The Floating Islands by Rachel Neumeier Read Free Book Online Page B

sidelong look and said, keeping his tone bland, “Well, that was fascinating. No wonder you’re willing to risk, um, to find out all about the subtle differences between rice from eastern Yngul, western Yngul, northern Yngul, northeastern Yngul, the southern half of the western third of some island off the coast of Yngul.…”
    Araenè punched him on the shoulder, a good copy of the masculine gesture. But then she gave Trei an uncertain sidelong glance and asked seriously, “Are you scared about tomorrow?”
    “No!” But then he met his cousin’s eyes and felt his mouth tug reluctantly into a smile. “Maybe a little.”
    “You’re an Islander now,” Araenè assured him. “You’ll do all right.”
    They had by this time passed back into the wider, quieter streets of the Second City, and Trei privately thought he’d seen enough of Third City squalor and crowding to last him. He said only, “Of course I will.”
    But he didn’t really believe this. He didn’t sleep well that night, only repeatedly dozed and jerked awake, sometimes with the feeling he was falling. He dreamed he needed desperately to see the wind, but there was no wind, only ash settling endlessly out of an empty sky, and Mount Ghaonnè with the huge jagged hole in its side where the fire had come out.
    “You’ll do splendidly, dear,” Aunt Edona assured Trei over an early breakfast. Trei looked steadfastly at the uneaten slice of bread he held in one hand, and nodded.
    “You will,” Araenè said, but anxiously.
    “You really will,” Uncle Serfei told him one more time as they walked briskly through the Second City, heading for the First City tower where the kajurai auditions were held. It was a long way. They’d had to get up before dawn to make sure they had time for the walk. Uncle Serfei looked tired; he coughed once or twice and smiled apologetically at Trei. “Summer coughs! Let’s hope you don’t catch it, Trei. I’m sure you’ll need proper rest after you pass your audition: apprentices always run hard.”
    Trei nodded. He wished that they’d already arrived; more than that, he wished the audition was already over. At the moment, he wished most of all that everyone would stop telling him how well he’d do. He said nothing.
    “And if you aren’t approved for kajurai training, you can still aim for the ministry examinations,” his uncle went on. “Oh, I know that’s not what you want, Trei, but plenty of boys have a much less enviable second choice—” Uncle Serfei took a more careful look at Trei’s face and stopped. After a moment, he said gently, “It’s hard to believe they’d be so foolish as to turn down a boy who wants it so badly, though.”
    Trei didn’t say that aptitude probably counted for more than longing, or that, as he’d found out, fewer than a fifth of applicants were accepted for training, or that the wingmasters might very well decide, despite Uncle Serfei’s assurances, that a boy with a Tolounnese father wasn’t the best choice for making into a symbol of the Floating Islands.
    “I’ll leave you here,” Uncle Serfei said once they’d reached the tower where the audition would take place. He rested a hand on Trei’s shoulder. “Go on in. I know you’ll do your best, Trei.” He paused and then added, “Your mother always loved the dragons of these Islands, you know.”
    Trei tried to smile. Then he turned and walked into the tower, along with several other boys he did not know. He felt oddly bereft, even though he’d known Uncle Serfei fewer than fifty days. Or maybe that was just nervousness.
    The tower seemed very large and, despite the other half dozen boys who’d just entered, very empty. They all glanced at one another, but nobody spoke. Their footsteps echoed. But the way they were supposed to go was obvious. Other than the door through which they’d entered, there was only one way to leave the room: a wide spiral stairway coiled its way down and down into dim shadows. Trei