by Jeff Wheeler
The stench. Echion.
She saw him descend to the clifftop in his human form, spear in hand, pale hair whipping in the wind. He wore his black armor, prepared for war.
Bingmei dropped into a bow stance, the staff held tightly in both hands as she glared at him.
“Finally,” he said with an angry scowl.
Where was Xisi? She still sensed her but didn’t see the pale dragon anywhere.
“You will not bring the Reckoning so soon,” he said venomously to her. “Do you even know what that is, hatchling? Has your master warned you of it yet?”
Bingmei stayed silent, her grip tightening on the staff as she focused her power. Kunmia had faced him and lost. Everyone who had faced him had lost.
How could she hope to survive?
“I am ready for you,” Bingmei challenged. She wanted him to attack first.
“You are insignificant,” he said with a laugh. “You think to lure me away from the true prize. Your daughter. But you forget who and what I am, Bingmei. I know the Immortal Words far better than you.” He jerked his hand, the one with the spear, and Bingmei flinched, swinging up her staff to block a blow that didn’t come.
He laughed in her face. “I’m not going to kill you. You’ll soon have your own Reckoning to face your colossal failure. You’ll never forget how many perished because you couldn’t protect your child from me. I will rule for another thousand years. Just as I could not overturn your summoning of winter, neither can you overturn my power. Watch, Bingmei. Watch them drown.”
She saw him draw a word with his finger. Hongshui. She recognized the combination of two words. Water and flood.
“No!” Bingmei screamed.
Thunder rumbled in the sky overhead. And a wall of water came rushing down the narrows, devouring everything in its path.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Cry of the Heart
Bingmei ran to the edge of the cliff, unfurling the phoenix wings, but Echion came at her with his spear, beating her back. She blocked each attack with the rune staff, and as close as he was, she could smell the cloying scent of his pride, his exhilaration at the position he’d put her in. She lunged to the side, trying to fly again, and again he stopped her.
She heard the rushing of the waters, and her heart seized with panic. Echion jabbed at her stomach, trying to impale her on his spear. She flipped up and landed on the edge of the cliff, still facing him, then reversed her grip on the staff and struck him on the head. To her shock, he grimaced with pain. She’d injured him!
He whipped the end of the spear around to strike her in return, but she twisted her hips, and it swept by her, just grazing her chin. If she’d been any slower, it would have knocked her on her back and broken her jaw.
The sound of rushing water made her want to scream, and as she continued to trade blows with Echion, Bingmei felt her defenses crumbling. He drew closer and closer to striking her. One hit was all it would take from his powerful arms, and she’d be helpless. He lifted the spear to jam it down through her skull. Bingmei felt the fire of the phoenix’s magic burning in her heart, reassuring her she was not alone. Cocking one hand back, she brought her open palm into his rib cage—the same attack she’d used to incapacitate a warrior who’d tried to stop her from entering the Hall of Unity.
The power of the phoenix burst through her and sent Echion flying backward. He went crashing down on the rough edges of the mountain, the meiwood spear clattering on the rocks.
She stared in disbelief at what she’d done and then saw his head lift, his eyes livid with anger. A snarl came to his mouth, and he began to transform back into the dragon.
Bingmei hurled herself off the cliff. Instead of flying, she let herself plummet like a stone, heading straight down the edge of the cliff wall. The roiling waters of the flood were directly below her, smashing against the walls, roaring like a waterfall.
At the last moment, she unfurled her wings and swooped away from the watery death. Echion’s stench was right on top of her a moment later. The flapping of wings flooded her senses, and she twisted and rolled the other way. Glancing back, she saw the massive dragon crash into the wall of the cliff, only to rebound again, his yellow eyes full of fury.
Bingmei soared through the chasm amidst the flood. She turned the corner and felt the dragon still coming after her. Looking up, she saw several more shapes flying above the ravine but not swooping down at her. The flooding river smashed against the rocks and boulders with a ferocity that filled her with dread. There was no way to escape the flood. Quion must have been swept up in it. He couldn’t have foreseen it or known it was coming.
She hurtled around the next bend in the river, trying to put more distance between herself and Echion. If she could catch up to Quion and the basket, she’d figure out a way to save them, although she didn’t know how.
When she turned the next corner, she saw a dragon perched on a massive boulder in the middle of the river. It was yellow with stripes of teal and orange on its flanks. She was going so fast, there was no way to dodge it as it hissed and jumped at her.
She felt its claws rip into her waist and legs as it snatched her. The powerful wings started to hoist her up into the air.
But she was no rabbit to be caught. Bingmei pulled the short sword from her belt and jabbed beneath the scales at the dragon’s breast. A jet of noxious, burning blood spurted down her arm, scalding her, making her cry out in pain. But she had delivered a death blow, and the dragon involuntarily released her as it contorted in the throes of pain from its punctured heart. Bingmei nearly plunged into the roiling waves, but she willed herself to fly on, despite the sizzling pain in her arm.
Echion came around the corner as the dandelion dragon crashed into the waters. She felt the two dragons overhead plunge down to intercept her, even as Echion did the same from the other direction.
She closed her eyes, knowing she was trapped between them. And then, in her mind’s eye, she saw a glyph. A burning symbol, two words in one. Sudu.
The Immortal Word for “speed” or “quickness.”
She clamped the sword against her side in free her hand and quickly drew the glyph with her burnt finger. The air ignited at her command. The word had been written, its power invoked.
Echion snarled as he saw the writing form in the air. She shot forward like an arrow launched from a bow, passing the two dragons, which were suddenly too slow to reach her. She felt Echion invoke a word of power too, but hers had already been activated and could not be undone by him. She raced through the mazelike canyon, twisting and turning, leaving the dragons behind.
Cries of frustration and rage came from behind and above her as she went faster and faster. Dodging the canyon walls became increasingly perilous. She’d die if she struck a boulder or hit the waves. It was madness.
Bingmei felt a stab of warning in her heart. The time had come to leave the canyon—she knew in her two souls she couldn’t maintain her breakneck speed. As she zipped up and past the edge of the cliffs, it was as if the whole world stretched beneath her. The dragons were all behind, unable to keep up with her. She’d escaped their hunt. But her twin souls grieved, not knowing what had happed to Quion and her baby.
The magic faded, and she felt her limbs begin to slacken. Darkness would soon overtake her. She’d pushed herself too far, too hard.
There—an eagle’s nest. She had just enough time to reach it before blacking out.
When Bingmei awoke, she was huddled in the bottom of the nest, curled up like a little child. The meiwood staff had bits of feathers sticking to it. As she lifted her head, she saw an eagle sitting on the edge of the nest, perched on the rim of large, pointed sticks. The interior of the nest was made of softer stuff, a thick matting of pine needles that she found covering her legs and shoulders. The short sword was still tucked under her arm. She moved, and the eagle spread its wings, hopping around in a circle. She didn’t feel threatened by it. Quite the opposite. She felt safe, protected. As if it had be
en sent to watch over her.
The sense of something missing made her sit bolt upright. Her son. Where was Shixian?
The memory of the flood returned, and a horrible, keening pain shot through her heart, far worse than the burn in her arm. The nest was built within a set of three pine trees at the top of the mountains. She could see the chasm in the distance, its dark shadow standing out. The sun had shifted positions and was heading down now. She’d been unconscious for a long time.
The eagle cocked its white head to the side as it stared at her with glaring yellow eyes. And then she saw the eagle eggs also within the nest. It was a mother protecting its young, but it had still saved her. Although it looked as fierce as the dragon, it had a different kind of ferocity—the same emotion Bingmei felt for her own child, for Shixian.
I must go, she thought to the majestic bird.
Help.
It lacked the clarity of a human thought, but she sensed the intention. The eagle wanted to help her.
Looking into the great bird’s eyes, she conjured a memory of Quion and his pack. Of the basket he’d been carrying.
The eagle leaped off the nest and began to search. Filled with gratitude for the bird, Bingmei slid the short sword into her belt and fetched the staff, which was partially disguised as one of the sticks making up the nest. The structure was very firm, and she was light enough that it didn’t wobble with her. The clutch of eggs sat together near her.
She felt a connection with the eagle as it soared toward the ravine. She could see through its eyes and feel the wind ruffling its feathers. Bingmei wasn’t confined to just the eagle, though. There were other birds in the area, even more than there had been in days past. She began to search from them all, desperate for a clue that would tell her about the fate of her friend and her child.
The answer came quickly from a pair of vultures circling overhead farther downstream, where the narrows widened to the valley plains. The mouth of the canyon. Beneath them was a body that lay unmoving, sprawled facedown on a sandbar.
She saw the hump of the pack, soaked and heavy, still clinging to his back. It was Quion.
But where was the basket? Where was her baby?
When Bingmei arrived on the spot, she commanded the vultures to depart, and they obeyed her. She was sick inside—sick with pain, with dread, with disbelief. The basket was nowhere to be found, and her stomach clenched with dread when she saw the dead snow leopard nearby. There was sand in Quion’s hair. He didn’t move, and he smelled like nothing at all. Anguish thrummed inside her.
“Oh, Quion,” she gasped, setting the meiwood staff aside as she knelt by his body. The water was frigid, but she ignored it as she grasped him beneath the arms and pulled him farther up on the sandbar. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Had the basket been crushed against the boulders somewhere? She bit her lip, not daring to hope amidst so much sadness. Failure. She felt it weighing down on her like boulders.
Bingmei had seen death before. She’d been dead before herself and knew what lay beyond. Had Quion gone to the Grave Kingdom? She couldn’t bear that thought. He deserved the phoenix’s majestic court in Fusang.
Losing him was unbearable. He’d been her dear friend and companion, by her side on every step of her voyage as the phoenix-chosen. His skills as a fisherman, knowledge of knots of all kinds and sizes, and gentle wisdom had solved many of the problems they’d faced along the way. But it was his loyalty that mattered the most. Even when she’d tried to abandon him to save his life, he’d stolen the meiwood cricket to keep her from running off. And he’d been there for her during the anguish of childbirth. She loved him so dearly, as much as any brother.
Grief had a terrible, conflicting smell. It smelled of tart berries, ferment, and water lilies. And this time, it even smelled like fish. She sat there, arms wrapped around her knees, her cheek resting against them as the tears continued to leak out.
Shui, Xue, Po.
She blinked. The words were clear and direct, causing a spark in her heart that grew stronger. She knew the Immortal Words that could bring someone back to life. She’d tried using them to bring back Jiaohua after they’d escaped Echion’s palace, and it had failed.
But this time felt different. She’d embraced the phoenix’s cause. She had offered her body to create its next incarnation. Bingmei, quivering with anticipation, pulled Quion’s body over. His eyes were still open, clouded over in death. Water dribbled from his lips. And the scorpion pendant she’d tossed away still clung to his shirt.
Trembling, she dipped her finger into the water of the river. She traced the word for “water” on his forehead. Shui.
Next, she needed blood. A small cut from her knife provided it. Blood oozed from the small wound she’d dug into her forearm. She dipped her finger in it and traced it on his forehead next. Xue.
She had no ashes or coal, but she knew the Immortal Word for “fire” and drew it with her finger on a small stick of driftwood nearby. It sputtered to life, burning, growing hot. Then she quenched the tip and used the smoldering end to trace the final word on Quion’s forehead. Po.
Her arms began to tingle. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.
“Breathe, Quion,” she pleaded. “Breathe.”
The magic swelled, and she saw his hand twitch. Then Quion arched his back, turned to his side, and began to vomit water.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Missing
Bingmei put her hand on Quion’s shoulder, her heart bursting with joy that the Immortal Words had brought him back to life. Yet her son was still foremost on her mind. Would Quion know what had happened to him?
He retched continuously for a while, spewing out the river water until the convulsions finally ended and the tremors calmed to trembles.
“Quion,” she gasped, wrapping him in her arms. He clung to her, his fingers digging into her back.
“I’m . . . I’m alive again,” he whispered, his voice raw.
She squeezed him harder. His clothes were soaked through and gritty with sand, which was also in his hair. Holding him tightly, she soothed him until even the trembles left. He smelled of a fish cooked over hot coals until the flesh turned crispy. She also smelled his gratitude for being alive. As she hugged him, the pain in her arm flared to life, but it was nothing more than an inconvenience.
He pulled back sharply, and she smelled the emotions that replaced the calming fish smell. Frantic worry, like wilted flowers burning.
“Bingmei! Oh no, Bingmei!”
“What?” she asked, her tone sharp with worry.
“The baby,” he said, his face twisting with emotions of grief and despair. “Little Shixian. Oh no, Bingmei. No!”
“What? What happened to him?”
He cupped his hands over his face. It wasn’t grief. It was absolute terror.
“Tell me. If there’s a chance he’s alive, I need to hope. Quion, I need to hope.”
He nodded his head miserably. Then, lowering his hands, he stared at her, his mouth an anxious line. “When the flood came, I only had time . . . it happened so fast . . . I just had time to pull the basket off my pack. I was going to try to climb a boulder and set it on top . . . so that you could come down and save him. The waters came so fast. I used the cricket to jump up on a boulder, but before I could get any higher, it swept over both of us.”
“The waters took you downriver?” she asked.
He nodded emphatically. “I . . . I managed to keep one hand on the basket. I steered it away from the rocks, but I kept hitting them. I knew I couldn’t let go. I heard the dragons shrieking. It was horrible. I tried to catch my breath, but I started to choke. I swallowed water. Then more and more. I kept clinging to the basket, sinking deeper and deeper. The baby was crying. I was so scared, Bingmei, but I knew I couldn’t leave him.”
She bit her lip, squeezing his arm and nodding for him to continue.
“I . . . I drowned, Bingmei. I died. I came out of my body, like you’ve talked about many times. I
felt the pull of the Grave Kingdom, but I resisted it. I had to stay with the basket. The river pushed us up on the shore, right there,” he added, pointing to the sandbar that she’d dragged him from.
“What about the basket?”
“My hand still held it. It was so strange, Bingmei. Looking at my corpse, I wanted to come back inside. I couldn’t leave little Shixian all alone. The water carried away my leopard too, but she came back and tried tugging the basket to dry ground. And then . . . and then . . . she came.”
Bingmei’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“The white dragon. It came down and transformed into a woman. The queen.”
Bingmei gasped, her heart wrenching in pain.
“I was so worried. I had to protect Shixian, but I didn’t even have control of my body. She came up and kicked the leopard away from the basket. When it tried to defend Shixian, she drew a rune, and it just died. Then . . . then she knelt and parted the blanket. The baby was exhausted from crying and was just whimpering. She looked down at him and opened up the clothes. Bingmei, she said . . . she said . . . ‘A boy?’ and then a strange look came over her face. I can’t describe it. There was something in her eyes. I tried to stop her from lifting up the basket. I couldn’t touch her, but she saw me, Bingmei. She saw my spirit-soul. She gave me the most wicked smile and drew a symbol in the air, and I went hurtling into the Grave Kingdom.”
Bingmei stared at Quion in horror. Xisi had her baby. Her heart clenched so hard she feared it would stop beating. Xisi . . . that horrible, awful woman had stolen her child. To kill him? But if that had been her intention, why hadn’t she murdered Shixian and left his body for Bingmei to find?
