Eona: The Last Dragoneye

CHAPTER TWO

MY WHOLE BODY JERKED, forcing my eyes open. A white blur sharpened into the arch of a cotton canopy, sunshine flaring through its tied-down edges. I squinted against the light and the nagging pain in my temple. Another jolt rocked me and intensified the midsummer smell of straw. I was lying on a pallet, in an enclosed traveling cart. Gingerly, I raised my head and peered through an ill-fitting wood joint at the moving landscape. Terraced rice fields, the yellowing harvest flattened under high water.

“My lady?”

Ryko rose from somewhere near my feet, swaying as the cart hit a rut. For a moment, I was still in the fisher house, my hand on his laboring heart, then the memory shifted and I was back in the cart with Ryko before me. Alive and smiling. Awe caught my breath: we had saved him, the Mirror Dragon and I. But was he fully healed? Even as I opened my mouth to ask, a dizzying barrage of images swamped me: the golden song, the ten bereft dragons, the battle.

Lord Ido.

“He was in my mind again!” My voice was a dry croak. I struggled up on my elbows. “Ido was in my mind!”

And Dillon, too, for a moment. I was sure of it, although the image of him was not clear. I could still feel his terror.

Ryko moved toward me. He was favoring his right side. “What do you mean, my lady?”

“Ido drove back the other dragons.” An echo of our mind union shuddered through me, doubling the pain in my head. So much power.

“Lord Ido was not in the village, my lady.”

“No, he was in my mind again.” Ryko winced as I clutched his arm. “He was in my mind. I had to let him. Do you see? I had to let him or we would have died or—”

“What do you mean, in your mind?” Ryko pulled away, the sudden distrust in his voice silencing me. “Surely Ido is dead.”

“No.” I closed my eyes, once again feeling the weight of iron shackles and the raw agony of flogged skin. “Sethon holds him prisoner. I saw through his eyes. I think he’s dying.” I felt a small surge of pity.

Ryko grunted. “A just end.”

“Only if he could die twenty times over,” I said quickly. Ido did not deserve my pity.

I sat up into a wave of dizziness and flung out a hand, finding an anchor against the wooden side-panel.

“Ryko, is she awake? Is she all right?” It was Dela’s voice, calling from outside the cart.

A large front hatch slid open to show the laboring rumps of two harnessed oxen. A familiar figure was walking alongside, guiding the beasts: Solly, his bulbous features made even more grotesque by scabbed cuts and grazes. He smiled and bowed, then Dela leaned in and blocked my view. She was no longer disguised as a fisherman. Instead, she wore the black cap and blue high-collared robe of a successful merchant.

“Are you all right, Eona?” She scanned my face. “We thought you would never come back to your senses. How do you feel?”

I licked my lips, suddenly aware of the dry need in my body. “Thirsty. And sick,” I said. “My head hurts. How long has it been?”

She glanced at Ryko, the moment heavy with warning. “Two days,” she said.

“Two days?” I searched their faces. “Truly?”

They both nodded, but neither volunteered more, their uneasy silence broken only by the creaking cart and Solly’s voice urging the oxen onward. Ryko held out a ceramic water flask, his face set into harsh lines.

I unplugged the vessel and sipped. The cool water soothed my throat, but my stomach churned at the tiny amount of liquid. I had not felt this ill since the imperial banquet, a lifetime ago.

I handed back the flask, fighting the urge to vomit. “Someone is going to have to tell me what happened.”

“Do you not remember?” Dela eyed me anxiously. “You were healing Ryko — and then everything exploded. Huge rains and winds ripped apart the whole house. The whole cliff.”

“And the village,” Ryko said tightly.

Dela glared at him.

“She has to know,” he said.

Foreboding settled in my chest. “Know what? Tell me, now!”

Ryko straightened, meeting my order. “Thirty-six villagers were killed. Nearly eighty were hurt.” He bowed his head. “To save me.”

My throat was dry again. “Thirty-six?”

So many people dead because I could not control my power. Because I had recklessly called my dragon, although I knew I did not have the skill.

“May the gods forgive me,” I whispered. Yet even if they did, how could I forgive myself?

Ryko made an awkward bow, lurching with the cart’s motion. “My lady, do not be uneasy. It is true you healed me at great cost, but the fault is not yours. The gods will know those lives were not taken by you.” He turned to Dela. “It was Ido. He invaded my lady’s mind while she was healing me.”

Dela gasped. “Ido caused all that destruction? Was he after your power again?”

I hesitated. How easy it would be to blame all those deaths on Ido and slip out from under the heavy yoke of guilt. But I could not lie to my friends again, or to myself. If there was one thing I had learned from the last few weeks, it was that such lies could be deadly.

“No,” I said. “Ido saved us all. When I tried to heal Ryko, I was nearly torn apart by the ten bereft dragons.”

They both looked at me blankly.

“It is what I call the beasts of the slain Dragoneyes. I think they are trying to unite with their queen, although I do not know why. Lord Ido and his dragon forced them back.”

Ryko’s eyes narrowed. “That does not sound like Ido. His every breath is governed by self-interest. If what you say is true, he must have some dark reason for helping you.”

I let the jibe at my truthfulness pass — Ryko had every right to mistrust me. He had been the most devastated by my lies. Although in my defense, the biggest lie — my male masquerade — had been forced upon me by my master. Perhaps one day Ryko would forgive me. For now, I would shoulder his disillusion.

“All I know is that he drove away the ten dragons, and without him we would not have survived.”

“Where is Ido?” Dela asked. “I don’t understand. How could he drive away—”

“Begging your pardon.” It was Solly’s gruff voice.

The cart bounced — another weight climbing aboard — then the resistance fighter peered in beside Lady Dela.

“Ryko, there’s a troop of soldiers coming up behind,” he said with urgency. “Looks like a mountain patrol. They’ve seen us, too. You haven’t got time to get out.” He gave a quick bow to me, then retreated from view.

Ryko frowned. “A troop so high up in the mountains? I hope His Majesty is secure.” He glanced across at me. “We go to retrieve the Pearl Emperor.”

For a moment, relief stole my breath. “He is alive, then?”

“As far as we know,” Dela said. “Ryko says there is a safe place just past the next village. If all has gone well, he should be there.”

She ducked away from the hatch. A worried nod on her return corroborated Solly’s report. “They are coming up very fast, Ryko,” she added. “You need to get into the box.” She grasped my shoulder. “You and I are husband and wife. I am taking you to the Moon Lady Waters for healing. Understand?”

“Does the army know we are in this area?” I asked.

“No, it’s probably just a regular scout party. We’ve got through all the checkpoints so far. Just remember you are my sick wife.” She shut the hatch.

Ryko had already lifted the edge of my straw pallet and was pulling up the planks of the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Hiding.” He lifted another plank and exposed a hidden compartment. “Sethon is looking for a boy lord, a Contraire, and an islander. You two can switch your identities, but I can’t get any smaller or change my skin.”

“Are you really going to fit in there?” It was a very small space with a carpet of straw dust and a long cloth bundle wedged to one side.

“Here, hold this,” he said, handing me the bundle.

As soon as I touched the rough cotton, I knew it held Kinra’s swords; their familiar jolt of anger seared through me, intensifying the pain in my head. The black pearls around my arm clicked, as if greeting the blades that had also once belonged to my Dragoneye ancestress. I burrowed my hand into the folds of the bundle, exposing the moonstone and jade studded hilts, and the top of a familiar leather pouch; my Dragoneye compass. Beside me, Ryko slid into the cart recess, contorting his big body to fit the shallow space. He held out his hands for the swords. I rewrapped the cloth and returned them, feeling the tug of their power. At least some of the Mirror Dragon treasures were safe. I felt for my waist pouch; the long, thin shapes within reassured me that my ancestors’ death plaques were also safe.

“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.

“I am going to be ill,” I said.

As I turned toward the flooded ditch, Vida’s iron grip pulled me around to face the lieutenant. There was no time to object. Doubling over, I retched out a thin stream of water and foul bile at his feet.

Haddo jumped back with disgust. I retched again, bringing up more of the bitter liquid.

“Please, sir, my mistress needs to lie down,” Vida said, the weight of her body edging me toward the man. In reflex, I pushed back. She dug her fingernails into my arm until pain and a sharp pinch bent me over again.

The lieutenant retreated another step, then looked up at his men in the cart. They were both smirking at his discomfort. “Well? Is it clear?”

The man holding the mattress let it drop. “Yes, sir.”

“Then get out of there and let this poor lady rest.”

The men climbed down and, with a salute, returned to the waiting troop.

As they walked out of earshot, Haddo said softly, “Do not be distressed, madam. My own wife had the same kind of sickness … afterward.” He gestured at my white robe. “We found good fortune at the Moon Lady Waters. I’m sure the gods will return your health, too, and favor you with another son.”

I summoned a weak smile.

“Since we are set in the same direction,” he continued, “you and your husband can travel with us to the next village. It will be safer and quicker.”

“That is very generous of you, Lieutenant Haddo,” I said, forcing gratitude into my voice. “But we would not wish to keep you from your duties.”

“My troop is crossing the mountain, anyway,” he said. “And I am sure the gods would want me to assist your pilgrimage. We should reach Laosang village before nightfall.” He bowed and walked away, no doubt to tell my husband of our good fortune.

Vida eyed me as I spat out the last of the bile.

“Next time, don’t fight me,” she murmured, guiding me to the cart.

I longed to shake off her hands, but I was too weak to climb back inside alone. And I had to admit her quick wits had saved the day, if not my dignity. Without missing a beat, she bent to one knee at the back of the cart, the other knee raised — a good maid offering her sick mistress a mounting-step. Although it was tempting, I did not take the opportunity to tread heavily. I crawled onto the pallet and heard Dela trying to reject Haddo’s offer. Every attempt was courteously turned aside; the man was intent on helping us. It seemed our clever ruse had become our trap.

“Well, I am very grateful, sir,” Dela finally said. We had no choice but to accept — blunt refusal would make the lieutenant suspicious. “It will be a relief to have your protection.”

Vida pulled down the back flap, the strain in her face a mirror of my own; every moment we spent in the company of these soldiers could mean discovery. And now we were traveling alongside them.

“Forward, then,” the lieutenant called.

Silhouettes moved along the canopy as the cart jerked into motion. The front hatch slid open and Dela leaned into the cart.

“Are you all right back there, wife?” Her voice was all consideration, but her eyes were fixed on Ryko’s hiding place.

“I will be glad to stop for the night, husband,” I answered.

Dela nodded. We all knew there was nothing we could do for the moment or, indeed, for as long as we were surrounded by Sethon’s men. Ryko would have to stay where he was until darkness gave us some cover to extract him.

Dela cast one more anxious look at the floor, then withdrew.

I rolled onto my side and carefully lifted the edge of the straw pallet, ignoring Vida’s soft hiss of protest. Pressing my cheek against the floor planks, I whispered, “Tonight,” just in case Ryko could hear me over the rumbling of the cart. It was unlikely, but I could not bear to think of him in that tiny space with no idea of what was happening or when he would be able to escape.

I fell onto my back as another rise of nausea soured my throat. Near my feet, Vida was stuffing the mess of food boxes and bedding back into the traveling baskets.

“Here,” she whispered, passing me a fresh flask of water. “You need to rest. Drink a little, but take it slowly or you’ll vomit again. It is like you have been hit hard on the head, and there is no remedy for that, except rest.”

“You knew I’d be sick out there?”

She shrugged.

No sympathy, but what did I expect? A tentative sip of water made my stomach churn. I replugged the flask and nodded my thanks, but Vida had already turned away. I was still the killer of her friends. I stared up at the cloth canopy, searching for thoughts that would not bring guilt or fear. It was a futile effort.

At first, I could only think of the soldiers around us, and Ryko trapped beneath me. Then came the ghosts of those I had killed. I tried to push away the stark image of the Beseecher crushed under the fisher house roof, but his lifeless face became every face in my mind: men swept away by roiling seas, women buried in their houses, children torn and bloodied.

I took a shuddering breath, hoping to clear my mind of such grim imaginings. Instead, I saw my dying master convulsing in my arms, Lord Tyron beheaded on the road like a traitor, and the terrifying moment when I knew Lord Ido had slaughtered the other ten Dragoneyes and their young apprentices. So much death, and most of it in the name of Ido’s ambition. Even the villagers had been killed by his power as much as mine.

Why did Ido save me? Ryko was right; Ido did nothing without some gain for himself. If he was still after my power, he could have had it at the fisher house; I had been defenseless. I shuddered, remembering the first time he had forced his way into my mind, during the King Monsoon test. He had not only taken over my power, but my body, too. Yet this time he did not try to take either. Perhaps Ido was truly a changed man. Still, I would not gamble on his transformation: darkness was woven too tight into his nature. It was more likely he was trying to force an obligation upon me — to save him from Sethon. Did he really think I would risk my life to rescue the man who had killed my master and the other Dragoneyes?

“Laon, take your team and fan out to the south.” It was Haddo’s voice, near the front of the cart. “Sen, your team goes north. Remember, there is no bonus if the young Dragoneye lord is hurt in any way. The emperor is not fussy about the others. Corpses will do.”

I heard Vida’s soft intake of breath. When I looked across, she was staring at the canopy, face drained of all color. Her eyes flicked to mine — a fleeting admission of fear — then she straightened her shoulders and continued stacking our belongings in the traveling baskets.

Beneath my sleeve, I stroked the folio with its rope of guardian pearls and sent a prayer to Kinra: Keep us safe. The gems shivered and clicked, but this time I found no comfort in their tight embrace.