The Killing Fog

by Wheeler, Jeff

  The murderous Qiangdao had not yet been found, although every member of the Jingcha sought them. She could still feel the itching presence of the Phoenix Blade, lurking beyond the walls. It was somewhere to the southwest of the palace.

  Staying in Sajinau would be suicide. The rulers would try to coax her into sacrificing herself so that the Jingcha could continue ruling the streets. So that General Tzu could lead armies to spread Sajinau’s dominion. So that King Shulian, whenever he returned, would rule a larger domain than the one his father had handed him. Meanwhile, her grandfather’s quonsuun would remain abandoned and broken. Her purpose would go unfulfilled, her family unrevenged.

  Why should everyone keep what they wanted except for her? The unfairness twisted inside her like a dagger.

  At the end of her routine, she knelt on the floor for a moment, panting and covered in sweat, then returned the saber to its rack and refreshed herself with the towels and bowls of water that had been set out for that purpose. Not until she tossed the soiled towel on the table did she notice Prince Rowen leaning against one of the pillars, arms folded, regarding her.

  Her mood soured slightly, but she didn’t hesitate to confront him. “Have you also come to persuade me to die?” she asked as she walked toward his pillar.

  Rowen chuckled and looked down. “No, Bingmei. I wanted to persuade you to see the hanging trees.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Where criminals are killed?”

  “No,” he said, laughing harder. “No, it’s the palace gardens. Plants hang from the trees. I think you’ll like it.”

  “And why would I want to visit a garden?” she said, feeling that he wasn’t being completely forthright with her.

  He shrugged, his voice lowering. “Because that’s how we’ll escape Sajinau when Echion comes.” His eyes glittered with determination. “My brother is a fool. And so are his advisors. Come see the hanging trees with me. We can talk more there.” Now she smelled the truth. He meant every word.

  A little smile crept onto Bingmei’s mouth. “I’ll get ready.”

  After bathing and changing into new clothes—the servants took her soiled ones to wash—Bingmei joined Marenqo and Quion at the feasting tables. She noticed Kunmia was speaking with Jidi Majia, their heads bent in conversation. The crown prince wasn’t there, nor was the general or the master of the Jingcha.

  “The boy tells me,” Marenqo said in a sardonic tone, nibbling on a cube of purple dragon fruit, “that the people of Sajinau trap the fish here. Not with nets, but by building strange chutes. The fish swim into the trap, nearly kill themselves with the effort of climbing up the chutes, only to be caught at the top, killed, and sold. I’ve never heard of such lazy fishermen before. I’m astonished.”

  “I’ve not seen anything like it,” Quion said in wonderment. “I know salmon go upstream to spawn, but this is made by people. There were so many fish. A net would burst. Ten nets would burst.”

  “Try the dragon fruit, Bingmei; it’s quite delicious,” Marenqo offered, gesturing to a silver platter that held an assortment of different fruits.

  She took a tiny bamboo spear and stabbed one and ate it. It tasted like calmness smelled.

  Bingmei smiled and nodded to Quion. “This isn’t the first time we’ve tricked beasts into subservience. I imagine the first horse didn’t relish a bridle.”

  “That’s it precisely!” Marenqo said. “We use their instincts against them.”

  “Why did the ancients decorate everything with the shapes of animals, then?” Quion asked.

  Marenqo raised his hand, looking sagely at the young man, then lowered it and said, “I have no idea.”

  Bingmei laughed and speared a slice of melon next.

  After a lengthy pause, Marenqo looked at Bingmei. “So . . . what do you think of Jidi Majia’s vision?”

  She gave him an arch look. “Would you want to sacrifice yourself, Marenqo?”

  “Not really, no. Actually, it would terrify me. I have a fear of death that is rather developed. Which is why I asked you the question.”

  Quion’s countenance fell. He never had learned to hide his emotions.

  “I’m still considering it,” Bingmei said, although that wasn’t entirely true. She had decided against it, more than once. “I don’t think it is fair.”

  “It is not fair,” Marenqo agreed. “But is it fair to let the world become enslaved?”

  Bingmei snorted. “It already is, Marenqo.” She cocked her head as she looked at him. “If I decided to leave . . . would you come with me?” She had always liked Marenqo, and his skills would be very useful if she escaped.

  He looked down at his hands, and she smelled the mix of feelings within him. He wasn’t disappointed in her request. Nor was he surprised. He was genuinely conflicted. It smelled like baking hot peppers. “I . . . I don’t know, Bingmei. Kunmia is my master. I, her disciple. I don’t think she intends to abandon Sajinau. When Echion comes, they will need fighters.” The frown that had appeared on his mouth deepened.

  “They already have an army,” Bingmei pointed out. “We saw them training in the courtyard.”

  “Yes, but . . . their skills are not the same as those of us who have trained in a quonsuun.” He glanced at her for a brief instant, then looked away. “I don’t feel right about leaving my master. Mieshi is staying as well. I heard her say so.”

  “I hope to build up my own quonsuun someday,” Bingmei said pointedly. She wasn’t inviting him overtly, but she hoped he picked up on her meaning that someday she would.

  She could tell he felt flattered, but loyalty bound more tightly than ropes. He simply nodded. “And you’ll do well; I’m sure of it.”

  “Quion,” she said, turning to the young fisherman. “I’m going to see the hanging trees now. Do you want to come?”

  “They’re beautiful,” Marenqo said. “Especially this time of year.”

  “Yes!” Quion answered.

  So Bingmei and Quion left the banquet room. She glanced over at Kunmia once again, feeling a pang of sorrow and also guilt. She knew her master would be duty bound to stay and protect Sajinau. Bingmei wished that the situation were otherwise, but secrecy was essential. Her heart ached at the thought of leaving Kunmia, not knowing when, or if, she’d see her again, but she didn’t believe she had a choice. If she told her master she was leaving, then Prince Juexin might try to stop her—or send Jiaohua to do it.

  She asked a servant for direction to the hanging trees, and the young man escorted them to the threshold. They passed beneath a beautiful meiwood arch, decorated with vines and the symbols of partridges and cockerels. The gardens opened up before them in an abundance of color. The scent was a delightful floral perfume.

  The trees had been sculpted, the smaller branches removed, and only club-like joints remained. Bunches of blossoms of different mixes and varieties hung down from above, as if replacing the leaves that had been removed from the trees. She saw workers on short ladders tending to the arrangements. The path itself was overgrown with greenery, making it dense with foliage.

  “Well, I’ve never,” Quion said with an amazed sigh.

  “I was worried you’d changed your mind,” said Prince Rowen, stepping out from one side of the archway. Damanhur stood beside him, hand on his sword pommel.

  She felt a little twisting sensation in her stomach.

  Rowen walked up to her, holding out a little open sack. She saw a handful of brown pods within it. They had a waxy texture like a pepper, only the color was wrong. He dropped his voice low, proffering the bag to her. “Are you ready to leave?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Coming Fire

  Bingmei took a brown pod. It was as large as her thumb, and she eyed it warily. Quion started to scowl, and the onion smell of distrust came from her friend in malodorous waves.

  “Will this make my mouth burn?” she asked cautiously.

  “Try it and see,” said Rowen with a conniving smile.

  Damanhur chuckled
and shook his head, turning around and gazing at the gardens with a hint of impatience.

  Bingmei raised the pod to her nose, but it didn’t have an odor. “It’s wrinkled like a fig,” she said.

  “It’s not a fig,” Rowen said.

  Bingmei bit into the piece carefully. Its tough exterior was like dried meat, but sweet flavor exploded in her mouth as she began to chew. It looked like a dried piece of dung, but it tasted sweeter than any fruit she’d ever tasted. Her eyes widened in surprise at the texture and flavor. Then she quickly took another bite.

  Rowen smiled at her reaction. “It’s a delicacy in Sajinau,” he said. “They come from the Namibu Desert far to the south. They’re called medjool by the tribesmen there.” He offered the bag to Quion, who took one and bit into the middle of it and winced. “They have long seeds,” Rowen said apologetically. “I should have warned you about that.”

  Bingmei bit around the seed until it was exposed, then drew out the long wooden sliver. Quion did the same.

  “Have you been to Namibu?” Rowen asked her.

  “No. I’ve never been this far south before.”

  He nodded. “The town of Xidan is to the south on the coast. The junks from Namibu go there first before coming here to trade. They also go many other places, like Sihui. Depending on what happens, we may need to find shelter somewhere else. But this much is clear. If we stay in Sajinau, we’ll lose any ability to maneuver. I hope I’m wrong and my brother is able to hold off Echion, I truly do.” He paused, as if giving her time to judge his remark. She sensed he meant it, although his usual conflict regarding his brother was also present. “But if he fails, we cannot allow Echion to capture you, Bingmei. If he does, all is lost. We must leave now. Today.”

  “Why should she trust you?” Quion said.

  “Why shouldn’t she?” Rowen countered, giving Quion a look of annoyance. “Do you have another place to go?”

  “He’s coming,” Damanhur muttered.

  Rowen looked over Bingmei’s shoulder. When she turned, she saw Juexin approaching with Jidi Majia and a few courtiers. Her insides clenched with dread. The sharp tang of hostility wafted off Rowen when he saw his brother.

  Juexin motioned for the courtiers to remain at the archway, and he crossed with only Jidi Majia to greet them. When he arrived, he saw the sack of medjool and helped himself to one.

  “Showing our guests the hanging trees?” Juexin asked.

  “I was about to. Yes.” Rowen’s demeanor was courteous, but emotion seethed beneath the surface.

  “These gardens are beautiful,” the crown prince said. “Mother was fond of them. Wasn’t she?” His eyes had an accusing look. Rowen bristled but said nothing.

  Juexin bit into the strange leathery fruit and then tossed the seed onto the grass. “Bingmei, can I speak with you?”

  It was just what she had been dreading. “Of course, Your Highness,” she answered, feeling her discomfort grow at the tension between the brothers.

  Rowen bowed his head in mocking deference, gesturing for Bingmei to accompany his brother. The prince led her to the left side of the gardens, not far from the others, but out of earshot.

  “Kunmia has said you’ve never been all the way to the Death Wall?” he asked, clasping his hands behind his back. Despite herself, she admired him. He was a handsome man, full of vigor and strength. He walked with a sword buckled to his tunic, and the nicks and cuts on his knuckles indicated he knew how to use it. He was not a pampered prince—he had led his father’s armies against the Qiangdao many times.

  “No,” she answered, fearing where the conversation was going.

  “I have, several times. It’s an arduous climb to get to the mountaintops. I’ve walked up and down the steps. I’ve shared meals with the soldiers garrisoned there. Some of them believe it is the entrance to the underworld. The Grave Kingdom. They’re afraid to go there. A few claim they’ve seen ghosts on the other side. Others have seen poisonous serpents slithering around. Serpents that can climb trees.” He chuckled, then stopped by a small koi pond where colorful fish flitted.

  Still she waited, not wanting to encourage their talk any more than courtesy demanded. She glanced back at Rowen, who was watching them with a fierce, almost protective look on his face.

  “Everyone is afraid to cross the Death Wall,” he said, gazing at the water. “We’ve been taught to fear it. So I’ve been asking myself a question since you arrived.” He looked at her seriously. “What would it take to persuade you to cross it?”

  She felt her cheeks start to burn under his probing look. He was trying to bribe her to sacrifice herself. She turned away from him, trying to control her emotions.

  “I cannot force you. No one can. The sacrifice must be willing. So I have an idea. A thought.”

  She bit her lip, knowing he would tell her whether she liked it or not.

  “I would build a special quonsuun for you. Here, in the middle of Sajinau. One dedicated to the phoenix. I would set aside one day a week for the people of the city to visit the quonsuun to burn incense for you. Every week, they would remember your name and what you did for us. I would command that this practice would continue from now until the end of the world. I would appoint monks to officiate and tell your story. To be held in remembrance always. They will forget me someday, Bingmei. They will forget my father. But they will never forget you. The grounds of the phoenix quonsuun would be considered holy. This is what I would do to honor and respect your sacrifice.”

  Guilt squirmed inside her heart. What he promised was indeed an enormous honor. It would make her death mean something, which was rare in their world. How long would it last, though? How long before an unknown generation despised the tradition and mocked the girl they were forced to revere?

  She turned to look at him. “If Jidi Majia had said that you must be the one to sacrifice your life, would you have done it?”

  He stared at her with fixed attention. “Without hesitation.”

  “Because you care for your people,” she said.

  “I love my people,” he answered. “I will not let them be enslaved.”

  She took a step closer to him. “But Sajinau is different than the rest of the world. Maybe there is more good in this kingdom. Maybe King Shulian has created something admirable here. But would you, Your Highness, give your life to save the Qiangdao? The murderers who seek to destroy us?”

  His lips pressed together.

  “I’m not sure you would. You fight them. You oppose them. Yet despite your father’s talk of banding the kingdoms together, what has Sajinau done to defeat the Qiangdao?”

  “You sound like my brother,” he said, his voice tinged with resentment. It was a burning smell, like overcooked syrup.

  “Maybe your brother has a point,” Bingmei said simply.

  Juexin controlled his expression, if barely. “You don’t know him as well as I do, Bingmei. There’s a reason my father didn’t choose him.”

  “What if your father was wrong?” Bingmei asked. She felt impertinent asking it, but she needed to know how he’d react.

  Juexin’s nostrils flared, showing his offense, and his smell soured. “Kunmia has told me that you’ve fought the Qiangdao yourself. You don’t lack for courage. The reason the Qiangdao have not yet attacked the city of Sajinau is because they know they cannot overpower it. We have enough food to withstand a siege for years, because my father has been wise enough to secure it. We can defend our walls with only a fraction of the soldiers it would take to breach them. But if we attacked the Qiangdao in their strongholds, in their mountain caves, we’d be slaughtered. It would take ten years or longer for us to overcome them, not to mention the loss of lives and treasure, and for what? To leave widows weeping for their husbands and sons? Sisters for their brothers? Whichever side attacks first loses. That is the argument against going to war. And if Echion seeks to defeat us here, then he will only succeed at a great cost.”

  Bingmei felt there was truth in his words. He beli
eved them at least. She looked him in the eye. “The difference between you and Echion is that he is willing to endure the weeping widows and sisters. I’ve taken his measure, Prince Juexin. He does not share your qualms.”

  Juexin nodded at her words. “I don’t doubt you. Echion is a monster. For a long time my brother has had an unhealthy fascination with the emblems of the Dragon of Night. He and Jidi Majia would discuss it often, trying to decipher what the carvings meant. And you’re right. He doesn’t share my qualms.”

  Did he mean Rowen or Echion? Or both?

  That thought, grazing her mind, made her doubt Rowen’s motives once again.

  “I will let you return to your walk,” he said, bowing to her in respect. “Consider my promise to you. I believe my father would have recommended the same. He and I think very much alike. Or so I flatter myself.”

  “Thank you for the generosity of your offer,” Bingmei said, anxious to leave his company.

  He escorted her back to where Rowen and the others waited. Jidi Majia gave Bingmei an earnest look, but she let nothing show on her face.

  “Brother,” Juexin said, looking at Rowen, his tone formal. “General Tzu has requested that you lead part of the army.”

  Rowen’s surprise showed in his arched eyebrows. “He did?”

  Juexin nodded. “You must help defend the city. I approved his request. This is your chance, Rowen.” He looked as if he were about to say more, but stopped himself. “Eomen said she wanted to speak with you. Should I tell her you’re coming after your walk?”

  Rowen offered a pained smile. “Of course.”

  Juexin nodded curtly. He’d taken no more than two steps toward the arch, when a soldier with a shield emblazoned with the dragon emblem rushed through it.

  The man bowed before the crown prince. “My lord,” he said, huffing. “The fires in the watchtowers are burning. Enemy ships have been sighted.”

  “Where is General Tzu?” Juexin asked, his expression turning grave.

  “He’s preparing orders to defend the city.”

  “May the phoenix protect us,” Juexin muttered and started marching toward the palace.