Two gate officials stepped out from the small guardhouse. They were both of similar height and stiff bearing, but one wore
the white robes of mourning to symbolise the waning year, while the other was dressed in shimmering green for the New Year.
'The man in the New Year robes is one of Ido's supporters,' my master said softly. 'He will be a good gauge of how things stand in the Council.'
The officials bowed to Bellid and Dillon, who returned the courtesy. I could not hear the words passed between them, but Bellid gave a carved box to New Year. I glanced down at the casket on my master's knee. Inside was the traditional tribute for the old Dragoneye who was about to make way for his apprentice. Each Heuris paid for the honour of presenting his candidate, softening the blow of lost earnings for the departing lord. But this time there was no old Dragoneye — he had died many years ago, leaving his then-young apprentice, Ido, to serve the Rat Dragon. Who, then, would get the tributes? Lord Ido? I looked at my master's taut face. No wonder he looked pained.
New Year opened Bellid's offering and studied the contents. They must have been adequate for the box was closed and taken away by a guard. Bowing again, the two officials stepped back. Heuris Bellid and Dillon walked through the circular gateway to muted cheers from the crowd.
'Forwards,' my master ordered.
We moved into position in front of the Portal of the Twelve Heavenly Animals. I had always thought it was the most beautiful gate in the city — even more graceful than the huge Gate of Supreme Benevolence, the entrance to the Imperial Palace. The portal was a complete circle and the wood artist had carved the twelve dragon animals around it in order of the cycle of ascension: Rat, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Snake, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog and Pig. The Imperial engineers had set the huge carved circle on a system of pulleys and locks so that on the first day of the New Year, Ascension Day, it could be rotated one position, moving the new dragon of ascension to the top of the gateway. The Pig Dragon was still in supremacy, but as
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 wa
lk 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.
'Go on then, boy,' he said, his familiarity prompting a disapproving huff from Van.
I gritted my teeth as my hands closed around the grips again. A faint taste of metal, but no rage. Instead, there was another kind of power, lying in wait like that expectant stillness between breaths.
'Not so bad this time, hey?' the armsman asked.
'How did you know?' I whispered.
He smiled, his skin stretching white around the scar. A good sword is an extension of its master.'
Armsman, return to your post,' Van said, bristling at the breach of protocol. 'Candidate Eon, please come this way'
I wanted to ask the old man who had used the swords before me, but Van was herding me out of the small chamber. I tucked the blades, blunt edge up, under my arms and followed my master.
Outside, Heuris Kane and Baret were waiting to enter. Baret was leaning against the wall, his athletic body and smooth patrician face a study in arrogance. My master bowed, intent on passing, but was stopped by Kane's hand on his arm.
'Brannon,' Kane said, his voice low, 'I would speak with you.' I Ie flicked his fingers at Van who quickly moved away
'Yes, Heuris Kane?' my master said, his dislike plain in his stiff formality Baret smirked at me with his arms crossed, each half-hidden hand curled into a ward-evil.
'I have heard Eon will be using an ancient variation of the sequence today' Kane said, staring down at me until 1 shifted
under his gaze; he blinked too often and in a strange pattern of three.
My master inclined his head. 'You have heard correctly. It is a variation from the fourth Chronicle of Detra.'
A sly smile pursed Kane's thin lips. 'I am sure your records are impeccable on the matter.' His small eyes blinked rapidly, his gaze darting down to my bad leg. 'Of course, one wonders how changing the sequence that honours both the Emperor and the lost dragon will be received.'
'The Council has verified the precedent,' my master said quickly.
Kane waved a dismissive hand. 'So I have heard. But then, it is not the Council who has the final say in this matter, is it?' He bowed. 'I wish you and Eon good fortune.' He continued into the armoury
As Baret passed me, I heard him whisper, 'You don't have a chance, Eon-jah. You are as weak as a girl.'
He was inside the armoury before I made sense of his words. There was no true knowledge in the jeer, but it hit home, splitting my tight kernel of control. My world tipped and spun.
Van came hurrying towards us. He said something, but I heard no meaning in the sounds. I stared over at the row of kneeling boys. They were the real candidates; I was a girl, a cripple, an abomination. What was I doing? What madness was in my master? How could he think we would succeed? He was wrong — I could not do it. We had to stop. We had to get away Before we were discovered. Before we were killed.
I grasped at his robes, my sword tips tangling in the silk.
'Master, we must —'
His hand closed on my shoulder. Bone and sinew ground together, radiating agony.
'I will say goodbye now, Eon,' my master said, his voice an order. His thumb dug into the soft hollow of my shoulder, squeezing away breath and movement. 'Our fortunes lie with you now' He shook me slightly, his eyes locked on mine. 'Do you understand?'
I nodded. The edges of the room faded into a grey haze.
'Get in line.'
He pushed me away, the sudden release making me stagger. There was no choice. No going back. We had to see this through.
I made my way around the row of kneeling candidates. All of them with their eyes closed, praying to serve the Rat Dragon. I would pray for something different: a chance to escape. I placed my swords on the stone floor in front of my position. Number four: the number of death. Was it an omen? Clumsily, I settled onto my knees. The hard edge of the hidden coin dug into the back of my thigh, the pain joining the hot pulsing in my hip and shoulder. I felt my master's gaze still on me, but I did not look up. There was nothing in his face that I wanted to see.
CHAPTER 4
We knelt on the floor for two hours. For the first hour, I carefully tensed and relaxed my muscles from toes to scalp — a method my master had taught me to keep my body warm and flexible. By the second hour, the cold was overcoming my efforts, locking my joints. Even my fingers felt taut, as though the bitterness had driven heavy liquid into the knuckles. I made tight fists, and released, welcoming the sting of warmer blood.
To my right, Quon was shifting against his haunches, his face twisted into a grimace. On the other side, Lanell was working his hands like creeping caterpillars up and down the front of his thighs, bunching the silk.
Suddenly, at the top of the ramp, a ball of excited voices unravelled into a single, harsh shout.
'Get out of my way'
A group of officials burst out of the rampway and clustered into a grey barricade, halting the progress of a tall, solidly built man. An older official stepped forwards, his large ruby pin of rank catching the light. He bowed low.
'Lord Ido, no further! Please.'
What was Lord Ido doing here? It was against tradition for the ascending Dragoneye to have contact with the candidates. I had only ever seen him from afar playing his part in official ceremonies, his features smudged by distance. Now he was just lengths away. Along the row, the other candidates stirred, heads lifting at the disturbance.
I squinted, trying to distinguish more detail against the bright glare of the ramp opening. He wore his oiled black hair in the double queue of the Dragoneye, looped high into a knot at the crown of his head. I caught the planes of his face as he moved, broad strokes painted by light and shadow: a high scholar's brow, a long nose like the foreign devils the Emperor had allowed into the city, and a heavy jaw made pugnacious by a jutting dark beard. But it was the menacing power in his body that made the officials scatter before him. Lord Ido did not move like a Dragoneye. He moved like a warrior.
He swept a way through the officials, using his forearm to knock the slighter men aside.
Every move was decisive, with none of the careful conservation of energy that marked the other Dragoneyes. Although he wore the traditional robes of the Ascendant, they did not obscure the line of his body; the cutaway coat of deep blue silk — the costly fabric barely discernible beneath heavy gold embroidery — showed the breadth of his should
ers and chest, and the pale blue trousers, cross-bound from ankle to knee, accentuated the muscular shape of his legs. I dropped my gaze to the ground.
'Move,' he ordered. 'I will see the candidates.'
I straightened, and knew that all along the row every candidate filled his chest and lengthened his spine as Lord Ido approached.
The old official scurried ahead of him. 'Lord Ido,' he announced to us, trying to wrest back some protocol.
Beside me, Quon hurriedly dropped into a deep bow. I followed, holding myself a finger-length above my swords,
wide eyes reflected in one polished blade, bloodless lips in the other.
'Greetings, Lord Ido,' we chanted.
'Sit back,' he said. 'Show me your faces.'
Obediently we all rose from our bows, eyes properly lowered.
His feet, in gold-painted shoes, passed by me. I chanced a quick look up at him, expecting to see his back. Instead, our gazes met, and I saw the strange pale amber of his eyes.
'Who are you, boy?'
'Eon, lord.'
He studied me for a moment. It was like being staked out, naked and helpless, under the burn of the sun.
'Brannon's cripple,' he finally said. 'Be ashamed. You rob an able-bodied boy of his chance.'
I heard the intake of breath along the line of candidates, but my own air was gone — knocked out of me like a blow to the stomach. Even if I was to win the attention of the Rat Dragon, Lord Ido would never accept me as his apprentice. I shrank back, curling into a smaller target, but he was done with me. Slowly he paced along the row until he stopped in front of Baret in tenth position.
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