I saw him move, but I was caught between the armrests. The back of his hand cracked across my ear, slamming me into the edge of the carved wood.
“You wait until now to tell me?”
My head burned from ear to jaw. I hunched around the jabbing ache in my ribs, trying to move away from his hand. The punches hammered into my thigh, shoulder, back; jarring through my whole body.
“You have killed us,” he hissed.
“Armsmaster Hian said you would know if it was true.” I gasped. “Please . . .”
Through a blur of tears, I saw him lift his hand again. I shut my eyes and ducked my head. My body waited for the blow; my whole existence narrowed to the fall of his fist.
No blow.
No pain.
I opened my eyes.
He was not there. I scanned the room, holding my breath. He was at the far wall, reaching up to a shelf, his fingers feverishly flicking across the scroll boxes. I carefully uncurled and ran my fingers down my ribs, flinching as they hit the swollen heart of a bruise.
He pulled a box out of the stack. “The Chronicle of Detra. That should describe it.”
He shook the roll of priceless paper from the wooden container. The box clattered onto the floor. In a few strides he was at the desk, the whole scroll unfurled across its length. In front of me was row upon row of cramped calligraphy.
“What did Hian say, exactly?” he demanded.
“He said there was a precedent for replacing the Mirror Dragon Third with the Reverse Horse Dragon Second and that Ranne was wrong to have kept it from me.”
My master’s face darkened at the shift of blame.
“He also said you were one of the best history keepers and would know if it was so,” I added hurriedly.
He eyed me for a moment, then turned his attention back to the scroll. His index finger hovered above the words as he read. I stayed as still as I could, searching his pale, drawn face for the flame of discovery.
“The alternative form was in practice five hundred years ago, before we lost the Mirror Dragon,” he finally said. “It has not been used since.”
“Does that mean I cannot use it, Master?” I whispered.
He held up his hand. “Quiet.” He studied the scroll again. “I cannot see any prohibition on its use.” He shook his head. “No, there is no reversal of its standing. It has just not been used for five hundred years.” He looked across at me, a fierce light in his eyes. “This is a good omen. It must be a good omen.”
I straightened in the chair, the new bruises aching as they stretched. “I can already do the Horse Dragon Second, Master. All I need to do is practice the bridging forms,” I said.
“The way must be smoothed,” he muttered, rolling up the scroll. He pulled the bell cord. The door opened and Rilla appeared.
“Order a rickshaw—I must go to the council,” he said to her.
He turned back to me. “Go and practice. You know what is at stake.”
I crouched out of the chair into a low bow, unable to contain the smile on my face. The Reverse Horse Dragon Second was allowed. I still had a chance.
CHAPTER THREE
A TOUCH ON MY arm awoke me. I was sitting slumped against the wall next to my altar, my face pressed against the cold stone. I focused on the slim figure squatting beside me in the dim light.
Rilla.
“The master will rise soon,” she said softly.
A spike of apprehension cleared my head. The red prayer candle in front of the death plaques had burned to a stump of wax, and the small offering bowl of fish and rice smelled of the hours gone by. I pushed myself upright, smoothing a crease in the sleeve of my ceremonial tunic.
“I shouldn’t have slept.”
Rilla touched my tightly clubbed hair. “Don’t worry. No one saw you.” She stood, stifling a yawn. “The dawn bell will ring soon. Be quick if you wish to say good-bye to Chart.”
I nodded, massaging the chill from my face and neck. My master had made the smallest of the stone storerooms at the back of the house into a dormitory for his candidates. In these summer months it was a sanctuary of cool air, but it was a bitter cell in winter. I looked around the cramped room that had been home for four years: my bed, still in its roll against the wall; an old clothespress; the writing rest where I had knelt for such long hours and studied; and a squat earthenware brazier topped by a pot I’d found on the rubbish pile. Such luxury compared to the salt farm. Was this the last time I would see it all? Or would I be back?
“I’ll send one of the girls to tell you when the master is dressed,” Rilla said, pushing open the shutters that covered the narrow window.
“Thank you, Rilla.”
She paused at the door. “Chart and I have been praying for your success, Eon. But know also, we will miss you.”
For a moment, her eyes met mine and I saw fear and worry in the sharpened lines of her face. Then she smiled and left. If I failed today, would my master sell Rilla and Chart? Their service bonds were not even half paid; Chart had shown me Rilla’s reckoning stick hidden behind a loose brick in the kitchen.
I crossed over to the brazier, my movement releasing the rich smell of the cleansing herbs on my skin. And me? If I failed, would I be returned to the salt farm? The memory of working in the choking dust made me cough and gag. I pressed my hands against my chest, feeling for the flow of Hua, the life force. All I could feel was the fine silk of the ceremonial tunic and the unyielding flatness of my tight breast band. My master had taught me the basics of tracing my Hua through the seven points of power, but it was a technique that took a lifetime to control. I turned my mind’s eye inward, groping along the meridians. Finally, I located the blockage: in the base of my spine, the seat of fear. I breathed slowly until the rigid knot softened.