The Dragon's Eye

by Sarwat Chadda

  Conor’s own partner, Briggan, yawned as he awoke from Conor’s mark. He ran his red tongue over his black lips, then went to the table and snatched the jailer’s leg of beef. He sat down beside Conor and started gnawing. “Your turn, Meilin.”

  “I … I don’t know. This might be a mistake. For me.”

  “Why?”

  “The scroll assumed the process of creating a bond token would be carried out with true spirit animals. I used … Bile, remember? Will Jhi trust me fully?”

  Conor took Meilin’s hand. He felt it shaking and he steadied it. “That was then, Meilin. Call Jhi.”

  Meilin closed her eyes. A moment later, she juddered and when she looked again, there stood Jhi. The panda’s fur rippled as it ambled beside her.

  Jhi pushed her cheek against Meilin’s, and Meilin pushed her fingers through the thick fur, obviously thankful for the bear’s gentle strength.

  “Jhi, I need your help,” Meilin said. She glanced around to the other Four Fallen. “We all do. If we’re going to defeat Song and her Oathbound, then we have to be a match for them.”

  “We need bond tokens,” Abeke said, running her hands through Uraza’s fur. “Just like the ancient heroes. But the process …”

  “You know how dangerous the process is,” Rollan muttered. He glanced up at Essix on the doorframe. “Because you’ve done it already. Your talismans were tokens, weren’t they? Different, but the same. Gransfen told us.”

  “What we’re asking you is to trust us with something just as precious,” Conor said. He pulled his hand from Briggan’s coat, suddenly hesitant to touch him. “Something just as dangerous.”

  The Four Fallen glanced between each other. Briggan, Uraza, Jhi, and Essix. It was a strange sort of communion—wordless—but Conor had little doubt that they were communicating somehow. Even as spirit animals, the Great Beasts were still connected.

  Then Briggan licked his face. The wolf hopped eagerly to his feet, panting. Essix shrieked from the door, and Uraza purred beside Abeke. Jhi glanced toward Meilin, her silver eyes resolute.

  “Looks like we’re ready,” said Meilin.

  Conor tightened his grip around the shepherd’s crook. The wood was smooth and dark; someone had carried it for a long, long time.

  Who? Had it been a boy like him, once upon a time? Tending sheep day in, day out. Looking after them as the seasons came and went. Had the boy grown up, become a man, an elder? Had he taken this crook out before dawn, as one year melded into the next?

  That might have been Conor’s life, too, if it hadn’t been for Briggan.

  All those days with nothing more to worry about than counting the sheep out in the morning, and counting the same number back in the evening.

  For better or for worse, he wasn’t going to have that sort of life.

  It still held an appeal. The simplicity of it. But if he’d gone down that path, then Conor would have never met Abeke, Rollan, and Meilin. His life would have been limited to a few fields, a patch of grass on a slope. The same view for every day of his life.

  His life before Briggan seemed to belong to another Conor.

  He remembered the morning of the Nectar Ceremony, all that time ago, when he’d been the servant of Devin, the young noble of Trunswick. It seemed ridiculous now that his ambition had been to have a sheepdog as a spirit animal.

  What if he had summoned one? Big and fluffy, with a calm temperament and a quick mind.

  How would his life have turned out?

  Well, certainly not hiding in the Summer Palace of the Empress of Zhong, that’s for sure.

  Now he was attempting something far deeper than just a spirit animal bond.

  Briggan growled, a few feet from him. Conor gazed into those blue eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  Meilin read down the scroll. “It says to close your eyes and see the animal in your mind and heart.”

  “How do you do that?”

  “Sorry. It doesn’t really explain. There’s something about being the animal. Whatever that means.”

  Conor scowled. “Should I run around on all fours and bark a bit?”

  Rollan laughed. “No harm in trying.”

  Conor sat back on his heels and closed his eyes. He concentrated on their bond.

  He smelled Briggan’s damp fur. The wolf’s pelt had a unique odor. It changed with the seasons and the location. Here on the coast, Briggan absorbed the wild sea and the salty air, catching particles within his long hairs.

  Conor’s skin prickled. His own hair stood on end. He felt the breeze upon him, ever so slightly to begin with, but growing as his sensitivity increased. Minute currents slipped through his fingers, cold shifts that rippled over his bare face.

  Was this what it was like, being a wolf?

  His breath deepened and slowed. Conor saw Briggan in the center of his mind.

  The large wolf stood in long grass. The trees were thick all around, and the sunlight formed a dappled pattern across his gray shoulders as it fell through the lattice of leaves. Birds called from the branches, and there was the distant laughter of water running over rocks.

  It was warm here in this forest. Not the true warmth of summer, but the temptation of it. It was a springtime warmth, so he felt the sun, but also the cold dark, as if the shadows had trapped the last of the winter’s chill.

  Deeper he breathed. The forest became more than a feeling, a figment of his imagination.

  It became …

  He became …

  He sniffs the grass, seeking out a scent of something to chase. Something to hunt. Something to eat.

  His stomach is tight, but he has learned to live with hunger. How long since his last meal, that rabbit he snatched in his jaws as it fled to its hole?

  He doesn’t count the passing of time the same way as his human partner does.

  Paws dig at the soft earth, moist from the morning dew. He pauses to lick water from the tip of a low leaf.

  The brambles brush against him as he glides through.

  His ears twitch as he hears movement. A hoof catches lightly on a rock and there is the fearful breath of a creature that smells him, just as he smells it.

  A heart trembles, not far away.

  He lowers himself into the grass and waits.

  His thigh muscles quiver in anticipation. He forces himself to be still, not easy when the scent of prey floods his nostrils.

  His fur ripples with the change in the wind. His prey approaches, ignorant and unaware.

  He has fangs. He has claws and speed and the muscles of a true predator. There is nothing extra in him that might cause him to falter, unlike sweet Conor.

  The boy doubts. The boy worries. The boy looks to his friends and looks back at himself, unsure of what he is.

  A wolf has no doubts about what he is.

  He is wildness incarnate, though he walks in the steps of his human partner. He was born when the world was new, before the beasts understood that there were those that hunted and those that fled. He taught them such things. He may not have been as powerful as the lion or as stealthy as the leopard. He did not have the grace of the eagle or the swiftness of the falcon, yet there was not a beast in all Erdas who more possessed the spirit of the hunter as he.

  His human partner doubted, but he did not. He knew what he was.

  Briggan.

  The deer stepped into view.

  Conor snapped his eyes open. “Oh … wow.”

  The others stared at him. “What happened?” Abeke asked.

  What indeed? Conor held out his hands, half expecting to see claws. He touched his face. A normal nose, rather than a snout. His teeth were as before, not long fangs. He didn’t appear to have grown a tail.

  He was human, still.

  But his heart pumped with such strength he could barely hold it in. His muscles burned with feverish desire. And his head swam with a spinning kaleidoscope of scents.

  He’d never understood what pure joy could really be until he’d
stepped in Briggan’s skin. The wolf had pounced and taken the deer with a single bite. Conor licked his lips, still savoring the sweetness of the perfect kill.

  Briggan’s emotions, his desires, his needs, were simple and unencumbered. He knew what he needed, and that was that. He was a wolf.

  Conor felt himself rise.

  Things fell away from him. His worries about the past, mistakes he’d made, things he wished he’d done or said better.

  Briggan didn’t worry about these things.

  And what did tomorrow mean? There would always be another tomorrow. Briggan did not care for tomorrow. A wolf had today and savored every second of it.

  Conor held the crook tightly, still feeling the electric thrill of what he’d tasted.

  His gaze fell on Rollan. Conor grinned. “Your turn.”

  ESSIX SETTLED ON ROLLAN’S SHOULDER. HER TALONS dug in through the material, squeezing, but not quite piercing, the flesh beneath.

  He brushed down the feathers covering her chest. Essix churred in approval.

  It seemed to him that they’d been together forever. He could hardly remember his life before she’d entered it.

  And what an inauspicious entrance! Deep in a cell in Concorba. He’d been caught trying to rob an apothecary of willow extract for a sick friend. Digger, that had been the boy’s name. Another street urchin, just like Rollan.

  So much that followed had been wild, exciting, bewildering. He’d grown up in a semi-derelict orphanage until he’d run off at nine, tired of the foul food and endless, backbreaking work.

  Then it had been the dark alleyways and crowded streets of Concorba. Rifling through the bins at the end of the day for leftovers. Sleeping in doorways or in hastily erected shelters that dripped during the wet days and overheated on the sunny ones. Their homes would last only as long as it took the militia to find and tear them down.

  Those streets had been his whole world. Now the whole world was his whole world.

  Essix sensed his mood and spread out her wings. She shook them, as if ready for flight.

  “One day, Essix,” he promised. “We’ll travel the world together without a crisis. We’ll go everywhere.”

  “Rollan?”

  He turned his attention to Meilin. The girl gestured to a spot on the floor beside her. “Maybe if you sit down?”

  He did. Essix hopped off and, with a merest flick of her wingtips, rose to perch on an armrest facing Rollan.

  He settled down and looked into Essix’s eyes as deeply as he could. He matched his breathing to the rise and fall of the bird’s chest. It felt awkward at first, but the pattern established itself, so he knew they would stay in time as he closed his eyes.

  With his lids shut Rollan expanded his other senses.

  He felt the air move around him.

  Even here underground there were currents.

  They ruffled Rollan’s hair. They caressed his cheeks, the bare skin of his arms. They were subtle, slight, yet grew stronger every passing second. How was that possible?

  Rollan’s heartbeat quickened, half in fear, half in excitement.

  He could no longer feel the floor underneath him. The air surrounded him, drifting, rushing, and roaring all around.

  Rollan panicked. He was losing control. Suddenly he was tumbling.

  But he was in an underground cell!

  No! He was high in the sky!

  The wind rushed past him, and he knew if he didn’t do something he would be crushed when he hit the ground.

  But what could he do? He didn’t have wings!

  Over and over, Rollan fell. He cried out, but those cries were ripped away by the wind.

  Then his cry transformed. He called out, but it was with the shriek of the falcon.

  Joyous, free, wind riding.

  He stopped spinning. He flattened his body against the rushing air and instead of fighting it, became a part of it. He spread out his wings so the cold air rushed through his feathers.

  He turned and swooped. The air to one side became more intense, more resistant, as he pushed in that direction. With a flick of his feathers, he turned the other way. He skimmed across the treetops, his shadow a blur across the undulating ground.

  Rollan rose up. Up and up he went, the sun warming his wings, blessing him with its glow as he passed above the clouds and—

  Erdas. He gazed down upon it. The seas glistening in the daylight. Green expanses spread out before him, dappled in the tawny shades that marked Amaya. Farther west—for the falcon’s sight seemed to have no limits—the horizon bent away into dusky darkness. Rollan could see the outline of faraway Stetriol and the long shadows of the Hundred Isles, all asleep.

  What a world it was. Rollan’s heart filled almost to bursting. What visions came from being up high. There were no boundaries. He spread out his feathers, as if he might touch one end of the world and the other. He might even cup it in his palms.

  But the clouds darkened. They stirred with malevolent anger. They rumbled, angry voices that protested his presence. They crackled with lightning.

  Rollan knew he needed to leave, fast.

  And there are few things faster than a falcon. He dove through the rain-swollen clouds, breaking free of their cold embrace to soar above the sea, above the land and above the Summer Palace. He spun between its tall towers and then …

  Opened his eyes.

  Essix sat opposite, still on her perch, but her gaze intense upon his. She fluttered her wings, the way she did after a long flight.

  Rollan drew a long, deep breath. His heart calmed, and he noticed the sweat dripping from his nose. His skin burned, yet he could still feel the rain and cold winds.

  Meilin arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

  Rollan wiped his forehead. “That. Was. Amazing.”

  “How? Tell us.”

  He looked at his arms, half expecting them to be covered in feathers. “I flew. Really flew. Not like a dream or a wish, but like a bird flies. Riding the wind, seeing the world from up high.” He laughed. “I still feel as if I could take off at any moment.”

  Conor grinned. “Best stay away from rooftops for a while.”

  He joked, but Rollan felt a kernel of truth in it. The temptation to soar was almost overwhelming. He felt trapped, cooped up in here. He wanted to get out and … well.

  Essix cried softly, and Rollan ran his palm gently over her feathers. How could Essix, having such freedom, bear to be in a place like this? How did she ever come down? The idea of Song putting her in a cage made his blood run cold.

  He, too, had tasted freedom. Once when he’d run from the orphanage. Then when he’d been released from jail to the Greencloaks. Each time had felt like walking through a door into a bigger, wider world. But nothing like this.

  Nothing like this at all.

  “TWO DOWN, TWO TO GO,” SAID ABEKE. “YOUR TURN, Meilin.”

  Meilin hesitated, then shook her head. “You’d better go next.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you think?” she snapped. “The creation of the bond token takes total trust, total openness between the human and the spirit animal. I don’t have that. I forced my will on Jhi.”

  “Meilin, you and Jhi have come so far since then.”

  Meilin stared at her friend. “That doesn’t change the fact that the Bile formed my bond. We don’t know how that will influence the process. If I try and create a bond token, at best it could merely fail. At worst …” She put her hand on Jhi’s soft fur. “It could destroy us both.”

  Conor sat down beside her. “We can’t beat Song and the Oathbound without you, Meilin. It’s that simple.”

  “I’ll help, but without the bond token.”

  “You’re scared?” he asked.

  “Of course I am!” Meilin looked at them. They were trying to help, but they couldn’t do the ritual for her. Dread weighed her down like a black rock in her chest.

  Jhi snuggled up to her, nuzzling her nose into Meilin’s chest. But instead of m
aking Meilin feel better, it made her feel worse. Meilin had no right to bring any harm to the panda.

  She gazed into those silver eyes and saw herself reflected.

  Did she really look so terrified?

  She turned away. “I’ll help you, Abeke, but I can’t—I won’t—go through with this.”

  “We managed okay,” said Conor. “There’s no reason to be afraid. I’m sure—”

  “You all bonded through Nectar. My relationship with Jhi was poisonous since the very beginning.”

  “We need you, Meilin.” Rollan took her hand, and Meilin felt her cheeks flushing.

  Stupid cheeks, she thought.

  “You and Jhi came this far together. You’ve ridden all those waves and storms. Without the two of you, Song and the Oathbound will win. They’ll spread misery to every corner of Erdas. Stopping them isn’t down to just you, me, Conor, or Abeke. It’s not down to the Four Fallen. It’s all of us together. Always has been, always will be.”

  They watched her, even the crazy old man, sitting silently with his chin resting on a bony fist. Meilin dearly wished for the ground to rise up and swallow her in that moment. But Jhi sat beside her—unworried, peaceful. That was the panda’s strength. She didn’t have the leopard’s fury or the falcon’s speed, but her quietness mattered. Jhi was a rock in the stormy sea. Meilin had to anchor herself to her patient power.

  “All right,” she said eventually. “I’ll do it.”

  Meilin read through the scroll again, swiftly but intently. Then she knelt in front of the panda, who sat facing her with her legs splayed out.

  Meilin took the hairpin in her left hand and reached out with her right.

  Jhi twitched her nose. She reached out with her left paw.

  They touched.

  Jhi’s pad was warm and leathery. And bigger than Meilin had expected. Jhi was big, something easily forgotten or ignored. Their eyes met, and this time Meilin didn’t look away from her reflection. She focused on it. She saw her brow smooth out and her lips relax. She felt Jhi’s heartbeat mimic her own ever-so-slight trembles that passed through their palms.