Eona: The Last Dragoneye e-2

by Alison Goodman

  Only Ryko knew where his fellow Imperial Guards had hidden the Pearl Emperor. Ever cautious, he had not shared the information. Now the blood fever had taken his mind.

  “We could ask him again,” I said. “He may recognize us. I have heard that there is often a brief lucid time before …”

  “Before death?” she ground out.

  I met her grief with my own. “Yes.”

  For a moment she stared at me, savage at my denial of hope, then bowed her head.

  “We should go to him,” she said. “Tozay says it will not be long now.”

  With one last look at the heavy clouds, I gathered up the front of my cumbersome skirt and climbed the path behind Dela, snatching a few moments of muted joy as I stretched into each strong, surefooted step.

  The sturdy, weather-bleached fisher house had been our sanctuary for the past few days, its isolation and high vantage giving a clear view of any approach by sea or land. I paused to catch my breath at the top of the path and focused on the distant village. Small fishing boats were already heading out to sea, every one of them crewed by resistance with eyes sharp for Sethon’s warships.

  “Prepare yourself,” Dela said as we reached the house. “His deterioration has been swift.”

  Last night I had sat with Ryko until midnight, and I had thought the islander was holding his own. But everyone knew that the predawn ghost hours were the most dangerous for the sick — the cold, gray loneliness eased the way of demons eager to drain an unguarded life force. Dela had taken the early watch, but it seemed that even her loving vigilance had been unable to ward off the dark ones.

  She hung back as I pushed aside the red luck flags that protected the doorway and entered the room. The village Beseecher still knelt in the far corner, but he was no longer chanting prayers for the ill. He was calling to Shola, Goddess of Death, and had covered his robes with a rough white cloak to honor the Otherworld Queen. A paper lantern swung on a red cord between his clasped hands, sending light seesawing across the drawn faces around Ryko’s pallet: Master Tozay; his eldest daughter, Vida; and faithful, ugly Solly. I coughed, my throat catching with the thick clove incense that overlaid the stench of vomit and loose bowels.

  In the eerie, swinging lamplight, I strained to see the figure lying on the low straw mattress. Not yet, I prayed, not yet. I had to say good-bye.

  I heard Ryko’s panting before I saw the over-quick rise and fall of his chest. He was stripped down to just a loincloth, his dark skin bleached to a gray waxiness, his once muscular frame wasted and frail.

  The tight linen bandaging had been removed, exposing the festering wounds. His hand, resting on his chest, was black and bloated: the result of Ido’s torture. More shocking was the long gash that sliced him from armpit to waist. Swollen sections of flesh had torn free from the rough stitching, showing pale bone and vivid red tissue.

  The herbalist shuffled through the inner doorway. He carried a large bowl that trailed an astringent steam, his deep voice murmuring prayers over the slopping liquid. He had sat with me for some of my vigil last night, a kind, perpetually exhausted man who knew his skill was not up to his patient’s injuries. But he had tried. And he was still trying, although it was clear that Ryko was walking the golden path to his ancestors.

  Behind me, I heard Dela’s breath catch into a sob. The sound brought Master Tozay’s head up. He motioned us closer.

  “Lady Dragoneye,” he said softly, ushering me into his place by the pallet.

  We had agreed not to use my title for safety’s sake, but I let it pass without comment. The breach was Tozay’s way of honoring Ryko’s dutiful life.

  Vida swiftly followed her father’s example and shifted aside for Dela. The girl was not much older than my own sixteen years, but she carried herself with quiet dignity, an inheritance from her father. From her mother came her ready smile and a practical nature that did not recoil from oozing wounds or soiled bedclothes.

  Dela knelt and covered Ryko’s uninjured hand with her own. He did not stir. Nor did he move when the herbalist gently picked up his other, mutilated hand and lowered it into the bowl of hot water. The steam smelled of garlic and rosemary — good blood cleaners — although the whole arm looked beyond help.

  I signaled to the Beseecher to stop his calls to Shola. There was no need to bring Ryko to the attention of the death goddess. She would arrive soon enough.

  “Has he roused again? Has he spoken?” I asked.

  “Nothing intelligible,” Tozay said. He glanced at Dela. “I am sorry, but it is time you both left. My spies have Sethon heading this way. We will continue to care for Ryko and look for the Pearl Emperor, but you must go east and seek safety with Lady Dela’s tribe. We will rendezvous with you once we have found His Highness.”

  Tozay was right. Although the thought of leaving Ryko was a hundredweight of stone in my spirit, we could delay no longer. The east was our best chance. It was also my dragon’s domain, her stronghold of power. Perhaps my presence in her energy heartland would strengthen our bond and help me control this wild magic. It might also help the Mirror Dragon hold off the ten bereft dragons if they returned.

  Dela shot a hard look at the resistance leader. “Surely this discussion can wait until—”

  “I am afraid it cannot, lady.” Tozay’s voice was gentle but unyielding. “This must be your good-bye, and it must be swift.”

  She bowed her head, struggling against his blunt practicality. “My people will hide us beyond Sethon’s reach,” she finally said, “but the problem will be getting to them.”

  Tozay nodded. “Solly and Vida will travel with you.”

  Behind Dela, I saw Vida square her shoulders. At least one of us was ready for the challenge.

  “They know how to contact the other resistance groups,” Tozay added, “and they can act the part of your servants. You’ll be just another merchant husband and wife on a pilgrimage to the mountains.”

  Dela’s focus was back on Ryko. She lifted his inert fingers to her cheek, the swinging lamplight catching the shine of grief in her eyes.

  “That may be,” I said looking away from the tender moment, “but our descriptions are on the lips of every news-walker, and tacked to every tree trunk.”

  “So far you are still described as Lord Eon,” Tozay said. His eyes flicked over my straight, strong body. “And crippled. The description for Lady Dela cautions everyone to look for a man or a woman, making it just as useless.”

  I was still described as Lord Eon? I was sure Ido would have told Sethon I was a girl, either under duress or as a bargaining tool. It did not make sense for him to protect me. Perhaps the Mirror Dragon and I had truly changed Ido’s nature when we healed his stunted heart-point and forced compassion into his spirit. After all, that first union with my dragon had also mended my hip, and I was still healed. I pressed my hand against the waist pouch where I kept the family death plaques of my ancestors Kinra and Charra: a wordless prayer for the change to be permanent. Not only Lord Ido’s change, but my own wondrous healing. I could not bear to lose my freedom again.

  “Sethon will not only be looking for you, Lady Dragoneye,” Master Tozay murmured, a touch to my sleeve drawing me a few steps away. “He will be seeking anyone close to you that he can use as a hostage. Give me the names of those who you think are in danger. We will do our best to find them.”

  “Rilla, my maid, and her son Chart,” I said quickly. “They fled before the palace was taken.” I thought of Chart; his badly twisted body would always attract attention, if only to drive others away before his ill fortune tainted them. I felt a small leap in my spirit: never again would I be spat on as a cripple or driven away. “Rilla would seek somewhere isolated.”

  Tozay nodded. “We will start in the mid-provinces.”

  “And Dillon — Ido’s apprentice — but you are already searching for him. Be careful with Dillon; he is not in his right mind, and Sethon will be hunting him for the black folio, too.”

  I remembered
the madness in Dillon’s eyes when he had wrenched the black folio from me. He’d known the book was vital to Ido’s plans for power and thought he could use it to trade with his Dragoneye master for his life. Instead, he had brought Sethon and the entire army upon himself. Poor Dillon. He did not truly understand what was in the small book he carried. He knew it held the secret to the String of Pearls. But its pages held another secret, one that terrified even Lord Ido: the way for royal blood to bind any Dragoneye’s will and power.

  “Is that all who may be at risk, my lady?” Tozay asked.

  “Perhaps …” I paused, hesitant to add the next names. “I have not seen my family since I was very young. I hardly remember them. Perhaps Sethon would not—”

  Tozay shook his head. “Sethon will try everything. So tell me, if they were found and held, could Sethon coerce you with their lives?”

  Dread curdled my stomach. I nodded, and tried to dredge up more than the few dim images I had of my family. “I remember my mother’s name was Lillia, and my brother was called Peri, but I think it was a pet name. I can only remember my father as Papa.” I looked up at Tozay. “I know it is not much. But we lived by the coast — I remember fishing gear and a beach — and when my master first found me, I was laboring in the Enalo Salt Farm.”

  Tozay grunted. “That’s west. I’ll send word.”

  Beside us, the herbalist lifted Ryko’s dripping hand from the bowl and laid it back on the pallet. He leaned over and stroked Ryko’s cheek, then pressed his fingertips under the islander’s jaw.

  “A sharp increase of heat,” he said into the silence. “The death fever. Ryko will join his ancestors very soon. It is time to wish him a safe journey.”

  He bowed, then backed away.

  My throat ached with sorrow. Across the pallet, Solly’s face was rigid with grief. He raised a fist to his chest in a warrior’s salute. Tozay sighed and began a soft prayer for the dying.

  “Do something,” Dela said.

  It was part plea, part accusation. I thought she was talking to the herbalist, but when I looked up she was staring at me.

  “Do something,” she repeated.

  “What can I do? There is nothing I can do.”

  “You healed yourself. You healed Ido. Now heal Ryko.”

  I glanced around the ring of tense faces, feeling the press of their hope. “But that was at the moment of union. I don’t know if I can do it again.”

  “Try.” Dela’s hands clenched into fists. “Just try. Please. He’s going to die.”

  She held my gaze, as though looking away would release me from her desperation.

  Could I save Ryko? I had assumed that Ido and I were healed by the extra power of first union between dragon and Dragoneye. Perhaps that was not true. Perhaps the Mirror Dragon and I could always heal. But I could not yet direct my dragon’s power. If we joined and tried to heal Ryko, we could fail. Or we could be ripped apart by the sorrow of the ten bereft dragons.

  “Eona!” Dela’s anguish snapped me out of my turmoil. “Do something. Please!”

  Each of Ryko’s labored breaths held a rattling catch.

  “I can’t,” I whispered.

  Who was I to play with life and death like a god? I had no knowledge. No training. I was barely a Dragoneye.

  Even so, I was Ryko’s only chance.

  “He is dying because of you,” Dela said. “You owe him your life and your power. Don’t fail him again.”

  Hard words, but they were true. Although I had lied to Ryko and betrayed his trust, he had still guarded my back. He had fought and suffered for the hope of my power. Yet what was the good of protecting such power if I did not have the courage to use it?

  I gathered my skirt and kneeled beside the pallet, instinctively seeking more contact with the earth and the energy within it.

  “I don’t know what will happen,” I said. “Everyone must stand back.”

  The herbalist hurriedly joined the Beseecher in the far corner of the room. Tozay ushered his daughter and Solly away from the bed, then turned back for Dela, but she ignored his outstretched hand.

  “I’m staying.” She saw the argument in my eyes and shook her head. “I will not leave him.”

  “Then don’t touch him while I am calling my dragon.” The first time I had called the Mirror Dragon, the wild surge of power had ripped through Lord Ido as his body locked mine against the harem wall.

  Dela released Ryko’s hand and sat back.

  Perhaps the key to this healing magic was to touch Ryko, just as Ido had been touching me when the dragon and I had forced compassion into his stunted spirit. Gingerly, I placed my palm on the wasted muscle of Ryko’s chest, above his heart. His skin was hot, and his heartbeat as fast and light as a captured bird’s.

  Taking a deep breath, I drew on my Hua, using the pulsing life force to focus my mind-sight into the energy world. There was a sudden shift in my vision, as though I had lurched forward. The room shimmered into the landscape of power that only a Dragoneye could see, swirling in intricate patterns of rainbow colors. Silvery Hua pumped through the transparent energy bodies of my friends and around the room, the flow irresistibly drawn east to the huge power presence of the red Mirror Dragon, and returning in abundance from the great beast. Over my left shoulder I caught sight of the coiled form of the Rat Dragon in the north-northwest. His energy was sluggish and thin.

  There were still no other dragons in the celestial circle. Were they waiting for another chance to rush to their queen?

  Grimly, I pushed away that fear and opened my inner pathways to the Mirror Dragon, calling out our shared name. She answered with a flood of energy, and the sweet spice of her greeting filled my senses until I could no longer contain my delight. A joyous laugh broke from me.

  Across the bed, the transparent figure of Dela straightened. The power center at the base of her spine flared red with anger, the emotion igniting the other six centers that lay in line from sacrum to crown. I could see it as though she was made of glass; each spinning colored ball of energy stoking the next, bright with misunderstanding.

  Although I stifled my joy, I did not stop to reassure Dela; the ten bereft dragons could return at any moment. I gave myself over to the Mirror Dragon’s power, and was swept into a dizzying gold spiral. For a moment, all was bright, rhythmic color and a single pure note — the song of my dragon — then my vision split between earth and heaven.

  Through dragon eyes high above, I saw the fading life force of Ryko, the light within each power center guttering like a spent candle. From my earthbound body, I saw my own transparent hand, flowing with golden Hua, touching Ryko’s chest above his pale green heart point. Just like I had touched Ido. I focused all of my being into one thought: Heal.

  Then I was more than a dragon conduit.

  We were Hua.

  As one, we understood the massive physical injuries that were too heavy for the weakened life force. There was not much time; Ryko was near the spirit world. Our power sought the delicate pattern of life that repeated in tiny twists of complexity. We sang to them, a silent harmony of healing that wove golden threads of energy into each intricate braid, quickening the cycle of repair. We drew power from the earth, from the air, channeling it all into his body, knitting together damaged flesh and sinew, broken bone and spirit.

  “Holy gods,” the herbalist gasped from the corner of the room. “Look, his wounds are closing.”

  His words penetrated the song, breaking my concentration. The lapse shivered through my connection with the Mirror Dragon. I felt my mind-sight waver, my vision narrowing back into the limits of my earthly body. The flow of Hua faltered.

  Ryko wasn’t healed yet; there was still so much to do.

  I groped for a hold on the energy world, the thread of the song slipping from my clumsy grasp. I knew only one dragon command; the call of union. I screamed it out—Eona. Within the roar of my despair, I heard her song sharpen and hook my flailing focus, drawing me back into the golden melding
of our Hua.

  Even as our joy rang out once more, an influx of sour energy buffeted our union. The ten dragons. We braced against their heavy pressure, caught between Ryko’s desperate need and their hammering power.

  If the song broke again, Ryko would die.

  We sang his healing, barely withstanding the savage energy that clawed at our connection. Around us, the ten bereft dragons shimmered into pale, howling outlines.

  The Rat Dragon suddenly reared from his corner, his tense pain replaced by sinuous speed. He rammed the opaque Ox Dragon beside him, then launched above us, sweeping in a circle that drove back the other advancing dragons. Deep inside we felt another voice, screaming with effort.

  Lord Ido.

  We recoiled from the acrid orange taste of his power, but this time he was not seeking control. He was defending us.

  The Rat Dragon reared again and met the wild energy of the ten bereft dragons. The roof of the fisher house exploded, raining wooden shingles and dust into the room. A beam plunged to the floor, crushing the Beseecher. The silvery flow of his Hua flickered and was gone.

  “Get out,” Tozay bellowed, dragging Vida toward the door. The herbalist scrambled up from the dead holy man and ran after them.

  Dela threw herself over Ryko, shielding him from the falling wreckage. Chunks of wood showered my earthly body, but there was no pain. Tozay pushed Vida into Solly’s arms.

  “Get away from the buildings,” he yelled, then turned back to Dela.

  With the roof gone, we were suddenly beyond the room in a dizzying embrace of dark sky. Through dragon eyes we saw the bright figures of Vida, Solly, and the herbalist clear the house and run for the village road. We rolled through the black thundering clouds, feeling brutal power slamming into us. Our claws connected, ripping and throwing dragon bodies. Beside us, the Rat Dragon blocked the Snake Dragon, the clash of Hua shearing off the edge of a cliff far below.

  Focus. It was Lord Ido’s mind-voice, piercing the frenzy. Block!