by Jeff Wheeler
“We’re not at the wall yet,” he said. “I would see this through.”
“I think I can make it,” Bingmei said. “If more come down the stairs, I’ll hide again. I’ll use my cricket to leap over the wall when I get there.”
She looked back to where Quion was hiding in the woods. She couldn’t see him, but she smelled him.
She pitched her voice lower. “Take Quion with you. He will help you survive in the woods until you can escape. I will do what I promised I would do.”
She felt a twinge of guilt. Quion wouldn’t want to leave her, but she didn’t want him to die. It would ease her mind to know that he had made it out. The rest of the journey she could do herself.
Bingmei cupped Cuifen’s face. “Keep her safe,” she said to Liekou.
Cuifen smiled in relief, and the flowering smell increased around her. Bingmei slunk into the shadows and started up the hillside, moving from tree to tree. The slope of the hill matched the incline of the stairs, but the trees provided more cover.
The short rest had reinvigorated her, and she climbed at a quicker pace. The night dwindled, the sky overhead illuminated by the strange swirling lights. She’d have only a moment to cross the Death Wall. From the vision, she knew there were beasts on the other side, strange creatures that might attack.
The scent of fish wafted over to her, and she realized Quion had been keeping pace with her on the opposite side of the stairs.
“What are you doing?” she whispered to him, pleased despite herself. He was a clever one, that fisherman’s son.
“Keeping up with you,” he whispered back.
“Quion,” she breathed in exasperation.
“Check your pocket,” he said.
Her hand went to it instantly, but she felt only the edge of her leg. The meiwood cricket was gone. Worry bloomed in her stomach.
“Quion!” she accused.
“You promised you wouldn’t leave me behind,” he said. “I’m holding you to it. Let’s keep going. We’re almost there. I can see the base of the wall through the trees ahead.”
And before she could argue or thank him for his loyalty, he started up the hill again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The Wall
As another group of warriors from the Death Wall thundered down the stairs, Bingmei pressed her back against a pine tree, hoping it was wide enough to conceal her. The sky was beginning to brighten as the short summer darkness faded away. Even though she was exhausted from the journey, she could not afford to let her guard down for a moment. She caught a glimpse of Quion across the stairs from her. His elbow stuck out prominently. If she could see it, it meant that their enemies could as well. But there was no way to warn him.
One by one the soldiers charged down, oblivious to their quarry. She could hear shouts and the noise of fighting coming from the lower slopes. Had Cuifen and Liekou been discovered? She hoped not. But what was hope anyway? The beings hunting them defied their understanding. A dragon could be killed with meiwood weapons. But its blood and spit were acidic, and it was capable of breathing darkness. The sky now swarmed with them.
At last the crew was gone, although she heard them thudding down the stairs. She licked her dry lips, knowing that if they didn’t cross the Death Wall while it was still night, they were much more likely to be captured.
She stepped away from the tree and clambered back up the edge of the stairs. She gestured for Quion to come out just as the smell of trouble wafted down to her. One more man charged down, his steps disguised by the commotion of his fellows. He came into view a moment later, hurrying to catch up to the others, and then stopped when he saw her standing in the way.
He turned and started to run back up, shouting for help in a language she didn’t understand, but the panicked tone was unmistakable. The meiwood cricket was not in Bingmei’s possession, so she raced after him, bounding up the stairs two at a time. Quion charged out from behind the tree and started up the hillside. The guard running from her made it to the next landing and turned up the other slope. His fear of her drove him faster than Bingmei’s weary legs could carry her. Her chest burned. He glanced back down at her, babbling in fear, continuing to cry out.
She smelled Quion’s fishy smell and realized that he was ahead of her. By running directly up the hillside, he’d managed to reach the stairs at a higher point. She continued to sprint up the steps, trying to get close enough to the man to use her staff. Quion pulled himself up onto the stairs, and the fellow was now trapped between them.
In the dim light, she saw the glint of metal in the soldier’s hand as he drew a blade.
She tried to call out in warning, but she was too winded to make a sound. Quion tackled the warrior and they both tumbled down the stairs. They landed, unmoving, in a heap in front of her. Quickly, she grabbed Quion and pulled him off the other man.
Her friend looked dizzied by the tumble and staggered backward. He clutched his side, wincing in pain. Bingmei forced his hand away, afraid to find the hilt of the short blade there, but the fellow still gripped it as he lay groaning on the stone stairs.
“Are you hurt?” she managed to gasp.
Quion shook his head, rising and backing away. The soldier lifted his head, saw the two of them looming over him, and began to whimper in fear.
Bingmei gave his skull a thump with the rune staff, and he slumped into unconsciousness.
“Should we . . . drag the body?” Quion asked, panting.
“Leave it,” she said. “Look! The base of the wall is just up ahead. Give me the cricket, Quion.”
He shook his head no. “We go together, Bingmei. I’ll jump up first, make sure it’s safe, and then toss it down to you.”
“I could take it from you,” she said, stepping forward threateningly.
He didn’t back down. “You could. But a friend wouldn’t.”
She felt like hitting him on the head with the staff, but he was right. She would never harm him deliberately. “If you’re going to be stubborn about it . . .”
He nodded. “I am. Come on.”
Leaving the soldier where he lay, they hurried up the remainder of the stairs until they reached the edge of the woods where they had been cleared away from the wall. A trail wide enough for wagons had been laid into the ground at the base of the Death Wall. Directly in front of them was an iron door with knobbed rivets in rows across it, nine across, nine tall, like the ones in Fusang. It was a narrow door, and she imagined it opened to stairs leading to the top of the wall.
Soldiers roamed there, holding torches. Their voices echoed down, although they spoke a foreign language. If only Marenqo were still with them. When she thought about her friend, who’d likely been captured or killed, sadness stabbed her heart. She and Quion hunched down in the trees off the side of the path so they’d remain hidden from view.
“Too many guards,” Quion said. “Let’s go farther down the wall.”
She nodded in agreement, and they walked, shadow to shadow, along the edge of the woods, away from the stairs, heading westward. The eerie lights in the sky were directly overhead now, and she could see the smoke shapes of dragons dancing within them. Echion knew she was here. He’d marshaled his forces to stop her. But he still couldn’t see her.
Farther along the trail, they approached one of the square towers that rose higher than the wall itself. She doubted the meiwood cricket could get her to the top of it, but the wall itself seemed within the cricket’s reach. It was about two to three times the height of a man and made from interlocking stones. Guards still patrolled it—she saw the moving lights from their torches—but there were fewer in this section than near the iron door.
Looking over her shoulder, she stared at the brightening horizon. People were still abed, but not those guarding the Death Wall.
They waited for a while, watching the guards to look for patterns. Then she heard noises coming from the woods behind her. Sticks snapped and broke. A few guttural voices sounded.
Quion pulled at her arm, nodding for her to keep moving.
They left their hiding place to slink into the shadows closer to the wall. Every step was dogged by enemies. In the growing light, she saw Quion’s pallor. He kept looking back, trying to see their enemy. She hadn’t smelled them yet.
After traveling a short distance, they approached another square tower. There were fewer torches on it, but she could clearly see the men guarding it. The sun was rising too fast.
“We’re out of time. We have to cross now,” Bingmei said.
“All right,” he answered nervously. “I’ll go first. Stand by the side of the wall, and I’ll drop the cricket down to you.”
“You don’t even know how to use it,” she challenged. “I’ll go first and make sure there aren’t any guards to stop us. Give it to me.”
He shook his head no. “I don’t trust you to drop it down.”
“You said I was your friend?”
“You are. But friends know each other’s weaknesses too. I chose to come here, Bingmei. And I will see it through. Where else can I go? What else can I do? This is my choice. If I die . . . then I die. But it’s my decision, not yours.” She smelled his determination again, that spicy salmon smell. “Ready?”
She nodded, knowing they didn’t have time to argue. It was his choice. And she’d made her mind up too. She would do whatever it took to stop Echion and Xisi.
He turned and faced the wall, eyeing the battlement. The noises from the woods behind them grew louder.
“We’ll have to chance it,” Bingmei said. “Now.”
Quion sucked in his breath and marched away from the woods. He adjusted the straps of his bulging pack, which bobbed noiselessly on his back. She felt a little tickle in her nose as he suddenly leaped to the top of the wall.
Bingmei watched him land, and then she raced forward. She watched through the embrasure as he reached his arm out and dropped the meiwood cricket. It landed amidst the dirt and some scrub growing at the base of the battlement. She rushed to it and crouched down, putting her hand on the stone of the Death Wall to steady herself as she picked it up.
As soon as her hand touched the wall, she died.
It happened so fast, so suddenly, that she had no warning at all. Her soul slipped out of her body once again, as if she’d stumbled and tripped and left it behind. She watched as her body slumped to the ground, the meiwood cricket resting in the hollow of her hand.
Panic flooded her. No! This was not supposed to happen. She hadn’t reached the shrine yet! A breeze tugged at her, making her float away from her body. Looking up, she saw Quion leaning over the edge of the wall, gazing down at her limp body in a panic. A soldier ran at him from across the slope of the wall, but his gaze was fixed on her.
No! she thought in horror and despair. She wanted to go back inside her body. In vain, she squirmed against the eddies of wind that buffeted her away. And then her senses began to open like peony petals. She lifted higher and higher, until she could see the broad expanse of the Death Wall beneath her. Could see Quion gripping the edge of the stone wall, his mouth widening in shock and despair as he stared down at her, calling to her. Another soldier had seen him, and now two of them were charging at him.
Bingmei floated over their heads, higher and higher, sucked up by the draft.
There you are!
The words boomed through her mind in Echion’s angry voice. He was with the dragons in the sky, hunting for her. Her heart wilted with the realization that she was being brought to the Grave Kingdom, a domain that Echion controlled. Trumpeting noises came from the sky as the other dragons reacted to Echion’s thoughts.
She gazed down at the wall, and then the blooming sensation in her mind swelled. A vision opened. She heard the rattle of wagon wheels, the groans of slaves heaving stones, the creak of ropes and pulleys, the crack of whips. Dust filled the sky as she watched the construction of the Death Wall. The square towers were there, but the stretches of wall between them were in various stages of completion. The mass of bodies working defied imagination. She’d never seen so many people, stretching as far as she could see in both directions.
In the sky overhead, she saw the shadow of a dragon, looming above them in the dusty haze. Some of the workers cowered in fear, only to receive the lash. The overseers had colored paint on the edges of their eyes, yellow and blue, red and green. And in the way of visions, she knew these were dragon-men, creatures who had transformed and assumed the likenesses of mortals. She watched one man die, collapsing from exhaustion and the inhumanity of the working conditions. As soon as he perished, he was picked up by other slaves and carried away. From her vantage point, she watched them drag the body unceremoniously toward a pit dug within the foundation of the wall. And there she saw other bodies.
The Death Wall was literally built on the bones of the dead slaves.
In the vision state, she felt the dragon’s awareness of her, heard the hiss of recognition and anger. Smoke began to puff from the majestic wings as the dragon dived toward her spirit form. It shrieked in anger and fury, its cry splitting the air.
Bingmei was sucked back into her body again, the transition abrupt. Her eyes were hot and dry, and she blinked rapidly. Her fingers and toes tingled with the agony of bloodlessness, but she could not rest. She heard the dragon cry again—not in the vision, but overhead. Echion knew where she was, and he was coming.
Bingmei closed her hand around the meiwood cricket. Her ears felt like she’d been dunked underwater for too long. Strange echoing sounds made it impossible for her to parse what was going on. But she sensed the dragon coming for her, felt its malice and intention to devour her. If it did, would it learn the location of the phoenix shrine? Or did it already know?
Bingmei struggled to her feet, not daring to touch the wall again. Had her sudden death been caused by it or something else? She didn’t know. But she wouldn’t risk a second death so soon. Looking at the wall, she imagined she could still hear the groans of the slaves and even smell their misery. The extent of Echion’s cruelty could be measured from one end of the wall to the other.
Her knees quavering, she grabbed the rune staff and looked skyward. She could no longer see Quion leaning over the wall. The soldiers must have reached him already. Despite the haze of fatigue, she had to press on.
Bingmei clenched her jaw and rubbed her thumb across the cricket.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Rage of Dragons
The magic swept Bingmei up to the crest of the Death Wall, where she landed in a horse stance astride two merlons. She found Quion squirming beneath a mass of guards, who’d pinned his arms and legs. She was proud—despite their superior numbers, they still struggled to hold him down.
To her left, the wall sloped upward with steps leading up to the next guard tower, where she saw shouting guards brandishing spears and bows. Soldiers ran feverishly down the steps, coming to assist Quion’s attackers. The wall stretched on, and in the distance, she saw a huge bank of stairs leading to another guard tower. From where she crouched, she could see the trees on the opposite side of the wall, a choking mass of forest and vegetation raw and untamed by man. To her right, the wall stretched the other way, sloping slightly downward, and she saw yet more soldiers charging up toward them.
Bingmei leaped down from the twin merlons and landed near the men who’d tackled Quion. She slid her hands down the rune staff and cracked it hard against the back of the man on top. He arched and yowled in pain, and she grabbed him by the back of his armor and yanked him off.
The soldier beneath him grimaced in anger and hurtled at her, but Bingmei sidestepped, and he missed. She struck the back of his legs and sent him face-first into the stone pavers that spanned the top of the wall. It was wide enough for four men to walk side by side.
The dragon Echion swooped down at them from far above. She felt his malevolence, his lust for her blood, and knew her time to save Quion was perilously short. Another pulse down her back revealed that Xi
si was coming as well. She glanced skyward and saw both dragons speeding toward her.
A soldier attempted to grapple her from behind. She brought her head back into his nose, spun free, and then did a double kick to his chest and face, sending his arms pinwheeling back as he fell, knocking down Quion, who had just freed himself. Both sprawled onto the stone floor. Still, attackers came at them from either side, and the sentries from the higher portion of the wall would reach them soon.
Bingmei slipped off her pack and flung it off the edge of the wall on the other side. No going back now.
“Get down the wall!” she yelled at Quion, reaching into her pocket again to hand him the cricket.
He struggled to disentangle himself from the injured guards, blood dribbling from his nose. A bruise was already forming around his eye.
“No,” he said, shaking his head as he stepped toward her. “You go down.”
“There isn’t time to use the cricket twice,” she argued. “Go!” Leaving him to be captured and devoured wasn’t an option.
Quion, acting quickly, pulled his pack off and quickly dug his arm inside. He fished out a coil of rope and immediately began winding it around one of the merlons. In a trice, he fixed a knot, his hands dexterous and sure, and then pitched his pack over the wall into the mass of trees and wilderness below.
The approaching guards yelled as they came at her with spears. She wove to one side, ducked, and then used the rune staff to deflect a blow aimed at Quion’s ribs. Battering the other shafts away, she reversed her grip on the staff and countered, striking one on the head, another in the pit of the stomach, and a third on the chest. A spear glanced her arm, slicing through the layers of her shirts, causing a searing pain.
Bingmei blocked another thrust and pressed forward, whipping the staff around in a long sweeping motion to knock as many skulls as she could. Some of the guards ducked, their martial training evident. She landed once, then flipped around the other way in a reverse tornado kick that caught a man just as he was rising. He smashed backward against the side of the wall, then plummeted over the edge, screaming.
