The Buried World (The Grave Kingdom)

by Jeff Wheeler

  Bingmei reached the top of the steps and rushed to the huge doors. There were nine rows of nine knobs, wreathed in gold, along with two lion-head handles.

  In her mind, she saw her hand touching each knob in the first of the rows, one at a time, and she repeated what she saw. As she performed the ritual, she felt her strength increase.

  “Stop!” he commanded, coming up behind her.

  Bingmei turned to face him, determined still, and when he reached for her, she brought her wrists together and blocked his arm before striking him in the chest with both palms.

  A surge of power went through her hands, and he flew backward, knocked off his feet as if by a battering ram, and disappeared over the edge of the steps. She stared in surprise at the power she’d just displayed. Her arms tingled with it.

  Bingmei turned around swiftly and pulled on one of the handles. She should have lacked the strength to budge it, but the door swung open enough to let her pass. Excitement burned inside her veins.

  The room was thick with shadows from the setting sun. The latticework windows were so high they did not provide much light. A few braziers were lit, but they provided more heat than they did illumination. The room had a polished marble floor inset with gold sigils around the entire border.

  She had to lift her foot to cross the threshold, and as she did, she felt the strength vanish. The surge of energy and power she’d experienced siphoned away.

  There was a sofa, a table with a plate of half-eaten black rice. A cup. She gazed around and then saw someone walking toward her from the shadows.

  Bingmei’s heart quickened, and then she noticed another man kneeling on the floor, gray head bowed, facing the wall in a posture of deep meditation. He hadn’t stirred, and his position looked very uncomfortable.

  Bingmei turned back to the shape approaching her. It seemed to glide instead of walk, and the hairs on her arms rose as a prickle of awareness shot down her spine.

  In the dimness of the room, Grandfather Jiao approached her.

  Her heart seized with panic and then wonder. She knew it was him, although he wasn’t gray-haired any longer. His beard was short and trimmed, and he looked so much like her father it made her ache, but she knew it was Grandfather. Some inner instinct screamed that this was what he’d looked like as a younger man.

  “Grandfather!” Bingmei whispered in surprise.

  He approached her quickly but wearily, as if he’d been walking on a long journey. “Bingmei,” he answered. Then he started searching the room, looking behind the couches and scanning the shadows. “Is she here, Bingmei? Have you seen her yet?”

  “Who, Grandfather?” she asked in confusion.

  “Your grandmother, child, Fupenzi. I’m searching for her still. She came to me, the night before I died, to warn me that I was coming to the Grave Kingdom. When I got there, I could not find her. I’ve searched for her everywhere. I thought she might be here with you.”

  Bingmei’s emotions roiled within her. “No, Grandfather. I don’t even remember her. I was very young when she died of a fever.”

  “I miss her,” said Grandfather Jiao mournfully. “She should be here.”

  Bingmei pinched her own arm and felt the pain. She was experiencing a waking vision.

  “Grandfather,” Bingmei said worriedly. “Why are you here?”

  He turned and faced her, a strange light glowing in his eyes. “We always come when our posterity is near death,” he said. “You will be joining us in the Grave Kingdom soon, Bingmei. If I cannot find you, I am sorry. It is a maze. We are all of us searching for our loved ones.”

  A stab of pain struck her heart. Her grandfather looked as harried as her mother had in her dream. Although Quion had found comfort in the knowledge the Grave Kingdom existed, she wasn’t sure she agreed anymore. There was no calm after death, just more urgency and despair.

  “I failed you, Grandfather,” Bingmei said. “I was supposed to cross the Death Wall. I didn’t do as I was told.”

  “I know, child. I know. It’s too much to put on someone so young. Please find us in the Grave Kingdom, Bingmei. Find your family. Your grandmother loved you so much. I miss her. I miss you all.” His pain smelled like spoiled beans. “I found your father, but he left to search for your mother. When you come, find us! That is all I can hope for now. I must go.”

  “Grandfather!” Bingmei said, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t want to be parted from him. There was much she’d left unsaid. Her love for him burned in her chest.

  “I must go! Find us!”

  He turned and walked hastily back into the shadows. Bingmei charged after him, but when she reached the pillars, she saw he’d already disappeared through the wall. Her heart couldn’t bear the pain she felt, the strange longing for the people she’d lost. Her grandfather had been in this room with her. Or maybe her mind had concocted some strange delusion, knowing she was near death. But it had felt so real.

  She pressed her hand against the wall. It felt immovable, yet he had passed through it effortlessly. There was a part of his soul that couldn’t rest. Bingmei put her face in her hands, crying, and then she heard a sigh behind her and smelled pine-tree sap.

  She turned, afraid her guardian had charged in to attack her, but this wasn’t his smell. It was the old man she’d seen crouching in meditation.

  “Hello,” he said in a kindly way. The sap was a pleasant smell. Kindly, absent of any anger or depression. This man was at peace with himself.

  He wasn’t a ghost. He was real.

  “Who are you?” she asked, not feeling threatened, yet still fearful. But as she looked at his face when he came out of the shadows, she saw his resemblance to Juexin. To Rowen. The arch of his forehead, the nose. They were family.

  “My name is Shulian.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Powerless One

  Bingmei had guessed he was the exiled king of Sajinau, but her eyes widened in surprise nonetheless. What was he doing in this forbidden palace? “I am Bingmei,” she said, stepping closer. How long before her guardian would make it back to her? She suspected she might only have a few moments with the deposed king.

  “I don’t get visitors,” he said with a smile. “Thank you for coming.”

  “I’m not supposed to be here,” she said. “I came following a feeling . . .”

  “The phoenix brought you; I know,” he said, nodding. He reached out and took her hands in his. His palms were very warm.

  “What is this place?” she asked, looking at the shadowy rafters, the light quickly dimming as the sunlight faded.

  “This is the Hall of Unity. Such a fancy title, but it’s not what it appears. It’s a special sort of prison, Bingmei. I must stay here until I waste away.”

  Strangely, he didn’t sound grieved by the thought. If anything, the pine-sap smell grew stronger. He stared at her keenly.

  “You are the phoenix-chosen,” he said. “I tried so hard to find you.” The pressure of his grip increased. “Now, when I depart for the Death Wall, I can leave in peace. I have seen you with my own eyes. At long last.”

  Her heart beat fast with confusion and desperate emotion. “I failed, Your Majesty,” she whispered. “I did not go when I was called. I ran from it. All of this ruin has come about because of me.”

  “All is not ruined,” he said, shaking his head.

  Bingmei squeezed his hands, her feelings bleak. “I just saw my grandfather’s ghost. In here. Both he and my mother have told me I’ll be in the Grave Kingdom soon. Echion is going to kill me.”

  “You are the one that the phoenix chose,” King Shulian said, his voice firm. His eyes locked on hers. “Believe in that. You have a gift of survival, child. You are not as fragile as you fear.”

  “I am powerless against him,” Bingmei said in concern.

  He shook his head. “No. I am the powerless one. He robbed my kingdom. He slaughtered my army. He murdered my firstborn son and is trying to break my only daughter. In every way,
he has sought to rip from me my sense of self, my being, my very souls. But he cannot take from me the last of my freedoms. Whatever else he strips away, he cannot force me to relinquish the one thing that belongs to me and only me.” He smiled at her. “He cannot take my taidu.”

  Bingmei looked at him in confusion.

  “My taidu is my attitude, my demeanor, my reaction to adversity. It is the deepest part of our souls, the pearl concealed within the oyster. I have the right to determine how I react to events, good or ill. To choose my own way despite death or pain. Or happiness or prosperity. He cannot pry that pearl from me. Only I can give up my taidu.”

  Bingmei smelled her angry guardian’s fury as he charged toward the doors. Her worry intensified. She looked at King Shulian longingly, wanting to preserve this moment. Wanting to learn as much as she could from this wise man.

  “But he’ll kill me,” she said.

  He nodded knowingly. “The dead live in the memory of those they leave behind. You were chosen to bring light to those who live in shadow and darkness. I have been communing with the phoenix since Jidi Majia returned with his vision. I, too, have gone to the phoenix shrine. There is a quonsuun beyond the Death Wall, Bingmei, one that is dedicated to the chosen. You will be led there when it is time.” He stared at her with eyes full of conviction, as if he were uttering a prophecy in which he deeply believed, and said, “This child is set for the fall and rise of many kingdoms. For a sign of dawn, which shall be spoken again.” She felt the emotions writhing within him, and he struggled to speak through tears. “And yes, a sword shall pierce through your own soul also. That the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

  Looking past King Shulian, she saw her guardian stride into the chamber. His eyes were full of wrath as he rushed toward them.

  “Bingmei,” Shulian said, his voice urgent. “Follow the urgings you have had. They come from—”

  Her guardian struck Shulian on the back and quickly traced a dianxue sigil with his finger.

  This was no mere paralyzing touch. Shulian’s breath stopped, and his body contorted in convulsions of pain. He fell limp to the floor, his hands no longer able to grip hers. Bingmei felt tears streaming down her cheeks. She dropped down beside the older man, looking into his panicked eyes. His chest had stopped moving. He couldn’t breathe.

  She glared at the guardian. “Release him!” she commanded.

  He clenched his fist and tried to backhand her as she crouched in front of him. Bingmei anticipated the blow and ducked lower, then jumped at him. Her strength was a fraction of what it had been in the past, but she punched and kicked and tried to injure him in any way she could. He retreated from the onslaught of her attack, blocking or dodging the strikes, before he countered and knocked her to the ground in a stunning blow that cracked one of her ribs.

  The jolt of pain made her crumple to the ground in agony, gasping. He stepped over her and walked to Shulian’s body. She groaned in pain, struggling to turn around, and saw him squatting over the body, his fist clenched still as if he were about to deliver a death blow.

  Hardly breathing through her distress, unable to speak, she pulled herself closer to Shulian. His panic was gone, and she smelled the cool pine-sap scent again.

  Kill him.

  It was a thought that came as loudly as spoken words, as if the palace walls themselves had uttered the command. She recognized the voice and the horrible stench of Echion that flooded the room, drowning out King Shulian’s pleasant smell.

  The guardian, teeth bared, struck the defenseless man with a final punch.

  Agony and loss tore at Bingmei’s heart as she watched the brutal act, unable to prevent it. Despair threatened to choke her as full darkness claimed the room. The sun was gone at last. So was the sweet smell of sap. Bingmei cried quietly, her rib throbbing as her breath came in stuttering sobs.

  She watched Shulian’s soul rise from his body, as if he were awakening from a nap. He turned to look at her.

  I am free. Thank you, Bingmei.

  You will never be free from me. Echion’s tone was mocking, and the sentiment was one he’d repeated after Prince Juexin’s murder. The ancient ruler controlled both the world of the living and the world of the dead.

  Overwhelmed by feelings of despair, Bingmei watched as Shulian’s soul was yanked away. This was Rowen’s father. The two would never be reunited again until the son joined him in death. Perhaps not even then. From what her mother and grandfather had told her, death was a maze where family members searched desperately for each other.

  Bingmei bowed her head and wept bitterly.

  The guardian brought her back to the concubines’ quarters. Bingmei became inconsolable when she saw Eomen and Faguan. How could she tell Shulian’s daughter that the king was dead—and that it was her disobedience that had brought it about? The two women stared at her in worry. The guardian ordered them to tend to her injuries before storming away in disgust and rage.

  “What happened to you?” Eomen asked with some flickering sympathy.

  Bingmei couldn’t speak the fateful words, knowing the pain they would cause. She knew the pain of grief, having learned of her parents’ deaths the same day she saw Muxidi murder her grandfather.

  “What should we do?” Faguan asked Eomen worriedly.

  “Maybe they tortured her,” Eomen said. They ceased trying to comfort her and began examining her for injuries. Her chest hurt terribly with each breath, and although they eventually discovered the problem and wrapped her ribs in silk to help compress the broken bone, it didn’t help. The pain traveled around her side so that both front and back throbbed each time she inhaled.

  The darkness of her feelings was unbearable. Smelling them made it worse. She couldn’t escape her own stink. She pressed her face into her hands and cried until all the tears were gone. Deadness replaced the pain, and she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the glowing glyphs in the meiwood pillars through the open doorway.

  You have an instinct for survival, the king had told her.

  But she’d never felt closer to death. Her mother and grandfather had both warned her she was about to die, and she’d just watched Shulian take his last breath.

  After her injuries were tended to, she smelled someone approaching. It took her a moment to identify the person as Liekou, the man who’d hunted her down in Sihui.

  She lifted her head, staring sullenly at the door moments before he entered. Eomen noticed this, and her brow wrinkled in confusion. She gasped when Liekou appeared in the threshold of the door.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Liekou,” he said boldly. Bingmei smelled something off about him. A flowery smell that seemed totally out of place. Before, he’d always smelled of self-confidence and power. “I will be guarding her now. The dragon wishes her to be brought to him at midnight to summon the queen. You have been ordered to prepare the queen’s chambers. She will determine which concubines are fit to serve her. Go.”

  Eomen and the other girl bowed and left the room.

  She glared at Liekou, but her reaction meant nothing to him. He stalked into the room self-importantly. That strange flowery smell came with him.

  “What has happened to Sihui?” Bingmei asked him, still glaring.

  “It will fall in the morning,” he answered. “The darkness lifts on the third day. When the sun rises, they will see the invasion arriving to attack from the rear of the city, where they are weakest.” He smirked at the tale he told. “King Zhumu will be killed. His daughter, Cuifen, I have brought here.”

  As he said those last words, Bingmei smelled the blooming fragrance again. She suspected she’d identified the source. He had spent two days with the princess on the way to Fusang. He felt something for her, some emotion he wrestled with even now. It was plain as day.

  Bingmei hated her gift sometimes.

  “Now I will ask you a question. One that has troubled me. When I came for you in Sihui, you ran from me.”

  “Of cour
se I did,” she answered, wincing at a stab of pain from her ribs. “You are my enemy.”

  He paced to the other side of the bed, his look thoughtful. He turned to face her. “But how did you even know I was there? You were blind. Your feeble attacks against me proved as much. Yet still, you knew I was coming and warned the others to close the door. And when I came nearer to you, you flinched and backed away.” His eyes narrowed coldly. “How did you know I was there?”

  She realized, with dread, that she’d unwittingly revealed her power to him. He was an astute and cunning warrior, and he was trying to untangle the knot of the mystery.

  “I did . . . sense you,” she answered, her throat dry.

  “I know. How?”

  She stared at him, saw the determination in his eyes. She didn’t speak.

  He frowned. “If you tell me,” he whispered, “I will help you escape Fusang.”

  The lie was so strong, it made her eyes water. She wrinkled her nose helplessly and looked away. A little chuckle tried to escape her chest, but the pain stifled it.

  “You don’t want to escape?” he said incredulously.

  Her lips formed a little frown. “I don’t believe you.”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and paced the other way. “Budai’s steward told me that you have a gift. That you know when someone is lying. That you used it in the service of the king of Wangfujing.” He turned sharply, his eyes probing her carefully. “You knew just now that I was lying. I was testing it.”

  The worry inside her grew, rattling like a pot lid when the cauldron was reaching its heat. She said nothing.

  “So . . . you can sense people. Their motives. Even their presence. How does it work?”

  “Why should I tell you?” Bingmei answered.

  “Because it may save your life,” he replied. This time, he wasn’t lying. “I have not shared this secret with the master yet. I wanted to understand it myself. It may prove . . . useful to him.” There was a hint of dishonesty in his smell at that last comment, but it was subtle. His motives were more complex than that. There was self-interest as well. She suspected she knew why.