by Jeff Wheeler
She raced forward just as the leader’s saber sliced down her grandfather’s front. Muxidi used both hands to amplify his force, one on the hilt, one atop the blade. She gaped in shock as her grandfather sagged to his knees, his eyes wide with pain and surprise. If he’d had his own weapon . . .
Turning his head, Grandfather saw her charging toward him. The grief on his face ripped at her heart. The wound was mortal. She could see the grin of satisfaction on the bandit’s face. Then he pulled his sword free and kicked Grandfather down.
A scream came out of Bingmei as she charged the man. She yanked the saber out of its scabbard. There was no hope of winning against so many. But if she died killing this man, it would be a good death. Why not join her parents beyond the Death Wall? And her grandfather too? They would go together.
Muxidi saw her in time, and he effortlessly blocked her thrusts and slashing motions. How could he not? She practiced daily, but she was only twelve. Tears streaked down her cheeks. He was toying with her, letting her expend her energy. His ruffians formed a circle around her, boxing her in. They laughed as though her efforts were an enjoyable diversion. If only she could steal a little blood from the man before she died.
But Muxidi wouldn’t grant her any. He mocked her as he defended himself, holding her off as if she were a dandelion seed dancing in the wind.
“Are you the daughter?” he said. “No wonder they were too ashamed to speak of you before they died. You’re pale as a ghost. Look at her!”
Laughter followed. She screamed at him, trying again to stab him. He parried her strike easily, then kicked her in the chest, knocking the wind out of her.
She lay on the wet stones, seeing her grandfather swallow. He stared at her, the final smell of him washing over her. He couldn’t speak, but she could see the urgency in his eyes. The plea. He wanted her to run.
“You aren’t even worth killing!” the leader said. “But I don’t want to be haunted by any ghosts!”
He was going to kill her. And all the rest of the servants at the quonsuun. There would be no one left to claim a blood debt against him. Her parents had only one child—her. Only she could avenge them.
Bingmei remembered the little box in her pocket. She fished her hand into her pocket, opened the box, and felt the small wooden cricket.
She gripped it in her hand and rubbed it with her thumb, invoking the magic. She smelled the rich, beautiful aroma of the wood as the power of the artifact enveloped her. Its magic infused her, thrumming outward from her hand. And she leaped, springing out of the circle of killers, rising in an arc to land gracefully on the sloping rooftop of the quonsuun.
“Shoot her!” yelled the leader, his voice drained of humor.
Bingmei rubbed the cricket again, and the magic made her spring even higher, clearing the peaked roof of the ancient dwelling. She heard the twang of a bow, but she landed safely on the other side of the wall. Shouts and commands to find her, to kill her, filled the courtyard behind her.
But it was dark.
And it was impossible to find a cricket in the dark.
Be not afraid of growing slowly, be afraid only of standing still.
—Dawanjir proverb
CHAPTER ONE
Kunmia Suun
Bingmei sat on a wooden bench, feeling the sway of the boat as the smell of the salmon in the nets filled her nose. The fisherman and his son adjusted their ropes, positioning the scalloped sail to take advantage of the wind, which seemed to change its mind spontaneously. The stars were partly masked by the tall peaks of the mountain fjord.
Zhuyi and Mieshi, her bond sisters in the ensign, were asleep on the bench across from her, huddled in their cloaks. The fisherman and his son had agreed to sail during the night to hide their group’s movement from prying eyes. Kunmia Suun preferred to travel in secrecy.
Bingmei shifted her gaze to the front of the boat, where her master sat beside the fisherman. One of the few women to run an ensign, Kunmia had become her teacher, her adopted mother, her mentor, her friend. It was Kunmia’s ensign that had come to Bingmei’s grandfather’s quonsuun in search of survivors once the Dragon of Night gave way to the Dragon of Dawn. Bingmei had watched them arrive from her hiding place in the abandoned, plundered building. She’d lived there for months, hiding from Muxidi and his men and surviving on what little food she could steal. The Qiangdao had disposed of the dead by abandoning the bodies outside the quonsuun to be devoured by the wild animals prowling there. The only thing she had left of her family was her grandfather’s saber and the meiwood cricket. At first she’d feared Kunmia’s ensign were Qiangdao, but their smell had assured her that they could be trusted.
For four years Bingmei had trained with Kunmia Suun. This was the first voyage she’d been allowed to make with the ensign. They’d spent the summer crossing the deep fjords into the wilderness, looking for the ruins of another quonsuun. They’d found it, but it had already been plundered. However, they’d managed to secure some artifacts for their employer. They were on their way back to Wangfujing, their journey nearly at an end.
Kunmia smelled like thyme and the subtle fragrance of peonies. She was soft spoken but very serious, her long hair wound up on her head, bound with leather ties. She was never without the meiwood staff she cradled in her arms, an intricately carved weapon that was of ancient origin, its story lost to history. Her eyes were severe, her mouth neutral. She would not be at ease until their duty was fulfilled.
Honor meant everything to Kunmia, and because of that, it meant something to Bingmei as well. Under her tutelage, Bingmei’s skills had improved. With her grandfather’s saber and meiwood cricket, she felt she could defeat any foe. Even Muxidi. She itched to face off with the brigand, but Kunmia still thought she wasn’t ready to kill. And she disapproved of revenge.
“When we reach Wangfujing,” Marenqo said, his head bent low, his arms wrapped around his knees, “I want one of these salmon. Roasted on a strip of cedar.” He enunciated each word carefully. He was looking at Kunmia but mostly talking to himself as he always did. “A little bit of parsley. A pinch of salt. White pepper, of course. Cooked to perfection. Just a little pink. That is what I want.”
“You are always thinking about food,” Lieren said, snorting. He was not a tall man, but although he was well into his fifties, he was just as fit as the youngest on the fishing boat. His eyes scanned the dark shoreline, looking for light.
“And you, my friend,” Marenqo said, “eat your food much too quickly. You don’t even enjoy it.”
“I am an efficient eater. There is no sin in this.”
“There is a sin. You don’t taste the food. How many years have I watched you, shoveling the bowl into your mouth, as if it were a race? As if your belly were that of a starving man?”
“Hush,” Kunmia said, trying to forestall another round of teasing.
Bingmei smiled. Lieren was one of the oldest bodyguards at the ensign. He had been everywhere, seen everything. With the stamina of someone a third his age, he walked so fast that the others were hard-pressed to keep up. At any sign of danger, he was always the first to engage. Marenqo, while a passable fighter, was there because of his ability to speak multiple languages. He knew six or seven, and even if he didn’t know a local dialect, he could usually communicate with his hands, his eyebrows, his facial features. He arranged their transportation, their lodging. He loved to talk about food, and he loved to tease the others, Lieren most of all.
“Did I say anything that was untrue, Kunmia?” he asked, pretending to be affronted. “Does this man not worry you he will choke on a fish bone?”
Kunmia never argued with him. She merely cast him a glance before turning away.
The boat was small enough that they could hear each other easily. The water’s lulling embrace had made Bingmei sleepy, but she was determined to stay awake as long as Kunmia did. The leader of the ensign always worked harder than anyone else.
“And you’re talking so loud, Marenqo, that the Qian
gdao can hear you from the shore,” Bingmei said.
“Did I wake you, Bingmei? I’m not sorry if I did. I really want some cooked salmon right now. We haven’t had a decent meal in . . . a very long time. I think I have the right to complain about a fish. And when someone eats too fast to appreciate a fine meal.”
“And what do you propose?” Bingmei said. “Lighting a fire on the boat?”
“Maybe a little one. I’ll even pass on the cedar plank, although you must admit the smoke adds to the flavor of the meat.”
“And risk catching the boat on fire?” Bingmei said, laughing softly.
“Isn’t a well-cooked fish worth the risk? I think so.”
“You’re teasing me now.”
“You’re insufferable,” Lieren grumbled.
Marenqo cocked his head. “Am I? Can you be sure I’m teasing, Bingmei? This is your first journey with us. You don’t know me as well as you think.”
“Four years is long enough to know someone,” Bingmei said. Marenqo was a conglomeration of smells. Spicy and intricate, like a feast. Lieren reminded her of the smell of grain. Simple, uncomplicated. Healthy.
Her quip earned a low coughing chuckle from the fisherman’s son, who was tightening a knot.
The young man’s father, the fisherman, shifted the mast again, and the boat changed course. He spoke their language with a strange inflection but knew it well enough to understand the warriors without Marenqo’s help.
“We are near the end of the fjord,” he whispered. “The berth we agreed on.”
“Thank you,” Kunmia said. She glanced over at Bingmei. “Wake the others.”
Bingmei nodded and slipped off the bench, staying low, and hurried over to Mieshi and Zhuyi. She gently roused them.
“I wasn’t asleep,” said Mieshi with a throb of anger, sitting up.
Marenqo barked out a laugh, and she glowered at him.
Zhuyi rose and yawned. Blinking quickly, she stared up at the sky. “We traveled farther than I thought. Are we at the end of the fjord?”
“Yes,” Bingmei said. She envied her bond sisters’ ability to read the stars. They’d been training with Kunmia Suun for much longer. While Bingmei knew the stars that dotted the sky above her family’s former quonsuun and the base of Kunmia’s ensign, which was much farther east and south, the constellations she’d seen on their journey north had confused her.
They prepared to disembark as the boat approached the shore in the dark. The fisherman barked orders, and the young man promptly obeyed them, untying and retying knots to achieve the proper angle for the scalloped sail.
“Can I buy a fish before we leave?” Marenqo asked. “They may not have salmon at the nearest village, and I don’t want to wait until Wangfujing.”
“Not now,” Kunmia said, her tone absolute but not angry, as she watched the black shoreline approach. “Quiet.”
They all obeyed. The only sound was the boat’s creaking timbers as the fisherman and his son edged it up to a quay that had been invisible up to the moment of arrival. Kunmia smiled and nodded. The man knew his business.
One by one, the warriors disembarked. Lieren marched ahead, scanning the gloom for signs of trouble. Zhuyi and Mieshi quickly followed, while Kunmia and Marenqo settled the account. The fisherman’s son was staring at Bingmei, holding on to the mooring rope with both hands. Was he staring because of her unnaturally pale skin?
She stuck her tongue out at him and turned away.
“Thank you, sir, for the fish,” Marenqo said, bowing and saluting the man. “You’ve made me the happiest of men. At least until I’ve finished eating it. I might even share.”
Kunmia started walking away from the boat, staff in hand, and Bingmei fell in beside her as Marenqo continued to offer his effusive thanks.
They’d just caught up to the other two women, the long grass hissing against their boots, when Zhuyi stopped abruptly, holding up her hand. There were rocks and scrub trees everywhere, making shadows of varying sizes in the dim moonlight.
Kunmia halted. “What do you hear?”
A sickly odor struck Bingmei’s nose. She could feel the stench of malice like a rising haze.
“Qiangdao,” Bingmei whispered.
“They were expecting us,” Zhuyi said.
“How many?” Kunmia demanded. “Lieren!”
Some of the shadows were moving. Bingmei had time to draw her saber as they charged her group, weapons out and ready. Her heart thumped rapidly in response to the surprise attack.
“Back to the boat, now!” Kunmia said. She whirled her staff, striking one of the attackers in the skull with a resounding crack. Commotion erupted around them. Bingmei tried to make sense of the darkness. Even her sense of smell was muddled, her friends too close to her foes. But she responded to Kunmia’s orders as they’d all been trained to do, and when a strange man’s leering face suddenly appeared in the starlight, she swung her saber into his middle. He fell with a groan. It surprised her that her training worked so well, that she’d already wounded and maybe even killed her enemy. What startled her more was that it didn’t disturb her as much as she’d thought it might. But then, she’d been training to fight and seek her revenge against the Qiangdao for years. The man had attacked her and would gladly have killed her—she’d taken him down instead.
Backing toward the boat, she saw Marenqo suddenly, a staff in his hand as he parried an attack and countered.
He dealt a killing blow, then gestured for Bingmei to come with him. “Quick!”
Light flashed over her shoulder, and she glanced back. One of the attackers, the leader probably, had drawn a double-edged sword with a wavy green blade. The light glowing from it revealed the mass of attackers. She felt a tug of envy, a strange impulse that the blade should be hers. Although she’d seen magical artifacts before, none of the others had pulled at her in such a way. She forced her gaze away from it. Lieren was surrounded, fighting off four or five at once, separated from the group. Zhuyi and Mieshi were whirling their staves, crushing skulls and dropping Qiangdao all around them. Even outnumbered, they were capable of withstanding the onslaught. No wonder the leader was desperate enough to summon his sword’s magic.
Roaring through a mouth twisted with hate and fury, he came at Kunmia. The blade hissed as it sliced through the air; she jumped back just in time.
Kunmia’s staff glowed to life as she activated its power. The light emanating from the weapons illuminated the scene, including the first tendrils of creeping fog, curling and reaching. Bingmei’s eyes widened with fear, and her heart thumped in worry. If the battle didn’t end soon, they would all pay the price.
The sword met the staff, and both weapons sparked with power. Kunmia moved swiftly, dodging, blocking, striking in return. Each time the green-tinged sword struck Kunmia’s staff, its glow decreased. Bingmei smiled fiercely. The bandit didn’t know the power of Kunmia’s weapon. It drained the magic of others. Although it was dangerous to use any of the spelled weapons, Kunmia’s staff worked quickly. It had saved the ensign many times before, or so Bingmei had heard from the others.
“Bingmei, come!” Marenqo said, his tone urgent. Zhuyi and Mieshi had both broken off their attack and rushed toward them. They all knew time was short.
The leader of the Qiangdao shouted something, but the words were lost in the rush. Bingmei followed the others to the boat and found two of the Qiangdao there. The fisherman was on his knees, a blade in his belly. His son was struggling against one of the enemy, trying to break free.
Mieshi whipped out a dart and sent it flying. It struck the brigand’s neck, and he released the boy, his hands flying to the spot where he’d been struck. It was over in a moment, the two brigands dead. And so was the fisherman. The son, probably Bingmei’s own age, knelt by his father’s body, wailing in pain as he clutched his father’s tunic. Bingmei’s heart winced at the sound of his raw grief, reminded of the awful day she had lost her family.
Marenqo hurried to the young man, kneelin
g beside him. “We must flee!” he told him, his tone urgent. “It’s coming! If we don’t go, we’ll all die! Help us.”
Bingmei turned back to watch the struggle between Kunmia and the Qiangdao leader. If only it were the man who had murdered her grandfather. She’d hoped to find him this season, to make him pay for what he’d done. But this was the first band of marauders they’d come across.
Kunmia’s weapon was soon the only one shining, and the fog’s sickly haze was drawn toward it like a flock of moths. Magic lured the fog. It was why the artifacts were used sparingly, if at all.
And then the leader went down, his skull cracked by the staff.
“Lieren!” Kunmia shouted in warning. The valiant man continued to fight, not seeing the creeping mist that licked at his adversaries’ ankles as if to taste them. He was still surrounded. And then the fog suddenly surged forward, engulfing him and the others near him.
“Please!” Marenqo gripped the young man’s arm, hoisting him to his feet. The fisherman’s boy saw the fog then, the scene illuminated by the glow of Kunmia’s staff. No further warnings were needed. The boy leaped into the boat and began unfastening the ropes, working quickly. Screams of panic started. The fog had begun its deadly work.
“Kunmia!” shouted Zhuyi. “The boat!”
Kunmia stood transfixed, gripping the weapon that had helped summon the death of her friend, her companion in arms. Bingmei saw the anguish in her face, which was quickly replaced by implacable determination. The leader of the ensign rushed toward the boat, the staff’s glow slowly decreasing. Still it lured the fog to follow her. Knee-high tendrils of mist snaked through the grass, chasing after Kunmia.
Despite the danger the staff posed, it was too valuable to be left behind.
With help from Zhuyi and Mieshi, the boat was soon ready to depart. Bingmei hastened aboard, willing her mentor to run faster. She watched as Kunmia sprinted through the grass, the fog rising like a wall behind her, blocking the view of everything beyond it.