by Jeff Wheeler
Jidi shook his head, wiping his mouth as he frowned. “I meditated again and again, trying to discover the inner meaning of what I had seen. I visited a quonsuun that seemed to worship the symbol of the phoenix. It was at that quonsuun where I had my vision.”
Bingmei saw that the prince had still not started eating. His eyes were fixed on Jidi Majia’s sorrowful face.
The counselor cast his gaze down. “It was like nothing I had experienced before. I’d seen the symbols of the dragons and the phoenix in so many shrines, so many palaces, so many temples, but never before had they moved. The stone dragons quivered and flew. The waves carved onto the rock wriggled as if they were living. I stared in fascination at the images, and they revealed to me the story of the ancients.
“The story has been told in different times and different ways. In Sajinau, especially, these stories are whispered at night. Around fires. In children’s ears. There are some commonalities across the tales. All of them tell of the wealth of the Summer Palace, of magic that doesn’t call forth the killing fog, and of the pale king who used to rule all the kingdoms. But until I had my vision, I did not know what else was real. What I’ve learned comes down to this: the Dragon of Night exists. He is the first emperor. He is the last emperor.” He looked up and gestured, palms up, at the dining room. “He is the one who built all of these palaces, including this one. He is the one who once enslaved mankind to build the Death Wall so that he might also rule over the dead in the Grave Kingdom. Balance is the only true ruler in our world, and in each incarnation of his empire, someone is chosen by the great phoenix to balance his evil with their goodness. But something went wrong ages ago. The balance was broken. Now, in each incarnation he kills the phoenix-chosen before they can defeat him.
“Whenever the Dragon of Night rises to power, he advances his kingdom until the people revolt and seek his downfall. Then he summons the killing fog to destroy the people, returns to his tomb, and waits for the phoenix to choose another to revive him from the Grave Kingdom. Each time he comes back, he is more powerful than the time before. The only thing that can stop him, the only thing that he fears, is the one the phoenix chooses to fight him.
“I saw in my vision that if the phoenix-chosen sacrifices herself by crossing the Death Wall before she is killed, then Echion and his queen will be destroyed in the end, the curse of the killing fog will end, and the people will finally be freed from their tyranny. It is the only way.”
Great drops of sweat had appeared on Jidi Majia’s brow as he related his vision. He grabbed a napkin from the table and mopped his face. “When the vision was finished, I was exhausted. I’d never felt so weak. I believe that if I hadn’t visited so many places, I may not have gathered enough knowledge to trigger the vision during my meditation.”
Bingmei sat in stunned silence. Her stomach felt sick. Her mouth was dry. This is what Prince Juexin had meant on the steps. The counselor was talking about sacrifice—her sacrifice—as if it were a given.
“I returned and shared the vision with King Shulian and Prince Juexin. The king went to the phoenix quonsuun himself, and he is there still. The one thing we did not know was where we would find the phoenix-chosen. And you, Prince Rowen, you have brought her to us!” Jidi Majia smiled with relief and exultation. “The vision was clear. The chosen must fly beyond the Death Wall for her sacrifice. Her death will bring life to all.”
Bingmei’s hands trembled, and she hid them in her lap. She darted a look at Rowen, wondering again what he’d known. He’d heard the legends of Echion, although it was clear he and Damanhur had not taken seriously the possibility that he might rise from the dead. Had they only been after his great wealth?
“Well, Brother,” Prince Juexin said. “It seems you finally did something worth praising.”
The smell of rage burned Bingmei’s nose. Rowen set down his goblet, trying to master his fury. “How often I’ve disappointed you and Father. What a change.”
The crown prince snorted. “I don’t think you’ve changed at all, Brother. I don’t think you can change. Our Jingcha spies at Budai’s court informed me that you have already squandered the inheritance Father gave you. You’re impoverished and without friends, save for that bragging swordsman over there.” His mouth twisted with contempt. “I also learned that you intended to raise an army of mercenaries to challenge Father . . . and me.”
Rage sharpened into the stench of fear. Bingmei stared at the brothers as they finally confronted each other.
“I wasn’t—”
“Please,” Juexin cut him off, shaking his head with disgust. “Do not foul the air with your lies. I see you, Brother, for who you really are. But I do not fear you. Neither should you fear me. I won’t seek revenge. You see, I swore an oath to Father that if you came skulking back, I would greet you as an heir of Sajinau. That I would throw a feast for you and celebrate your return.” He sniffed and controlled his emotions. “That I would protect you as if I were Father himself. But I do not trust you, Brother. You shattered that long ago. And I foresee that you will never change. You will never rise to become the man you could be. The man Father always hoped you would become. Just know that my men will be watching you. Always.”
Bingmei felt the stink of humiliation coming off Rowen. These brothers had been rivals for many years. Any affection between them had been eclipsed by pain. And Bingmei smelled the sadness again rising from Jidi Majia as he stared at the intractable brothers. He mourned for them.
She stared at the advisor, at his wan face and the pain in his sad eyes. The advisor was an honest man, and she knew he believed everything he’d related about his miraculous vision.
But she also had no intention of fulfilling it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Promises
The remainder of the feast went by in a blur as Bingmei wrestled against the information she had learned. It felt as if walls had suddenly sprung up around her, boxing her in. And then the walls had sprouted deadly spikes and begun to close in on her.
It seemed her every path led to death. Her death. A feeling of bitterness mingled with defiance rattled inside her chest.
After the meal, the courtiers of the palace led them to accommodations where they could rest from the journey. Bingmei quickly discovered that she had been assigned to share a room with Kunmia and Mieshi. The sleeping chamber was elegantly crafted, with three adjacent beds, cushions, a variety of chests in which they could store their things, and a private, screened area that contained a massive bath. When she arrived, a line of servants carrying pans of steaming water were filling the bath.
After so many weeks on ships and in the wild, Bingmei was grateful for the warmth and comforts of the palace. More comfortable than Wangfujing, it also lacked the omnipresent smell of greed in the air. The palace of Sajinau smelled like freshly cut wood and lacquer. Everything was orderly and refined, and the servants were cheerful and respectful. They were as deferential to Bingmei as if she were some immortal to be worshipped. They acted in awe of her, which made her insides squeeze with the temptation to flee.
After they examined the chamber, Kunmia left to find and console Mieshi, allowing Bingmei the chance to bathe first. Bingmei had not seen Mieshi much since they’d arrived and suspected Kunmia would find her in Damanhur’s company. The water was scented with fragrant oil. It felt overpowering at first, but after she stripped and entered the warm water, she found the eucalyptus smell soothing. A milky substance had been added to the water, making it translucent. She scrubbed and soaped her hair and skin and relished the feeling of being clean again. After this was done, she lingered in the bath, pondering Jidi Majia’s vision.
There was no dishonesty in the man. He’d believed everything he’d told her about his vision. But did that mean she should listen? Perhaps his desperation to solve the riddle of the glyphs had led his mind to imagine or concoct a story.
Bingmei clenched her jaw, trying to calm the confusion in her mind and heart. In her short life, she had
seen that the world was full of hate, pride, and jealousy. People did not trust each other, as a rule. Privy as she was to peoples’ intentions, to their pettiness and jealousy, she understood why they were slow to trust. If someone dropped a coin in the street unwittingly, it would be snatched up and concealed. She’d seen it happen. She’d smelled the consequences. The greediness of the person who didn’t care about another person’s loss. The embarrassment and disappointment of the customer who tried to pay with a coin they no longer possessed.
Then there were the Qiangdao. Murderous thieves who would sooner kill someone than they would greet them.
The world was full of violence and enmity. Yes, there were good people, like Quion, whose innocence filled her with wonderment, and Kunmia, who was compassionate and respectable. But those fresh blooms were so rare.
The world wasn’t worth saving.
That thought made her feel vengeful and petty, even to herself, but truth had deep roots, and she felt these wriggling deep inside her heart, inching into the darkest parts of herself.
No. She wouldn’t do it. No one crossed the Death Wall. No one knew why. Maybe it was the source of the killing fog. Maybe it was a land full of ghosts. Maybe it was just a wall. But she could not take the chance.
“Bingmei?”
Quion’s voice snapped her out of her reverie. Water sloshed against the side of the tub.
“I’m here,” she answered quickly. “Wait a moment. I’m bathing.”
She heard a little choking noise, and then he said, “I-I’ll come back later.”
“Stay. There’s a robe behind the screen.” She quickly left the tub and wiped the trickling water from her skin before thrusting her arms into the silk sleeves of one of the two robes the servants had left. She then leaned over the tub and squeezed her hair, watching the trail of water drip from it.
As she looked at her coppery tresses, still so strange and unexpected, she felt the spiked walls grind closer. She folded the robe over, tying the sash to keep it closed, and walked around the barrier. Quion was pacing, his expression anguished.
“What’s wrong?” she asked in concern.
His eyes looked haunted, his lip quivering. “I just spoke with Marenqo,” he said. He stepped toward her. Misery came off him in waves, stunning her.
“What did you hear?” she asked, her heart touched by the depth of his feeling.
“I don’t know what to make of it,” he said, shaking his head. His fingers clenched into fists. “Marenqo said he heard you were special. That you are the only one who can defeat Echion. But that it would kill you. That you’d die.”
As he uttered that word, the smell of his misery smashed into her like a hammer. She took a step back, wincing.
“I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I know . . . I know you can smell such things. I’m sorry, Bingmei. I’m so sorry. I should go.” He backed away from her and turned to leave.
His concern for her was one of the sweetest things she’d ever smelled. It wasn’t the same as Kunmia’s scent or the tenderness of a mother’s love. But it was close and it was sincere and it made her eyes burn hot in a strange way.
“Quion,” she said. “Wait. Don’t go.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around. “It’s not fair,” he said, shaking his head. “They shouldn’t make you do something like that.” He turned, his jaw quivering. His eyes were still haunted. She would remember that look for the rest of her life, however long that would be.
“I . . . ,” she paused, struggling with her feelings, and swallowed. “I haven’t decided yet.”
He gave her a serious look, his eyes narrowing. “Are you going to run away, Bingmei?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know,” she answered.
He swallowed, his feelings shifting and changing, becoming stronger. What a mix of them. Her stomach fluttered inside. “I’d go with you,” he said.
And she knew he meant it. His devotion gave her a little spark of hope. “Thank you,” she said.
Kunmia appeared in the doorway, sweat trickling down the side of her face from her practice. She held the rune staff in one hand, her expression worried. “Go where?” she asked firmly.
Bingmei sighed. “Can we talk, Master?”
Quion ducked his head and left the room. Kunmia slid the partition closed behind him, then she stepped deeper into the room and leaned her staff against the frame of the bed. The look she gave Bingmei was suspicious, but she refrained from speaking.
“I would seek your counsel,” Bingmei said. “I’m not leaving Sajinau . . . yet.”
“But you are considering it?”
Bingmei felt her insides twist. “Master, you heard what Jidi Majia said. I’m supposed to sacrifice myself? He didn’t say anything about it being a willing one.”
Kunmia frowned. “I took his meaning to be just that.”
“But how do you know?” Bingmei challenged. “He had a dream . . . a vision. But what does it really mean? How can we know whether there’s any truth to it?”
Kunmia folded her arms, coming closer to Bingmei. “Are you saying that he deceived us?”
“I’m not,” Bingmei said. “He’s honest. My . . . instincts tell me he’s a sad, grief-stricken man. Consumed by a sorrow I don’t fully understand. But he’s honest. I know that. He believes in what he saw.” She licked her lips. “But what if he’s wrong?”
Kunmia nodded in sympathy and put her hand on Bingmei’s shoulder. “Let me be honest with you, Bingmei. I consider you my own daughter. I’m troubled by Jidi Majia’s vision. As someone who cares for you deeply, I do not wish to see you suffer. My impression from what Jidi Majia said is that the sacrifice must come from you. You must choose it.” She squeezed her shoulder. “I will not let them force you to do it.”
A feeling of immense relief washed over Bingmei. “Thank you,” she breathed.
“We will not make this or any decision rashly. I respect Jidi Majia’s wisdom. You’re right, though, sadness has ravaged him. The rivalry between the princes has caused a rift in the realm and in King Shulian’s heart. I think Rowen had it in his head that he, the second born, would be chosen as the heir.”
“Now part of him wishes to avenge himself on his brother for his being chosen instead,” Bingmei said. She paused, then added, “You said you do not believe in revenge . . .”
She’d thought quite a bit about Kunmia Suun’s story, and what it might mean for her personal quest.
Kunmia stared at the lamp, her expression soft. “No, I do not. There are some appetites that can never be satisfied. That is why I abhor revenge. It destroyed my grandfather, as I told you. And my father too, which is another story.” She turned, giving Bingmei a sad look, which was chased by the subtle smell of grief. It wasn’t overpowering. The master had long since mastered her own emotions.
“I know,” Bingmei said.
Kunmia nodded. “That is why I chose to take up the staff instead. I wanted the cycle of revenge to stop there. I chose not to join it.”
“But if that young man who wished to marry you became part of the Qiangdao, then he’s possibly killed even more people!” Bingmei said. “Sparing him did not save lives, Master.”
“I see that you disagree,” Kunmia said with a kind smile. “But does that not prove my words are true? The craving for revenge cannot be sated. If my grandfather had killed the young man, perhaps it would have angered the boy’s uncle. Or his mother.” Kunmia walked over to the chest where she’d tucked away her belongings. She opened it and withdrew a clean set of clothes to wear in the palace. Clutching them against her chest, she said, “That is why, Bingmei, we have laws and rulers. Because the feeling of revenge cannot be sated, we must have just and wise rulers. They are the ones who execute justice. By not exacting revenge, I do not prevent justice. I am only unwilling to perform it for my own sake, to satisfy my feelings. When someone does wrong, they should be punished by those with authority. We should not take that authority for ourselves.”
/> She stepped closer and ran her fingers through a strand of Bingmei’s damp hair. That tender, motherly smell wafted over her. “King Shulian is a just and wise king. And his son will be the same. I do not believe they will compel you to make this sacrifice. And neither will I. But you must turn your heart and mind to answering this question: What if Jidi Majia’s vision is true? What if you are the only person capable of saving us from Echion’s power?”
The world wasn’t worth saving. That cold, dark truth still lingered in the pit of Bingmei’s heart.
“I will think on it,” Bingmei said, bowing her head to her mentor, her friend. And she would. For Kunmia’s sake.
While Bingmei dressed, Kunmia slipped off to the tub. After she was clothed, Bingmei tied braids in her hair and then stared at herself in the mirror. She looked different from everyone else, including Jidi Majia. Should she continue to disguise her strangeness? Or should she trust the people of Sajinau to see who she truly was?
Would they hate her even more than the hateful people who’d chased her out of Wangfujing if she forsook them and fled?
Her heart wrestled with pain as she fidgeted with one of the braids. She thought about Quion and his kindness and innocence. He had promised to go with her if she left. Should she do it? But where would they go? Where could a girl with copper hair hope to hide?
As she pondered that thought a moment, she suddenly felt the presence of the Phoenix Blade. Its power had been invoked, and she saw it in her mind’s eye. The blade rippled with power. Her awareness was instantly linked with that of the Qiangdao leader who had murdered her parents, her grandfather. A man who still thirsted for blood. He was on a small fishing boat, entering the harbor at Sajinau, gazing up at the palace with a crooked smile on his face.
Hello, ghost girl, his thoughts seemed to whisper to her. Found you.
