by Jeff Wheeler
“This is it,” Jiaohua whispered. They all gathered up to the gate.
Bingmei could smell Muxidi. He was frantic and hateful and full of determination. He was so close, her skin crawled.
“I smell him,” she murmured.
“Bingmei,” Damanhur said, gripping her shoulder. “What about the other side? Is anyone there? We can’t see past the thicket.”
Bingmei turned to the bars of the gate, which were shaped like cranes. She gripped them, trying to smell past her pursuer. There were more Qiangdao outside, concealed.
She nodded bleakly. Surrounded, again.
Damanhur frowned and looked at Jiaohua. He drew his sword. “I’ll hold him. Get her out of here.”
Jiaohua nodded grimly and withdrew a key. He quickly inserted it into the lock of the gate and turned. The hinges creaked as they opened.
“Run!” he said to his men.
The ensign and members of the Jingcha rushed outside, weapons in hand. They were immediately set upon by screaming Qiangdao.
Bingmei turned as she felt the Phoenix Blade tugging at her soul. Muxidi slowed, his shadowy cloak making him nearly invisible in the dark. The vines and branches blocked the view outside, but she could hear the clash of weapons, the sound of fists smacking flesh. She could hear the groans of the injured.
So much violence. So much death.
Damanhur stalked back into the tunnel, sword held low. “Should have killed you on the beach,” he said.
“Yes. You should have,” came the taunting reply. “But you’ll find I’m not so easy to kill.”
Jiaohua let loose a foul curse. Gripping Bingmei’s arm, he pulled her to the edge of the tunnel. He parted the leaves, looking outside, then swore again. “Too many,” he grunted.
He released Bingmei’s arm and withdrew his blowgun. He loaded a dart into it quickly and turned back to where Damanhur and Muxidi were fighting, although the fight was too fierce for him to have an opening. Quion held one of his fishing knives in his hand, his lips peeled back with anger, but he looked so helpless. The cries of pain from outside grew louder, drawing her gaze. The battle would be over soon.
It would not end in their favor.
She saw Damanhur fall in her peripheral vision, and when she turned her head back in shock and horror, Muxidi lunged toward her, his eyes raging. Jiaohua cried out in surprise and tried to shoot the dart at him, but the distance was too small. The Phoenix Blade whipped around, slashing his face. As Jiaohua cried out in pain, Bingmei grabbed Quion’s shirt and pulled him with her out into the fresh air.
One of the Qiangdao grabbed her from behind, hauling her off her feet, but Quion smashed his fist into the man’s head. The enemy dropped her instantly, stunned by the blow. Bingmei kicked him in the ribs and knocked him down. She sucked in a breath when she saw how badly they were outnumbered—at least four to one. Two Qiangdao rushed at her, and she launched herself at them, kicking one in the chest. The other lunged at her, trying to seize her, but she blocked his attack and grabbed his arm, flipping him hard onto his back.
Qiangdao charged her on every side, converging in a growling mass, and separated her from Quion. She could only hope he’d manage to protect himself, or run. Hand in her pocket, she summoned the power of the cricket and leaped high and away, coming down where some men were grappling with Huqu to subdue him. A quick blow to one man’s knees shattered the hold, and Huqu was fighting again. She turned, dodging a fist that shot toward her face, and dropped into a sweeping kick that tripped her assailant backward. The Qiangdao were charging at her again, shouting in fury, but with the meiwood cricket, she leaped over them again. As she landed, she boxed down two more, feeling anger and fury build in her chest. She would not be captured again. Never again.
And then she caught a glimpse of Muxidi. He held the sharp edge of the Phoenix Blade against Quion’s neck.
His lips twitched as he met her gaze. “You know I’ll do it,” he threatened.
“Go, Bingmei!” Quion shouted.
She stared into the Qiangdao’s eyes. She smelled his intentions, his lack of any tender feeling.
A prickle crept down her back. An awareness tingled in her mind. It was familiar. She’d felt this same energy, thrill, and purpose while escaping Fusang. Power sizzled down her arms and legs.
“You have my sword,” Bingmei said, reaching out her arm.
The blade was ripped out of Muxidi’s hand and launched itself into hers.
CHAPTER FORTY
Phoenix-Chosen
As soon as her fingers closed around the warm pommel of the Phoenix Blade, she felt its magic ignite in her veins. Something within her altered. It was more a feeling than a physical sensation. She felt lighter, stronger, and full of purpose.
Quion slammed his elbow into Muxidi’s ribs and broke out of his hold, flinging himself to the side to get out of the way.
“Get her!” Muxidi roared at the others gathered in the shadow outside Sajinau’s walls. Bingmei dropped into a low stance, holding the blade behind her.
The murderous men stank up the area as they attempted to rush her once again. Without touching the cricket, she leaped, flipping backward, and came down in the midst of the rushing men. Power thrummed through her. Her blade swung almost by itself, striking and hitting a man with every thrust. She felt alive, thrilled, powerful—just as she had while escaping Fusang. Although she had done nothing to summon the power, nothing beyond retrieving the sword, it was heeding her anyway. At the moment, she didn’t care how it did, only that it did. She dispatched five of the Qiangdao, then flew away before they could overwhelm her with their numbers.
That was the only way to describe it. The meiwood cricket gave her power to jump, but this felt entirely different. She whirled through the air, coming down again at the fringe of her enemies, and struck down another five. The others in the ensign were fighting again too. The tide was turning, the energy shifting.
Muxidi stepped in front of her, thrusting at her with a saber he’d claimed from Damanhur. She recognized the mark of the gorilla on the pommel, and sadness welled in the pit of her stomach. The master was not the contemptible person she’d originally thought him—he was arrogant, but also brave and devoted to his prince. She jammed the hilt of her blade down, blocking the blow, and then spun around to slice her enemy in half.
Only her blade went through shadows instead. It was like fighting smoke. He blinked back into being, corporeal once more, and she felt his fist crash into her cheek, rocking her head back. It hurt terribly and momentarily blinded her, but she kicked out at once.
Again, she met nothing but shadows.
“You cannot defeat me,” Muxidi said with a wicked laugh. He vanished, only to reappear immediately on her right. She swept the Phoenix Blade at him and it sailed right through him. He vanished again, and she felt his blade slice her leg.
She jumped and felt her new power sweep her away from him. Her leg throbbed with pain, but it wasn’t a deep cut. She blinked, trying to find him. The Qiangdao were smashing into the rest of their group. A few members of the ensign and the Jingcha were still standing, but their momentum was flagging. They were losing the battle once again.
Bingmei urged herself to fly into their midst again, and she did so, the power responding to her thoughts. Muxidi chased her through the overgrown fronds, but she dodged him, coming to the aid of her allies. She cut down several more Qiangdao.
“I will chase you, ghost!” Muxidi said, cutting down a member of the ensign as he passed, dropping him to the ground. He was mimicking her strategy.
She flew away from him again, going back to the wall. Soaring, she came up over the edge for long enough to see into the inner courtyard. The armored warriors of Sajinau were attacking the Qiangdao who had come to seize the city. Echion stood in the midst of the battle, deadly and unstoppable, cutting down warriors as if it were a sport. His cape fluttered behind him like dragon wings, tendrils of the killing fog converging on him. She couldn’t see any sign
of Kunmia Suun. The soldiers of Sajinau were dropping dead as the fog touched them, but not the Qiangdao. Sleeping corpses littered the courtyard. Bingmei’s heart quailed with pain. Still, it was curious that the fog hadn’t started coming for her after she’d invoked the magic of her blade. Echion must have meant what he’d said earlier—the fog was his to tame and command. He was directing it for a purpose.
“You cannot defeat us!” Muxidi snarled.
A feeling of overwhelming sadness flooded her, reminding her of Jidi Majia’s smell. Had he seen the coming devastation in his vision? Was that why he had smelled that way? She grieved the loss of life and the fate of those who survived. Her grief turned to vengeance, and she lunged straight for Muxidi’s heart.
His face grimaced with anticipation as she came at him, then he vanished into the smoke. She’d suspected as much—and prepared for it. When she landed, she spun the blade around, twirling it forward and back in a series of twisting loops in front of her body and then behind her back. She’d practiced this a thousand times with her grandfather’s saber, the blade becoming a whirlwind of steel. Over and over, she spun it, and then she felt it embed in something behind her.
She turned her head, seeing the look of surprise on Muxidi’s face. Her blade had pierced the shadows and found flesh. Blood began to patter on the ground. He backed away from her, withdrawing from her weapon, his face going pale with surprise. Anger burned away the vestiges of shock, and he struck at her again, overwhelming her with the stench of murderous rage. He was bleeding, the smoke of his cloak starting to unravel. He lunged at her again and again, and she retreated, blocking his blows. He cut at her legs, and she jumped. He tried to cut off her head, but she ducked. Their blades met during her retreat, and she continued to move backward, using the edge of her blade to protect herself—parry, swivel, parry, swivel—then she turned the tide and lunged at him.
The tip of the sword sunk into the flesh of his shoulder. He gasped in pain. The shadows were sloughing off him more quickly. She kicked him hard in the chest, then leaped, feeling the magic lift her up. Her other foot flipped up and kicked him on the chin.
His head snapped back, and he fell down, dropping his saber. When she landed, he rolled to the side, spinning his legs around to clip her calves. She bounded over them, amazed at his martial abilities, but then . . . he had once studied the craft himself, had he not? He’d been part of her grandfather’s quonsuun. But he’d become a renegade.
Realizing he was vulnerable, he looked at her in panic and tried to lunge for his weapon. She kicked it out of his reach and leveled her sword at his throat.
Their eyes met. She could smell his fear and defiance.
“Kill me, then,” he snarled at her.
She saw a brooch fastening his black cloak. The dark meiwood was engraved with a tarantula and bound in bronze. Muxidi swallowed, eyeing her and the blade at once. Breathing in, she smelled rancid deception. He planned to use her attack as an opening for his own.
She stepped back from him, lowering her sword.
A baffled look came on his face. “Kill me! Take your revenge!”
How she wanted to. Every instinct within her burned to end his life. She’d dreamed of it since she was a little girl. Hate was strong. It was powerful. But Kunmia’s lessons hadn’t been spoken to deaf ears after all. She found herself remembering what her master had said about its uselessness. About the unintended consequences.
Muxidi lunged at her suddenly, trying to catch her unawares. He grabbed the blade with his bare hand, cutting himself as he gripped it. Before she could shake him off, she saw he wielded a bear claw in his other hand, bound to a bit of metal. She had a split second to decide—if she pulled the blade out of his grip instead of defending herself from his attack, the claw would lacerate her.
She let go of the Phoenix Blade and used both hands to catch his wrist. The sharp end of the claw hovered near her eyebrow. Her legs felt the brunt of his next attempted blow in order to free himself, but she’d blocked it. Bingmei wrenched his arm and sent him face-first into the ground. Something sharp sliced his lip, and she saw him wrinkle his nose in pain. She torqued his arm even more, and the bear-claw weapon tumbled out of his reach.
Quion stepped forward from the fray, slamming one of his cooking pots against Muxidi’s head. The Qiangdao slumped, no longer struggling, completely unconscious.
Her friend stood back, hefting the pot, and nodded in triumph. She let go of the arm she’d been twisting, then slid the blade from Muxidi’s wounded hand. Crouching, she removed the spider brooch from her enemy’s throat and stared at it a moment. She rubbed her thumb against it, like she did with her cricket, but nothing happened. So she slid it into her own pocket to examine it later.
She stood, breathing hard, and saw that the Qiangdao were fleeing into the woods. Only a few of the members of the combined group of ensign and Jingcha had been left standing, but they had won.
“You’re bleeding,” Quion said to her with a worried frown.
She looked down at her leg, barely remembering how she’d gotten the wound. Quion knelt by her and pulled off his pack again, looking through his supplies. He tore a rag to wipe away her blood and then bound the wound with strips of bandages from his pack. She saw more rope within, along with fishing hooks and other instruments. She tousled his hair as he tightened the knots on the bandages.
Jiaohua staggered out of the hollow then, pressing his injured face with his hand. He approached them, his frown growing deeper when he saw Muxidi lying prone. He drew a dagger without hesitation, and Bingmei’s eyes burned at the smell of murder.
Bingmei rose and blocked him with her body. Emotion flashed through the Jingcha leader’s eyes. “I’ll kill him,” he growled.
She shook her head. “We’re leaving him.”
“What! Don’t be a fool! He’s killed my men, murdered many in the city.” He tried to go around her, but she intervened. His hate was almost as strong as hers.
“I know, Jiaohua,” she said evenly. “He killed my grandfather. And my parents.”
Jiaohua looked as if he’d explode. “Kill him, then!”
She gave him a defiant look. “Will killing him bring back my grandfather? Will it bring back my parents? Will it bring back anyone that you lost?”
“But he’s a murdering Qiangdao! You can’t let him live.” Jiaohua trembled with rage.
“This isn’t about what he’s done,” Bingmei said. “Look at what he’s become, Jiaohua.” She lowered her voice. “It’s pitiful. I’m not sparing him because of mercy. It’s not about him.” She pointed at herself. “I don’t want to be like him. Like Echion.”
Jiaohua stared at her in surprise. She could smell a shift in his emotions, the hatred ebbing—slowly. “They’re murdering my people,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
“I know,” Bingmei said. She felt empathy for him, for this man who had tried his best to save the people of Sajinau. And failed. She knew he felt bound by duty to protect her, as he’d been commanded, but part of him wished to join the corpses in the courtyard. “Dying is easy. Living has always been the challenge. If we kill like they do, then we will become like them.” Her heart panged with dread and sadness. “Echion will reclaim his kingdom, one city at a time, and our bitterness and anger will drive us into hiding. Maybe this is how the Qiangdao began?” She shook her head. “It took me long enough to realize it, but Kunmia was right. Revenge settles nothing. It only poisons those who carry it in their hearts.” She swallowed, looking into his eyes. “I know how that man feels about himself, about others. He stinks with it. And I could not live with myself if I smelled that way. So we go, Jiaohua. We escape. We help others stand against Echion.”
He stared at her. “Are you going to die at the Death Wall after all?”
She frowned at his words. She hadn’t decided that. She wouldn’t lie to him, but the truth was too painful to speak—she knew what she ought to do, what she wanted to do, but she still didn’t know if she co
uld do it.
When she’d watched Juexin offer his life for Rowen, she’d smelled a spice she’d never experienced before. It was a powerful smell—like cinnamon but with more of a sweet, potent bite.
“We’ll see,” she answered. “Where’s Damanhur?” she asked worriedly. “I saw him go down.”
Jiaohua shrugged. “He may have bled to death by now. The rogue cut off his arm, then took his sword. The only reason he didn’t kill me too is because I played dead.” He grimaced. “My face hurts. He may have taken my eye as well as Damanhur’s arm.”
“Quion, go check to see if Damanhur is still alive!” she said. Sadness pressed against her ribs.
“Yes, Bingmei,” said the young man. Leaving his pack, he hurried into the tunnel. Bingmei gazed up at the wall. The magic that had flooded her was gone. It felt as if the earth were pulling harder at her boots than usual. She was exhausted. The sounds of fighting had dissipated. A deathly hush had fallen over Sajinau. A shiver went down her body.
Quion quickly ducked out again, looking relieved. “He’s alive. Barely!”
“Let’s bind our wounds,” Bingmei said. “Then we must flee this place.”
“Where will we go?” Jiaohua asked her.
They were both looking at her as if she were the master of the ensign. She gripped the hilt of the Phoenix Blade firmly. Perhaps she was. They seemed willing to follow.
“We’ll go back to Kunmia’s quonsuun. But I don’t think we’ll be able to stay there.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Escaping Sajinau
They came across the remains of another battlefield before sunset. The field was eerily quiet, save for the whip of the animal banners still fixed to broken spears. Even the horses were dead. It was not a battlefield full of blood. The corpses all appeared to be sleeping.
