Eon: Dragoneye Reborn

CHAPTER 13

When Ryko and I finally stepped onto the pebble garden around my apartments, I was relieved to see only the two corner night lamps burning, their lights protecting the building from dark spirits. A good sign that no alarm had been raised at my empty bed. We picked our way over the stones towards the pale rectangle of my chamber window. The folio was still bound tightly against my forearm, the pearls warm against my skin as though they held their own Hua.

Soon I'd be reading the word that would release my power. I had always imagined the name of a dragon would be like the shift of a breeze through leaves, or perhaps the sound of water splashing. But how could that be written?

'Shall I stay, lord?' Ryko asked softly

I shook my head. Except for essential information, we had not spoken at all on the run back to the palace. The past few hours had stripped away some of our illusions about each other and ourselves. Such bare truth was not easily absorbed. And I wanted to be alone when I read the name.

'Thank you, Ryko,' I said. 'For everything.'

He bowed and moved away, only a muffled chink of a pebble marking his careful retreat.

I hoisted myself up over the window frame and dropped awkwardly onto the thick carpet inside. In a few strides I was beside the covered oil lamp I'd left burning on the bedside table.

I pushed up my right sleeve. The cloth snagged on the pearls and folio. Hissing with impatience I worked the garment over them, my hand shaking with the delay Finally, the folio was free. In the lamp's soft glow, the surface of the black pearls swirled with greens and purples like the sheen of oil on water. Underneath them, the red leather had the supple shine of a seal's skin, its smoothness marred by the three deep gouges that raked down the front piece. Holding my breath, I gently lifted the end pearl. There was a small resistance, as though it was weighted, and then it came away from my forearm. One by one each pearl gave up its position, loosening its hold on the folio. I breathed out as I lifted the last pearl that held the text to me. The folio dropped into my hand. In a clicking slither, the pearls coiled loosely around my wrist.

I stroked the gouges on the leather, feeling the rough edges of someone else's failure. Lord Ido's? I let a small laugh escape; the pearls had unbound the folio for me but not for the all-powerful Rat Dragoneye. A leather tongue was threaded through a loop, holding the folio closed. With fingers made clumsy from excitement, I tried to unfasten it, but could not work the leather through the hole. Perhaps I had laughed too soon. I rubbed the damp tips of my fingers down my tunic and tried again. At last, the tongue came free. I flipped the leather front open, expecting loose pieces of parchment. Instead, there was a thick wad of smooth master-made paper sewn together at the left edge. A book! I had seen another like it in my master's library — a rarity that he had valued highly I slid my fingers under the tablet of paper and lifted, only to find that the stitching had been sewn through the leather case too. It was all one piece. I settled the wad back against its leather bed. On the front paper was a chawing of the Mirror Dragon in red ink. It was just a few swirling lines, but somehow it caught the power and majesty of the beast. This was the precious book of the Mirror Dragon secrets. Somewhere inside was his name. Somewhere inside was my power. I took a deep breath and turned the page over.

For a moment I could not make sense of the neat characters. I blinked, squinting down at the writing. It still did not make sense. I turned another page. Lines and lines of strange marks.

Another page, and another. All unreadable. I flipped over every page, scanning for just one familiar symbol. Just one.

I reached the final page. 'No,' I breathed. 'No.'

There was nothing I recognised.

I started at the beginning again, staring down at the paper as if I could draw meaning out of the faded lettering.

Nothing.

Despair howled in my head like a typhoon. Blindly, I felt for the bed behind me and sank down onto it, my legs too weak to hold me. Why couldn't I read it? A sob burned through my chest in a heaving moan. Then another, grabbing at the last of my breath, leaving me gulping for air. I couldn't stop them. All the disappointment and fear spilled out of me. What if Rilla heard? Or the master? I doubled over and pushed my knuckles into my mouth, muffling my desolation. Maybe I was not meant to be here. Maybe it had all been a mistake and the Mirror Dragon did not want me, after all. I fell back, curling around the folio, rocking into each ragged whimper.

I had no dragon name, no true power. No hope.

I woke with a gasp, my mouth parched and the skin around my eyes tight with dried tears. A silk sheet covered me. Across the room, the window was shuttered, the edge of each slat bright with daylight. Rilla must have come in while I was asleep. I pushed back the sheet and saw the folio wedged under my chest. Still open. Still unreadable. No miracle had transformed the writing

during the night. I pulled the book out from beneath me and closed it, working the tongue back through the loop. Immediately, the black pearls uncoiled from my wrist in a soft sliding rattle and looped over the leather, pulling it back against the underside of my arm. With a neat flick of the last pearl, they settled. Why were they tying the folio to me? I couldn't even read it.

The dark despair rose up again, closing around my mind like a cold fog.

No! I shook my head, as if I could physically dislodge its hold. I had the folio, and its guardian pearls had unravelled and let me open it. That must mean something. There must be a way to unlock its words. All I had to do was find the key.

I struggled upright. Beside me on the bedside table was a water jug and cup. Rilla had thought of everything. She must have seen the folio and the pearls when she covered me — had she told the master? I poured a drink, gulping it down without pause. Another two cupfuls finally quenched my dryness. All those tears must have wrung the water from my very soul.

The sound of the door opening made me look around. It was Rilla, carrying a tray I quickly pulled my sleeve down over the folio as she closed the door with her hip. Seeing me sitting up, she bowed and crossed the room.

'They are already gathering at the Gate of Supreme Benevolence for the start of the procession,' she said, her eyes flicking to my sleeve and back to my face. She held the tray out towards me. 'You've just got time for the tea and some lo-jee.'

The salty aroma of the breakfast soup made my stomach roll with want. But first the ghost-maker's tea. I picked up the cup, suddenly remembering the Sun drug in my pocket. Maybe it would force a connection with the Mirror Dragon. But what would happen if I mixed it with the ghost-maker's tea? One drug kindled the Sun, the other suppressed the Moon. Would it tip me too far out of balance? Kill me? Perhaps it was not a good idea to take them both at once. I blew on the tea and took a careful sip.

It was tepid, the dirt taste even worse without the heat. Closing my eyes, I drank it quickly, resisting the urge to gag on the bitterness.

'How is the master today?' I asked, handing back the cup.

'Better,' she said. 'He is dressing for the festivities.' Her eyes flicked to my sleeve again. 'You should get out of those peasant clothes as soon as possible,' she said blandly. 'I will return them to the basket.'

I met her gaze, silently asking the question. She shrugged. 'What I see stays with me.'

'Even from the master?'

Her face tightened, but she nodded. 'I am your body servant now.'

'I am doing everything I can to keep us safe,' I said. Perhaps I was trying to reassure myself as much as Rilla. 'Please believe that.'

She picked up the bowl of lo-jee and passed it to me. 'There is no one else to care for Chart,'

she said softly. 'Please remember that.'

My master shifted irritably on the silk cushion beside me and squinted over the heads of our bearers into the dim passageway ahead. It was still blocked by an ornate gilded gate. His movement sent a sour smell into the warm air and I saw beaded sweat above his cracked lips.

His breath, too, was more laboured than normal. Although the heavy red canopy of our palanquin trapped the morning heat inside the cabin, it was not hot enough to cause such distress. Rilla may have pronounced the master improved, but I was not convinced he had made any progress.

I leaned out to look at the other Dragoneyes lined up behind us in matching red and gold palanquins, and behind them the long formations of men on foot, waiting for the gongs that would open the gate and announce the start of the procession. In the next palanquin, Lord Ido met my gaze. He gave one slow nod. I pulled back, my heart quickening.

Slowly I worked my fingers inside the wide sleeve of my Dragoneye robe, checking the placement of the folio against my forearm. After Rilla had dressed me, I'd tried to unwind the pearls and find a place to hide the book, but there was nowhere secure and the pearls would not loosen their grip. It was both troubling and reassuring. My only option was to carry the folio with me and, strangely, I felt stronger and more capable with it touching my skin. My fingers brushed the edge of the leather. I had thought to place it higher, but the pearls had settled it under a panel of stiff embroidery that camouflaged their bulk.

I flinched as a servant dropped to his knees beside me, the top of his head just reaching the base of the cabin. He held up a tall porcelain cup. The fresh tang of limes penetrated the fug of heat and sweat.

'With the compliments of Lord Tyron,' the servant said. On the other side of the palanquin another servant was offering my master a matching cup.

'I had forgotten how long it takes for one of these processions to start,' my master said, sipping the drink. 'Thank the gods for Tyron's foresight.' His mouth puckered. 'The limes seem to be somewhat bitter this year.'

I let the sweet-sour juice rest in my dry mouth before swallowing. I found it tart, but not bitter. I looked across at my master tentatively sipping his drink. Perhaps it was time to ask for his help. I could not tell him everything yet, but if I copied out a few of the folio's strange characters and showed them to him, he may know their origin. I gulped at the remainder of the cool juice, pleased with the plan, and returned the cup to the servant. My master only took a few more mouthfuls before handing it back to the man kneeling beside him.

'Send our thanks to Lord Tyron,' my master ordered.

The servant nodded and backed away.

'I think I see the gate officials approaching,' my master said. 'We will be entering soon.' He settled back in the seat, his high

collar shifting to reveal the blue crescent of a bruise on his pallid skin. 'It is interesting that the Emperor positions us first, ahead of Ido.' There was gentle malice in his voice.

'Did Lord Ido ride in with High Lord Sethon this morning?' I asked.

My master flipped open his fan and started up a warm breeze. 'He did — but just through the city gates. A bold declaration of allegiance for those who recognise the signs. But he cannot ride with Sethon in the military procession. He must sit with us below the Emperor.'

'It is getting closer, isn't it?' I said, lowering my voice. 'They will make their attempt soon.'

My master nodded. 'Yes, the game moves into a most interesting phase.'

Although I could not see through the velvet curtain at our backs, I fancied I could feel Lord Ido's baleful gaze from the palanquin behind. No doubt he knew the red folio and Sun drug were gone — he would have returned to his hall to dress for the procession and found the evidence. I pushed away the memory of Ranne's blank eyes. And Lord Ido would have a good idea who had taken them, too. I just hoped Dillon had escaped his attention.

An image of the black folio, lying beside its red partner in the glass case, shivered across my mind. What was it about the black book that made me so afraid? Perhaps my master knew something about it. But I would need to creep up on my question.

'Lord Brannon,' I said, calling his attention away from the gate. 'Have you ever seen a design of twelve spheres connected in a circle?' I traced a circle on my palm. 'With the top two spheres bigger.'

His fan dropped to his lap. 'Where have you seen that?' he demanded, grabbing my wrist.

'Where? Tell me.'

I pulled back from the alarm in his eyes. 'I haven't seen it,' I said, frantically searching for a solid lie. 'Dillon told me he saw it on the door of Lord Ido's library.'

He let me go. 'His apprentice saw it on a door?'

I nodded. 'What does it mean?'

He looked around us then leaned closer. 'It is the symbol of the String of Pearls.'

I shook my head, still ignorant. He opened the fan again and waved it slowly in front of us, using its wide spread to mask our conversation.

'The String of Pearls is said to be a weapon so powerful, it can shift continents,' he said softly.

'It joins the energy of all twelve dragons into one devastating force.' He licked his pale lips.

'But it is only a legend, a children's ghost story'

'So it is not real?'?

He shook his head. 'For a long time, I have been collecting scrolls that mention it, and I have not come across any that confirm it as more than a story I know that Ido also collects stories of it. Perhaps he has found one that proves it is possible.'

A black folio, stamped with the circle and protected by white pearls — there could be no doubt that Lord Ido had found something more than just a story. I could not keep this hidden from my master.

'Dillon also said he saw a black folio with the same design,' I said carefully 'Bound with white pearls.'

A folio?' My master sucked in a breath. Are you sure he said that?'

'I think so.'

He rubbed his chin. 'I don't like this at all. Tyron and the others must be informed as soon as possible.'

'How does this String of Pearls work?'

My master shook his head. 'No one really knows. There are so many conflicting legends. One says it is by all twelve Dragoneyes joining together to create the weapon. Another states that two Dragoneyes must join forces for it to form. And then there are others that say there can only be one surviving Dragoneye who inherits all the power.'

Tellon told us about that one yesterday in our class.'

He grunted, his mind elsewhere. 'It may be nothing; just one of Ido's obsessions. Still, Tyron and the others need to know in case…'

His words were swamped by the deep resonating note of the Imperial gong. He dropped the fan away from our faces, both of us quickly pulling back from our conversation. Two officials stood at the gilded gate in front of us, waiting for the next gong to allow us into the ceremonial courtyard.

The huge entrance gate to the palace had three vaulted passages set into it. The central corridor, called the Way of Heavenly Conduct, was for the use of the Emperor and could take eight horses side by side. The right passage — the Arch of Strong Sons — was for the Imperial family. And the left, which we were facing, was officially called the Arch of Just and Scholarly Judgement but was commonly known as the Judgement Gate. It was reserved for nobles, generals, high-ranked dignitaries and the three winning scholars of the annual examinations. All others came and went through the two smaller side gates — the Gates of Humility — that flanked the red and gold edifice. I had never been through either of the Humility Gates, let alone the Judgement Gate. Nor had I been inside the ceremonial courtyard. And now, here I was, heading a procession into the Emperor's presence.

The second gong vibrated through the air. Immediately, the two officials pushed the gate apart. The third gong sent us into the cooler corridor.

'So beautiful,' I breathed as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.

The walls were gold, stuccoed with dragons coiled around the symbols of the four gracious arts of the scholar: pen, brush, zither and the crisscrossed square of the strategy game. The ceiling was a rich red lacquer and etched with gold landscapes: seas, mountains, plateaus and an intricate rendering of the palace

precinct we were now entering. I craned back my head. Above them all, in the vaults of the roof, were gold scenes depicting the eight gods of learning.

We emerged into the bright sunshine again. I blinked, trying to get my bearings in the immense courtyard. It was easily the size of the Dragon Arena with long galleries lining each side. In the centre, a massive staircase, built into three marble terraces, led up to an imposing hall. Its roof was gold and curved towards the heavens, and the walls were painted with vivid red and black designs that called on the gods for good fortune, happiness, and longevity. A huge gong flanked the gold and jade door, and incense burners the size of men stood at the corners to cleanse the Emperor's air of any evil spirits.

Two guards took a position on each side of our palanquin, leading our bearers over the wide expanse of grey paving towards the central staircase. I glanced at my master; even he was stilled by the majesty of the place. At the halfway mark, we stopped behind a thin dark line. It was, in fact, a band of gold that had been embedded between the stones and seemed to run from one edge of the courtyard to the other.

'The Imperial audience line,' my master said. 'We must go on foot from here.'

The bearers smoothly lowered the palanquin to the ground, the effort showing on the leader's face. I stepped out of the cabin and saw the line of other Dragoneyes and dignitaries waiting their turn to advance. From the next palanquin, Lord Ido was watching me closely with narrowed eyes. I kept my hands clasped tightly together to stop myself from checking. the folio again.

My master looked across the stone courtyard to the long staircase, grim resignation on his face as he lowered himself slowly into a half crouch. Although the Emperor had not yet emerged from the great red and black hall, all who stepped beyond the audience line had to approach in the Imperial bow

It was a long walk to our honoured position at the bottom of the steps. My back and hip ached from hunching over, and I could hear the catch in my master's breathing as a silent official led us to our places. A eunuch stepped up behind each of us and held a large parasol over our heads while we stood and waited for the other dignitaries to take their positions, but the protection did nothing for the heat that bounced off the grey flags. My master's face was bleached of any colour and his hunched posture looked like it was more from pain than obedience.

'Lord Brannon, you look unwell,' I whispered. He did not look up. I touched his shoulder, alarmed. 'Master, do you need water?'

He shook his head. 'It was just the walk,' he rasped. 'I will recover soon.'

Lord Ido took his place at the bottom of the staircase. The folio felt like a huge block tied to my arm and I dared not look at him in case he saw its presence in my face. Lord Tyron stepped up beside us, his heavy face creasing with concern when he saw his ally's ashen skin and glazed eyes. I measured the time in my master's laboured breaths as the officials slowly guided the other Dragoneyes and high-ranked men into position. It was all taking so long.

My master lurched forwards then recovered.

'Old friend, lean on me,' Lord Tyron said urgently

My master nodded, his mouth clenched shut, and clasped Tyron's arm. Over his head, the Ox Dragoneye signalled for me to take my master's other arm. I hooked it under mine and felt cold skin under my hand. This was more than just exhaustion.

'Lord Tyron, did you send us lime juice before the procession?'

He frowned. 'No, why would I…' Then comprehension blanched his face. He looked down at my master, shuddering between us, then back at me. 'No, I swear I did not.'

At the top of the staircase, an official sounded the huge gong. Everyone around us dropped to their knees: the ceremony had started. Tyron met my anxious gaze and nodded — there was nothing we could do but help my master down to the ground. 1 lis weight sagged between us as we clumsily settled him onto the flags. Another gong. I lowered into the Imperial kowtow. Beside me, my master pitched forwards into the obedience, his body convulsing. I grabbed his chilled wrist as though my puny hold could keep him from slumping over. Would I soon be shivering and panting in the same way? The third gong announced the arrival of the Emperor. I held my breath, feeling my master's weight press painfully against my hand as we waited for the order to rise. What was the delay?

Finally, the gong sounded again.

I sat back, helping Tyron pull my master upright onto his knees. His breathing was fast, his eyes fixed and clouded. Above us, at the top of the staircase, the frail figure of the Emperor surveyed the courtyard from his sedan chair.

'We must get help,' I hissed. I turned to the eunuch behind me. 'Get the royal physician.'

The man's eyes widened with terror, his forehead hitting the ground. 'Forgive me, my lord, it is not allowed. We cannot leave the Imperial presence.'

Tyron nodded. 'He's right. We cannot interrupt an Imperial audience.' His eyes searched my face. Are you ill too?'

'No.'

A fanfare from the rank of trumpets behind us blasted across the courtyard, bouncing off the paving and buildings. My master winced and moaned. The clattering of hooves on the stone echoed in the huge space, the thundering noise announcing the arrival of High Lord Sethon and his officers.

'Move closer to him,' Tyron ordered as he shifted against my master.

I took some of my master's weight. Patches of sweat under his arms and around his neck had darkened the red silk into black.

'My chest,' he whispered. His hand groped for his collar.

The sound of hooves had settled into the distinct beat of one horse approaching. I snatched a look down. A huge black horse

paced towards us, ruthlessly controlled, the rider clad in blue Imperial parade armour outlined in red piping. High Lord Sethon. His face was in shadow under an elaborate leather helmet, but the way he carried himself showed the bullish strength that was now diminished in his Imperial brother. Behind him, on foot, came three soldiers wearing plain blue skirted armour and carrying banners. I could see their horses behind the audience line, held by aides.

My master stiffened then doubled over and vomited a foul green bile onto the stones. A murmur of disgust and fear rose around us as men edged away.

I cast around frantically, not sure what I was looking for, only knowing my master needed help. Across the path, Lord Ido watched us, his face unreadable. A wave of kowtowing moved towards us as High Lord Sethon passed between the ranks of dignitaries.

My master retched again. I braced him against the convulsions, the chill of his body through the thin silk as cold as a winter stream. On the other side, Lord Tyron suddenly dropped into a kowtow. My master sagged against me. I looked up. Above me was the massive black chest of the horse. And above that, the hard gaze of High Lord Sethon.

There was no mistaking his kinship to the Emperor; the bold modelling of his forehead and chin and the tilt of his generous mouth were identical. The High Lord's eyes, however, were closer together and set over a broken nose that had healed flat with a scar that had carved a crescent across his cheek. A warrior's face.

I scrabbled forwards, prostrating myself. He had royal rank. He could help my master. The horse sidled to the left but was forced back under his iron grip.

'Your Highness,' I pleaded. 'Forgive my presumption but Lord Brannon is ill. He needs the physician.'

'You must be Lord Eon,' he said. He studied me for a moment. 'You are smaller than I expected.' His voice was a clipped cold monotone that gave no hint of emotion.

He glanced across at Lord Ido, then turned to the soldier standing at the horse's side. 'Shen, find the royal physician and bring him here.' The man bowed and backed away I kowtowed again, light-headed with relief. 'Thank you, Your Highness.'

He dismounted, dropping smoothly to the ground in front of us. His every move spoke of decision and command.

'I hope Lord Brannon recovers quickly,' he said. 'It would be most inauspicious for my brother if a Dragoneye lord died during the Twelfth Day celebrations.' He passed the reins to the middle soldier. 'Hold him tight, he is skittish.'

He looked up at the small figure of the Emperor waiting for him outside the hall. Lowering into the shallow bow required of a royal half brother, he began the climb up the staircase.

I returned to my master. His breathing was so slow that I could hardly feel it against my hand.

His eyes opened and I saw the flare of agony in them a moment before his body stiffened. His arms thrashed wildly until Lord Tyron grabbed them, wrestling them down. There was nothing I could do but hold him as he writhed and gasped, saliva bubbling from his mouth. He grunted, trying to form words, but his face seemed to be frozen into a mask of pain. He clawed at me until I held each side of his head using all of my strength to stop the uncontrollable jerking.

'Stop him,' he whispered.

'Master…please…' I couldn't break through his pain. He was being wrenched from me, already halfway into the spirit world.

Under my hands, his head snapped back as his body arched in agony. His glazed eyes locked onto mine. 'Swear you will stop him.'

I nodded, watching helplessly as his back arched again. His body thudded against the paving, the last embers of his life force burning in the urgency of his eyes. And then even that pale light was gone.