Eona (65 page)

“Ido?” His voice was just a wisp of wet breath.

“Dead.”

“Good.”

I cupped his cheek, the pain of my broken bones and scorched skin suddenly sharp and full. “I have no power to heal.”

He tried to lift his hand, but got no farther than a shift of his wrist. “Did right,” he whispered. I slid my hand under his curled fingers, the slack weight bringing a sob into my throat. He swallowed, gathering moisture to make the words. “The dragons?”

“They have their power. They are renewing.”

The corners of his beautiful mouth lifted. “Let me see.”

Around us, the flames from the circle of pearls were like a curtain of leaping gold and red, the shapes of the dragons glimpsed behind it. Carefully, I settled Kygo's head onto my lap, the pain of the shift shivering through his body. The knife hilt still protruded from his back. Dark blood seeped from the sucking wound, the gloss of it catching the flicker of the gold fire. I carefully pressed my thumb and finger around the wound, trying to stop the leak of his precious breath.

The Mirror Dragon lifted her head and sang—a long rising scale that called beyond the earthly plane. The sound was like kindling to the gold flames. Every pearl flared up into high, bright heat. One by one, the male dragons moved forward and stepped into the fire of their pearls. A scorching wind rolled off the fierce combustion, the intense blaze snapping and roaring around the old beasts. The charred smell of dragon death was thick and harsh in my aching throat as each one of their huge bodies was reduced to ash. Finally, only the Mirror Dragon stood behind her pearl. She turned her head toward me, her gold and bronze flecked mane already ablaze as she stepped into the fire of her rebirth. I moaned as the flames overwhelmed her, drying the tears in my eyes into stinging salt.

The circle of fire exploded upward into bright embers that swirled and danced in multicolored streams. The huge dragon pearls cracked and split.

My breath caught as shapes emerged within the flames: curled horns, long, elegant muzzles and muscled legs, talons that sparked with the hard color of precious stones. The new Horse Dragon emerged first from his flaming pearl—bigger than the old beast, his magnificent orange scales steaming with heat, pale watersilk wings flicking out into a tentative stretch. He shook himself, his soft ocher beard shifting to show the gleam of the apricot pearl beneath his chin. The neverending cycle. As he launched himself up into the dark clouds, the flames of his pearl guttered and died. I craned my head back to watch his flight; a wide circle around the plain, his big body sleek and supple in the air. With a loud, triumphant call, he disappeared into the celestial plane.

“The land will be well,” Kygo whispered.

We watched as, one by one, the male dragons were reborn.

New wings stretching, tongues tasting the air, the huff and blow of spicy breath, and the first flights that circled above us, ending in the long call of triumph and return to the celestial plane.

Only one flaming pearl remained. I held my breath as it split and fell apart, the leap of gold flames around it tinged with crimson.

Her horns emerged first, curled and tapered over her broad forehead, the fall of gold mane shifting in the fire-wind of rebirth. She rose out of the dying flames of her egg, her massive body gleaming with red scales that graduated from rose-blush around her eyes to a deep crimson across her muscular shoulders and legs. She lifted her flared muzzle and sniffed the air, the new pearl nestled under her chin a paler gold than the one before. Silk-thin wings spread and flapped once, then folded back against the long sinuous curve of her scarlet spine. She opened a curl of ruby claws, and I saw a tiny, luminous orb cupped within; the Imperial Pearl, reborn with the dragons. The ruby talons closed over it. Lowering her head, she looked directly at me. I leaned forward, hoping to see recognition in her great spirit eyes. Their dark endlessness held the wisdom of the world, but they did not hold me.

She was not my Mirror Dragon.

The harsh truth hit me: I had lost my dragon. Without even realizing it, I had expected that our union would cross the bridge of her rebirth. But it had not.

I felt Kygo's body tense against mine, the wheeze of his breath hardening into a harsh rasp. I knew that sound: the death rattle. His agonized eyes were fixed on my face. No, I could not bear it. I could not lose him, too. I cradled his head in my arms, trying to anchor him to the earthly plane. Perhaps if I held him close enough, he would not walk the path to his ancestors.

“Kygo, do not go, “ I pleaded. “Do not go.”

Sudden screams lifted my head. The men who had taken refuge on the top steps were diving out of the way as the new Mirror Dragon's huge muzzle planed across the platform and stopped a length or so above my head, the heat of her breath carrying the unfamiliar spice of nutmeg. I stared past the razored fangs and looked up into her dark eyes, my heart pounding. Within the wise depths of her gaze, I saw something shift. An echo of an old bond. Slowly, she lowered her great chin and delicately nuzzled Kygo's chest. She drew in a breath and on its sweet nutmeg exhale, golden
Hua
flowed into his body.

She was healing him.

I remembered Caido's wisdom and grabbed the knife hilt, yanking the blade from Kygo's body. The wound closed as the steel slid from his flesh, his cold skin warming under my touch. With a stuttering gasp, his breath settled into a deep, regular rhythm. Then I felt the soft touch of her muzzle brush against my head. Her power flowed into me: a glorious rush of joy and gratitude. The golden
Hua
pulled the bone of my snapped finger together, knitting it back into unity, and soothed my scorched skin into smooth ease. My own breath broke into a long hard sob.

I stretched up and stroked the ridged silk scales, hoping she understood my joy and gratitude, too. She crooned and pulled her head away. As she launched herself into the sky, Kygo's eyes opened. He spread his hand against his chest, pushing himself up onto an elbow.

“I can breathe,” he said. He reached over his shoulder, his fingertips sweeping the flat, unmarked muscle of his back. “I thought you could not heal?”

“I can't.” I pushed through the pang of loss. Kygo was alive and the dragons were free. It would be enough. “The Mirror Dragon healed you.”

He sat up. “But you held me here. I was so close to the garden of the gods, I could hear my father's voice.” He pressed his forehead to mine, dark eyes somber. “Then I heard your voice.” His head tilted until his mouth was only a warm breath from my own. “My
Naiso.”
The title softened against my lips into a kiss.

The triumphant call of the Mirror Dragon broke into the sweet moment. She was returning to the celestial plane. Kygo took my hand, and together we stood as the great dragon circled above the platform, her cries echoing around us. She arrowed her body upward, the dark ring of clouds breaking apart as her huge crimson body cut through them. With one last spiraling plunge she disappeared from the brightening sky.

Silence settled across the platform. Slowly, soldiers and resistance fighters clambered to their feet, their awe gathering them into a loose semicircle before us. Farther back, Dela helped Tozay to stand. Both alive. I sent a small prayer of thanks. And another prayer for Ryko—
May he walk in the garden of the gods
.

The semicircle parted as Dela led Tozay to us. Although the general's face was pale and drawn with pain, shrewd sense was back in his eyes.

“His Majesty is truly blessed by the gods and beloved of the dragons,” he said loudly as he and Dela limped through the ragged collection of men. “He and his
Naiso
have returned the Imperial Pearl to the spirit beasts and brought renewal and peace to our land.” Slowly he turned, eyeing the reverent men. “Bow before your true emperor. And bow before the last Dragoneye.”

One by one, the men on the platform knelt before us in low obeisance. With Dela's help, Tozay slowly lowered himself to his knees, his keen glance meeting Kygo's in silent strategy. The Contraire gracefully bowed beside him, a fleeting smile answering mine. She had lost so much, yet she still had the strength to smile.

Kygo straightened, his hand tightening around mine. “Rise,” he ordered the bowing men. “Balance has been restored to the heavens and earth, but we have work ahead of us to restore order to the empire.”

Balance in the heavens. Could I still see the dragons? On a deep breath I sought the pathways of my mind-sight, shifting into the familiar streaming colors and swirling
Hua
of the energy world. High above us, the Circle of Twelve was complete, all the dragons in their celestial domains. As if she recognized my presence, the new Mirror Dragon turned her huge crimson head toward me. I felt her curious spirit brush against mine, and within it was the soft cinnamon joy of a remembered bond.

A
uthor's
N
ote

The Empire of the Celestial Dragons is not a real country or culture. It is a fantasy world that was at first inspired by the history and cultures of China and Japan, but rapidly became a land of imagination with no claim to historical or cultural authenticity. Nevertheless, I did research many aspects of ancient and modern cultures, which I used as a springboard to create the empire and the dragons. If you are interested in the research road I traveled, I have detailed some of my favorite findings and listed some of the books I used on my Web site at
www.alisongoodman.com.au
.

A
cknowledgments

My sincere thanks to:

The fabulous four: my husband, Ron; my best friend and writing soul sister, Karen McKenzie; and Charmaine and Doug Goodman, my parents.

My wonderful agent, Jill Grinberg, and her associates.

The brilliant team at Penguin: Sharyn November, editorial director/senior editor extraordinaire; Tony Sahara, senior art director, who drew and designed both the beautiful
Eona
hardcover and
Eon
paperback cover; Jim Hoover, associate art director, who designed the very stylish interior; Janet Pascal, keen-eyed executive production editor; Abigail Powers, production editor; Gerard Mancini, associate publisher; Kim Wiley Luna, associate managing editor; Laurence Tucci, production director; and Andrea Crimi, assistant production manager.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Young and Jackson's Writing Group: Karen, Judy, Jane, Steven, Christine, Janet, Paul, and Glynis.

The madcap and ever supportive Clan Destine group.

Antoni Jach and the Masterclass, and in particular Dr. Leah Kaminsky for her medical expertise.

Simon Higgins for his sword training, battle and weaponry knowledge, and unfailing support.

Morgan Grant Buchanan for his tai chi expertise.

Pam Horsey, for waiting to read, and for her warm friendship and enthusiasm.

And of course, the sweet hound from hell, Xander.

In addition to
Eon
and
Eona
, ALISON GOODMAN is also the author of the acclaimed
Singing the Dogstar Blues
, which received the Aurealis Award and was named an ALA Best Book for Young Adults, and the adult crime thriller
Killing the Rabbit
.

Alison lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her husband, Ron, and their Machiavellian Jack Russell terrier, Xander. She was a D. J. O'Hearn Memorial Fellow at Melbourne University, holds a Master of Arts, and has taught creative writing at the postgraduate level.

Visit her Web site at
www.alisongoodman.com.au
.