by Jeff Wheeler
Coming up the river, he saw junks. Dozens. Hundreds. Maybe a thousand. He couldn’t comprehend it. Echion had attacked in huge wooden barges that could carry masses of troops. These looked like fishing boats. Then he saw a larger boat bearing a flag with the ni-ji-jing on it, the large black-and-white man-eating whale. It was the flag of Dawanju.
What was going on?
And then, as the smaller boats began attacking Echion’s larger vessels, he realized what was happening. The Dawanjir were joining the fight.
“Zhumu!” General Tzu shouted.
The blood-spattered king turned, looking at him in confusion. General Tzu pointed just as his soldier had. “Help has come!”
Shouts of joy bubbled from the throats of the defenders. In an instant, the mood changed. Wounded soldiers staggered to their feet to join the fight once more. General Tzu found himself, the injured Shan, and King Zhumu pressed ahead of the ranks to the other side, where they led a fierce attack on the Qiangdao. The enemy fell back, but they were trapped. One by one, their massive ships were commandeered by sailors from the fishing boats. Fresh soldiers from Dawanju joined the fight, spilling from the fishing boats into the streets of Sihui. Many of the surviving defenders wept with joy at the sight of their liberators.
General Tzu felt his own emotions surge, though he maintained a calm demeanor.
Then he saw the underling whom he’d spoken to earlier that day. The man approached him with a triumphant smile. “You were right, General! You were right!”
General Tzu felt like lying down on the broken street and sleeping for three days. Weariness and exhaustion slammed him like a runaway cart. He kept his feet, though his sword arm drooped.
“See?” he said to the grinning underling. “I knew we would win.”
And that was a lie too.
CHAPTER ONE
A Sister’s Whisper
The sweet fragrance of freedom filled Bingmei’s lungs as she ran for her life through the aspen wood. The magic of the meiwood cricket shot through her legs, and she soared through the trees, away from the Death Wall, away from Echion and Xisi. The dragons had fought over her, neither yielding to the other, allowing her the briefest chance to escape. Even so, she wouldn’t have made it if not for the cloud of birds that had rushed from the trees and engulfed her, obscuring her by filling the air around her with their flapping wings and shrieks. The sight had filled her heart with wonder, something that had not yet faded as she landed deeper inside the thick grove of white-barked aspen trees, so thick and flush with leaves they would surely conceal her. Still, she sensed the dragons searching for her, could feel the tingle of Echion’s presence go down her spine.
The ground was covered with dead leaves, an undisturbed carpet, which was why she didn’t see the cleft in the ground until it swallowed her.
Pain.
Darkness.
Quiet.
Bingmei.
The whispered thought was featherlight and brushed against the walls of her mind. She wasn’t dead, for she could feel stone crushing her ribs. It felt like being squeezed in a giant’s arms. Her legs dangled, nothing beneath them, and they felt as if they would stretch until they popped out of her body. Her hands and face still ached with pain from the splinters created when the meiwood staff shattered.
Bingmei.
There it was again, the sound as soft as the drone of a mosquito. She tried opening her eyes, but something wet and gooey prevented it. Blood? Mud? Both? Her throat burned for a drink of water. She tried twisting her neck and felt shivers of pain shoot down her spine.
“Help,” she croaked, the word coming out garbled.
I’m here, Bingmei. Help is coming. Hold on.
It hurt to breathe. As she rose to consciousness, memories began to trickle back into her mind. She’d crossed the Death Wall. She’d used the meiwood cricket to reach the wilderness of quaking aspen, only to fall into a hidden pit. She was still there, trapped in shadow. Panic flared in her heart. How long had she been down here?
It’s all right, Bingmei. Be patient.
The voice was not one she recognized, but the tone was comforting. At least it made her feel less alone.
Each breath she took was agony. “Help.” She tried again, but it came out as a whisper. She had no strength to speak aloud.
Help is coming. It’s coming. Soon.
Her hands were both above her head, cushioned in dead leaves, her fingers tingling from lack of blood. She tried to wiggle them, and they responded. It wasn’t the death feeling, then—just cramped circulation. With effort, she tried bending her elbow and managed to plant it on a piece of earth in front of her. It eased the pain in her ribs a little. But there was nothing to push off of, the ground was too soft. She felt herself slide a little lower, and the pain became worse.
Hold still, Bingmei. Or you will fall farther. Rest.
“I . . . can’t . . . breathe . . .” she gasped. The pain intensified, each attempt at breathing sending daggers of agony through her.
She heard the trilling of a bird that sang in soft, sweet tones. It was perched in the trees above her. The melody was beautiful, so she tried to calm herself by listening to it.
Her heart leaped at the sound of crackling twigs, approaching bootfalls. The birdsong increased in volume and eagerness. Another bird chirped nearby in response. The bootfalls kept coming closer, crunching through the detritus.
Then she heard Quion’s voice. “Bingmei?”
She grinned at the sound. “Here,” she called in her whisper-like voice.
The sound of Quion tromping through the woods stabbed her ears with its noise. He was coming her way. She sighed, which sent a shard of pain into her chest, and tears of gratitude welled in her eyes.
She heard the noise begin to fade, heading off to the left.
Her thoughts became desperate. No! I’m over here! Right here!
He’ll find you, Bingmei.
The sound of his steps faded. She heard him call her name again, and try as she might, she couldn’t answer loudly enough. The smell of mud and mulch pressed in against her, masking all other scents. He hadn’t even gotten close enough for her to smell his fishy scent.
The trilling bird grew louder, and she heard the boots stop. Relief washed over her as they started coming back her way.
The birdsong was directly above her. Her lips tasted like dirt. Her throat screamed for water.
He’s coming.
Gratitude swelled in her heart. Thank you! Who are you?
A sister. I will see you very soon.
“Bingmei?” She heard the crunch of leaves, and some of the shadow surrounding her grew darker. The trilling bird whistled joyfully.
“Bingmei!” he gasped.
“Can’t . . . breathe,” she whispered.
But Quion was there. He’d found her. Her world brightened as he began clearing the leaves away from her head and arms. Brightness burned against her eyelids. Everything seemed impossibly green. The sensation of the dragons, watching, hunting, had dissipated.
“I only saw your muddy hand,” he said. “I almost didn’t see it at all. You’re wedged in a crevice.” She smelled him now—that familiar, honest smell of fish—and felt a throb of relief. Her ability to smell emotions more often felt like a curse than a boon. She already felt different because of her winter sickness. But she enjoyed the way Quion smelled. He was the most honest and steadfast person she’d ever known.
“Here, let me get a rope around you.” Of course. Quion could solve just about any problem with rope.
In a few moments, he’d squirmed down to her location and tied a rope around her chest. He cinched it tight, then clambered back up to the edge of the crevice.
“Get ready,” he warned. She felt the rope tense and dig into her armpits. It hurt, and she groaned in pain, but Quion wrenched her up, and—instantly—she could breathe. Fresh, sweet air filled her lungs. The tingle in her arms and legs began to fade, and she felt dizzy, but she reached out with one
hand, clawing at the dirt and mud, and helped pull herself out.
Bingmei’s flesh had been embedded with splinters from Kunmia’s meiwood staff, which had exploded in her battle with Echion atop the Death Wall. Most of them could be removed with fingernails, but some of the bigger pieces required the use of Quion’s dagger. It was a painstaking process, even with both of them working—Bingmei focusing on her hands and arms, and Quion delicately plucking the wood shards from her face and neck.
They sat amidst the quaking aspen, near a trickling stream that fed into a gully. Quion had carried her there after pulling her out of the hidden place. If she had fallen all the way to the bottom, he would have never found her.
A little chirping noise sounded to her left, and she turned and saw the tiniest siskin finch. Its plumage was yellow with flecks of green and darker blue splotches, and it sang a lovely song. It perched on one of the smaller branches of the aspen.
“There’s that little bird again,” Quion said, smiling. “A siskin, I think. It perched on a branch right over where I was trapped, and it kept crying out like it was warning me or something.” He shot her an intent look. “I think it led me to you. The birds seem to . . . recognize you somehow.”
“Maybe they do,” she said softly. Bingmei felt a small throb of gratitude in her heart. The birds had helped her, and so had that voice. She’d claimed to be a sister, but Bingmei had no sisters.
She held out her hand to the colorful bird, half expecting it to perch on her finger, but the siskin flew away in a panic, warbling again.
“Birds are skittish,” Quion said. “Except seagulls. My father and I would have to shoo them away from our nets. They’d come flapping in, easy as you please, and start pecking at the catch, ruining the fish.”
Bingmei grinned at his little story as she continued to pick out the splinters. Quion sat very close to her, his fingers carefully examining her face for more splinters. Periodically, he’d gather water from the river in his hands so he could wash away the blood and get a better view of her injuries. He’d brought along her pack, which she’d thrown off the edge of the wall earlier. It held a change of clothes and some supplies to help them survive in the wild, but no doubt they’d need to forage for food. From what she could tell, they were in a completely unpopulated land. Perhaps no humans had ever lived there.
Sitting in the aspen grove, Bingmei could sense the phoenix shrine in the distance, beyond the twisting path carved by the river. The phoenix had shown it to her in a vision, and now that she was beyond the wall, she felt guided toward it. Once she found it, she would go to the Grave Kingdom. And that was the one place Quion couldn’t follow her. The smell of sadness struck her nose, but this time it was her own scent.
“You’ve been a dear friend to me,” she said, looking at him. “Part of me still doesn’t want to do this. But I must. When we reached the Death Wall, and I touched it . . .”
“It looked like you died,” he said somberly. “I thought it killed you.”
“Maybe it did,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s been happening more and more often. Like my body has become slippery. My souls keep falling out.”
He sniffed. “You’re a person, not a shoe. Hold yourself together until we get there.”
“I will try. Whatever happens, Quion,” she said, touching his arm so she knew she had his attention, “I want you to survive this. We’ve lost . . . so many already.” She didn’t know what had happened to any of their friends. To Rowen, Eomen, or Jidi Majia. To Liekou or Cuifen. To Mieshi or Marenqo. But knowing Echion’s disdain for the living and his ability to control the dead, she suspected they might all have already perished.
“A somber face,” Quion said. “What are you thinking?”
“When I left my body at the Death Wall, I had another vision. The whole wall was built on the corpses of Echion’s slaves. He used so many people to build his palaces, this wall—and their lives, their sacrifice, meant nothing to him. He cares for no one. Not even his queen.” She felt her insides twist. “How they hate each other, Quion. It goes beyond reason. They could have easily killed me on top of the wall, but neither of them would yield to the other.” She pinched her tongue between her teeth. “They won’t stop hunting us.”
Quion sniffed again. “I suppose not. Let’s finish cleaning you up. You’re like a porcupine with all these quills.”
Later, much later, after Quion had slid most of the slivers out of her skin, they continued their hike through the aspen, moving as quickly as they could. Every now and then, Bingmei caught sight of a flicker of yellow weaving through the trees. A siskin, or maybe the siskin. She felt the tugging of the phoenix shrine in the distance, leading her forward. She’d explained as much to Quion before they left the river.
He dodged a tree in their path. “Are you nervous?”
She was walking toward her death, yet it no longer bothered her. “I feel calm.”
“I’m nervous for you,” he said, sighing. “This isn’t what you wanted.”
“I know. But all of us die eventually, Quion. Maybe my death will have greater meaning. Maybe I can finally stop Echion.”
Prince Juexin of Sajinau had offered to build her a shrine should she agree to sacrifice herself. But now he was dead, and his kingdom belonged to Echion. Her death would be more of a whimper—the only person who would know what she’d done was Quion. Yet it felt right. It felt inevitable even.
“I’ll miss you,” he said, and she smelled the sadness coming from him, seasoned by the spiciness of his pride in her.
She looked over and smiled at him. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Quion.”
He tugged at his collar and removed a bit of fishing twine. Fastened to it, she saw the little scorpion charm she’d bought in Wangfujing. After being shunned by those people because of her winter sickness, she’d ripped it off in disgust.
“I’m glad you didn’t throw it in the water,” he said. “At least I’ll have something to always remind me of you.”
Another of the walls guarding her heart fell down.
Eventually they reached the edge of the woods. Looking back, the forest blocked sight of the imposing Death Wall, but she knew it was there, hidden behind the veil of green leaves and pale bark. The ground dropped lower, revealing a lush valley thick with tall, straight trees. The branches swayed a little in the breeze. A hawk cried out in the distance. She heard a song and saw the pretty little siskin perched on a branch, trilling away. Although it seemed unlikely, she knew in her heart it was the same one.
“There’s that bird again,” Quion said. “Maybe it’s a good sign.”
“Look at those trees. I wonder what kind they are?” Bingmei said, pointing down at the valley. On the other side, she saw the jagged peaks of mountains. Beyond them, she knew, lay the maze of canyons and ravines leading to the shrine. If only she could cross the distance in the air like the hawk crying overhead.
Gazing up at the sky, she saw the great bird swooping lazily, riding the currents. A wistful feeling throbbed in her heart. It was followed by a tingle of danger. The siskin screeched at them, and Bingmei felt the presence of a dragon.
CHAPTER TWO
The Secret Grove
“Hide,” Bingmei whispered, pulling Quion’s sleeve. They raced deeper into the grove and watched as an enormous shadow roved across the fallen leaves. A turquoise dragon soared over the valley.
The hawk sailed overhead, giving a scree of warning. Which was when Bingmei realized it was much bigger than a hawk. It was bigger than a man. Twice as big. It tucked its wings and dived toward the canyons on the other side of the valley. The dragon plunged after it, flapping its wings.
Only then did she realize the truth.
That enormous bird was a phoenix—and it had drawn the dragon away from them.
The dragon let out a roar as it continued to hunt the massive bird. Bingmei, crouching amidst the aspen, watched the two flying beasts and willed the phoenix to outpace the dragon.
Sav
e yourself! she pleaded in her thoughts.
Another earsplitting shriek rent the air, and a second dragon sailed overhead, joining the chase. Quion flinched. They hadn’t heard it, nor had Bingmei sensed it. Perhaps it was too high, or maybe she’d been distracted by the sight of the soaring phoenix. This dragon was a pale, pale green with vivid flecks of violet and rose.
Fly, she urged the phoenix, clenching her hands into fists. The great bird disappeared into the canyons, and the dragons soared after it, continuing the hunt.
“We’d better wait until sunset,” Quion whispered, gazing at her. “If we leave too soon, we’ll be caught in the open.”
The siskin let out a little chirp, as if agreeing with Quion.
“Thanks for the warning, little bird,” Bingmei told it, smiling.
They waited until after nightfall to leave the safety of the aspen grove and start down the hillside. The long grasses provided some cover, although they also concealed the broken rocks and small boulders that lay in their path on the way down.
Dazzling stars filled the night sky as they marched down the slope to the valley floor. Around midnight, the ghost-lights came, but they were farther south and to the east. Distant roars filled the air. Bingmei knew they were still being hunted, but the dragons had lost their tracks. They were searching in the wrong area.
They pressed hard to reach the trees she’d seen, but the night was short, and the forest was still a distance ahead of them when the sky brightened to the east. When the sun peeked over the eastern mountains, she felt even more exposed. They were in the middle of a bowl-shaped valley, surrounded by steep cliffs of jagged rock. There was nowhere to hide, so they kept walking quickly, glancing back at the edge of the valley behind them. Waterways crisscrossed the meadow, but the streams were narrow enough to jump.
“Bears,” Quion said, pointing to a mother and cubs across the clearing. They were huge grayish-white beasts, but they hadn’t noticed the humans yet. Hopefully, they would stay upwind from them.
