The Buried World (The Grave Kingdom)

by Jeff Wheeler

  Liekou put his hand on her shoulder. “I will stop him.”

  She looked in his eyes. “We both will.”

  He gave her a doubtful smile. “He knows dianxue. He can shoot an arrow through a boulder.”

  Bingmei’s eyes widened. “How?”

  “He can. I’ve seen it done. It is another lost skill that Echion has brought back, but I know as much as he does, if not more. Wait here.” He started to rise, but she caught his arm.

  “Be careful,” she told him.

  Liekou’s scent shifted with her concern. He nodded and then quietly went in the direction she’d pointed.

  Bingmei shook Mieshi awake, whispered to her what was going on, and told her to awaken the others on her signal. She then crept around the boulder, her back pressed against it. How could a man shoot an arrow through a boulder? But there was no lie in Liekou’s words. If he said he’d seen it done, then he had.

  She edged closer, trying to get a look.

  The twang of a bow traveled through the air, followed by the sound of splintering wood. Bingmei gripped the meiwood staff and peered around the edge of the stone.

  She saw the archer now, in a low crouch, half hidden by the brush, the bow held in front of him. He quickly drew another arrow and fit it to the string. Liekou had his back pressed against a dead tree, one whose branches had lost their needles, the trunk gray with black splotches. The archer lifted the bow and aimed at the tree. If what Liekou had told her was true, it would pierce both the tree and the man behind it. Bingmei nearly cried out in warning, but Liekou stepped away from the tree just as Yanli loosed the arrow.

  Bingmei watched as the arrow sailed through the tree, shimmering as it did, passing through the blockade as if it were smoke, only to solidify on the other side before clattering off a stone.

  Liekou advanced, his face grim with determination. She could smell Yanli now—his sense of vengeance and self-confidence stank like a dumpling hissing in a layer of boiling fat. Another arrow was drawn, and Liekou stepped abruptly to the side, behind another tree. Yanli closed his eyes, focusing his power, but again Liekou moved at the last moment. With each tree he came closer to his target.

  Bingmei watched and smelled Liekou’s perfect calm.

  “You betrayed the master,” Yanli said in a dark voice.

  Liekou said nothing, dodging behind another tree as the bow was raised yet again. Yanli’s lips peeled back into a snarl. He did not like that his quarry hunted him.

  Suddenly Liekou ran for him, sprinting to close the remaining distance. Yanli brought up the bow and let loose an arrow. Liekou whipped his arm around, the edge of his hand smashing into the bolt, snapping it in half. The archer’s eyes widened with surprise—and so did Bingmei’s. She’d never seen the like.

  The archer ditched the bow and drew a short sword. The pommel had a gold design that matched the hilt, and the blade immediately began to exude a golden glow.

  Liekou rushed the man weaponless and threw a series of kicks at his head. Yanli ducked and rolled to the side, crushing some gorse, and came up, stabbing the blade toward Liekou’s heart. Bingmei watched the two warriors fight, both with the skill of a master. A ribbon of red opened on Liekou’s arm, but it was traded with a punch to his adversary’s throat.

  Something from the corner of her eye drew Bingmei’s attention—the killing fog creeping through the woods toward the combatants.

  Before, the power of the phoenix had saved them from it. But she’d been warned that it would not save them again until after she visited the shrine beyond the Death Wall. Liekou’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the reaching tendrils of fog.

  Yanli sneered at him. “The sigil has changed, Liekou. The fog will kill you now. It will kill you all!”

  Bingmei rushed from the boulder, invoking the magic of the rune staff as she charged toward them. Now that the bow had been discarded, she had a chance to join the fight. Yanli spied her coming, his eyes widening with excitement.

  “The sparrow has revealed herself!” he said in triumph. He kicked Liekou in the stomach, and went for the kill with the short blade, only to find his wrist snatched in an iron grip. He kicked at Liekou’s knee, but the other man had dropped into a horse stance, holding the blade high overhead.

  Bingmei reached them a moment later, raising the magical staff to swing at Yanli’s back.

  He pivoted, and she had to pull back the strike lest she hit Liekou instead. The tendrils of fog slipped over the gnarled roots of the pine trees, groping through the shrubs to reach for them. Yanli’s eyes flashed with victory, but still he couldn’t pull the blade down.

  Liekou touched the other man’s chest, drawing a quick symbol. A paroxysm of pain went through Yanli’s face, and his legs crumpled. Liekou pried the blade from his fingers, but it still shone brightly.

  “Put it down!” Bingmei said. The magic was attracting the fog.

  Liekou dropped it as if it burned him, and as soon as it touched the dirt, Bingmei touched it with the rune staff and started sucking the magic from it.

  “Go!” she told Liekou.

  His eyes blazed into hers.

  “Go!” she repeated.

  He fled from the killing fog while Bingmei drained the magic from the sword. Its light winked out, and Bingmei released the power of the rune staff, but it was taking too much time. The fog rippled across Yanli’s legs, but it had no effect on him. It was nearly to her boots when she reached into her pocket for the meiwood cricket and used it to leap high into the air. She landed on a pine tree, grabbing one of the larger branches, and then maneuvered her feet onto a lower branch. She feared for a moment she’d fall back down into the fog, but the swaying stopped after a moment. Hanging there, she breathed in the deep fragrance of the pine and felt the sticky sap. She smelled Yanli’s fear and panic, could even smell the agony of his heart as it quivered and spasmed from the dianxue touch, which had robbed him of air like it had with King Shulian. Fog shrouded him from her sight, but she smelled him until his life winked out. It wasn’t the fog that had killed him.

  Looking down, she saw the fog groping blindly, searching for magic and finding none. The staff cooled, and the light faded from the runes. The fog dissipated and then retreated toward the Death Wall once again. It amazed her how quickly it had come, but perhaps it shouldn’t be so surprising. Of course it was faster this close to the wall. The magic was tied to the Death Wall, she knew, although she did not understand how.

  After it was gone, she jumped back down, and Liekou joined her at the body of Yanli. The man’s eyes were open, his mouth slack. She smelled no life from him. Liekou’s hand had stopped him from breathing.

  She smelled a little hint of sadness coming from him. He’d known Yanli. They’d once been brothers in a way, warriors in the same ensign. Liekou then retrieved the quiver of arrows from Yanli’s body and swung it around his own shoulder. He picked up the discarded hornwood bow, leaving the short blade for her, and marched back to the camp without saying a word.

  Bingmei awoke to the awful smell of grief. It was so strong it permeated her dream, reminding her of the day she’d lost her parents and Grandfather Jiao. It was so familiar, so terrible, that it had wrenched her out of sleep. The sun was still in the sky, but it was heading down a westward slope. The mood in the small camp was frigid.

  She heard weeping, and as she sat up, she saw Eomen sobbing against Rowen’s shoulder. The smell came from both of them, but also from Jidi Majia. So they were all grieving for Shulian at last.

  Marenqo saw the look on Bingmei’s face and then sidled up to her. “Ah, you’re awake. Good.”

  “What happened?” she asked him after sitting up, the groans of Eomen’s sorrow ripping at her heart.

  “Rowen told them that he knew Shulian was dead.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to hazard a guess that you are the one who told him last night when you were alone together. Or were you discussing marriage plans?” At the look on her face, his usual smile fell. “Sorry, I don’t
know when to stop jesting.”

  “No, you don’t,” Bingmei said, her anger sparking.

  “How did he die?” Eomen asked Rowen, her voice throbbing with emotion. He had never made amends with his father, and she could smell the sour rind of guilt piercing his sorrow.

  Bingmei could hardly breathe. She could smell how uncomfortable it made the others to witness such a display of raw grief. It had always made her uncomfortable too. It was one of the reasons she despised her ability.

  “Do not make me tell you,” Jidi Majia pleaded. “I still have nightmares about it. The wound is too fresh. It did not happen long ago.”

  “Why didn’t I know?” Eomen asked through her tears. “You should have told me!” she said accusingly, shifting her gaze between Jidi Majia and Bingmei.

  “It was my fault that your father died,” Bingmei said, rising. Their eyes turned to her. She couldn’t sit there any longer. “It is my fault,” she repeated.

  Rowen gazed at her in confusion. “How was it your fault?” he asked in a challenging tone. “You said one of the ensign killed him.”

  “King Shulian was a slave in the Hall of Unity. It’s one of the palaces that no one is allowed to enter. He was confined there, able to do nothing. Nothing at all, except live. His helplessness became part of Echion’s power. I was led there. I . . . was drawn there. Even though he had nothing left to give, he did have his life. He shared something with me. Some words that I needed to hear. That my taidu is my own, and no one can take it from me. And because he defied Echion with his last breath, he was killed, struck by a dianxue blow and then executed by one of Echion’s followers.”

  She felt sadness herself, joining the heart-wrenching smell of grief. “It’s my fault, Eomen. It’s my fault your brother died as well. If I had sought to do the phoenix’s will sooner . . . if I hadn’t put myself before accepting my role as the phoenix-chosen.” She was near tears, but she held them back, hating how helpless she felt. Although it was difficult, she forced herself to keep looking at the brother and sister. “He died because of my cowardice. My selfishness. But he did not die in vain. I’m going to the Death Wall. I just hope it is not too late.”

  Rowen gazed at her, his heart panging with grief and compassion. A tear slid down his cheek. “You watched him die, Bingmei?”

  She sniffled. “I did. I saw the soul leave his body and go to the Grave Kingdom. But that is not all. Echion . . . after he was dead . . . devoured him. All of him. His thoughts, his memories, his skills. That’s what Jidi Majia didn’t want to tell you. Part of your father’s soul has made Echion stronger. His honor made the dragon sick, Jidi Majia said. But you should know the truth, as terrible as it is.”

  They look stunned by the news, their grief even more intense.

  “Our enemy is the absence of compassion,” Jidi Majia said. “He gloats over his murders. And he will not stop until we are, all of us, devoured. That is the nature of Echion and Xisi. They are pitiless.”

  Rowen’s eyes flared with anger. “I hate him.”

  She felt the vengeance swirling inside him. Yes, she knew that feeling. She’d shared it once. Bingmei gave him a look of sympathy.

  “The Qiangdao murdered my parents as well,” she said. “I know what it means to hate like that. But I now believe there is a better way.” She sighed. “We must go. If we press hard, we’ll be at the Death Wall before midnight. I must try to cross it before daybreak. They’re waiting for us.”

  Mieshi came jogging into the little camp, her hair disheveled. “They’ve found us.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Color of Dandelions

  “How many?” It was a question Bingmei didn’t want answered, but she needed to know.

  Mieshi’s eyes showed courage, but the smell of dread and fear bubbled through it, like a burnt soup. “I lost count after thirty. They’re coming in a line, combing through the woods. Some on horse, some afoot. They have the dragon banner.”

  “Our rest is over, then,” Bingmei said, still feeling exhausted. She looked at her beleaguered ensign and felt the urge to protect them from what was to come. Losing any of them was unthinkable. But how many would be able to escape their determined pursuers?

  “Maybe we should split ranks?” Rowen suggested. His grief was still fresh, but he resisted giving in to it. She felt his struggle. “Give them two trails to follow instead of one.”

  “I’ll consider it if the situation becomes desperate,” Bingmei said. It was a good suggestion, although she didn’t know if she should heed it. “Let’s move. How far away are they, Mieshi?”

  “We don’t have long before they reach us. We should go. Now.”

  They fled through the woods again. In the gaps between the trees, she could see the plains ahead of them leading to the mountains. If they ventured out into the open, there was no hiding. She took them to the edge of the woods so they could better gauge their location. At the edge, she saw the Death Wall looming ahead of them.

  It seemed more like stairs than a wall up close. It was the height of three men at its lowest point, studded with square towers at regular intervals. Trees and brush had been cleared away from the foot of the wall, which would make their approach that much more difficult, but off in the distance there were places where the woods dipped in closer to the wall. The wall was too vast for Echion’s workers to keep the wildness running along it contained. If the ensign was careful, they could find a place where they could get close without being noticed. Smoke from cookfires wafted near the towers. They were close enough to make out the tiny figures of guards patrolling its vast line. If they went straight toward it, they would be there soon, but she resisted the urge to run. The hunters chasing them had horses. Only under the cover of darkness could they move without being seen, and their window of opportunity would be limited given the season.

  After a long period of walking along the edge of the woods, Bingmei ordered them to go deeper into the forest, which was when they stumbled into a search party. Quion’s sharp eyes spotted them first, and just as he hissed a warning, a cry of alarm came from the band of hunters. The cry was followed by more cries, deeper in the woods, and Bingmei ordered her ensign to run.

  “Do we split up?” Marenqo asked as he jogged up alongside her.

  She looked at him and then said, “Marenqo, Mieshi, Liekou—take them out. The sunset is still too far off. When you’re done, rejoin us. Everyone else, stay with me, and we’ll keep going.”

  “If you say so,” Marenqo said, swallowing his fear. He gripped his staff and nodded to Mieshi. Liekou touched Cuifen’s cheek with the edge of his hand before stepping away.

  As they hastened away from her best warriors, the sound of clacking staves filled the air, seasoned by shouts of pain. Now that she’d sent the others away, Bingmei knew it would fall to her to protect Jidi Majia, Cuifen, Eomen, Rowen, and Quion. Her insides clenched with dread, and she wished she were fighting with the others.

  They’d only gone a few steps when a prickle shot down her back. Dragon. “Scatter!” she shouted and searched for a place to hide. She raced to a tree that had fallen over a gully and slid down into the muck, where a thin rivulet ambled past.

  Quion slid in after her, his face flushed with terror. “I saw it,” he gasped.

  The others had also sought shelter in the gully. Jidi Majia had his back pressed against the gorse, hand on his chest as he wheezed. Rowen and Eomen were crossing the base of the creek to get to the old man.

  Bingmei heard a cracking sound, and the tree above them bobbed ominously, shedding branches into the gully. A flash of yellow announced that the dragon had landed on the fallen tree, its claws digging into the bark. Although not as huge as Echion’s shadow dragon, it was still the size of a horse. It had yellow scales on its back and sides, with black, green, and red ones along its underbelly. It started clawing its way toward her along the tree trunk, its eyes narrowing. The nostril slats on its snout flared. Had it seen her?

  Quion held his
breath, sinking into the mud, his mouth open with fear. The beast made a strange clucking sound, almost like a chicken, then the head came up. It had heard something.

  Something struck the side of the dragon. A pinecone maybe. And it scrabbled off the log and charged across the top of the gully toward Rowen. She saw his hand pitch back, and he threw something else. The truth struck Bingmei viscerally, he was trying to draw the dragon’s attention away from her so she could flee. Eomen screamed involuntarily, and the beast let out an ear-splitting shriek that dwarfed it.

  Bingmei’s heart went into her throat as she watched the yellow-scaled dragon streak at them. Rowen drew his blades and stepped in front of Jidi Majia and Eomen. The dragon snapped at him, and he dodged its deathly maw, striking at its exposed neck with his blades. She watched as the steel slid off the scales without doing harm. The dragon buffeted him with a wing, knocking him down, and then lifted itself.

  He may have sacrificed himself so that Bingmei could get out safely, but she couldn’t bear to see him die. She plunged her hand into her pocket and invoked the meiwood cricket. The relic sent her bounding up out of the gully, the rune staff in her hand. The dragon opened its maw, and something came out. Not a fog of blackness but a shimmering mist, like the heat from a frying pan shimmering with oil.

  The mist settled over the three huddling in the gully just as Bingmei landed on the dragon’s back. She summoned the rune staff’s magic and struck the beast hard on the back. She watched Rowen fall, and she hit the beast again, harder. It screeched in pain this time. The sigils on the rune were smoking, she realized—they’d left burns on the dragon’s hide.

  The dragon jerked and turned on her, but Bingmei leaped clear of its back, rolling in the gorse. When she rose, its snout was rushing forward to bite her, but she managed to swing the staff around just in time to bat the head away. Again the magic burned it, and the beast snarled in pain, flinching back from her. She took one end of the staff with both hands and ran toward the dragon, swinging the weapon around her head in a full circle to build power. It raised a wing to defend itself, but an arrow suddenly pierced it. It tumbled into the gully, thrashing, hissing, squealing in pain.