Transmutation

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Jason Woods’ older sister Miriam never let him forget it. And he hated her for it.

“It was that stupid 4H project,” he said, defending his actions.

“It was you being stupid,” she always replied. In years to come, when she started high school and none of the boys would ask her out because, well…

Having a dragon following you to school and sitting on top of the gym roof waiting for classes to finish so he could follow you home, maybe wasn’t the best thing for someone who wanted to be popular. All of those burned fields and smashed-up cars weren’t a selling point either, when choosing who to go to prom with.

“You ruined my life, Jason!” she moaned when yet another boy turned her down for a date.

Maybe she was right. But how was he to know? Anyway, that was in the future...

***

At that time, the Valley was an agricultural region. Conditions were perfect for growing table grapes, and wine grapes, too. Wheat grew nearly twice as tall as in other areas of the state, and in the wetlands at the very bottom of the Valley, wild rice grew in the pools of mineral-rich water. It seemed that every other family was a farming family, and the Woods’ family was no exception.

Kids raised in farming families, naturally, joined the 4H. Jason Woods joined 4H when he was nine years old. When he was ten, he was ready to put what he’d learned to work with his first solo project. And that was where the trouble started.

“Mom, can I use the old chicken coop?” Jason asked one morning in early spring.

His mother was on her way out the kitchen door to start plowing the north field with the Kubota V4208A. She was distracted, thinking about the rain forecast and needing to get the field plowed before it was soaked like a sponge. So, she gave him her usual answer.

“Ask your father.” And then she was gone.

Dad turned around from the stove, where he was making chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast for Jason and Miriam. “What do you want to use the coop for?”

“4H,” Jason said. “I want to raise some chickens.”

“Umm, sounds good to me,” Dad said. “We could use some nice chicken stew. Chicken soup. Fried chicken—”

“Hens, Dad!” Jason shuddered at the thought of eating an animal he’d raised. It would be like eating a puppy. Or a barn cat. “Hens, for eggs. Not for eating.”

Dad slid his spatula under a pile of hot pancakes and dropped them on Jason’s plate. “What about when they get too old to lay? That’s what happened to the chickens we had before.”

Jason had been too young then to realize that the chicken his dad served up for meals was that chicken, or rather those chickens. But now that he knew…

“My chickens will be pets. They’ll lay eggs for us to eat, but when they get too old—”

“Are you going to send them to the Old Chickens’ Home?” Miriam taunted Jason.

He scowled at her across the kitchen table.

“Now, don’t pick on your brother!” Dad scolded. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” He dropped down into his own chair at the head of the table. “I think it’s a good idea for you to take the responsibility for raising a flock of your own. I’ll get out my tools and start the repairs on the old henhouse today, and you can help me when you get home from school.”

By the time Jason got off the school bus that afternoon, Dad had the wonky door repaired, a couple of holes in the henhouse walls patched, and a new ramp up to the door built. He’d installed new roosting bars, too, and clamped the old brooder plate in place over a nesting box.

“Sorry, son,” Dad said when Jason came into the chicken yard. “I kind of got carried away. Did all the work for you. But we don’t need to tell the 4H folks about that.”

Jason had kind of figured that’s how it would go. Dad always got really invested in his projects around the house and barns, focusing so intently on what he was doing that the rest of the world disappeared. And that meant that Jason could concentrate on the important task: picking out the eggs to hatch.

But first, he needed to lay in a supply of grass for bedding, to cushion the eggs until they hatched, and then keep the nest clean as the chicks grew.

Luckily, his folks weren’t the over-protective sort. Like most farm families, they recognized the need for kids to exercise decision-making and responsibility, so after teaching Jasonand Miriam how to use some basic tools, the kids were allowed to do small chores on their own. Jason selected a short scythe from the wall in the barn and headed out to the side yard to cut some long-stemmed grass for his chicks-to-be. Coming back to the chicken yard, he spread the cut grass in the sun to dry and then headed inside for a cold drink.

“When can we get the eggs, Dad?” Jason asked, after gulping down the glass of fresh iced tea his father handed him. He was getting really invested in his project. These were going to be the best-laying, biggest, and strongest chickens the 4H leaders had ever seen!

“No time like the present, right?” Dad grabbed the keys to the old pickup from the nail by the kitchen door. “I think Omar Hernandez had some good stock. Let’s head over there and pick some out.”

***

Dad made a quick cell phone call as they pulled out the driveway, warning Mr. Hernandez that they were coming. When Jason and his dad pulled into the Hernandez’s barnyard, there were hundreds of free-range chickens running around. Chickens of every variety Jason had read about, and some he’d never seen before. Ordinary chickens with red or brown or dirty white feathers. Fancy chickens with black or blue or brilliant white feathers. Short feathers. Plumy, ruffly feathers. Omar Hernandez had every kind of chicken known to man, it seemed.

“So,” Mr. Hernandez came out of one of his barns when he heard the doors of the pickup slam shut. “Looking for some fertilized eggs, are ya?”

Dad nodded to Jason, who stepped forward and held out his hand to shake. “I’m doing my first 4H project and I want to raise some good layers.”

Mr. Hernandez smiled at the boy’s confidence. Omar Hernandez didn’t sell his chickens to just anyone. But this kid had what it took, it seemed, to be a good chicken mama.

“All righty, then,” he said, with a sweep of his arm to indicate the door he’d just stepped out of. “Let me show you what I’ve got.”

Inside the barn, there were brooder boxes set up in different cages. Hens of all types nested on top of piles of fertilized eggs, keeping them warm. When Jason got his eggs home, the brooder plate would do the hens’ job of keeping them warm until they hatched. Jason just had to choose which type of chicken he wanted to raise.

He paced slowly along the row of cages, looking intently at each broody hen. He paced back to the end where his dad waited with Mr. Hernandez. And back again. Until finally, he stopped in front of one cage. “This one,” he said, pointing to the hen inside. “What kind is this?”

“We-e-ell, then,” Mr. Hernandez said as Dad’s eyes widened in surprise. “That, my boy, is one of the rarest hybrid chicken breeds, at least in this country. That there is a longtail Japanese Onagadori crossed with a Red Phoenix.”

Dad cleared his throat ostentatiously. “Doesn’t look very…practical.”

The chicken nesting in the cage in front of Jason had a long sweeping tail, with feathers almost two yards long. Its comb featured a yellow starburst center surrounded by flame red. And its feathers…

Its feathers were a brilliant rainbow. Cobalt blue, fuchsia pink, sun gold, emerald green, and brilliant orange combined in a stunning palette of colors. It looked like a royal empress sitting on its eggs, something out of a fairy tale from far-off Asia.

“Dad, she’s beautiful!” Jason had eyes for no other chicken in Mr. Hernandez’ barn. With chickens like this, he would have the most spectacular project in 4H history. He had to raise Phoenix chickens. There was no other, not for him. He turned away from the cage to look at Mr. Hernandez. “How much are the eggs?”

Omar Hernandez met Dad’s eyes. Dad just gave a little grimace, as if to say, Why not? Mr. Hernandez turned back to Jason.

“Well, son,” he began. “These chickens are pretty darn rare, like I said. If I sell you, say, half a dozen eggs, you have to give me first pick of the next generation. And if you get more than one rooster out of the lot, I’ll buy him back from you. Good breeding stock shouldn’t go to waste.”

Jason grinned, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“You got a deal, Mr. Hernandez,” he said, and shook the man’s hand again.

***

As soon as they got home, Jason carried the small basket containing six Onagadori-Phoenix hybrid eggs out to the old chicken coop. He set the basket in the open cage and headed back out to the barnyard to bring in the dried grass he’d cut earlier, then used it to form a cozy nest in the box Dad had built. When he was satisfied, he flicked on the brooder plate, nestling the precious eggs beneath the heated lamp.

Concentrating on his work, he failed to register the sound of his Mom’s plow returning to the shed, as Mom headed home for dinner. When he finally made his way inside, his Mom and Dad were arguing in low voices. But he heard what they were saying.

“I just want to know why,” Mom said, “you didn’t supervise!”

Jason hung back from pulling open the screen door, listening.

“He’s used the scythe before, with no problem!”

Jason’s heart sank. What had he done wrong? He thought everything was going right. He’d prepared the nest, and selected the eggs, and put them safely under the brooder plate. He’d put away the scythe when he finished cutting grass and moved all of the dried grass into the coop where it was ready to use when needed.

“He cut down all of my miscanthus sinensis!” Mom said, a bite in her whispering voice. “And I’d finally gotten it growing the way I wanted it!”

“Lighten up, Monica!” Dad said. “The boy didn’t know. He thought grass was grass. He didn’t do it on purpose.”

Jason was sure he’d be punished when he finally pushed open the door and slunk into the kitchen. But Mom just glared, not saying anything about Jason’s mistake. Discipline was Dad’s purview. And if he forgave Jason, then Mom would let it drop.

But she’d remember.

***

The sun-dried miscanthus sinensis nestled those rare Onagadori-Phoenix eggs until the first tiny cracks began to appear. Luckily, the hatching started on the following Saturday morning, so that Jason could be with them as the first tiny beak began to poke out. The sharp beak made short work of freeing the hatching chick from the eggshell. And when the tiny creature tumbled out from between the crumbled halves of its shell—

“What the—?" Jason sank back on his heels in shock.

This was no baby chicken like he’d ever seen, not in his 4H meetings.

Baby chicks had yellow fuzz. This had multicolored scales.

Baby chicks had a little peak above the butt, where their tail feathers would grow in. This had a spade tail.

Baby chicks cheeped in a high-pitched tone. This…thing…hissed at him!

Jason backed away from the roosting cage, pushing open the door into the yard. “D-d-daaad!” he hollered.

The kitchen door banged open and Dad stepped outside, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “What is it?” Dad asked. “I need to get these breakfast dishes washed up—”

But when he saw the look on his son’s face, Dad threw the towel down and ran across the yard to the chicken coop. Then he looked past Jason into the coop, to the broody cage. To the tiny, scaled creature stumbling around inside. And then in a flurry, the remaining eggs cracked open and there were six of the…things.

“What the—” Dad said, unknowingly repeating Jason’s astonished words.

And then Mom was there, too. She’d been in the shed, repairing a worn-out fan belt on the tractor, and heard the commotion. She pushed inside and crouched beside the broody cage, her hands grasping the bars of the cage to steady herself as she took in the hatchlings. Slowly—oh, so slowly—she stood up and turned to Jason and his Dad.

“This is exactly what I was afraid of,” she said, looking at Mr. Woods over her son's head. “Didn’t I tell you he needed to be supervised?”

Jason shuddered. They were back to the argument his Mom and Dad had a few days earlier. But what did that have to do with…this?

“You let him cut my miscanthus sinensis. You let him use my miscanthus sinensis as bedding. And look what happened!”

“What—But…how?” Dad looked as confused as Jason.

“Mom, what was wrong with the mis-cis-thesis grass?” Jason asked. He couldn’t let his dad take the blame for what he had done.

Mom sighed, her shoulders dropping. She shook her head.

“Miscanthus sinensis,” she said. “Fire Dragon grass. You turned your chickens into dragons. It’s called transmutation. And you did it.”

Jason had brought dragons to the Valley.

And things there would never be the same.

Thank you for reading! Likes, comments, shares, follows, and pledges are always cherished.

Author's Note: This story is one near and dear, as a new chicken mama. In 2020, at the beginning of the pandemic, I brought home fifteen baby chicks and raised them into laying hens. Then in 2021, I brought home ten more. Those hens' eggs have come in handy not just for my family and friends, but also as donations to our local food bank. Just like Jason, I would NEVER eat one of my chickens. But unlike Jason, I have failed to transmute my eggs into baby dragons. Oh, well! There's always next year...

I have challenged myself to write twenty-seven dragon prologues/stories for the Vocal.media Fantasy Prologue Challenge, one for each day the challenge runs. Here's a link to my next entry: