Alison Goodman - Eon - Dragoneye Reborn

The beast closed his eyes and called, the resonating cry holding a lonely question.

Dillon threw back his head, the soft round of his child face suddenly lengthening into sharper lines. 'Yes, I hear you,' he yelled as if answering the dragon's call. 'I am Dillon. I hear you.'

The beast shrieked again, this time in triumph, the climbing descant piercing the crowd's roar.

I was pushed sideways as Lord Ido brushed past me. 'Get back,' he ordered, jerking his head to the other candidates clustered beside the mirror. 'You're in the way'

He strode across the sand and stopped in front of the dragon and boy locked in their union. I picked up my swords and backed away although each step felt like I was tearing something in me. Lord Ido bowed low to the dragon. Then, bracing his feet in the sand, he pulled Dillon away from the pearl. Silver power crackled through the boy into the man, snapping the Dragoneye's head back. The beast's howl mingled with Dillon's scream of loss. Then the dragon winked out of sight as Lord Ido caught Dillon's limp body, holding him up to face the audience. I looked back at the mirror. The Rat Dragon was gone.

Lord Ido motioned to the Imperial herald. They ran over and formed the octagon, their gong drawing the crowd's attention.

'Witness the choice,' the herald called. 'Witness Dillon, the new Rat Dragoneye apprentice.'

As one, the crowd came to their feet chanting 'Dillon'.

He stirred and turned his face towards their exultation, his own joy giving him the strength to stand. His bones were stark, as though he had aged five years. Lord Ido held up Dillon's hand in his own, circling with his new apprentice in victorious acknowledgement.

In that moment, hate flared through me like a sudden fever, burning everything soft in its path. The swords in my hands stirred with it, answering the fire. And then, just as fast, the hate froze into a vast emptiness that ached through me. I looked across at Quon and Lanell and saw the same dark desolation on their faces.

We had failed.

I had failed.

Quon started to sob, the crowd's cheers drowning the sound.

A hand gripped my shoulder.

'Eon, come this way' a voice said close to my ear. Van, his thin face soft with sympathy.

The rest of the candidates were being ushered around the edge of the arena by officials. I looked back at Dillon. Why was he chosen? The Rat Dragon had come to me first. Why had the beast turned away? Perhaps it had always been true: no dragon would choose a cripple.

My master had gambled and lost. I looked up into the stands. He was not hard to find — the only figure left sitting in the Heuris seats. Alone and unmoving. Part of me wanted to run now, out of the arena and away from his despair. Away from his fists and lingering touches. I felt for the weight of the hidden coin. It was still there, pulling at the hem. But even if I tried to flee, I would not get far. I could barely push through my exhaustion to stay upright, let alone run.

I slowly followed Van across the sand to where the other failed candidates waited. They were all silently watching the flurry of activity around Dillon: the herald urging the crowd to louder cheers, two columns of musicians behind them playing a soaring triumphal. Another official pulled me into the straggling line of candidates. Quon lurched into me, his face tear-streaked and white with strain. We moved forwards. Ahead someone stumbled and was manhandled back into place. I heard a clipped command and felt Van move into step beside me, watching.

'Let me take your swords,' he finally said.

I had forgotten I was holding them, their weight just part of the terrible fatigue that dragged at me. It was an effort to hold the blades up to him, an even greater effort to release the grips.

'We're almost there,' Van said.

'Where?' I licked my lips. Were v/e going for water?

'You must bow to the Emperor.'

I looked at him, turning over his words for meaning. Bow. To the Emperor.

'Then water?'

He nodded. 'Not long now.'

We stopped back under the dark mirror where we had first waited. I looked up; the Emperor was watching the celebrations in the centre of the arena, he had no interest in us. A distracted official pushed Hannon forwards, motioning for him to bow. Hannon dropped to his knees, his swords held in a wavering salute. For a moment, I didn't think he was going to make it back up, but he finally pushed himself onto his feet and was ushered to the other side of the mirror. Callan followed, his bow slow but correct. Quon had to be led to the mirror and eased down onto the sand. I saw his bleak face as he was hauled back to his feet; if a person could die of disappointment, Quon would soon be with his ancestors.

It was my turn. Van handed me my swords.

'Do you need my help?' he asked.

I squeezed the grips and felt a sluggish surge of the ancient energy — enough to get me to the mirror. I shook my head and started to pick my way across the churned sand.

The centre of the dark glass held the greenish sheen of a black pearl. My master had once worn such a gem, before he sold it for food. But there were no more gems to sell — only crippled bond servants. I stood and stared into the mirror for a moment, gathering the effort needed to drop to my knees. The dense blackness was strangely soothing. I blinked, trying to clear a stab of brightness from my eyes.

A line of light suddenly flared at the top, burning downwards like a fuse. It split the glass, peeling back the darkness into a blinding radiance that pushed me off my feet. The swords spun out of my hands as I groped at the air. I hit the sand on my back, the impact shuddering through me and locking my breath. Above the mirror, I saw the Emperor's guards lean over with

their arms shielding their eyes. Had I done something wrong? I finally found air and sucked it in. Behind me, the sounds of the celebration had disintegrated into the clash of faltering instruments and screams.

Crackling energy sheared across my skin. Red flashed through the mirror, too large to have form. The ground shook as sand flew into the air and showered over the arena. Men were scattering — officials, audience, candidates — stumbling and falling in their panic. The reflection in front of me was filled with a landscape of rippling red and orange. I pushed myself up onto my feet, fighting t hrough a heavy press of power. The brilliant colours rushed past the glass in a river of fire, then suddenly stopped. I finally recognised the shapes: a graceful length of muzzle and the curve of a nostril. Twice the size of the Rat Dragon. Then I saw an eye, as large and round as a cartwheel, staring at me from the glass.

Another dragon.

A dragon I had never seen before.

The image moved again, a dizzying turn of red and yellow that ended in a reflection of two horns arching over a thick mane that shimmered with gold and bronze. The dragon filled the entire reflection, blotting out any sight of the arena. The air thickened with heat and I heard the slide of a huge weight behind me. On cither side of me, deep grooves appeared in the sand. Reaching out blindly, I brushed soft-ridged scales and snatched back my hand. The rich sweetness of cinnamon was on my tongue a moment before I felt hot breath on my hair. I looked at the mirror and saw myself standing between the beast's forelegs, a tiny red figure almost lost against the bright crimson of the deep chest. The broad muzzle was hanging above my head, the fang only a finger-tip away I spun around.

Curled over me was the real dragon. I could see him. The shift of the heavy muscles. The delicate pattern of scalloped scales. The sheen of the gold-tinged pearl held beneath his chin.

He ducked his head, bringing his eyes closer, the ancient gaze pulling me into light and dark, Sun and Moon, Lin and Gan. He was birth and death. He was Hua.