Excerpt: Dragoneers: The Wilderness Trial

Mykah grinned and raced out to the garden. It was his mother’s pet project; she had designed all the flower beds, and even though – strictly speaking – ladies weren’t supposed to be gardeners because it was physical labor, but she had made a habit of bending that particular rule. Mykah knew his mother had hoped he’d become a gardener as well, but he’d never been able to remember the hundreds of plant names she quizzed him on, and certainly couldn’t tell the different between annuals and perennials.

His mother stood under the canopy now, directing the placement of the various packages around a three-tiered dish of chocolate-dipped fruit. “Happy birthday, darling,” she said, and swept him up in a hug.

“Mother, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Pish. There’s no one here but family. Besides, this is the last time I’ll be able to do this. After the party, you won’t be my little boy anymore.”

Mykah continued to squirm so she set him back down on the ground. He ran over to where a group of boy cousins about his age were poking at something on the ground. It was a snake, but fortunately a harmless one. It reared up, expanding a collar of spikes around its neck, and snapped at the boys, who blocked its bites with sticks, and then when one of the bigger boys poked it with the sharp end of his stick, it flopped down onto its back, leaving its cream-colored belly exposed.

“I think you killed it, Famit.”

Pudgy Famit shook his head. “It’s a dragon snake. They play dead when they get scared.”

“Why is it called a dragon snake?” asked Mykah.

Famit shrugged. “I think it’s because it looks like a dragon when it raises its head.”

One of the chefs rang a gong, signaling that the party was ready to begin, and the boys ran back to the canopy, jockeying to see who would be the first to be served. Mykah stayed behind just long enough to pick up the frightened snake and set it in the shade of a bush before running to catch up with his companions.

The food was good, and typical of Avandirian feasts: rice and flatbread, roasted lamb, and spiced vegetables. The flatbread was Mykah’s favorite, and he ate so much of it that the chef had to make a second batch. Dessert was the chocolate-covered fruit, and for Mykah, his own bar of rich, dark chocolate. He decided to save some of it, because chocolate was expensive to import, and he didn’t know when he’d get to have any more.
The presents were a mix of the practical gifts (like new clothes) from his parents and toys from his cousins. He was particularly pleased with the goat-skin football his father had sent away for and the set of snares Famit had made for him. “Now you can catch that pesky fox that keeps trying to kill your rabbits.”

Mykah thanked everyone for the gifts and was about to take another helping of grapes when his father tapped the side of his wine glass with his knife.

“I would like to propose a toast – to my youngest child, who isn’t a child any longer.” He poured another glass of wine and handed it to Mykah. “One glass only,” he said sternly. “Happy birthday, Mykah.”

Mykah blushed as the adults chorused “To Mykah!” and drank from their glasses. He lifted his glass and took a sip, which he had to work very hard not to spit back into the glass. It tasted bitter.

“Now,” said Mykah’s father, setting his glass aside. “It is time for you to tell us what profession you would like to follow. Have you made a decision?”

Mykah bit his lip. He’d made a decision, he just wasn’t sure how much his father would like it.

“Come, Mykah, don’t be shy!” called Uncle Reyald. “I bet I know. You’re going to be an artist, like Klareen suggested.” Encouraged by Uncle Reyald, other family members began to call out their guesses. Zenda thought Mykah was going to be like his big brother Samyrn and be a merchant and Famit suggested a soldier. Mykah shook his head at each suggestion.

“Well, don’t leave us in suspense, son,” his father said. “Tell us!”

Mykah glanced around at the crowd and noticed that Feln had slipped unnoticed into a corner. He winked at Mykah, which encouraged him more than anything his family had said.

“I want to be a dragoneer.”

The crowd was silent for about a minute, then the objections came pouring down like a hailstorm.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s so dangerous.”

“It’s so expensive!”

“I knew a dragoneer who lost his arm in a flying accident.”

“That’s nothing. I know a dragoneer who lost his arm to his dragon.”

Mykah ducked his head and began to wish he’d never said anything. Maybe they were right. It was dangerous and selfish for him to want to be a dragoneer. Maybe he still had time to change his mind.

“Silence!”

Immediately, everyone fell quiet and turned their attention to Mykah’s father.

“Son, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

Mykah didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.
“Then we will find a way to make it happen.” He raised his glass again. “To Mykah, future dragoneer.”

“To Mykah,” echoed the guests, though they didn’t sound very sincere. Mykah too raised his glass and drank, thinking that the bitter liquid now tasted appropriate.