The Killing Fog

by Wheeler, Jeff

  “We have to hike up to the edge of the glacier,” he answered. “It’s a steep hike, but not too difficult.”

  “Why do you camp by the waterfall?”

  He sneered at her. “Because it is warmer down here, why else? Everything is ice up there.” He wrenched against his bonds, but they didn’t yield. He sagged again.

  “Bao Damanhur,” Kunmia said. “Consult with me.”

  The two wandered a short distance away and spoke in low voices. The noise of the falls drowned out their words. Marenqo had a sour expression on his face as he glanced at the Qiangdao leader, and Quion openly scowled at him. Rowen approached Bingmei.

  “How did you know who he was?” he asked softly, his back to their enemy.

  She was not about to tell him. “I just knew,” she said.

  Now that her blood no longer boiled with the thrill of battle, and the Qiangdao leader sat kneeling in the sand, wrists bound behind his back, the thought of executing him made her queasy. She knew he had trained under her grandfather. He’d come seeking revenge himself, just like the young man in Kunmia’s story, the one who’d wished to marry her.

  In her youth, the devastation of losing her grandfather and parents had blinded her to everything else. What had driven this man to join the Qiangdao? Enmity. He, too, had wanted to appease his thirst for vengeance. With the blood of her family. The cycle of revenge never ended. She knew if she killed him, there might be someone else who would come after her in retaliation. A brother perhaps? Maybe he had sired children? There was no way to know. And yet she still wanted him dead. Anger and hatred bristled inside her.

  “There’s more to it . . . but you won’t say,” Rowen offered with a sigh. It wasn’t a question. He walked away from her, heading toward Damanhur and Kunmia.

  Because I don’t trust you, she thought in return, staring at his back.

  She saw Rowen speak to Kunmia, who shook her head no. The prince gestured angrily in response, speaking in low but furious tones. He did not agree with the decision that had been made.

  Damanhur shook his head and then put his hand on Rowen’s shoulder. “We cannot risk your life,” he said, his voice audible. “You’ll get your chance to see the ruins. Let the others go in first.”

  “But I know more than the rest of you,” Rowen said. “I’ve studied with Jidi Majia . . .”

  “Not yet. Besides, we promised to obey Kunmia’s orders.”

  Rowen glowered, and Bingmei smelled his discontent. There was something she didn’t understand, something that had made him angry.

  Damanhur turned to Kunmia and nodded. “We are agreed. Let’s tell the others.”

  Kunmia gripped her rune staff and tilted her head as she turned to face the group. “The only way out of this fjord is by boat. We cannot trust any other source of escape. Which means we cannot possibly trust Keyi with the boat. Quion—I do trust you. I want you to take the boat into the middle of the fjord. Catch some fish for us to eat tonight. Enough to feed many people, including our prisoners. Damanhur’s ensign will remain at the beach to keep watch on the prisoners. The rest of us will go to the ice cave.” Bingmei saw Rowen scowl at this, but he remained silent. “We’ll return before nightfall and decide where to camp. If this is Fusang, the sooner we know it, the better.”

  “Dividing up your warriors is a good strategy,” the Qiangdao leader said mockingly. “At least some of them will survive. But I will take you to the lost city. It’s nothing like you are thinking.”

  Kunmia would not be provoked. “Lead the way, thief.”

  The hike up to the side of the glacier was more difficult than Bingmei had expected. The glacier had crushed the surrounding rock into small fragments, which made the path treacherous, both slippery and jagged. The trail to the ice cave had been trampled, however, so it was not difficult finding the way. They had to cross icy streams to get there, and she was thankful for the hide boots that protected her from the frigid water. When they reached the crest of the first part of the trail, she looked back and saw the fishing boat in the middle of the water. Even from that distance, she could spy Quion with the nets. The dark shapes of Damanhur’s ensign could be seen roaming along the beach. They had the few captured foes working on digging graves for the dead.

  After they crossed the first peak, the area opened up with thick vegetation, which would make it ideal for an ambush. Kunmia frowned.

  “Through the gorse,” Muxidi said.

  A path of trampled gorse led the way. But people could easily hide along the way if they crouched. Large boulders also provided places of concealment. It amazed Bingmei to see the evidence of the ice’s power over the land. The glacier had shattered a mountain, leaving debris in its wake. But it was clear that the glacier was indeed receding. The detritus it had left on the edges was ample evidence.

  “And right into where your bandits are waiting for us?” Kunmia said.

  “Death is coming to you either way,” Muxidi said with a sneer. “You don’t know the ways of the Qiangdao.”

  “And you’ve forgotten the ways of the quonsuun,” Kunmia countered. She turned. “Bingmei. Get up on those boulders, the highest ones. That will give you a vantage point to direct us.”

  She nodded and was about to proceed, but Mieshi interrupted. “I should go with her. You asked me to lead the scouting.”

  What was that smell? Jealousy? It wasn’t the same as protectiveness.

  “Stay with us,” Kunmia said. “Her skills are better suited for this situation.”

  Mieshi conceded, but she flashed Bingmei a look of displeasure that came with the sour smell of spoiled onion.

  “You’ll want to stay near me,” said the Qiangdao leader to Mieshi. “You’re a pretty one. I’ll protect you when my followers come.” He chuckled darkly.

  “Go,” Kunmia said to Bingmei.

  She began to creep through the gorse, keeping her staff gripped in her hand. Kunmia had warned her not to draw the sword again for fear it would overwhelm her. But holding a staff didn’t give her the same feeling of protection the blade did. It struck her that she could feel the blade on her back. A sense of calm emanated from it, as if it were not worried in the slightest about the dangers that lay ahead. Strange that a sword should make her feel emotions.

  Bingmei quickly wove through the brush, using her nose to smell for the presence of intruders. There were none. When she reached the bottom of the massive boulder that Kunmia had directed her to, she reached in her pocket and rubbed the cricket. The magic flung her to the top of the jagged stone.

  There was already a Qiangdao lying atop it.

  He scrambled to his feet, stunned by her sudden appearance, and she butted him hard with the end of her staff. He flailed backward, falling off the edge of the rock down into the gorse with a loud crackling sound of snapping and breaking branches. He groaned in pain down below. Shouts sounded, and she saw men fleeing through the gorse. She counted maybe a dozen in all.

  Bingmei whistled and pointed in the direction they were fleeing. They scattered like bugs beneath an overturned stone. Some still crouched in the gorse, but they looked to be hiding to protect themselves rather than lying in wait to attack. The ambush had failed. From her vantage point on the rock, she motioned for Kunmia to come closer. When her ensign reached the boulder, Bingmei jumped down, earning a glare of hatred from her enemy.

  “I remember that you could jump,” he said in a low, angry voice. “You had his cricket.”

  She gave him a smug smile, and they continued along the trail.

  It took about an hour for them to reach the edge of the glacier. The packed snow and ice had built up in layers over the centuries, or longer, creating a massive ceiling of rippling ice. The edges of it were pressed on crumbled stone, which had been pulverized by the glacier’s weight and movement. The great hunk of ice crawled like a beast—a very slow beast—and destroyed everything in its path. The upper layers were crystalline and white, while the lower reaches were mingled with stone and slud
ge. Part of it was brown, as if it were made out of sand.

  The sound of running water came from all around. The melting ice fed streams that both trickled and raged. With every step, the air got colder. It was a hauntingly beautiful sight, but Bingmei’s senses were sharp for danger.

  “Do you see the opening?” the Qiangdao leader said.

  Yes, there it was. Murky shadows gathered beneath a low shelf of ice directly ahead of them. The rocks were all jumbled together, making the footing unstable. It would be difficult going down the slope without falling, but they started, one by one, Mieshi and Bingmei leading the way.

  When they were halfway down, a man emerged from the cave. Bingmei recognized him as the man whose slinger she’d sliced, but he held a new one in his hand. He stooped by the edge of the cave, grabbing a stone, and twirled it overhead.

  “Watch out!” Mieshi called.

  The two of them separated as the first stone whooshed by, missing Mieshi. They scrambled down the slope while he brought out another stone and began twirling it. The rock came straight at Mieshi again, and she leaned sideways so it raced by her face. If it had struck, it would have killed her.

  Bingmei felt the ground giving way as she hurried down the slope to the edge of the ice. The slinger scowled at having missed and loaded a third stone. He spun again and loosed it. Mieshi twisted and let out a gasp as the stone struck her arm.

  Three of the stones had gone to one person. Bingmei reached the bottom and started to rush forward. The others had started to descend the slope. The slinger was hurrying, his face betraying his worry as he loaded another stone. He sent this one right at Bingmei, who jumped forward in a roll as soon as the missile left its sling. Coming up, Bingmei charged him, but he fled back into the cave before she reached him. Mieshi joined her a moment later, rubbing her arm and grimacing in pain.

  “How bad is it?” Bingmei asked.

  “I’ll be fine,” she answered curtly.

  They could hear the sound of the man running away. A small rivulet ran out of the mouth of the cave, revealing that the doorway had been carved by moving water. The interior of the cave was rounded and smooth with ice. Muddy puddles around the entrance revealed multiple boot prints. The gap in the ice leading in was taller than a person and as wide as three.

  “Do we wait for the others?” Bingmei asked.

  Mieshi turned to look back, watching the rest scrabble down the hillside. Muxidi was still tied up and came down slowly. Kunmia guarded him personally. “We wait,” she answered.

  The frost was already making Bingmei shiver. She pulled on her leather and fur hat to keep her head warm and unslung her pack to get her gloves. Soon she and Mieshi were both garbed for the cold of the cave. They waited at the entrance, and although Bingmei tried to determine what lay ahead, she could only smell the ice and the discomfort coming from Mieshi.

  The crunch of gravel and rocks announced the arrival of the others.

  “It’s cold,” Marenqo said, chafing his hands.

  Their breaths came out in puffs of white mist. Zhuyi pulled off her pack and began adding layers for warmth. Marenqo quickly followed suit. They then watched the prisoner while Kunmia dressed. When she finished, she took hold of Muxidi’s arm. “How many caves are here?” she asked. “Is this the only one?”

  “One way in. One way out,” he said, and his lie made Bingmei’s eyes water.

  She shook her head no.

  Kunmia smiled in appreciation. “How much of Fusang is still intact?” she asked. “Judging by the amount of debris, it too must have been shattered by the glacier.”

  Muxidi turned and looked at her. “All of it.”

  “It’s all broken?” Marenqo asked dejectedly.

  “No.” The Qiangdao leader grinned a savage smile. “It’s all intact. A city beneath the ice. Waiting to be found again.” Then he looked directly at Bingmei. “Welcome home.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Realm of Fusang

  His words should have frightened her, but they didn’t. It surprised Bingmei that instead of feeling trepidation and fear about coming to this place, she felt instead a vague sense of familiarity. She’d never been to this place before, but it felt as if she had. Perhaps each person did live multiple lives, as the stories said, and she was experiencing the echoes of a previous existence. The entrance to the ice cave drew her in, making her long to enter it.

  “This is no home,” Kunmia said. “Nothing can survive in there for long.”

  Muxidi smirked. “And what do you know of survival? You hide within your warm buildings, bundled in furs. The Qiangdao follow the laws of the pack, not of men. Even an ice cave can be warm.”

  “Master,” Marenqo said in a warning tone, “should we really bring him in there with us? He is too devious.”

  “We cannot leave him outside either,” Kunmia replied.

  Muxidi’s nostrils flared. “I know the path inside. You could wander in there for days. The melting ice has carved many tunnels.”

  “But you are an untrustworthy guide,” Kunmia said. “Bingmei—if he attempts to flee or they try to rescue him, you have my permission to exact revenge.” She gave Muxidi a stern look. “Your life is in your hands.”

  “I’m very afraid of the little rose,” he said, giving Bingmei a wicked smile.

  Bingmei felt her hatred of the man pulsing in her chest. He was the kind of man who could smother a child and feel no remorse. The reek of his presence had not abated.

  “Mieshi, Bingmei,” Kunmia said, nodding for them to enter first. They gripped their staves and stepped into the small stream of icy water coming from the cave floor.

  They entered a new world.

  Light from the sun outside made the translucent ice glow a thousand stunning shades of blue and gray. The ice’s rippling layers were slick and wet. All around, the sounds of water plopping into the stream echoed through the space. The ground was made of broken rock fragments and rivulets of water. It was cold, but the Qiangdao leader was right. It was warmer inside the cave than out.

  The scene was enchanting in its beauty and wonder. It was like a river had frozen solid, trapping the little eddies and current. Bingmei ran her fingers on the ceiling, watching her gloves moisten with the damp. The power of the glacier was beyond her imagination. How thick was the ice overhead? It would take months to chip through it. Yet the melting point had been reached, and the stream was carving paths from beneath. She and Mieshi walked on the dryer portions of the path of broken rocks, frigid air following them like their shadows.

  “Which way?” Bingmei asked Mieshi. To go downhill, they would have to start crouching, as the ceiling of ice dropped lower that way. Higher up, it seemed to open into a broader cavern.

  “That way,” Mieshi said, pointing her staff upstream.

  They hiked carefully, choosing their footing and listening for sounds beyond the rush of the water and the constant dripping noises.

  Bingmei smelled a man ahead, hiding behind a pillar of ice. She touched Mieshi’s sleeve and nodded toward it. Mieshi nodded in return and gestured for Bingmei to go to the right while she went to the left.

  Bingmei recognized the smell as the slinger. She slowed her approach, trying to disguise the noise of her steps, but the rocks kept shifting beneath her feet, scraping against each other. Seeing no way to avoid it, she kept advancing. She saw a pale shadow against the ice. Mieshi crept soundlessly toward it.

  Bingmei reached the edge of the pillar, keeping wide of it, and suddenly the slinger jumped out, whipping his sling around. A stone whistled past Bingmei’s ear as she lunged away. She spun her staff in broad sweeps in front of her, hoping to confuse him as he prepared another stone. He’d just raised the sling, ready to send another missile at her, when Mieshi struck him from behind. He grimaced in pain as her staff impacted against his back. When he dropped the sling, turning toward Mieshi, she hit him in the face. He crumpled to the rocks, unconscious.

  Bingmei set her staff down. They both invest
igated the body and took away the man’s weapon and his bag of rounded stones. Mieshi turned him over, and Bingmei produced some leather straps and bound his wrists behind him. They left him on the broken rocks by the ice column, so he’d be easily spotted by the others.

  “Let’s go farther,” Mieshi suggested. Eager to continue exploring, Bingmei did not object.

  The farther they went, the higher the ceiling rose above them. The veins in the walls looked almost like tapestries made by nature, and Bingmei continued to be impressed by the beauty of the place. A rock tumbled from one of the massive piles, making them both raise their staves and turn at the same time, expecting another attack. But nothing happened.

  A strange sensation rippled down Bingmei’s back. She turned again, feeling as if someone were sneaking up behind her. There was no one there.

  “What’s wrong?” Mieshi asked.

  Bingmei squinted, trying to see. She couldn’t smell anything, but her whole body felt odd, and she started to tremble. “We’re not alone.”

  Mieshi turned around as well, looking back the way they’d come. “I don’t hear anything. Or see anything.”

  “Neither do I. But something is near—I feel it.”

  Anticipation mingled with fear, and she felt her breath quickening. Danger was coming. Something they couldn’t see was hunting them.

  “What is it?” Mieshi demanded, turning around again, holding her staff defensively.

  It reminded Bingmei of the feelings she’d experienced when she’d retrieved the Phoenix Blade from amidst the bodies left by the killing fog. The sensation of being watched, of knowing something was coming for her.

  Bingmei set down her staff and drew the blade from its scabbard.

  Mieshi gazed at it in worry and awe. The blade shimmered with greenish light, reflecting off the blue walls of ice. It had, once again, invoked its own magic.

  “What are you doing?” Mieshi demanded worriedly. “What if it summons the killing fog in here? We’ll all die!”