. Since they were only starting to emerge, I raked the soil to cover up the deep groove. But where the beets, carrots, radishes, and greens had already sprouted, it was a total mess. I could only hope the tiny shoots would take root and grow. I was just gathering up the remains of the tomato plants, managing to replant a few bushes that miraculously hadn’t been crushed or trampled into the dirt.
“Vaska, what’s going on in your garden?” Granny Hal asked, stepping closer to the boundary.
“Where?” I replied, feigning confusion, as if I had no idea what she meant.
“That weird trench over there. Are you plowing your garden again?”
“Sort of, Aunt Hal. It’s… uh… a new method for tending garden beds. They say it doubles your yield,” I lied through my teeth.
“Hmm, sure,” Granny Hal drawled skeptically, eyeing my drooping tomato plants. “And what’s that lying over there?” she suddenly pointed. “Did you get geese? Only a goose could lay an egg that big.”
“Oh, uh…” I scrambled for an excuse.
Because not far from where the stranger lay, there was a large egg. In my irritation this morning over him ruining my seedlings by landing there so clumsily, I must’ve missed it. Hmm. That egg might be connected to his appearance. As far as I knew, only the village headman, Uncle Tzut, kept geese around here—and his son, by the way, had been trying to court me lately.
“Oh, you notice everything, don’t you?” I huffed, almost annoyed. “That’s just an egg Kolya Tzut gave me. He came by to flirt, I sent him packing, and tossed the egg out in a huff.”
Even as I said it, I knew it was a flimsy story. That nosy old woman wouldn’t buy it. Sure enough, she narrowed her eyes and asked:
“You threw an egg all the way out here, into the garden?”
“Heh, no,” I giggled awkwardly. “He came into the garden to help me… uh… plow.”
“Oh! That’s quite a statement,” Granny Hal nodded knowingly. “Already working in your garden, huh? So, are you two… courting?”
“No way, Aunt Hal! I don’t even like him. He’s cross-eyed and fat as a pig. Not my type at all!”
I tossed my head proudly, as if to say I’m a catch and could do better.
“Hmm. Then why’d he bring you an egg as a gift? That’s an odd present.”
“Oh, uh… it’s the latest trend in town,” I blurted, my imagination running wild again. “If you want a girl to go out with you, you’ve gotta give her eggs!”
Granny Hal nearly staggered. Her mouth fell open in shock, and she exclaimed:
“Good heavens, what is the world coming to? The youth these days! What a disgrace! Giving eggs as a courting gift! He might as well have brought you a cucumber! Pfft!”
Granny Hal spat on the ground and finally shuffled off toward her house. I, red-faced from both my lies and her last remark, grabbed the cursed egg and headed home myself.
The stranger was still where I’d left him, sprawled out rather picturesquely: head hanging off the porch, legs stretched across half the yard, arms folded over his chest so Marty wouldn’t mistake them for bushes. My pup loves to sniff and mark anything new.
“Where’ve you been, you rogue?” I heard the annoying ghost’s voice, which had already chewed my ear off with insults and unsolicited advice.
“None of your business!” I cut him off. “Pipe down for a bit.”
I sat on the porch and started examining the egg I’d found. It was even bigger than a goose egg, barely fitting in my palm. The shell was hard, pure white, but at the pointed tip, I noticed some patterns. Or maybe inscriptions. Hard to tell.
“Hey, ghost, do you know what this is?” I asked into the void.
“An egg,” it replied. “A naga’s egg.”
“What?!” I nearly jumped out of my skin. “What are you babbling about? Are you sure? Don’t make things up! How do you even know?”
The ghost paused.
“I don’t know how I know,” it snapped. “I just do. It’s definitely a naga’s egg.”
Oh, what am I supposed to do now? They’ll lock me up for life for theft! Or worse, execute me! I’ve broken one of the sacred laws of our realm—naga queen’s eggs are untouchable!
Our kingdom is ruled by the naga. Long ago, they came to these lands, easily conquering the fragmented little kingdoms and founding a vast, powerful state called Amritam. At the heart of the kingdom is Queen Ashimara, a naga who has ruled for three thousand years. On rare occasions, the queen takes a human man as her consort, and if love blooms between them, she creates extraordinary orbs of concentrated energy from her magic and the king’s life force. The common folk call them “naga’s eggs” because of their shape. These sacred magical orbs maintain the balance of our world, infusing the surrounding space with magic, empowering both human mages and naga alike. Before the naga arrived, there was no magic in our world—they brought it with them.
These “eggs” are kept in special temples across the land, under heavy guard. You could count on one hand the number of people who’ve seen one with their own eyes. I certainly wasn’t one of them! I always imagined naga’s eggs as enormous, radiant gemstones, shining like the sun. And now, here’s this ordinary-looking egg! Nah, the ghost must be mistaken. I told him as much.
“You’re the one who’s all mixed up!” the ghost barked at me. “Don’t believe me if you don’t want to! Just hide that egg somewhere safe! If anyone sees it, you’re done for, you country bumpkin. They’ll chop off that messy head of yours for laying your foolish, gawking eyes on a sacred relic.”
“We’ll see who’s the messy one here!” I shot back, thinking I needed to head to town pronto and hit up the library.
I had next to no information to go on.
And then, as usual, a thought struck me a bit too late.
“Hey, you lump! If this is a naga’s egg, and it was near your body, then… does that mean you stole it?”
“I don’t remember,” the spirit groaned. “Maybe when I come to, I’ll recall something…”
I sighed. I took the egg inside and hid it in a new pot with a lid in the pantry. Let it sit there for now. I’d figure it out later. Then I went back to drag the stranger into the house. It wasn’t right to leave him in the yard—someone might show up, and I didn’t want anyone seeing him. Something told me he wouldn’t want that either.
A Name for the Ghost
By evening, after running myself ragged and enduring the ghost’s incessant nagging, insults, and out-of-place remarks, I finally ate dinner and plopped down on the floor beside the stranger. Yes, I’d laid him out on the floor in the larger back room, spreading a blanket underneath and tucking a pillow under his head. That was all I could manage—I definitely couldn’t hoist him onto a bed. He weighed as much as a bull. Besides, I’ve only got one bed, and it’s mine. No way was I letting some random, unknown man lie in it.
So, what to do with him? He was clearly in no state to eat or drink. But this couldn’t go on forever. Sooner or later, his exhausted body would give out. You know what I mean.
I needed to show him to a doctor, or a mage, or… a healer. Oh no, not that! Granny Hal is a skilled healer, sure, but the rumors she’d spread through the village! Her tongue wags like a broom—she’d blab to everyone within minutes that I’ve got a “suitor” who’s sick to boot. She’d spin all sorts of tales, stuff even my wild and creative imagination couldn’t dream up. A healer was out of the question.
I grabbed a basin of water and started wiping the man’s face with a damp cloth. It was caked with dust from the yard, dirt from the garden, and grime from the floor. By the time I dragged him in here, I was sweating buckets—however it turned out, it turned out.
“What am I going to do with you?” I sighed.
The man’s face looked weary, pale, and… kind of endearing. He wasn’t handsome, more ordinary, but not unattractive. The kind of face you’d want to look at twice if you passed him on the street—there was something unusual, unique in his features. Sharp cheekbones, a high forehead, thick brows, and a faint little crease on the bridge of his nose. He must’ve frowned a lot in life. Straight nose, slightly sunken cheeks—maybe from lying on his back, or maybe from losing vital energy, given his condition. His skin was more gray than pale, which made sense, teetering on the edge of life and death. I probably wouldn’t look too great on death’s doorstep either.
His lips were full, well-defined, and, darn it, nice. I ran the cloth over them and felt myself blush. I tossed the cloth back into the water and started rinsing it—I needed to clean his back, hands, and chest. The fancy embroidered shirt was dirty and torn in a few places. I should’ve taken it off back in the garden, but I didn’t think of it, so I dragged him across the dirt as is. Now I’d have to mend and wash it. I rolled the stranger onto his side to wipe his back. It was covered in scratches and as filthy as the ground.
“You don’t need to do anything with me,” the ghost sighed suddenly near my ear, startling me half to death again after a long silence. “You’re right. I’m probably not long for this world.”
“Hey, what’s with you?” I jolted upright. “I’ll figure something out! Worst case, if I can’t find a doctor, I’ll go to Granny Hal. She’s a healer, you know, a really powerful one. She’s brought back folks in worse shape than you! I just don’t want to right now because she’ll blab about you to the whole village. And you… well, someone’s probably looking for you…”
I voiced the thought that had been nagging at me ever since I found the naga’s egg in my garden.
“I don’t remember anything,” the ghost said again.
“And you don’t remember your name either?” I asked, wiping the grimy streaks off the man’s back.
“No.”
“Then I’ll come up with a name for you,” I said, forcing a cheerful tone. “I’ll throw out some options, and you pick one.”
I preferred the ghost when it was snarky and throwing insults rather than this defeated version. If it gave up completely, it might just vanish, and then the man would die. It made sense, didn’t it? The man was alive as long as his spirit or ghost was still here, in this world.
“Theophilus, Apollinary, Sebastian, Bagrathion, Eustratius, Acacius, Waldemar, Seraphim…” I started listing.
“Are you mocking me?” the ghost asked suspiciously.
“What’s wrong with them? They’re perfectly good names. Old-fashioned, classic,” I said, barely holding back a laugh.
“Absolutely not. I don’t want any of those.”
“Fine, what would you like? What name would you want to be called?” I’d finished cleaning his back and rolled the man onto the blanket, starting on his chest and arms.
“I don’t know… maybe Aquus, Flumen, Marius, Fons…”
I froze. Trying not to show how startled and unnerved I was, I reached out and lightly ran my fingers along the man’s neck. A few faint, ridged lines crossed it on both sides. Gills. I sat back, stunned.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” the ghost asked, surprised. “Don’t like the names?”
“They’re… uh… very nice,” I stammered slowly. “Really nice. But… those aren’t human names…”
The ghost went silent. We sat in quiet for a moment. I stared at the man’s body, now cleaned up, its well-built frame and rippling muscles catching my eye.
Humans always had their own names, and naga had theirs. It’s the law. Which meant this man was a naga. And the gills were proof! Just what I needed! I should’ve left him in the garden and hightailed it to town for a week—or better yet, a month! Then I wouldn’t be stuck with these massive, monumental problems!
“How about Waldemar?” the ghost asked quietly.
“But…”
“Please…”
“Alright,” I nodded. “You’ll be Wald for now. We’ll see about later.”
As for what we’d see later, I was almost afraid to think about it. I covered the man’s body with a warm blanket and started getting ready for bed myself.
I slipped off my dress, left in just a thin, nearly sheer undershirt that barely reached my knees. Then I froze as a sharp, sudden thought struck me.
“Hey! Are you peeping?!” I shouted into the empty air, diving into bed and pulling the covers over me in a hurry.
“You’re a beauty!” the ghost whispered in my ear with admiration, sending shivers down my spine.
“You scoundrel!” I yelled, furious. “Here I was wondering why he’d gone quiet! Turns out he’s just a shameless creep who likes spying on girls!”
“Hey, come on, I barely saw anything! You’ve got lovely legs, and also…”
“Shut it! Don’t disturb my sleep,” I snapped, turning to face the wall.
“And you? What’s your name?” the ghost asked suddenly.
“Vasan… Vasylina,” I muttered, realizing I’d nearly let slip my real name.
“Goodnight, Vasylina,” the ghost said. “And… thank you.”
“Goodnight, Wald,” I replied.
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*Naga (Sanskrit: नाग nāga - snake) — in Hinduism and Buddhism, serpent-like mythical beings, demigods.
**The ghost suggests naga names, rooted in meanings related to water: water, river, sea, spring. These are water elements over which naga hold dominion.