Alison Goodman - Eon - Dragoneye Reborn

soon as the Rat Dragon chose his new apprentice, the two gate officials would turn the circle to indicate the beginning of the New Year. And the start of a new twelve-year cycle. A most auspicious day Nearby, one of the hawker stalls was already baking cinnamon moon-cakes for the first-day celebrations, the smell creating a phantom mouthful of buttery spice on my tongue. My stomach tightened. I should have eaten the bread.

The bearers lowered our palanquin smoothly onto the lift stones. I quickly climbed out of the cabin, glad to be on the ground again, and handed my master down.

'Wait for my summons after the ceremony' he said, dismissing the team.

Old Year and New Year bowed to us in perfect unison.

'Do you bring one of the twelve who seek to serve the Rat Dragon?' New Year said. His eyes flicked over to me, the glance stinging with hostility. Behind us, the murmuring crowd quietened. I felt as though a thousand disapproving eyes were upon me. A Dragoneye was their only way to buy themselves some good fortune; why was a boy of such obvious ill fortune offering himself as a candidate?

My master and I bowed.

'I, Heuris Brannon, bring one who seeks to serve the Rat Dragon,' my master said.

'Then present your tribute to the Dragoneye who has served. Who now makes way for the new Dragoneye and the new apprentice,' Old Year said. At least his gaze was neutral.

My master opened the lid of the inlaid box. A heavy gold amulet, worked in the shape of a coiled dragon, lay on smooth black velvet. I sucked in a breath. It had to be worth a fortune; enough to keep the household for months. How did my master manage such a gift? He stared at it for a moment then straightened his shoulders.

'I present this tribute to the Dragoneye who makes way for the new; may his strength be restored and his life be long.'

He passed the box to New Year, who shot a strange, challenging look at his colleague. Old Year frowned and shook his head slightly.

New Year snapped the box shut. 'It is acceptable,' he said curtly, passing it to the guard. 'Go through.'

The two officials bowed and stepped back.

'Thank you,' my master said drily.

We walked slowly through the gate and into a long dim passageway Behind us, a huge cheer erupted. For me? I looked back, my heart lifting with the sound. But the gate officials were greeting Heuris Kane and Baret, the crowd favourite. No cheers, then, for the cripple.

Another of Ido's minions,' my master said, following my gaze to Kane. 'But do not fret, Eon.

Ido may be able to bully and buy a following, but even he cannot influence a dragon. And it would seem that his supporters are not inclined to stand against the Council. At least for now.

We shall see what happens when he ascends.'

The passageway sloped downwards, the stone walls chilling the air. Although I wore thin silk, an oily sweat was collecting under my arms and around the waistband of my trousers. My heat had raised the smell of the cleansing herbs again and I longed to scrub off the relentless perfume. Ahead, a half circle of light flickered with passing figures.

We walked out of the cool tunnel into a long chamber lit by lamps fixed along the walls. The smell of sweat and burning sesame oil cloyed the air, and a tense silence amplified the shuffling footsteps of grey-robed officials as they crossed the stone floor. At the far end of the room, the other candidates were kneeling in meditation, their ceremonial swords laid out in front of them, tip to hilt. Three gaps had been left in the row — spaces for Dillon, Baret and me. In the ballot to determine order of appearance, Swordmaster Ranne had drawn me fourth position — an ill number, and probably not drawn by chance. All of the kneeling candidates had their eyes closed, the yellowish light making their faces look like casts of death wax. I shivered, turning to the comfort of the natural light that filtered down a wide ramp in front of me. The way to the bright sands of the arena.

A thin young man, wearing a red feather pinned to his grey robes, stepped up to us. He swept a curious glance over me before bowing low

'Heuris Brannon, Candidate Eon. I am Van, sixth-level official to the Council,' he said softly.

'I am here to assist you today Please come this way to collect your ceremonial swords.'

I swallowed, trying to dredge up some wet in my mouth. I did not want to hold those swords again. A week ago, Ranne had taken us all to the huge armoury of the Council's treasury to be fitted with the precious weapons kept just for ceremonial use. I was the last to be measured and the old armsman, a scar puckering one side of his face from mouth to jowl, took a long time to find the right swords for me. He had stolidly ignored the sighs and shiftings of Ranne and the other candidates, making me hold pair after pair of extravagantly jewelled swords tip down, judging their length and weight against my lopsided body Finally, he frowned into the dim depths of the armoury then disappeared for a few minutes, bringing back a plainer pair of swords. The two hand guards were decorated by a simple ring of alternating moonstones and jade, each translucent gem set in a silver moon crescent.

'Powerful luck-bringers,' he said, brushing a thick thumb over the stones. 'These two haven't been used for a long time — too short and light for most. But they'll do you fine.'

He held them out and I closed my hands around the leather-bound grips. A roiling anger surged through me, blinding me with bursting lights, flooding my mouth with a sour metallic taste. It was a vicious rage, powerful, cold and, at its centre, very, very frightened. Or was that me? Startled, I let go. The swords clattered onto the marble floor.

'Idiot,' Ranne roared, starting towards me with his fist raised.

Calmly, the armsman stepped between us. 'No harm done, Swordmaster. No harm done,' he said, scooping up the swords. He turned a thoughtful gaze on me as he deftly racked them in a large wooden stand. 'They must have very old energy,' he said cryptically.

I opened my mouth to say I didn't want them, but he had already bowed and retreated into the shadows of his domain.

Afterwards, on the walk back to the school, I wondered who could have put such violent feeling into the steel of swords. It was part of the Dragoneye art to imbue physical items with the capacity to absorb or deflect energy Some items absorbed the good energy that surrounded us — the Lin Hua — and some deflected the bad energy — the Gan Hua — so that the flow of good fortune could be enhanced and directed. But I had never heard of rage being woven into the fabric of a thing. It must have been done by a powerful Dragoneye. Or perhaps it was done by accident. However it had happened, I was reluctant to touch the swords again.

I followed my master and Van to an arched doorway set near the ramp. The squat figure of Heuris Bellid blocked the threshold for a moment then moved awkwardly into the main chamber. Dillon trailed behind him holding two large swords. Bluish circles ringed his eyes, and his face was stark with the pallor of hunger. Did I look as strained? I certainly felt as though a touch would snap me like a winter-dead branch.

'Is it true? You're not doing the Mirror Dragon?' he asked as we passed each other.

I nodded and saw something flicker across his pinched face.

Relief.

I stared after him, a dry ache closing my throat; the relief was not for me, it was for himself. I was no longer a real rival for the Rat Dragon's attentions.

I could not blame him. Fear made misers of us all.

The arena armoury was a small cave-like room dominated by a wooden stand built for twenty-four swords, the rests cushioned with fine leather. Only two pairs were still racked — mine and Baret's. The old armsman standing beside it was the same who had fitted me. He promptly slid out my swords and held the hilts up to me.