The 21st Day of the Third Month
Year 11668 of the Dragon Pact
Year 3389 Post-Division
Five days until the pilgrimage.
Eight days until my future will be determined by an ancient shaman in a secretive ceremony on top of Mount Hope.
Dear Elu, I'm not ready.
—From the journal of Kailin Strom
The view was magnificent from the observation ledge at the top of my practice trail, and I was tempted to sketch it even though my journal was filled with similar drawings.
In the end, I decided to skip it this time and returned the notebook to my backpack.
I was running out of pages, and with mere days left before the pilgrimage, starting a new journal seemed pointless. Instead, I stretched out my legs over the ledge, letting my feet dangle in empty air—an act of rebellion against the fear that still gripped me whenever I looked down.
I was making progress, but I was nowhere near where I needed to be.
At least I was ready physically, and the added reward for braving these treacherous trails each morning at sunrise was enjoying the breathtaking view, which was a perfect encapsulation of the wild beauty of Aurorys.
Jagged peaks rose like massive stone sentinels, their craggy silhouettes etched against the amethyst sky, their summits so tall that they seemed to pierce the heavens. The aurora's ethereal light danced across their snow-crowned heights, while below, sheer cliffs gave way to a wild tapestry of bare rock and the occasional glint of a waterfall.
Further down, the ocean stretched to the horizon, its dark waters crashing rhythmically against the base of the mountains. Foam-capped waves rolled in, breaking against rocky shores and casting mist high into the air, it too refracting the heavenly lights in a mesmerizing dance.
I could spend eternity gazing at the magnificence before me, but I had to get up and keep going. I really didn't want to move, though, and not just because I was enjoying the view.
The blisters on my feet were killing me, but the drakking pilgrimage-approved boots needed to be broken in, and I had only five more days to do so.
Dear Elu, only five days.
I took a deep breath to dispel the sudden onslaught of panic.
The physical challenge of the pilgrimage was considerable, which explained why no applicants older than twenty-five were permitted to participate, and there had even been fatalities over the years, but I didn't fear the trek, only the fate that awaited me at the summit.
Despite my valiant efforts to overcome my fear of heights, every time I closed my eyes and imagined myself on the back of a dragon, I felt faint and nauseous.
I had been so proud when I had conquered my fear enough to brave the observation ledge, but it had been foolish pride. The ledge was barely a few feet above a gradual rocky incline, so even if I somehow stumbled and fell, I would only tumble a short way before coming to rest among the stones.
The ledge was hardly the death-defying perch I had built up in my mind.
My fear of heights defied logic. I wasn't a coward, and I did not fear losing my life, so I struggled to understand where it was coming from, especially given that I had already proven my mettle under fire.
I had faced Shedun at sixteen, had killed quite a few of them, had lived to tell the tale, and would do it again to protect my people, though I wasn't eager to repeat the experience.
I was not born a fighter.
Five years after the attack, I still had nightmares. Hells, the smells of sulfur and charred flesh were forever etched in my memory.
Still, even if there was a way to cure my phobia, and even if I could get accustomed to the smell of sulfur and burning flesh, dragon riders served for life, and I didn't want to spend mine killing.
Glory and adventure didn't motivate me.
I was an artist, and even though I hadn't been touched by greatness, I was probably good enough to make a decent living doing what I loved someday, and until then, I had my job at Gran's apothecary.
But the decision wasn't up to me.
