The Killing Fog

by Wheeler, Jeff

  Kunmia nodded in agreement. Bingmei saw the look of determination on Quion’s face as he wiped his wet hair out of the way and worked on the sail. He took some additional rope from his pack and made some lashings to help against the strain of the wind. His hands looked cold as he worked at the knots, and every now and again the wind would shift suddenly, swinging the bar around to strike him. Keyi barked orders to him, which he obeyed, and she wished she could do something to help.

  After they battled the river and winds for a time, they found an inlet and steered into it. The wind immediately calmed as the passage was quite narrow, the looming mountain walls rising steeply on both sides. Feathery clouds hugged the tips, obscuring the sky and the progress of the sun. The problem with inlets was they could end abruptly and not give a vessel time to maneuver out of them. They could serve as cruel traps if an enemy waited at the end. Hidden boulders could also damage the hull of the ship.

  Keyi and Quion paid close attention and communicated frequently. Everyone on board kept alert for trouble, Bingmei sitting on the edge of her seat as they followed the inlet through some twists and narrows. Waterfalls trickled down the face of the jagged stone. They turned around a sharp bend, and the fisherman called out a warning.

  “Ruins!”

  There was a dilapidated wharf and the bones of several buildings with caved-in roofs. There were six or so smaller buildings, but none had windows, and the latticework had been weathered to the point of uselessness.

  Keyi sniffed. “I’ve seen many villages like this. Abandoned. Rotten.”

  “Sail up to the quay,” Kunmia said, gazing at the ruins. “It looks abandoned, not ransacked. The roofs fell in because of the weight of snow. Or maybe boulders crashed down.”

  Within a few moments, they’d steered the fishing boat up to the quay. Quion tied off a rope to secure it.

  “Mieshi . . . Bingmei,” Kunmia said. “Go scout the ruins.”

  “There may be Qiangdao hiding here,” Damanhur said. “I would like to go as well.”

  Mieshi flashed him a look of annoyance. The smell of wariness and fear—of rotten things—was superseded momentarily by the scent of sweet peppers. “We don’t need your help,” she said with disdain.

  “I didn’t ask if you needed help,” Damanhur said. “I offered to come because I’m curious too.” He turned back to Kunmia with arched eyebrows.

  Kunmia nodded, and the three departed the boat while the others remained behind. Bingmei and Mieshi, each with her staff, led the way, followed by Damanhur, who wielded his sword. They had to be careful traversing the quay because of the rotten wood and broken planks. Bingmei could smell Damanhur’s interest in Mieshi as well as feel her bond sister’s tension at having him behind them.

  After crossing the dock, they entered the small broken village. There was evidence of fire pits in the middle of the rocky street. Wood had been scavenged from the buildings to be burned. Bingmei breathed in, trying to catch a warning smell, as they trod down the street. Bingmei cocked her head, staring up at one of the support beams that was still holding, while another had crashed.

  “How old are you?” Damanhur suddenly asked. She turned around, seeing that he was addressing her.

  Mieshi looked back and then pressed on.

  “What does it matter how old I am?” Bingmei asked in return, following Mieshi.

  “Wait,” he said, and she stopped, turning in confusion. She felt apprehension.

  Damanhur approached, looking at her shoulder. His eyebrows wrinkled in confusion. “Your hair is . . . white.”

  Bingmei saw that the fierce winds from the boat had blown some of her real hair loose, which had mixed with the dark strands of her wig.

  She frowned at him and walked away.

  “You have the winter sickness?” he asked incredulously.

  Mieshi turned on him, eyes flashing with fury. “Leave her alone.” For all Mieshi looked down on Bingmei for her ailment, she wouldn’t allow anyone else to call it out. They were bond sisters first.

  “Sheathe your fangs, cat,” Damanhur said to Mieshi. “I’m surprised is all.” He turned to Bingmei. “You’ve hidden it.”

  “People think they might get it if they touch her,” Mieshi said. Bingmei’s stomach was shriveling with embarrassment. She hated that smell on herself. “But it’s a myth.”

  “Of course it is,” Damanhur said. “One of King Shulian’s stewards has it. He’s highly respected. His name is Jidi Majia.”

  Bingmei had never met anyone else with her condition, and it surprised her to hear the man had achieved such a prominent position.

  He looked at Bingmei again. “It’s a rare thing. Bingmei . . . I can see that now. ‘Ice rose.’ Look how your cheeks are flushed. I attributed your pale skin to being from the north.”

  “I am from the north,” Bingmei said, her cheeks steaming further.

  “And what about your trick?” he asked. “The one that makes you jump?”

  “Are we going to just stand here in the street?” Mieshi snapped. Her comment, while impatient, was also tinged with jealousy. Was this because his attention had been diverted from her? Bingmei could only wonder. “We have a duty to perform.”

  “It’s just a question. How did you do it?” he pressed.

  Although he had not treated her with disgust, Bingmei didn’t trust him. “Let’s go, Mieshi.” She resented that Damanhur had discovered her secret so soon. She had a dark feeling he might use the knowledge against her someday. If nothing else, she felt sure that he would tell Rowen about her.

  One of the buildings had a suitable shelter that was protected from the elements. Kunmia had assigned Bingmei and Quion to guard the boat during the first watch. The boat needed to be guarded. The security of their supplies was paramount. The rain still fell with a steady patter, and Bingmei was cold and envious of those who were huddling around the fire that Quion had built within the structure. They would get their turn to be warm after midnight.

  Quion sat fishing off the broken docks—he had already caught a stack of eight—while Bingmei paced along the broken wharf.

  “Damanhur is a pile of dung,” she said, still seething that he knew her secret.

  “He is arrogant,” Quion said, shrugging. “But if we face more Qiangdao on this mission, we’ll be glad he’s here.”

  “I’m not glad he’s here.”

  “Why?” Quion asked, poking his lure back into the water.

  She sighed. “He saw my hair. It’s the storm’s fault.”

  Quion looked at her. “Why should you care if he noticed?”

  “How many people will he tell?” Bingmei countered.

  Quion shrugged. “I don’t see why you wear the wig at all.”

  “Because people would stare at me,” she said.

  “So what?” Quion said. “It’s different, but it’s not ugly. You’re not ugly, Bingmei.”

  He was used to her. He’d never treated her as if she were diseased. Gratitude rippled through her. How she hated to be looked at with contempt, ridicule, and disgust. It made it so much worse that her sense of smell so often confirmed her fears and self-consciousness.

  “You don’t understand, Quion,” she said, shaking her head.

  He turned to face her, setting his rod down, and his brow wrinkled in concern. “I don’t understand what?”

  She swallowed. She’d never told anyone other than her family. But she wanted to. Quion was different. He’d never done anything to make her believe she couldn’t trust him. He still smelled like fish, but it was a strangely comforting smell. There was no deception in him at all, unlike Rowen, the exiled prince, who often smelled different from how he acted.

  Quion leaned closer. “What’s wrong?” She sat down next to him, the words bubbling inside her. Did she dare tell him? The moon was barely strong enough to pierce the clouds. The ruins were invisible in the darkness. Somehow it made it easier to contemplate opening her soul to him.

  Still, it would hurt if he rejected
her. If his acceptance of her was changed by what he learned. Once spoken, the words could not be taken back. Should she? Bingmei bit her lip.

  He gazed at her, and she felt his concern growing. His sympathy smelled like warm grain with raisins and nuts. It made her mouth water.

  “The only people who knew my secret were my parents and my grandfather,” she said in a low voice.

  “You don’t have to tell me,” he answered. “But I hope you will.”

  She licked her lips. “It shames me to speak of it.” His eyes were filled with such kindness and warmth, she couldn’t hold his gaze. The urge to tell him throbbed inside her. She decided to trust him.

  “I’m different than other people,” she said softly. “Remember when we went to Wangfujing the first time? How I knew which people were honest? I chose some people, even though others offered more cowry shells?”

  “Yes,” he said, nodding encouragingly.

  “It’s just . . . I know what people are feeling.”

  He went very quiet. Before he could say anything, his pole started to jiggle, and he quickly snatched it before it could fall into the water. Moments later, he pulled out a huge silvery fish. He grinned at it in wonder. It was the largest one he’d caught so far.

  It struggled to break free, but he thumped it with a small hammer, and it lay still. Bingmei could imagine the meat on such a massive fish. As he began removing the hook from its mouth, she heard the sound of others approaching. It was not yet close to midnight.

  “Watch the next part, or you’ll be taking a swim.” She recognized Damanhur’s voice, but there were two sets of footsteps coming down the planks.

  “I’ll be careful.” The response came in Rowen’s voice.

  Quion finished removing the line when they arrived. Damanhur gazed down at the pile of fish and then squatted near it. “You have a gift, Quion. Fortunately, you have many gifts. The fire is almost out, and we’re all getting cold. Can you come revive it?”

  Quion looked at Bingmei in concern.

  “Rowen will take your place as guard with Bingmao. Kunmia said so. Come on.” He grinned at Bingmei. He was teasing her, something she could tell from his scent and his tone, but it had a friendly intent.

  “Her name is Bingmei,” Quion said evenly.

  “Isn’t that what I said?” Damanhur asked with feigned innocence. “You must have misheard me. Come on. Nothing will dry before dawn without that fire.”

  Quion pursed his lips. She smelled his reluctance to go. He wanted to stay and keep talking with her, and she wanted it too. The last person she wanted to share guard duty with was the exiled prince. Particularly if he knew one of her secrets.

  But Quion was only a fisherman’s son, after all, and someone like Damanhur outranked him. Her friend muttered something about bringing the fish along, pulled out a sack from his pack, and quickly stuffed the fish in one by one.

  Damanhur stood and waited, and then both of them left, Quion looking back over his shoulder as he walked away.

  Rowen towered over her, and she felt very small. His striking looks made her feel insignificant, but his smell told her that he was intrigued by her. Fascinated even. And she could smell his hunger for the blade still strapped to her back.

  She turned away from him, folding her arms around her knees as she sat in the quiet, hearing the water lap against the quay and watching the clouds tease the stars.

  He said nothing for a very long time, which did not surprise her. She hadn’t heard him speak very often. He did more communicating with his eyes. So when he finally did address her, it startled her and made her turn her head sharply to gaze at him. It was not what she had expected him to say.

  “If I come into my kingdom, will you lead my ensign?”

  Words are powerful. We need always be wary

  how we speak to others and

  even more so how we speak of ourselves.

  —Dawanjir proverb

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Ruined

  “What?” Bingmei asked, wrinkling her brow.

  The prince sat facing her, his back against one of the dilapidated posts, his arm resting on one knee. He gave her an enigmatic look, one of deep interest. He smelled of raw ambition, along with the subtler scent of curiosity, but his words and feelings were sincere. There was no sour smell of deception coming from him. A little smile curled his lip. “I didn’t know when we’d get the chance to speak like this. Privately. So I thought I’d take a chance. I intend to rule Sajinau.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Soon perhaps. I wanted you to be ready.”

  “Why are you asking me this?” Bingmei said.

  “King Budai thinks highly of you. He told me the story of what happened to your family’s ensign. You train under Kunmia Suun, which is a sign of your dependability as well as your skill. I’ve seen you fight.”

  Her brow wrinkled more. “When?” she demanded.

  “I’m an observant person,” he replied evasively. “I ask you again. When I come into my kingdom, will you lead my ensign?”

  “You said if at first. Isn’t that a more likely outcome? King Shulian is the strongest ruler in all the coast, his kingdom the most powerful. Your brother, the crown prince, has been named his heir.”

  “Are you going to answer my question?” he asked, smiling again.

  “I don’t see why I should,” she answered, adjusting herself.

  “I’ll give you three reasons,” he answered. He’d anticipated her reaction. His self-confidence smelled like the rind of a melon. It made her even more distrustful, anxious to depart. But she could not abandon her post.

  She waited, staring at him. She could see his expression easily in the moonlight. But he did not answer straightaway. He paused, deliberately, heightening her curiosity. Was he toying with her?

  “The first,” he said after prolonging the silence to the point of discomfort. He paused again, cocking his head slightly. “I can help you reclaim your grandfather’s quonsuun. Budai told me where it was. It will cost a great deal of money to restore it. If you let Budai help you, then you will be his servant. You don’t want that. I am a much more patient master.”

  He stopped speaking, watching her face for a reaction. Was he waiting to see if she’d respond? She didn’t. He’d said he had three reasons. She wanted to hear them all.

  When it became apparent she wasn’t going to answer, he continued. “The second.” He gave her a friendly smile. “Those with the winter sickness are not persecuted in Sajinau. There’s a myth that the founder of Sajinau was a pale-skinned king. My father’s own advisor has the winter sickness, and he is highly regarded for his wisdom and loyalty. Those are traits I admire. As the head of my ensign, you would be respected and honored. Think on it.”

  His words annoyed Bingmei at first—Damanhur hadn’t kept her secret for very long, and while Sajinau might treat people with the winter sickness differently, all her experiences with being revealed publicly had been negative. Still, it felt good to have earned the prince’s respect. She was flattered, despite herself, but she summoned her will and blotted out the feelings of warmth. Do not trust him. He hasn’t proven himself yet. He wishes to betray his father and brother. He could betray you too.

  She gave him an expectant look, waiting for him to finish.

  Her reticence seemed to please him. He smiled again. “The third reason is . . .” His voice trailed off, and then he chuckled and looked down. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought I’d make it this far before you rejected my proposal.”

  “So there isn’t a third reason?” she said. His confession had been unexpected.

  “Oh, there is. I’m just saying you surprised me. That doesn’t happen very often. There are more than just three reasons. Another is that I wouldn’t trust Budai if I were you. And that I’ll honor you more than he ever would. But here is the third reason. The Phoenix Blade.”

  She felt the smell of his desire for it flare in her nose.

  “I don’t imagine you will part with i
t,” Rowen said. “But I must be near it. I have a strong notion that I will not succeed without it. Call it an omen, if you will, but I believe my destiny is bound to that sword. I can’t explain it. It draws me in.” He licked his lips. “There. You have my three reasons.”

  He’d put her in an uncomfortable position. His words had conjured her own ambition. Yes, she wanted all the things he had offered, and yet . . . he was only revealing part of himself to her. He was not trying to deceive her. She would have smelled that. But there was something simmering beneath the surface she didn’t understand. Nor did she understand the strange tension that had suddenly formed between them.

  “How do you aim to defeat your father?” Bingmei asked. She could have suggested ideas, but she wished to know his thoughts first.

  “I think he’s wrong. Misguided,” Rowen said. “And so is my brother. He waits to be asked to be the high king. To be invited to save the people from the Qiangdao hordes. He doesn’t understand the stubbornness of men.” His words were raw, full of antipathy. He paused, controlling himself again. She felt the bubbling passion beneath his exterior, the belief that he could do better than what his father had done. Prince Rowen did not let his emotions get the better of him often. He smiled again, but it was self-deprecating. He realized he’d lost a little control.

  “Was your brother chosen because he is more of your father’s temperament?” Bingmei asked softly.

  The prince shrugged and nodded.

  “There has been conflict in your family for some time,” Bingmei said. “What makes you think that you will be able to rule your people eventually?”

  “It’s a fair question, Bingmei.” The way he said her name made her feel strange inside. An unfamiliar smell, like the pomegranate seeds she’d tasted only once, filled the air. It was enjoyable, yet embarrassing at the same time.

  “Will you answer it, Wuren?”

  He rubbed his jaw, looking up at the stars. Then he leaned back against the post more firmly and, still gazing off in the distance, answered, “There are families in Sajinau who are discontented with his reign and have managed to stay beneath the notice of the Jingcha, my father’s spies. These people want to see change happen. They know what they’ll get under my brother.” He chuckled darkly. “Little. If I return to the kingdom with enough force, then it will compel a discussion with the king’s council. Civil war? I don’t think it will come to that. I wouldn’t murder my father, if that concerns you. I don’t want his blood on my hands. He would live comfortably the rest of his days.”