by Jeff Wheeler
Bridges led across a waterway dotted with chunks of floating ice. They walked to one of the bridges and crossed it, but as they approached the huge palace ahead, Bingmei felt a strong sense of uneasiness creep over her.
Dividing the two sets of stairs leading up to the palace was a marble slab with something engraved on it. As they drew near, she saw it bore a continuous design that stretched all the way up the ramp. The size and weight of the marble was staggering to the imagination, yet it had been held in place by some inhuman force. She had never seen anything like it before.
Her ill feeling grew stronger as they neared the base of the stairs. The cold stone was carved into an elaborate scene of mountains with jagged peaks and a depiction of the Death Wall on its crown. Clouds graced the sky, or perhaps the elegant lines engraved in the stone were meant to mimic the ceiling of ice that towered above them at that moment. Either way, she saw two distinct carvings within those lines—dragons, facing each other, one looming from above and the other crouching and looking up at the other dragon from below. An orb was nestled between their two heads. None of it made sense to her, but the beauty of the sculpture was breathtaking, as if it had been carved by the hand of some immortal.
“We are not bringing that slab back to Wangfujing,” Marenqo said with a grin as he folded his arms and shook his head.
“I don’t think anything human could lift it,” Kunmia said in awe. The image of the two entwining dragons was clearly the focus of the work. A shudder went down Bingmei’s back. She looked up and gazed around.
“I don’t think we should go up there,” she said.
Kunmia looked at her and then nodded. “I have a heavy, brooding feeling. Maybe we can go around the palace?” It was built on tall blocks of stone, making it higher than the gate they had just passed through, but the depth of the courtyard disguised its height.
Stone gargoyles sat along the rooftops to drain water away, but it was difficult to imagine the place being exposed to the real sky. The marbled surface of ice overhead felt surreal.
After rounding the corner, they saw yet another courtyard and another palace beyond, although the next one was set lower. The one they stood beneath seemed to be the apex.
The sword on Bingmei’s back began to vibrate. She felt the blade pushing her toward the next palace, as if it were trying to guide her.
“This way,” Bingmei said. As she walked, she felt the pressure against her back decrease. Why was the blade bringing them there? She couldn’t understand it, but she felt the beckoning sensation. More buildings lined each wall of the courtyard. It could take weeks to explore the entire grounds. Yet the whole place felt shockingly empty, void of life, void of any smells but their own. Still, she knew the Qiangdao leader was hidden somewhere within the enormous compound. She kept turning around, expecting to find him and some of his warriors trailing them. But each time she turned, there was only the vast empty space behind them.
The palaces all shared the same basic structure, the meiwood poles supporting the massive sloped roofs. The shingles of the roofs were all overlaid with metal and seemed to reflect the color of the icy sky. She realized with a start that she was no longer cold. The air felt comfortable and pleasant.
The next palace they approached did not give off a foreboding. Bingmei led the way up the steps. Several urns with lion’s-head handles waited for them at the top. Bingmei peered into one and saw that it contained water, not ice. Strangely drawn to it, she was about to scoop some up in her hand, but Kunmia caught her arm and shook her head no.
Bingmei didn’t know why she had nearly done it. It could have been poisoned, and besides, she wasn’t thirsty. The compulsion reminded her a little of how the Phoenix Blade affected her at times. She stuck her hands into her pockets.
These doors were decorated like the set they’d passed through at the elaborate gate, embedded with nine rows of nine knobs. As Bingmei approached them, they swung open. They stepped over the threshold, and she was struck with wonder at the decorations inside. Everywhere she looked, there were urns and vases, small statues of dragons and phoenixes and lions, of turtles and leopards and cranes. Each one had been made by a master craftsman. Bound and locked chests sat atop each other in haphazard stacks that formed haphazard rows.
But the thing that caught her attention next was the white marble tomb in the middle of the chamber. A man was carved onto the lid. Next to it lay another crypt with a woman carved onto the frieze. Bingmei stared at them in shock, taking in the cold beauty with which the artist had depicted their faces.
How long had these sepulchers been here? And what lay entombed within?
CHAPTER TWENTY
The Phoenix Rune
It was impossible to describe what was in Bingmei’s heart. The grandeur of the palace, the wonders they’d seen crossing the courtyards had all led to this moment, staring at the funeral sculptures of these ancient rulers. Husband and wife, side by side. A series of chills shot down her back.
The others shared her sense of awe and wonder. Their reverence smelled of soft peony petals. Every space within this inner sanctum had been hand carved and fitted to perfection. Each dab of blue, green, red, and yellow paint had been applied with precision. No masters lived today who could work stone and meiwood in such a way. It was the final resting place of the ancients’ civilization—and it had been preserved intact. What secrets would they learn there? What treasures could be found?
Marenqo wiped his mouth, then asked what they were all no doubt thinking. “Do we dare even touch anything?”
Bingmei felt drawn to the male figure on the sarcophagus. She couldn’t explain the feeling, but it felt as if time itself had led her to this place.
Kunmia looked around the chamber. “The wealth in this place is beyond anything I’ve seen. Why were these left behind?” She reached out to touch the sarcophagus of the male ruler, but hesitated and then withdrew her hand. “I see no evidence of servants or animals other than the carvings we’ve seen. These tombs were left here . . . abandoned.”
A weight pressed down on Bingmei. That was true. There was no evidence of servants in the hall. No bones or scraps left behind. Perhaps even the tombs that lay before them were empty.
“What should we do?” Marenqo asked.
“I have a dreadful feeling,” Mieshi said, looking around worriedly. “Perhaps a curse is on this place?”
That made Bingmei wonder, but if this place were cursed, she smelled nothing to warn her of it. Perhaps the cold itself had driven the people from the city, leaving behind two rulers who refused to abandon their dominion? Who, then, would have laid them in their tombs?
She wanted to touch the male ruler’s tomb. It drew her to it. She stepped cautiously forward and reached out her hand.
“Bingmei!” Kunmia warned sharply.
But it was too late. She had already touched the white marble. Like so much else in this strange place, it felt achingly familiar. Nothing happened.
Marenqo let out a sigh of relief.
“We should open it,” Bingmei said as a strange compulsion came over her. There were secrets buried there. Would she learn why she’d been born so pale? Why the magic seemed to work differently for her than it did for others? Why she could smell people’s feelings? The intrigue made her imagination chase off in different directions.
Bingmei caressed the stone.
“Each of you take a corner,” Kunmia said. She joined Bingmei at the base while Marenqo and Mieshi went to the head of the sarcophagus. There were grooves and edges along the seam, making it easy to grip.
Bingmei’s eagerness to see what lay beneath the marble slab made her impatient. She dug her fingers into the grooves. Marenqo’s forehead was slick with sweat. The warmth inside the chamber was stifling. Mieshi squared herself and then, after a nod from Kunmia, they all hefted the marble slab.
It took four of them to lift it, and still the strain was intense. As they lowered the lid to the side, Bingmei caught sight of the corpse
buried within. A strange, sweet fragrance exuded from the interior. Not the rotting stench of death. She blinked in surprise.
With a grunt, they leaned the lid against the wall of the sarcophagus.
Marenqo wrinkled his nose. “What a curious smell,” he said, sniffing it. That surprised her, because she had believed she was the only one who was experiencing it. “It’s . . . myrrh, cassia too—I think. And . . . hmmm . . . camphor?”
“I smell cinnamon too,” Mieshi said. The four of them stood gathered around the tomb.
Bingmei had expected to find a skeleton within the crypt, but the body was incredibly well-preserved. Although the man’s skin was pale and shrunken, leathery, she could still make out dark eyebrows and pale hair longer than Damanhur’s had been when they’d first met him in Wangfujing. There was no mistaking the nose, and the shriveled lips were parted on one side, revealing a glimpse of teeth.
The paleness of the corpse struck her. Could these rulers have had the winter sickness too?
The clothing of the corpse was also preserved. The tunic was made of some sort of fine silk with spiderlike strands that crisscrossed the fabric. The arms were crossed over the chest and she saw four rings, one on the forefinger and one on the fourth finger of each hand. The rings were asymmetrical twists of metal, like the roots of a gnarled tree or skeins of grapes, each quite wide. Around the body’s neck hung an amulet with a rune carved into it. The polished stone glimmered in the light. The nails had grown in death and were gnarled and dark.
If the body hadn’t looked so grotesque, it might have appeared the man was merely sleeping. She blinked in surprise. Had the killing fog done this? The cheekbones were high, the chin prominent. The crown of garlands that wreathed the head still smelled beautiful.
They gazed at the body in shock for several moments. Bingmei felt a nudge against her back and quickly turned her head, because she was standing alone. No one was behind her, but the feeling came again—the sense that they weren’t alone. Gooseflesh rippled down her arms. Then she realized what had demanded her attention—the Phoenix Blade wriggled in its scabbard.
The blade had come home. The idea sprouted in her mind like a candle in the dark, impossible to snuff out. She noticed the way the corpse’s hands were placed, as if they’d been resting on the hilt and pommel. Her eyes widened with surprise.
“Kunmia,” she said, turning eagerly. “The Phoenix Blade came from this crypt. It belongs here. It’s . . . it’s been trying to come back.”
“But why?” Kunmia said. “Was it stolen?”
“I think so,” Bingmei said. “We weren’t the first to come here. It was with the Qiangdao, remember?”
Kunmia frowned. “Should we return it and see what happens?”
That felt like a good idea. Bingmei was about to reach for the blade when it came out of the scabbard on its own, shooting straight up. She lifted her hand, and the hilt lowered into her palm. A rush of magic filled her as the blade started to give off streamers of flickering light. Marenqo backed away nervously.
Bingmei smelled the emotions of the others as they stared at her. She sensed some curiosity, but the predominant emotion was fear. They were afraid of her.
The heat in the room grew more intense as she approached the edge of the sarcophagus, the blade’s pommel cradled in her hands. Light glowed from the core of the sword. Something quickened inside her as she held it over the desiccated corpse. A symbol she’d never seen before rose in her mind’s eyes—a glyph, a rune. She laid the blade down on the body of the dead ruler, feeling an overwhelming sensation of relief as she did so.
The image pulsed in her mind, filling her with an overwhelming urge to trace the rune on the side of the sarcophagus with water. Unable to stop herself, she knelt by the edge of the sarcophagus and pulled around her waterskin. After uncorking it, she poured some water into her cupped hand.
The others came around and stood near her, watching with transfixed interest as she dipped her finger into the water and started tracing the glyph onto the side of the sarcophagus. As she knelt there, she felt a strong presence behind her again, as if it were hovering at her back, watching her in eagerness. The skin on the back of her neck prickled. She felt possessed, as if part of her mind and soul had been unlocked. She let the current of fate carry her along.
As she finished the last stroke of the glyph with her finger, the image began to glow, and she saw that she’d copied the sigil over the faint carving of a phoenix. She hadn’t even noticed it because her mind had been so focused on the glyph.
The sword also bore the phoenix symbol.
Her hand began to tingle—at first as if it had been drained of blood, and then more keenly, as if tiny needles were jabbing into her flesh. She rose, trying to shake away the pain, but the feeling shot up her wrist and then her arm.
“Bingmei?” Kunmia asked worriedly, seeing the look on her face.
Bingmei backed away from the tomb, shaking her arm again, trying to revive feeling. It felt as if part of her life force were being ripped away. Agony tore at her, causing her to wilt from the pain. She dropped to her knees, groaning, the sensation shooting through her shoulder . . . toward her heart.
She began to gasp, to writhe, and the sound of howling wind filled the palace walls and rattled the urns and vases. The marble floor began to tremble.
“Look!” Marenqo said, pointing.
Despite the pain, which had shot all the way up to her head, Bingmei looked and saw the body hovering inches above the tomb, the Phoenix Blade higher still. Magic flooded the palace. And then they all watched in awe as the figure’s hands reached out and grasped the hilt of the blade.
A shock wave rippled through the floor, driving everyone to their knees. The others huddled around Bingmei, who was still tormented by the stabbing pain. It was shooting up her legs, converging around her middle.
The corpse had shifted in the air, and it hovered upright at the head of the tomb. The man’s leathery skin began to glow, his pale hair fluttering in the magical wind. One hand gripped the Phoenix Blade, the other lifted and began to trace glyphs in the air with a curled fingertip.
The wind spread the smell of camphor and myrrh throughout the closed space. Blinking with surprise, Bingmei watched the aging of the skin reverse as if time were whirling backward. The power of the magic surpassed anything in her imagination. The ancient ruler was being restored to life again before her eyes, and her intuition told her that it was her hand that had invoked the spell. How she’d done it, she had no idea. She’d been drawn there by a power greater than she could understand.
The leathery skin turned young and pale, the winter hair thick and healthy, not the withered strands she’d seen in the crypt moments before. The dark eyebrows—why were they so dark?—seemed to wrinkle as if this being shared her pain. But the suffering she endured, the awful shooting pain that made her sob, was worth it as she watched the magnificent transformation.
The man’s eyes fluttered open, and Mieshi gasped. The spell was broken.
The heat from the chamber vanished, and Bingmei felt a wave of cold settle over her as the man’s sandaled feet touched down on the marble floor. The last pinpricks of pain vanished, but she was left trembling. If the assault had lasted any longer, she knew without a doubt she would have died.
Just moments before, she’d been willing to die to restore the ancient to life. What had happened to her?
The majestic man took a deep breath and then exhaled.
And that was when Bingmei smelled him for the first time. The reeking stench filled her lungs, making her nauseous to the point of gagging. She choked on the bile that suddenly came up her throat. This stench was so much worse than that of Muxidi. A hundredfold worse. No, a thousandfold. The ancient ruler’s outward appearance was regal and wise. A kindly smile stretched his beautiful mouth, but his heart was full of horrors.
What had she done?
The being spoke in a language they did not understand. He greeted them, and
when no one responded, those dark brows wrinkled slightly.
Marenqo, his voice quavering, responded in a different dialect, speaking in tones of subjection and respect.
A patient smile followed, and the being drew a glyph in the air with his hand. As his finger moved, sparks of light sizzled in the air, outlining the shape, which quickly faded after his finger stopped moving.
“Do you understand my words?” he asked in a rich, melodious voice.
“Yes!” Marenqo answered for them all. He looked not only startled but delighted.
“You have revived me from the Grave Kingdom,” he said. “For this, I will spare your lives. I am a benevolent ruler. You will be among my first servants. I wish to reward you. What do you want?”
Bingmei’s instincts screamed at her that this man, this creature, could only bring death and despair. His honeyed words belied his true nature, which became more apparent to her each second. Bingmei gripped Kunmia’s arm, digging her fingers into her master’s flesh to get her attention. But Kunmia was gazing at the ancient man in wonder and awe. Bingmei could sense that all three of her companions were ready to worship the person who seemed to possess such godlike power.
Kunmia looked at Bingmei’s face, her brow furrowing when she saw her desperate expression, her livid worry, her consuming fear.
“He is pure evil,” Bingmei whispered. “He’ll kill us all.”
For many years, they had trusted each other. Bingmei had played a part in bringing this man back to life, even though she’d been compelled by forces she couldn’t understand, like a puppet dragged on strings. But Kunmia didn’t mention that, nor did she question Bingmei’s judgment.
The ruler gave them a patient look. “Do not doubt my benevolence. Speak freely. What do you want?”
“Run!” Kunmia shouted, barking the command to the others. She raised her staff, invoking its runes, and attacked the ancient being with it.
The beautiful eyes narrowed coldly.
Bingmei bolted. The fear churning in her stomach made her legs pump with vigor. She was the first to hurtle past the threshold and race outside. The cold from the frozen sky struck her instantly as she started down the steps, vaulting several of them at a time. She heard the sound of chasing steps and looked back to see Mieshi overtaking her. Marenqo had reached the top of the stairs. The three of them raced across the courtyard as quickly as they could, Bingmei’s ragged breath escaping her mouth in a plume.
