Kevan Martez's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Kevan Martez fed the goats before sunrise because his grandmother still refused to let a machine do it. He was fifteen, and his hands knew the work: split the hay, check the water, say each goat's name so they came to the fence. The barn behind him leaned the way it had leaned since his grandfather died. Past the barn, stuck in the dirt where any drone flying over could see it, was the old plow his grandfather had used until the last winter of his life. Kevan's grandmother would not let anyone move it. She said it told the neighbors what kind of farm this was. Kevan wanted a farm like this one day. He was starting to understand that wanting it might not be enough. Drako landed in the yard while Kevan was latching the pen. The dragon was taller than the barn door now, blue-scaled, careful with his wings around the fence posts. Kevan's grandparents had taken Drako in the same year they took Kevan, and the two of them had grown up sharing chores and blame. "She's expecting you by noon," Drako said. "City traffic is bad." Kevan nodded and looked past him toward the road, where his friend was already waiting by the gate, kicking gravel. They had agreed on ten minutes. Kevan's grandmother had agreed on none. He walked out to meet his friend anyway. His friend held up a slim device and showed him a job listing at one of the automated farms across the valley: room, board, training, a signing bonus that would buy a small herd. "You'd be good at it," his friend said. "You already know animals." Kevan looked back at the plow in the dirt, then at Drako, who was watching him without saying anything. "I can't," Kevan said. He said it before he could soften it. His friend's face closed a little, then opened again, because they had known each other too long for one no to matter. "Then come see me when you change your mind," his friend said, and walked off toward the bus stop. Kevan climbed onto Drako's back. They lifted over the barn, over the leaning plow, and turned toward the city. Kevan's grandmother wanted to talk about the farm and what would happen to it. He had told himself all week he would listen and decide nothing. Now, with the fields shrinking below him and his friend's offer still warm in his pocket, he knew he had already decided. He would keep the farm the way his grandparents built it. He just did not yet know how to tell her he had no idea how.