Eon - 01 Eon

by Alison Goodman

  'You are Kane's candidate?' he demanded.

  'Yes, lord,' Baret said.

  A yelp of outrage and the sound of scuffling snapped us out of our stiff obedience. Quon shuffled forwards to peer down the line. I hesitated, but then rose onto my knees, craning above Lanell, who was bobbing around to find a clear view.

  The old official was pulling at Lord Ido's arm, trying to release the Dragoneye's hands that were cupped around Baret's head.

  'Lord Ido, you go too far,' he cried.

  Away, fool.' Lord Ido shook off the old man's grip, 'You answer to me now'

  'No. The Council is still Lord Meram's.' The official ducked back and grabbed at Lord Ido's arm. 'You shall not influence the ceremony'

  Lord Ido swung his free hand and there was the wet crack of knuckles hitting flesh. The official fell to his hands and knees, his cheek split over the bone. He shook his head, spraying blood into the air like a dog shaking off water. Lord Ido glared at the lesser officials who had gathered behind their colleague.

  'Lord Meram stepped down in my favour last night. I am the Ascendant, and the Council leader. Do any of you stand against me?'

  One after the other, the officials cowered into bows.

  Lord Ido grunted and jerked his head at the prostrate official. 'Take him away'

  Two men hurried across and helped the old man to stand. Lord Ido spun back to face us.

  'Get in line,' he ordered.

  We scrambled into our positions, the row subtly curving as everyone shifted to watch Lord Ido. He placed his hands on Baret's head. What was he doing? Uneasy whispering rippled through the ranks of officials. Lord Ido took a deep breath and seemed to draw himself upwards as though dragging energy from the earth. Then I was slammed back against my heels by the power that burst from him.

  It was as though his flesh had become glass. I saw the seven points of power in his body, pulsing in their own colours from spine to crown: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and purple. All of them connected by silvery-white streams of Hua surging through him from ground to hands and into Baret. ln all of this bright rushing glory, my mind's-eye was drawn to the green heart-point in his chest. The centre of compassion. It was smaller, duller, its flow of Hua thin and stuttering.

  And then it was all gone.

  I slumped forwards, sucking in air, feeling the puzzled eyes of Quon and Lanell on me. Lord Ido was doubled over, gasping, his face ashen. He looked up and for a second our gazes met, his shrewd eyes widening as he saw that T had been affected by his power. Then his attention was caught by the arrival of two men at the opening of the ramp.

  Quon grabbed my shoulder, his fingernails digging through the silk.

  'What did he do to him?' he hissed. We both looked at Baret, who was rocking and moaning, his head buried in the cradle of his arms. 'What did you see?'

  'I think he marked Baret with his own Hua.'

  Quon let go of me. 'Surely that's not allowed. It must be against the rules.'

  He turned to the officials, but they were all on their knees staring at the floor. His body sagged.

  'It's not fair,' he said, his voice tiny with defeat. 'He's stacking the odds.'

  Quon was right. If Lord Edo had marked Baret with his own Hua, then Baret had a much greater chance of being chosen by the Rat Dragon. I felt my own hope wither. In one bold act, Lord Ido had secured the support of Heuris Kane, Baret and their powerful families, asserted his authority over the Council, and cowed us, the other candidates. No wonder my master called him treacherous. The ruthless efficiency of his tactics made me shiver. But at least I was not crying, like Quon.

  Lord Ido straightened, his body and breath back to normal. He glanced at Baret.

  'Be still,' he snapped.

  Immediately, Baret stopped rocking, a whimper of pain escaping as he lifted his head.

  'Last night, the Dragoneye Council ruled that the ceremony has become too removed from the traditions of our esteemed ancestors,' Lord Ido said, and from his tone it was plain that it was his ruling and the Council had just fallen into line. He started to pace along the row. 'It was decided that there will be a return to ceremonial combat rather than exhibition.'

  It took a moment for his words to make sense. Ceremonial combat? Fighting. I would have to fight someone? I felt my body lock into icy panic.

  'You can't do that,' Quon sobbed, desperation making him rash. 'We haven't trained for it.'

  Lord Ido rounded on him. 'Mewling coward,' he snarled. 'You are not worthy of the Rat Dragon.'

  Quon dropped into a kowtow, his forehead hitting the floor with a crack. Lord Ido eyed him for a moment then resumed his pacing.

  'According to a very popular historical scroll, the ascending 1 )ragoneye can invoke ceremonial combat if the Council agrees.' 1 lis eyes swept along the row and found me. An old variation in the Chronicles of Detra.'

  I looked away from his malicious smile.

  He motioned to the two men standing at the ramp. Although they were clad in head-to-toe armour, I recognised the arrogant swagger of the stockier figure.

  Ranne.

  My innards cramped in familiar fear. Were we going to fight Ranne? But he was a master.

  Then it all made terrible sense. Baret was Ranne's favourite. Lord Ido was leaving nothing to chance.

  'I am told that you have all trained with Swordmasters Ranne and Jin-pa,' Lord Ido said as they approached him and bowed. 'They will share the honour of sparring with you for the pleasure of the Rat Dragon and our most Heavenly Emperor.'

  Ranne turned to look at us, a gloved hand on his hip. Instead of the usual lacquered leather he wore during training, his armour was made of metal scales, the helmet edged with a curtain of mail to protect the neck, the polished breastplate engraved with the character for valour.

  'This will be similar to the combat training we have done all year,' he said. 'However, the sequences will not be in order of

  ascendance. They will be random. Do you understand? Swordmaster Jin-pa and I may start with the Rat sequence, or the Ox sequence or the Horse sequence. It will be different for each of you. All of the twelve sequences will be used, but not in the order of ascendance. A good test of reflexes and anticipation.'

  A low murmur of apprehension rolled along the row. Most of our training had been directed towards a solo exhibition of the sequences in strict order. Not in combat training. Not in random order.

  Jin-pa stepped out from behind Ranne. His breastplate bore the character for duty. I had only ever worked with him once; a fair man who had shown me how to adapt a kick for my lame leg. He took his helmet off, tucking it under his arm. The padding had made indentations on his long face, giving him the look of a kindly death's-head.

  'Boys, do not be alarmed. You know all of the sequences. It is now just a matter of trusting your training and letting your movements flow from your Hua,' he said bracingly 'The rules of ceremonial combat are just the same as training combat — contact with the flat of the sword or the butt of the handle only. And remember, this is about showing your technique and stamina. Concentrate on recognising the first forms of each sequence, then —'

  Ranne shifted irritably 'They're as prepared as they're going to be,' he interrupted, ignoring Jin-pa's dark look. 'Now it is time to meet the challenge and do honour to their masters and ancestors.'

  'Well said, Swordmaster Ranne,' Lord Ido said, waving Jin-pa back. 'Will you spar with the odds or the evens?'

  Ranne stared down the line as if considering his decision. I saw his gaze flicker over Baret through the eye slits of his helmet. How early in our training had Lord Ido planned all this?

  'Evens,' Ranne said.

  Foul acid rose into my throat. Number four — the number of death. Had Ranne drawn it for me knowing I would be at his mercy?

  Lord Ido turned to us. 'Those with even numbers will spar with Swordmaster Ranne. The odd numbers will spar with Swordmaster Jin-pa. Is that clear?'

  'Yes, Lord Ido,' we obediently chanted
. I heard Quon's voice break with relief.

  The sound of distant drums and trumpets sent the senior officials scurrying to the ramp. Quon and I exchanged knowing glances: the Emperor had started the short journey from palace to arena. It would not be long now.

  Last year I had stood beside the roadway, one of the crowd watching the long procession that escorted His Imperial Majesty to the ceremony The marvellous sight was still bright in my mind. I knew that, outside, the wide boulevard would now be filled with ranks of drummers and trumpeters playing a march composed especially for the day Behind them would come rows and rows of armoured mace-wielders, swordmen and lancers with silk flags flying from the blades of their weapons. There would be twelve men on matched black horses riding in rows of three and carrying the huge fluttering banners of the dragons, followed by lines and lines of eunuch footmen in the dark blue livery of the inner household, each carrying an incense burner releasing spicy perfume into the air. One hundred lantern-carriers would be next, their carved lights swinging on tall gilded sticks. Then the young noblemen currently in favour would stride by in their finery, calling the royal presence with chants of their family's fealty. The crowd would drop to their knees in the swirling dust as the handsome heir, Prince Kygo, rode his horse past. Then the Emperor, grave and majestic on a white stallion bridled in gold and pearl, would pass by surrounded by one hundred Imperial guardsmen in tight formation, all armed with a pair of wicked seriated blades held in crossed salute.

  It would take at least one half bell for the Emperor to enter the arena and ascend the throne set above the darkened mirror of the Lost Dragon. Then another half bell before the ceremony began. One hour before I bowed to the Heavenly Master. Before I faced Ranne's swords.

  The Mirror Dragon sequence! Fear twitched through me. Did Ranne know I had permission to replace it with the Reverse Horse Second?

  An official wearing the ruby rank ran up to Lord Ido and dropped to one knee, delivering a low-voiced message.

  I had to get to Ranne. Make him understand that I didn't have to do the Mirror Dragon.

  Lord Ido nodded to the official, the predatory lines of his face tightening in anticipation.

  'Candidates, go now with your Council official. Listen carefully to his instructions,' he said.

  'You will have a short time to prepare before Swordmaster Ranne and Swordmaster Jin-pa call you into position. I wish you all good fortune.'

  He sent one more searching glance down the row then strode towards the ramp.

  As if given a signal, the twelve officials hurried over to us in a neat line, their bodies bending into bows like wind-blown wheat as they passed the Dragoneye. Van stopped in front of me and squatted, ducking his head in a quick courtesy

  'Candidate Eon, please come this way' he said. 'Do you wish for water now, or later?'

  I pushed myself upwards, every muscle resisting movement. 'I must speak to Swordmaster Ranne.'

  Van stood gracefully, brushing down his long grey robe. 'It is my duty to make sure you know the Imperial protocol,' he said. And then you will have time to prepare for the ceremony. Do you wish for water now or later?'

  'Please, I must speak to him,' I said, scanning the room. Dillon, Quon and Baret were waiting to drink at a large water

  barrel while the rest of the candidates were following their officials to practice areas. Jin-pa was talking earnestly to the ruby official. Ranne was nowhere in sight. 'I must speak to him now,' I repeated. 'It affects the ceremony'

  'The Swordmaster has accompanied Lord Ido to the arena,' Van said, shrugging his helplessness. 'I doubt there will be any chance to speak to him before the ceremony'

  The weight of the last few days made me sway. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes.

  Surely Ranne would know about my change to the sequence.

  'My master? Can I speak to my master?'

  'He is not allowed to return,' Van said.

  I groaned.

  Van's soft fingers touched my arm. 'Could Swordmaster Jin-pa assist you?'

  I looked up at his polite sympathy 'Yes. Yes, I could speak to him.'

  'Wait here.'

  Van crossed the floor to Jin-pa, waiting as the swordmaster finished his conversation with the senior official. I quickly picked up my swords and tucked them under my arms, blunt side up.

  I did not want Jin-pa to think I had no care for my weapons. Van bowed and relayed my request, his narrow shoulders elegantly lifting to show his mystification. Jin-pa waved me over.

  I hurried to them, my steps awkward and stiff.

  'What is it, boy?' Jin-pa asked as I bowed to him.

  'Swordmaster, I've got permission from the Council to change the Mirror Dragon sequence for the Reverse Horse Dragon Second,' I said breathlessly. 'Because of my leg. I'll be sparring with Swordmaster Ranne. Does he know, sir?'

  Jin-pa nodded. 'Be at ease, Eon. Both Ranne and I know of the dispensation.'

  I felt some of the tension drain from my body.

  'Lord Ido informed us this morning,' Jin-pa continued, his words tightening the coil in me again. 'Now go and get some water. It will be hot in the arena.'

  He nodded his dismissal. I followed Van to the water barrel, my unease increasing with every step. Ranne may know of the dispensation, but would he honour it?

  In the next hour I drank water, bowed to an imaginary Emperor over and over again under the critical eye of Van, and practised the forms until my clumsy cold-ridden movements were worked into smoothness. No doubt the minutes passed normally, but it felt as though each was a second, rushing towards the call to the arena.

  And then it came.

  'Candidates,' Ranne bawled from the bottom of the ramp, 'get into position.'

  For a moment everyone stopped still in the room, and then from above the trumpets sounded the arrival of the Emperor onto the throne, thrusting everyone into frantic action.

  'You remember the order of events?' Van asked hurriedly, herding me to the ramp. 'You will all bow to the Eternal Lord first, then kneel at the base of the Mirror of the Lost Dragon and wait until you are announced by the Imperial herald.'

  I nodded.

  And hold that first bow for the count of ten.' He pushed me into place in the line behind Ranne. 'Don't look up.'

  'I won't.' We exchanged quick nods. 'Thank you, Van.'

  He patted my arm. 'Good fortune, Eon.' Then he was gone, one more grey robe heading out of the room to the spectator seats.

  Across from me in Jin-pa's line, Dillon smiled awkwardly. Although his betrayal was raw, I returned the smile. We may all be pitched against one another, but the real threat was Lord Ido.

  I glanced at Baret, three places down our row. His body seemed strangely lax and his eyes were still glazed with furrows of

  pain creasing his forehead. The red silk around his throat was dark — someone must have doused his face in the water barrel. Fie looked exhausted. Had Lord Ido miscalculated? Or did he know the effect of his power and had brought Ranne in to coddle Baret through the ceremony?

  'Draw into salute,'Jin-pa called.

  I crossed my swords in front of my chest, the soft whir of the thin blades multiplying into a hiss as the others swung their weapons into position. An official wearing a red sash over his grey robes emerged from the ramp. He bowed to Ranne and Jin-pa.

  'It is time,' he said.

  My bowels clenched, sending a sickening rush through me. Another fanfare sounded from above. Then a clipped shout of command from Ranne. Bodies moving — beside me, in front of me. I followed, unable to think beyond the march, my feet keeping time from the memory of endless drills. Each step closer to the top of the ramp; the air warmer, light brighter, trumpets louder.

  I stepped out of cool shadow and squinted against the dazzle of morning sun. We had entered a great circle of white sand. All around the edge, twelve huge mirrors faced inwards, each of them surrounded by a heavy gold frame carved with the twelve animal signs and inlaid with jewels and jade. All of the m
irrors were dark and dead, except one: the Rat Dragon mirror. It reflected rows and rows of men, the cloth and colours of their robes ranking them — the rich silks of the nobles in the nearby seats, the gold embroideries of the eleven Dragoneyes above their mirrors, the grey-garbed officials in clusters, and the bright cottons and duller roughs of the city merchants and workers in the high seats — thousands of men watching us as we marched towards the Emperor's throne. The slow beat of drums and the climbing call of trumpets were matched by the rumbling of the crowd. As we passed the Rat Dragon mirror, it caught the sun, flaring into eye burning light.

  At its crest was a gold ruby-eyed rat, and sitting above it was Lord Ido, a large bright figure amongst the grey robes of the ceremony officials. Even from the ground, I felt his power. Or perhaps it was the mirror.

  Sweat was catching my tunic against the small of my back. Ranne called the halt and we stopped before the Emperor, who was dressed in the royal yellow and enthroned above the darkened mirror of the Lost Dragon. I dropped to my knees, the sand hot through the silk.

  Van's voice echoed in my head. Count to ten. Don't look up. Don't look around.

  I lost the count. Panicking, I raised my eyes, looking for a cue to move. My gaze was pulled into the dull mirror in front of me. No reflection, just a dark blank that swallowed the day's brightness. Beside me, Quon tensed, preparing to stand. I followed his lead, pushing myself upright. For a moment, the sun rippled across the mirror's black surface, making it buckle and heave. A strange trick of the light. We marched in our two lines towards it, to wait underneath its dark expanse. A gold dragon undulated across its top, a pearl held in its ruby claws. I stared into the inky glass, but nothing else stirred.

  At Ranne's command we turned, facing the arena, and dropped once more to our knees, swords held in crossed salute. I narrowed my eyes to soften the glare that bounced off the sand. It felt as though every bit of moisture in my body was being sucked away Another fanfare. This time for the Imperial herald. They emerged in a neat line from the rampway, a chorus of eight men matched in voice and height, crouching into bows as they ran to the centre of the arena. The crowd stamped and roared. The herald, their short blue tunics like wedges of summer sky, positioned themselves into a royal octagonal, smartly turning to face the audience. They raised small bronze gongs over their heads and, as one, sounded a deep resonating note. Immediately the crowd quietened.