Alison Goodman: Eona: The Last Dragoneye

“Help me put these planks back,” Ryko said. “And then the pallet over the top.”

“Will you be able to breathe?”

“Plenty of air.” With a tight smile, he patted my arm. “It will be all right.”

I fitted the planks over his tense face, my fingers clumsy with a sudden rush of fear. A twitch of the straw mattress had it back in place. As I eased myself on to it and rearranged my long white tunic into modest folds, it finally dawned on me what I was wearing — the mourning robe of an almost-mother, the tragedy compounded by the orange sash of an unborn son. I cupped either side of my head, feeling the twisted cloth of the headdress that hid my hair and proclaimed my grief as recent. Not many men would want to come close to such ill luck, let alone search its sickbed. A clever ruse. It also gave a good reason for traveling at such a dangerous time; it was said that a woman could wash away such bad fortune if she bathed before her next cycle in the Moon Lady Waters, a mountain lake special to the gods. Still, it made me uneasy to wear such sad clothing. I touched the red folio in my sleeve for luck, and was comforted by the gentle squeeze of the black pearls.

The cloth flap at the back of the cart lifted. I closed my eyes and tried to soften my quick breaths into the deeper rhythm of sleep.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice said.

I raised my head to see Vida hoisting herself up onto the slow-moving cart. Her usual tunic and loose trousers had been replaced by a housemaid’s gown. For all its modest coverage, the drape of the brown cloth and the artful binding of the sash served to emphasize her generous curves. She lowered the canvas flap and crawled toward me, her skirt snagging on one of the three large traveling baskets strapped against the side panel. She jerked at the garment, cursing under her breath.

“Let me help.” I struggled up onto my elbows. My vision clouded, the cart swirling around me. I fell back on to the pallet.

“Just leave it,” she snapped. Finally freeing the cloth, she closed the distance between us. “You look terrible, although I suppose it fits your disguise.” She took my hand, but there was no comfort in the gesture. “We’ve been stopped before and got through. All you need to do is keep your head. And if you can’t do that, just shut up and play dumb.” Although her words were harsh and tough, her hand was clammy and her grasp too tight.

I looked up at the girl — so closely connected to those who had died — and forced myself to ask the question: “Is your father all right?”

Vida nodded, but her face was cold. “He was not hurt.”

Relief made me smile; Master Tozay was alive. At least I had not killed or injured the leader of the resistance. “I’m so glad.”

Vida did not return my smile. “My father is well,” she continued softly, “but I lost my — I lost good friends among those who died.” Her grip tightened until I gasped. “I have seen your power, lady, and my father insists you are the key to our success. Even so, part of me did not want you to wake up.”

I tried to pull my hand away, but she did not let go. Over the sound of our cart’s progress came the jangling of armor and a harsh call for our halt.

Vida leaned closer. “So far you have done more harm than good. I hope you are worth all this pain.” She released my hand as the cart jerked to a stop.

“In the name of Emperor Sethon, show your pass,” a clipped voice commanded.

“I have it here,” Dela’s voice answered. Her usual light tone had deepened into masculinity.

Beside me, a soldier’s silhouette appeared on the cotton canopy like a stick-puppet in a shadow play. Dela’s angular profile dipped into sight and out again as she passed him a large octagonal token. A Blessed Pilgrim pass — hard to obtain and almost impossible to forge. For a few long seconds, the man studied it. Finally, he looked up and asked, “Where do you travel, merchant?”

“To the Moon Lady Waters. For my—”

“It is a bad time to be traveling. The roads are flooding and an earthshake has destroyed one pass across the mountain.”

“We trust in the gods—”

“How many in your party?”

“Myself, my wife, and our two bondservants.”

“No guards?”

“No, sir. We have a Blessed Pass and fly the official pilgrim banner. Surely we are safe.”

“There have been reports of bandits along this road attacking pilgrims.” The soldier handed back the token. “Have you seen any other travelers? A big islander, a boy, and a woman, perhaps? Or two men and a boy?”

It was as if all of the air had been sucked from the cart. They were searching for us; I had known it as reports and warnings carried to the fisher village, but now it was real. Now it was soldiers around us with orders to capture or kill. I clenched my shaking hands.

“No, sir,” Dela answered.

“Check the cart,” he ordered his men with a jerk of his head.

I pressed myself deeper into the straw and tried to relax my limbs into a listless sprawl. Beside me, Vida rearranged her fierce intensity into meek servitude. We glanced at one another, momentarily bonded by the threat.

The flap at the end of the cart lifted, and two men peered in with swords drawn. They scanned the cart, both of them skimming across my white clad figure to pause for a moment on Vida’s body.

“A woman and her maid, sir,” the older of the two reported.

Their officer appeared, and they both made way for him. He was younger than I expected, with a good-humored face dragged down by weary responsibility. Hanging from a length of leather around his throat was a red jade blood amulet. I had seen them before on ranked soldiers: a carved plea to Bross, God of War, for protection in battle. A blood amulet only worked if it was received as a gift, and one carved from red jade instead of the usual ox-stone would have cost a lot of money; someone wanted to keep this soldier alive.

He was staring at my white robe, a stricken look on his face.

“Sir?” one of his men prompted.

The officer’s eyes flickered, then focused on me.

“My apologies for intruding, madam,” he said gently. “Now I see why you journey at this time. I am Haddo, Lieutenant of the East Mountain Patrol.” He bowed. “You will understand that I must ask you to step down while we search your cart.”

Vida straightened. “Please, sir, my mistress is not well.” Her voice had taken on the soft lilt of service.

Haddo ignored her protest. “If you will step down, madam.”

“Of course.” I busied myself with gathering up my gown, trying to hide my trembling hands. Below me, I felt Ryko’s desperate presence like another pounding heart.

Vida hurriedly took my arm and pulled me upright. “Lean on me, mistress.” Her body was tense against mine.

Hunched under the canopy, we moved toward the lieutenant, our progress slow and awkward. It was not all an act — after two days of lying in the cart, I could hardly move. With every shaking step, my nausea increased.

Vida helped me down on to the roadside, softly fussing with the hem of my gown as we stepped around a puddle. When I turned to face the lieutenant, I finally saw the true extent of the threat. A troop of twenty men surrounded us: mainly foot soldiers with swords, but also a small number carrying deadly mechanical bows. There was no way we could we fight our way out. Vida’s grip tightened.

“Is my wife all right?” Dela called.

“Stay where you are!” Haddo ordered. He nodded to the two waiting soldiers. “Search it.”

They climbed into the cart. I could not watch — surely my face would be a map that led straight to Ryko — but I could not look away. The older man flipped open the traveling baskets, one after another, and dug through them, scattering food, clothing, and bedding. The other soldier lifted the thick straw mattress, sending up a swirl of dust. He speared it with his sword, once, twice. Then his attention turned to the floor. Beside me, Vida sucked in a tense breath. My stomach tightened into a rush of intent.