by Jeff Wheeler
Then she saw Liekou rushing from the woods, holding the hornwood bow he’d confiscated from the man he’d killed. Bingmei breathed hard and fast, looking for Mieshi and Marenqo but not seeing them. Were they dead? Anguish threatened to overwhelm her.
Liekou jumped atop a boulder, raised another arrow and fired, and she heard the dragon screech a final death cry. The shafts, she realized, were made of meiwood.
She stumbled to the edge of the gully and saw the yellow dragon lying inert at the base, its wings askew, its maw still wide open. Liekou jumped down and wrenched the arrow out of its chest. A syrupy ichor came with it. Liekou gasped in pain and dropped the arrow, holding his hand to his chest. Grunting, he stepped off the dragon and plunged his hand into the gully water. Bingmei saw Quion approaching with a pan gripped tight in one hand. Cuifen walked hesitantly behind him, gazing at the dead dragon with wide eyes.
Bingmei’s gaze shot back to Rowen. He sat on his knees, shaking his head, dazed.
It looked like he had mud spatter on his face, and it struck her that he and Eomen and Jidi Majia had taken the brunt of the dragon’s hideous breath.
“Are you all right?” she asked, crouching near him, hand on his shoulder.
His head turned at the sound of her voice, but he didn’t look at her. “I can’t see,” he said.
“Neither . . . can . . . I,” gasped Jidi Majia. “I am . . . blind.”
Pain and regret squeezed around Bingmei like a vise. She should have split the group earlier, as Rowen had suggested. This never would have happened. Eomen sat shivering behind him, in an obvious state of shock.
“Eomen?” Bingmei called.
The princess’s chin lifted. Mud and filth were smeared on her face. “I . . . I . . . ,” she stuttered and then broke into violent sobs.
“We’re all blind,” Jidi Majia said.
Voices called from the woods. Men were searching for the source of the screeches they’d heard.
“We must leave. Now!” Liekou said, still wincing with pain. His hand was blistered and bleeding. He washed the arrow in mud and then gripped it in his other hand. “They’re coming!” He gestured for Cuifen to come to him.
Bingmei gazed at him, at the others, and realized they wouldn’t all make it out.
The fight was over, and they had lost.
“Bingmei, go,” Rowen said, struggling to his feet. He groped for her, unable to see her, and she took his hand. “Please. You must go. You’re the reason we’re all doing this. You have to make it. Not us. Go.”
Her heart groaned with pain. Jidi Majia struggled to comfort and quiet Eomen. They looked so desolate . . .
“We can’t run like this,” Rowen said, shaking his head. He squeezed her hand hard. “Go! You must!”
She knew it was the right thing to do. Just as Bao Damanhur had ordered Mieshi to abandon him when the dragon sculpture had clamped onto his arm. So why did it feel so terrible? She pulled herself up onto her toes and kissed his cheek.
“I’ll see you in the Grave Kingdom,” she said, choking on her words. She had no doubt they’d all meet there soon enough. The venom on his face sizzled on her lips. She wiped it away quickly.
She smelled his love again, smelled it fiercely and willingly. It exuded from him in glorious waves despite the stink of the dead dragon and the muck of the gully. It overwhelmed her with its intensity.
“Until then,” he sighed, reaching out with his other hand to stroke her copper hair.
Leaving him—them—behind was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
They huddled in the wet interior of the gully, covered in slimy leaves and broken boughs. Quion’s skills had once again proved perfectly timed, and it was at his suggestion the remaining members of the group—Quion himself, Bingmei, Liekou, and Cuifen—had concealed themselves in the wilderness. They’d followed the gully and chosen a hiding place deeper in the woods, away from where the stream entered the plains. He’d built two little shelters of brush for them to hide in, one for Liekou and Cuifen and the other for himself and Bingmei. The warmth of their bodies helped stave off the chill as they waited.
His plan worked. They heard the crack of limbs and twigs and watched as those hunting them stalked past, unaware their quarry was so near. Echion’s minions searched this way and that, heads bent low, but there were no signs to betray them. Quion held his breath as their enemies passed them, and Bingmei did too, fearing that even the sound of breathing might give them away. One group passed, then another, then another. And then the forest fell silent.
Still they waited. They waited until the sun began to go down and the first glimmer of stars winked into view.
Sunset. It had felt like it would never come.
Bingmei leaned her head against Quion’s shoulder, grateful for the fishy smell that helped soothe her heartache. She thought on the trail of dead she’d left behind. Kunmia Suun, her parents, her grandfather, Jiaohua, Shulian, Muxidi. For all she knew Rowen was dead too. And Eomen and Jidi Majia and Damanhur. The images of them seemed to pass before her, one by one, an endless procession all marching toward the Death Wall.
At last, when dusk had settled, she rose, and the makeshift shelter collapsed in sticks around her. Upon hearing the sound, Liekou and Cuifen rose too, their faces grave.
“How is your hand?” Bingmei asked.
“It still burns,” he said, but there was no complaint in his tone. He had mastered the pain. She saw that the skin was black and blistered, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from the burn itself or the mud. Cuifen held on to his arm, her face smudged with dirt and tears, but she looked rested.
“Do you know what happened to Marenqo and Mieshi?” she asked him.
“We were all surrounded. Someone wrestled Mieshi to the ground. Marenqo tried to save her, but I think he was taken too. When I heard the screams of the dragon, I decided to abandon the fight and help you.”
Mieshi and Marenqo. They were both probably dead by now too. Or they’d be dragged back to Fusang to be devoured by Echion.
Quion pulled his pack up on his shoulders. It was clotted with rotting leaves, which also clung to his hair.
“We have to cross it tonight,” he said, adjusting the straps on his shoulders. He looked resolute. “Best be off.”
He was right. Bingmei stared at the woods around them. It struck her suddenly that she hadn’t seen his snow leopard since the rescue. She felt terrible she hadn’t asked about it.
“Let’s go,” Bingmei agreed with despair, and the four began walking to the edge of the trees. She took a deep breath, trying to sense any human hiding nearby. No one.
“Whatever happened to your pet leopard?” she asked Quion in a low voice.
“Had to leave her behind,” he said, the words calm, but she smelled his sadness.
Everyone had made sacrifices to come with her.
“In the woods outside Sihui?”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the way ahead. “I saw what the dragon did to the people of that city. Darkness hung in the air like a fog. What kind of creature can work such magic, Bingmei? How terrible.” His jaw clenched a moment before he said, “He brings nothing but darkness. That’s why we have to fight him, Bingmei. We have to.”
There was a new smell in him now, one that reminded her of his cooked salmon with spices on it. It was the smell of determination. He had lost so much too, but he would see this through to the end. She felt lucky to have found a friend.
She put her hand in his. “Thank you for being here, Quion,” she said, giving him a smile.
He glanced down at their hands. And then he smiled back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Stairs
Just before midnight, the strange flashing lights appeared over Fusang again. Swathes of violet, pink, and green swirled, along with streamers of yellow and orange. The various colors danced across the sky in hues that were haunting, beautiful, and otherworldly. Bingmei and the others walked across the valley toward the Death Wall, pressin
g at a fast pace in order to reach the wall before the sun reemerged.
They had evaded their pursuers, but torches wove through the trees behind them, the search for them unrelenting. The uncertainty of her friends’ fates tore at her heart, but the only path was forward.
She could sense the phoenix shrine beyond the mountains, as if part of her were already there. Her heart knew the way. If she could get to it, perhaps she could stop Echion before he harmed her friends. It was a frail hope to cling to, but she grasped it anyway.
“The lights are coming closer,” Liekou said.
“The torches?” she asked, looking at him in the pale moonlight. Thank goodness there was only a sliver of moon in the sky.
“No, the Woliu, or whatever it is. Look back.”
Bingmei and Quion turned at the same time. He was right. The lights had always lingered across the southern horizon, but now the colors were spreading northward, like octopus tentacles reaching after them. It had not done this before.
“They’re coming for us,” she whispered with dread.
“Then we must go faster,” Liekou said.
“My legs hurt,” Cuifen complained.
“You must endure it,” Liekou told her. “There’s no other way.”
Gritting her teeth, Bingmei increased her pace. She smelled the worry, like a pot of wilting flowers, coming from the others. She even smelled it on herself. Now she wished they had left the woods earlier and risked being seen by their pursuers.
She wished a lot of things.
She kept glancing back, and each time, the streamers of colorful light seemed closer. When the lights reached the edge of the woods, she could see the treetops swaying in the wind, like a cloud clearing away from the sun and brightening the land beneath it. And then she saw a blotch in the coming lights and a familiar, dangerous prickle shot down her spine.
“It’s Echion,” she whispered fearfully.
The shadows in the sky multiplied until there were more and more dragons in the sky. A horde of them.
Liekou gazed up at it, his jaw dropping in shock. He looked at her and then said, “Run!”
It was the only thing they could do. They broke into a jog and then a firm run, the meadow grasses whipping against their legs. Torches lit the walls in front of them, revealing the gray stone. They would have to climb a hill up to the foot of the wall, but first they had to cross the plains. Inhuman shrieks heralded the arrival of the dragons.
Bingmei smelled the man just in time. His scent rode on the wind, a greedy, voracious scent drawing her gaze to a silent rider guarding the plains.
“Over there!” Bingmei called, pointing. He was just a smudge in the shadows.
Liekou brought out the bow and fitted an arrow in it just as the man became aware of them. She smelled surprise and victory and then heard the deep, blatting sound of a horn. The tone rang long and deep before the arrow flew from the bow. The sound cut off as the man toppled from the saddle. Frightened, his horse charged away.
They ran past the dying horseman, who gasped and shuddered in the dark. He was no longer a threat to them, but he’d revealed their position and sounded the alarm. The sound of other horns began to bleat in response to the first.
They heard the shriek of a dragon behind them, then the great beast plummeted from the sky and swooped down into the valley.
“Down!” Liekou said, and they all dropped into the grass.
From their position on the soft earth, she sensed the beast behind them, prowling around the dying man. The man yelled in fear, only for his final cries to be silenced by the dragon’s jaws. The beast began stalking them in the grass. They could hear its leathery wings, the hiss of the grass against its legs, the clucking noise in its throat.
Bingmei gripped the rune staff in her hands, squeezing it hard, trying to quell her fear. Quion lay next to her, his cheek crushing strands of grass, his eyes wide with fear. She wished she could fly, that she could rise from the grass and soar away, drawing the dragon after her. But the phoenix had warned her that the magic wouldn’t come back until she’d completed her goal.
The sound of more horns came in the distance, and the dragon lifted its head and bellowed into the sky. Bingmei squeezed her eyes shut against the noise. She heard a strange sound, a little groan of pleasure, and when she lifted her head, the dragon was gone. In its place stood a man, twisting and contorting, as if transforming into a new and unfamiliar shape.
She gasped as the process ended. This man looked exactly like the one on the horse, the one who’d been consumed, and he smelled like him too. Greedy and voracious. But the scent had a strange reptilian edge to it. He started to search the grass, coming closer to her hiding place. She heard his breathing, the noise of his boots on the grass.
“Come out, little bird,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I know you’re here, hiding like a thrush.”
And then Liekou sprang at him, bringing up the hornwood bow. Cuifen cried out in fear. Light illuminated the stranger’s face, his greedy eyes and triumphant grin. He surged forward at a superhuman speed, dodging the arrow, and backfisted Liekou across the face. After knocking him over, he reached down to smash his fingers, which were bent like claws, into Liekou’s back, but the warrior spun around and kicked the man’s legs. He didn’t budge. Bingmei sprang from the grass as the man’s fingers struck Liekou’s ribs. She whirled the staff and swung it toward the dragon-man’s head. He ducked the blow and charged at her, his face savage with hate.
She reversed the attack, summoning the staff’s magic. She knew she only had a few moments before the killing fog came to destroy them. It would need to be enough. The dragon-man lunged for her, trying to touch her body so he might trace a dianxue sigil on her. She batted the arm away with the staff and then twirled around, striking him on the backs of the knees. He growled in pain and this time went down, the staff’s magic leeching from him.
Then Liekou shot an arrow into his back, and she saw the pointed tip protrude from his chest. His jaws snapped and snarled, his eyes wide with fury, and then he slumped down. Liekou lowered the hornwood bow. He did not try retrieving the arrow.
As they stood over the body, they saw swirling colors begin to ebb from it, leaking into the ground. Then it lay still.
The killing fog groped toward them in the dark. She could see it seeping from the woods just outside the wall, reaching for them with twining arms. She released the magic.
“We have to outrun it,” Bingmei said, and they broke into a sprint. Quion and Cuifen rushed after them, running through the grass. The fog reached the dead man and swirled around him, but it was not fooled. It continued to seek them, tendrils weaving around shrubs. Bingmei pressed herself to go faster. Quion huffed for air.
“Cuifen!” Liekou shouted in warning. She smelled the sudden panic in him. She dared to look back, dismayed to see the princess of Sihui dropping to the grass.
But Liekou’s shout had invigorated Cuifen. Eyes blazing with fear, she sprang back up, ran faster, and soon outdistanced Quion.
The fog finally became blind to them again and began to seep into the grass, but they didn’t stop running.
The hill became steeper, and Bingmei felt the climb in her legs. They ran up the hillock to a stretch of woods. The wall loomed beyond it.
They encountered a stone road at the base of the woods. Wagon ruts were carved into the stone and weeds, and grasses grew in the seams and cracks. The firmness of the stone helped them run faster, and they followed it a short distance before encountering a series of stone stairs cut into the side of the hill, leading up.
Bingmei slowed down as she reached it, gazing up into the gloom of the trees. The lights from the sky had overtaken them, and she looked up, seeing blotches of dark amidst the colors. More dragons.
Liekou looked at her, wiping sweat from his mouth. He hunched over, panting, staring at Cuifen in relief.
“We’ll take the stairs,” Bingmei said.
“They’ll be coming down,” Quion sa
id, gasping for breath.
“Then we fight,” she said, bringing around the staff.
They darted through the trees leading up the steep mountainside, which helped conceal them from the dragons prowling the skies. The stairs went up the side of the hill at crooked angles, but it was clear they led to the base of the Death Wall. Their knees ached, and the weariness and fatigue became unbearable for Cuifen.
Finally, she collapsed on the stairs and began sobbing.
Bingmei’s legs also hurt, but she was more accustomed to such strenuous effort.
Liekou bent down to comfort her. “We must keep going,” he said, panting.
“I cannot . . . make . . . another step,” she said. “I can’t . . . go farther. My knee hurts!”
Bingmei smelled the presence of people and then heard the stamping of boots coming down from the heights above.
“They’re coming,” she said. “Hide in the trees.”
Thankfully, the mountainside was covered in plentiful pine and cypress trees, thick with summer foliage. Bingmei and Quion hid on one side of the stairs, and Liekou carried Cuifen to the other. Nestling into the dark, Bingmei watched as two dozen men ran down the steps, their armor and weapons jangling.
Bingmei lowered her head, listening to the retreating noise as sweat trickled down her back. When she could no longer smell them, she whispered to Quion, “Wait here for a moment.” Then she carefully padded over to the other side of the stairs.
Cuifen was half-asleep against a pine tree, her face forlorn. Blinking to try to stay awake, she gazed at Bingmei in a delirious state.
“I don’t think she can go any farther,” Liekou said in despair.
“You’re right. She’s spent.”
“I . . . I will try,” Cuifen sighed, her head lolling.
Bingmei shook her head. “You’ve done enough, Cuifen.” She put her hand on Liekou’s arm. “And so have you. I wouldn’t have made it this far on my own.”
