by Jeff Wheeler
And then the woman’s daughter vanished from her arms. The stench of unbearable grief came as she looked back at her arms, now empty, clutching no one. “Baobei! Baobei!” She scrambled to her feet, looking this way and that, nearly colliding with other passersby. Then she looked at Bingmei again and rushed at her in desperation.
“Please! Please! I beg you! You are the phoenix-chosen. Bring me back my daughter!”
The woman’s hands seized her shoulders, and Bingmei felt herself shaking.
Her eyes flew open. Quion was hunched over her, struggling to revive her from the death sleep.
“Bingmei! Please, Bingmei! Come back. Come back!”
She gasped in agony. Sunlight blinded her. Stinging nettles of pain tortured her legs and arms.
“You’re alive!” Quion said with relief, hugging her. “I was so afraid.”
“Ungh!” Bingmei moaned. He quickly released her, likely realizing he was hurting her, and she fell back onto the blanket in the marsh grass. It took longer for the pain to go away. Each time she experienced the death sleep, the time it took to recover had extended. She breathed in shallow gasps, trembling violently, and then—at last—the hurt began to subside.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Quion moaned, watching her helplessly. There were tears in his eyes.
“It’s not . . . your fault,” she managed.
“But seeing you like this,” he said, wiping his eyes on his arm. “I wish . . . I wish I could take the pain from you. I’m sorry it hurts so much. I’m sorry, Bingmei.”
Her heart was touched by his compassion. It smelled so good, like a steamed bun fresh from a heating basket. The kind that she loved to smell before plunging her teeth into the dough. She managed to raise herself into a sitting position and hugged him, pressing her cheek against his chest.
“It’s all right, Quion. I’ll be fine.”
He nestled his chin against her hair. The pungent tang of sorrow came off him in waves.
“I’m feeling better,” she said, patting his arm.
“I know. I keep forgetting that I can’t hide what I’m feeling. Not from you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Quion.” She pulled away and stroked his cheek. “Why are you so sad?”
He looked down, suddenly ashamed. “We’re almost there, Bingmei. Almost to the phoenix shrine.” He sniffled and wiped his nose. “I’ve tried not to think about it, but that’s where I’m going to lose you.” Fresh tears came to his eyes. He started to weep.
Seeing his fresh grief reminded her of the crowds in the Grave Kingdom, of each lost soul searching for loved ones. The little girl had said that Echion had destroyed families. Bingmei didn’t know what she meant, but everything she had witnessed in the Grave Kingdom indicated it was true. There were barriers that prevented families from finding each other.
Invisible walls had been erected. It made her think of the Death Wall itself. A horrible spell had been cast on it during its construction. Its power came from the deaths of the laborers who’d built it.
Bingmei took Quion’s hand and squeezed it. She sat there, listening to his tears, feeling her own begin to well in her eyes. Her heart wrenched painfully. It was impossible to describe the stew of their feelings. It was friendship, but it went deeper than that. There was a bond of loyalty between them. A deep and satisfying bond that was similar to the feeling of family.
“I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you, Quion,” she said. “That you came with me. Even after I tried leaving you behind.”
He chuckled, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“I visited the Grave Kingdom again,” she said. “If I’ve learned anything since I was chosen, it’s that life doesn’t end with death. We still exist. It’s just different from how it is here. I don’t understand how it works, but Echion is using a spell to keep families apart after death. I mean to stop him, Quion. I mean to break his spell and defeat him.” She reached over and dug her fingers into his hair. “This I promise you: no matter what happens, I will make sure that you see your mother and father again. And I will find you there too. No matter what I have to do. We will see each other again. This I promise you.” She let her hand fall.
He looked at her with serious eyes. Then he nodded and rose and reached down to help her up. She didn’t need the help to stand, but she took it anyway. She hugged him again, giving him a kiss on his cheek.
“To the end,” he said firmly.
“To the end.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Burial Mounds
When someone died in a journey through the mountains, it was tradition to protect the body by stacking rocks on it. The higher the stack, the more honored the person. As Bingmei and Quion got closer to the mountains at the end of the valley, she couldn’t help but think they were approaching a series of burial mounds made by giants.
It looked as if an entire range had been shattered into stone pillars, the remains repurposed into a new formation that resembled giant, reaching fingers. A stream ran through the middle of the place and had led them to it.
On one of these pillars, Bingmei knew, lay the phoenix shrine. Each was a nearly vertical climb.
Quion put his hands on his hips. “There are so many. How are we to know which is the right one?”
“I think that’s the point,” Bingmei answered, sighing.
“But you can still sense it?”
She nodded. “It’s inside this maze.”
“Maybe we should camp before going in? The day is waning.”
“Let’s keep going,” she replied. “With all those stones, there will be ample places to hide.”
“True.” He adjusted his pack on his shoulders and gripped the meiwood staff he was carving. The snow leopard peered ahead and followed as they started to advance.
As they approached the intricate maze of natural pillars, Bingmei craned her neck, surprised at how life clawed its way to survive in the harshest environments. She was impressed by the scrub and trees that clung to the cracks and shelves in the colossal rock beams. They followed the stream through the first set of pillars and took a turn, revealing even more of the strange formation. Trailers of evening mist began to form on the ponds and pools dotting the stream’s edges.
She was so distracted by the strange beauty around her it took her a moment to hear the snow leopard’s growl.
“What are those?” Quion asked, grabbing her arm to stop her.
Startled, she halted as the snow leopard began to growl more loudly. A huge black tortoise blocked the way. Its shell was as wide as her outstretched arms, and its black scales looked like armor.
“I’ve never seen one so huge,” Bingmei said. The turtle’s legs marched steadily forward. Then she saw another one. And another.
A hissing sound came from the foremost one.
The leopard’s tail swished menacingly, and it lifted a clawed paw in warning.
The head of the tortoise shot out of its shell, its hooked snout lunging for the cat. The leopard bounded backward, shrieking in surprise.
Bingmei startled as well, drawing back.
“They have necks like snakes,” she said, glancing at the stream as more of the creatures emerged. At a glance, she’d thought them boulders.
More hissing sounded as the turtles began to converge on them.
“Let’s go around them,” Bingmei said.
But the creatures changed their direction, blocking the path forward. One charged toward Quion, and he hit it with the meiwood staff at the last moment, barely avoiding its sharp bite. Another crept up on Bingmei, but she invoked the meiwood cricket, using it to leap over the ranks of the tortoises. As soon as she did, many of them changed directions and started rushing back to catch her.
“I’ll stay ahead of them,” she told Quion. “You keep following.”
They continued that way for a time, but the tortoises were violent beasts, and the group had to stop periodically to deal with an attack—on the leopard, on Quion, or on Bingmei.
She had to lop the head off a particularly aggressive tortoise, something that did little to curb the others’ combativeness.
The sun continued to sink, making the shadows grow. If the tortoises continued to pursue them, they’d have to sleep on giant boulders to keep away from their attackers.
Focused on the danger at her feet, Bingmei nearly missed detecting the presence of a concealed dragon.
In the darkening shadows, she saw the green scales, so green that they were nearly black. It had concealed itself amidst the stunted trees and scrub higher up on one of the lower pillars, and there it had waited as they’d approached, the branch-like spurs on its back blending in perfectly with the stunted plant life. Only once it started rushing down toward them, wings tucking as it dropped like a stone, did she sense its malice.
“Quion! Be careful. There’s a—”
It dived straight at her, jaws snapping viciously, and Bingmei had to spring away from its charge before she could finish her warning.
She made it the first time, but on her second leap, the dragon caught her with a gout of amber spray. The hot, sticky liquid covered her like a net, its weight counteracting the magic of the cricket. She tried to jump again but couldn’t rise. The great beast’s claws raked her side, pain blooming violently. She might have died right then if the snow leopard hadn’t leaped on the dragon, hissing and clawing at it in a rage.
Bingmei struggled to free her arms, eager to fight, but they were stuck to her sides. She could only watch as Quion beat the dragon with the meiwood staff. The great beast writhed, trying to get the leopard off its back, and finally hooked it with its claws and threw it as if it were a house cat. It turned on Quion then, opening its maw to spray him with the amber liquid. He dived to the side at the last moment, the attack missing.
Struggling harder, desperate to help, Bingmei stretched against the sap-like net and broke some of the strands, then some more. Grabbing her short sword, she charged at the dragon and tried to stab it in the back, aiming for the wounds left by the leopard’s claws. A wing suddenly buffeted her, knocking her down, making her drop the sword.
She lay on the ground for a moment, panting, certain she was about to die, when she saw it. One of the smaller black tortoises was approaching, mouth open to snap at her. It clamped down on her arm, and she swung it up even as the dragon reached for her with open, slavering jaws. Just before the dragon crunched into the beast’s hard shell, the tortoise sprayed down on her from its hindquarters, a defensive musk. The odor struck her senses with especial violence because of her sensitivity.
Pulling away from the dragon and the turtle, now dead and detached from her, Bingmei began to vomit uncontrollably, but she caught sight of a glimmer in the sun. The short sword lay just next to her.
The dragon tossed the tortoise shell away with an angered snarl as Bingmei rolled and grabbed the blade. She was covered in the sap-like substance and the musk. Even though her stomach revolted, she thrust the weapon up at the dragon’s neck, invoking the power of the blade as she did so.
The hilt began to glow, growing hot in her hand, and the blade sheared through the dragon’s throat. The beast’s reptilian eyes rolled back before it slumped and landed on top of her, pinning her to the ground. The weight of the dragon crushed her chest, and the smell from the tortoise made her gag.
“No! No!” Quion moaned in agony, coming closer. He clubbed the dragon’s head again and again. She couldn’t smell his emotions. The stench of the musk overpowered all else.
“Stop!” she finally managed to bark.
Quion wheeled away in surprise.
“Get . . . it . . . off!” she gasped.
Quion hurried closer and lifted the head of the dragon off her body. Her lungs filled with air, and that made the stench even worse. She rolled to her side and dry heaved again and again.
“I thought you were dead! I . . . I’m sorry! You’re alive! The sounds I heard. I thought it was eating you!”
“That was . . . me,” Bingmei said, hanging her head. Her side ached from the wounds, and she pressed her arm against her ribs. She was still in agony. “Help me. To the stream. The smell . . .”
He dropped the staff and scooped her up in his arms. Had she not been in such pain, she might have laughed at the way his face twisted into a wince. “That does stink!”
But he cradled her to the edge of the stream and gently laid her down in it. The water soaked through her, chilling her instantly. It stung her side, but soon the cold soothed the pain. She splashed water on her face and began wiping away the horrid smell.
The snow leopard limped toward them, panting.
“Good girl,” Quion said, patting her flank.
Bingmei gazed at the snow leopard gratefully. “She saved my life,” she said.
Quion nodded. “There was no warning. You’ve always been able to sense the dragons early.”
“This one must have been lying in wait,” she said, nodding to it. The sap-like stain from the dragon wasn’t coming off her hands, even as she scrubbed them under the water. Her skin had turned black. She abandoned the effort and hung her head.
“There’s blood in the water,” Quion said in a worried voice. He crouched down and saw her gripping her side.
“It got me,” she whispered, turning so he could get a better look at her side and back. They were on fire. “It hurts, Quion. I’m afraid to look.”
His eyes widened, his mouth tightened to a flat line, but the expression was there and then gone. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, trying to chuckle. “Just a few scratches.”
“Quion,” she said, looking into his eyes. She still couldn’t smell his emotions. Although the stench from the tortoise musk had faded some, it had compromised her gift. It had overpowered every other smell.
“No, I can help. I know I can.”
“I can’t tell if you’re lying,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t smell anything but that reptile stench right now. How bad is it?”
“It’s pretty bad, Bingmei. The gashes are deep. I can help, though. It’s . . . it’s just that it’s going to hurt. A lot. I’ll have to stitch them closed.”
Now she understood. He didn’t want to hurt her.
He looked around. “The turtles are all going back into the water,” he said. “Do you think the dragon summoned them to attack us?”
A quick glance revealed it was true. Several of the black tortoises were slumping into the stream, but they showed no interest in them.
“I do,” she said, then gasped as another jolt of pain overwhelmed her.
“I’m sorry I kept hitting the dragon after it was dead,” he said. “You were underneath it.”
“It’s all right,” she panted. “Fetch the sword. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to kill it.”
He strode over to the dragon’s corpse.
“Don’t get any of its blood on you,” she called out. “Remember what happened to Liekou.”
His hands had been burned by the blood of the dragon he’d killed.
As Bingmei got to her knees in the cold water, preparing to move, she saw the little eddies of blood swirling around her. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling weak and drained. Her nose still didn’t work. She couldn’t smell Quion at all.
A prickle of awareness caused her to look up. Another dragon was coming. And it was coming quickly.
“Quion,” she warned, struggling to her feet. “Hurry. There’s another one.” She saw him straining against the dragon’s neck, trying to turn it over. The leopard sidled up to Bingmei and growled, pacing at the water’s edge.
“Almost,” Quion groaned.
“We have to get out of here. Now!” She looked up past the fragmented pillars reaching for the sky like broken fingers. It was well past dusk, and she saw the first gem of a star in the sky.
Quion left the dragon, and she saw him holding the sword by the edge of his cloak. He ran to the stream and dropped it in, letting the water wash it clean.
She g
ot up and started to walk through the throbbing, searing pain. The leopard looked back at Quion, issued a warning growl, and followed Bingmei.
Quion snatched up the weapon and hurried after them, splashing in the stream.
There wasn’t time to escape. She hurried into the dense scrub near the rock wall of the nearest pillar. Quion lumbered after her and caught up, helping to support her weight. There was a stand of stunted trees, along with some little pine saplings. Wincing in agony, Bingmei clawed her way into the brush until she’d concealed herself. Quion nestled in next to her, and the leopard did the same.
There were enough gaps for Bingmei to see as the massive black dragon flew into the ravine.
She recognized him at once, except she couldn’t smell him.
Echion had come.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dust from the Past
The dragon Echion descended like a setting sun, bringing darkness in his wake. Bingmei felt a spasm of dread shoot through her heart. She was bleeding, dying, but unable to move for fear of alerting him that she was there. The dragon landed by the remains of the green-black one she’d killed. A clicking noise came from his throat.
A whorl of shadows expanded from the great dragon, engulfing it, only to sink into smoky mist and reveal the man Echion crouched by the carcass, his hand atop the scales. He stared at the beast impassively. Her inability to smell his emotions required her to read them in other ways. The death of the dragon didn’t seem to bother him. There was no look of grief or mourning. Perhaps all dragons were rivals to him. Perhaps he didn’t have a friend in all the world.
She sensed the approach of another dragon moments before Xisi appeared, the white dragon swooping in like an arrow shot from a bow. A silvery mist surrounded her, and when it lifted, she, too, was her human self. Echion rose to his full height, and the two glared at each other.
“Where is she?” Xisi asked, her nostrils flaring. “Did you devour her already? Impatient brute.”
“She has fled,” Echion replied. “But I see her blood in the water.”
“I’ll taste it, then!” Xisi said hungrily, striding forward.
