The Killing Fog (The Grave Kingdom)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “What is your name?” Budai asked the leader. His cheek twitched with anger. His emotions were suppressed, but Bingmei could smell them. He’d been very afraid until the victory was assured. Now his fear had turned into fury.

  The leader spat on the floor.

  Budai grimaced with disgust. He nodded, and one of his guards struck the Qiangdao leader with his staff, earning a wheeze of pain.

  “Your name,” Budai repeated.

  The leader raised his head and started speaking in gibberish.

  Budai’s brow wrinkled. “What’s he saying? What is this?”

  “My lord, if I may?” Marenqo said, holding up his hand. When Budai nodded, he approached the leader.

  Marenqo tried a few dialects before he found one they both spoke. A few phrases passed back and forth between them. The leader’s demeanor was proud, defiant. He already knew he was a dead man.

  Marenqo’s brow furrowed at whatever he’d been told. He rubbed his mouth as he turned to face the king. “His name is Echion in his language. It means ‘reincarnation.’”

  Prince Rowen suddenly leaned forward, eyes glittering with interest. He rubbed his mouth with agitation.

  “Oh?” said Budai mockingly. “And he remembers his former life, does he? What a privilege. What else did he say?”

  Marenqo looked solemn. “He claims he is the reincarnation of the Dragon of Night. If you kill him, he will come back again. But in his next form. The form . . . of a dragon.”

  All laughter and mocking drained from the room. Bingmei smelled the change in mood from disdain to wariness. It smelled like slightly spoiled grapes.

  Most of the legends agreed dragons were real. Although dragon bones had never been found in the ruins of the ancient cities, their images were captured in carvings left in them. It was a symbol of the highest power. Some people had claimed to know someone who had seen one. But Bingmei had never met anyone who claimed to have seen one themselves.

  “Bah,” uttered Budai, leaning back in his throne. His girth jiggled. “He’s the Dragon of Night? Then why not attack during the winter? It is the season of the Dragon of Dawn. Tell him, Marenqo. Tell him!”

  Marenqo turned and said a few words to the leader.

  The Qiangdao smiled maliciously before he responded.

  Whatever he said seemed to have unnerved Marenqo, who clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke. “He knows you don’t believe him. But as proof that his words are true, he says he came for the sword. The sword of the phoenix.”

  Bingmei took an involuntary step backward. She glanced at the gallery. Prince Rowen was staring at her even more intently. A sickly feeling washed through her, and she smelled her own fear.

  The leader spoke some more words.

  “The phoenix has chosen a new servant,” said Marenqo softly. “The Dragon of Night will devour her. And you, Your Highness.”

  Budai clenched his jaw and leaned forward. “I don’t want to hear another word from him, Marenqo. Guanjia—take him below. Execute him.”

  “Yes, my lord,” said Guanjia solemnly. “And those Qiangdao who survived?”

  Some uneasy murmuring started up. The worried smell coming from everyone matched Bingmei’s own disquiet.

  Budai’s lip quivered. “If any will be slaves, so be it. Those who refuse . . . the same penalty. Go.”

  As the big man was taken away, King Budai gestured for Kunmia and Damanhur to approach his throne. Once they stood in front of him, he waved Bingmei over as well. That surprised her, but she did as she was ordered. It disquieted her when Prince Rowen fell in beside her.

  “You saved Wangfujing,” Budai said, trying to smile, but he looked and smelled rattled. His was a greasy smell, not his normal lemony scent of greed. “I’ll admit I am torn about sending you on this mission when things are so . . . unstable.” He licked his lips. “But finding what we seek will put my mind at ease. I will hire mercenaries to guard Wangfujing while you are away. I wish you to leave immediately. Tonight, if possible.”

  “So soon?” Kunmia asked. “That does not seem prudent.”

  Budai nodded in agreement, but he was determined. Bingmei could smell his ambition flare, his greed. “If you leave during the day, you may be followed. It will be easier to slip out under the cover of smoke and darkness. Find it. You must find it.”

  Kunmia did not look convinced, but she did not argue with him.

  The king then turned to Bingmei. “Was he telling the truth?” he asked in a low voice.

  She knew what he meant. But there were so many conflicting smells in the room that she couldn’t be sure. All Qiangdao were liars anyway.

  “I don’t know,” she answered truthfully.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Leaving Wangfujing

  The night sky was swollen with stars. Smoke from the still-burning town lingered in the air as Bingmei settled down in the fishing boat. Dawn would reveal the damage the Qiangdao had left in the wake of their attack. But the ensign would be long gone by then, leaving her imagination to conjure the images of burned stalls, charred rooftops, and the hosts of dead. King Budai had used most of his guards to protect his palace, allowing the city to be ransacked in part before he sent the men and women out to defend the city. His cowardice bothered Bingmei, but some would likely call it wisdom. The townspeople could be replaced more easily than his treasures.

  Servants carried sacks of provisions and loaded them into the fishing boat. The fisherman, whom Bingmei had heard referred to as Keyi, instructed the workers on where to stow the cargo and let everyone know where he wanted them to sit. He fidgeted and had a whine to his voice that grated on her nerves. If he hadn’t been the one to find the carving in the first place, Kunmia would never have sought his help.

  “No, put it over there, by the ropes. Yes, over there. Now stack that one on top.” He muttered to himself and then said, “Now tie the rope down.” When the servant started to obey, the fisherman quickly lost patience. He sent the man off and did the knot himself.

  “The pickled herring—put the barrel there,” he said to another servant, quickly finishing the knot. “Yes, no—not there! There!”

  Quion rose from the bench and started to prepare the ropes to secure the barrel.

  The fisherman scowled at him. “What are you doing? Sit back down. You’re unbalancing the boat.”

  “Let me help,” Quion said. He took two ropes and quickly braided them together, demonstrating the knot for the fisherman when he was finished.

  The fisherman’s eyes brightened. “Oh good! His lordship didn’t mention you were coming. Do you know how to prepare the sail?”

  “I do,” Quion said, and Bingmei felt a flush of pride for him.

  “Good, good! Start on it. Over there. We need to get into the water.” With that, he turned and yelled at a servant to bring the next barrel. Marenqo settled in next to Bingmei, and the others filled in as well. Damanhur deliberately sat next to Mieshi, even though there wasn’t enough room, and slid in closer. She gave him a hot look of anger, but Bingmei smelled that she secretly liked his attention—it was like the smell of a burning flower. Three other disciples of Damanhur had also joined them, although Bingmei couldn’t remember their names, along with the exiled prince. Rowen didn’t look at her once as he settled on board. Still, she felt wary of him. The blade seemed to itch against her back.

  Once the passengers and supplies were on board, the fisherman and Quion readied the scalloped sail. King Budai was in the safety of his palace, but his steward, Guanjia, had come to see them off. He spoke in low tones with Kunmia, who was the last to board the boat. When she settled into her place, Keyi told Quion to untie the mooring ropes, which he promptly did. The workers on the dock shoved the boat off with hooked poles, and they were quickly embraced by the water.

  Keyi the fisherman gave Quion orders about the sail and then took his leisure at the tiller while the younger man did all the work. They snared a favorable wind, and soon everything was quiet and calm, th
e junk gliding smoothly along.

  Bingmei sat thinking, and Marenqo adjusted to a comfortable position and promptly fell asleep. None of them had rested after arriving in Wangfujing, although their wounds had been treated, and they’d been given food. Bingmei should be tired, but the attack on Wangfujing haunted her memories, especially the giant Qiangdao leader. She could still feel the panic rising in her chest as she remembered the killing fog creeping up the river. If Kunmia hadn’t acted so quickly, they would have all died. Well, except for Bingmei. With her grandfather’s cricket, she could have outrun the fog. Would she have? She blinked, glancing at the darkened faces surrounding her. The ensign was her adopted family. Would she truly have forsaken them to save herself?

  In the quietude of the deep night, she realized that yes, she probably would have. Quion caught her eye, and the sight of his friendly smile, which he’d put on just for her, made her emotions flinch. She didn’t want to lose him. She didn’t want to lose any of them. But death was an implacable, uncaring enemy to be guarded against at all cost. It had taken Lieren. Her parents. Her grandfather. Too many babies died before their first birthday.

  Yes, she would have saved herself if there had been no other way. She wished she were braver, more like Kunmia, but in the end survival was an individual effort.

  The sword seemed to pulse against her back, whispering to her that it would save her should she need it. That it wished to be used. The Qiangdao leader had been searching for the sword. He’d attacked Wangfujing seeking it. Had he known the other Qiangdao leader who had once held it? He had called himself Echion, the Dragon of Night. What did that even mean? He had also said the phoenix had chosen a new servant. A little tingling went down her back, as if sent by the sword. She shifted, uncomfortable. There was so much she didn’t understand. Much she couldn’t understand.

  She felt her head lolling as fatigue finally swept her away. In her mind’s eye, the Qiangdao leader turned his head to face her. He gave her a wicked smile. And then his teeth turned into fangs. He snapped at her.

  Bingmei started, blinking awake.

  Dawn had already come when she finally roused from her sleep. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. Rock hugged the shoreline, the mountains rising from the fjord. Everything was set at steep angles, from the placid river to the craggy mountains on each side of it. The water reflected the green of the fir trees. The trees didn’t have deep roots, and some of them had toppled over and crashed into the water. Waterfalls made of melting snow carved paths along the jagged slopes, each one crowded with smaller rocks and smoothed boulders. The veins of water came into the river on both sides, and it was beautiful to look at.

  “You’re awake,” Marenqo said, opening his palm and offering her some pickled herring from the jar in his hand. The air was crisp and cold. The mood smelled inquisitive, like small flowers about to bloom.

  “Thank you,” Bingmei said, taking one of the little fish and eating it quickly. They would be confined on the boat for a while, so she decided to ask him about the previous day. “What do you make of that Qiangdao leader?”

  “Nothing. He’s dead.”

  “What he said . . . did it make sense to you?”

  “I understood the words, but he could have meant anything. I wouldn’t worry about it, Bingmei. He knew he was about to die. All he cared about was aggravating the king.”

  “Have you ever heard that name before?”

  “What name?”

  She sighed. “Echion.”

  “No,” he answered. “There isn’t a direct translation of it in our language. That’s just what it sounded like. But that is normal in languages. The dialect that man spoke was from far away.”

  “So they traveled a great distance to attack King Budai.”

  “Definitely,” Marenqo agreed. “That’s not a surprise, though. They were probably short on food and took a risk in attacking Wangfujing. I heard from Guanjia that they came up the river in fishing boats. By the time the alarm sounded, the pillaging had already begun. They wanted food, Bingmei. They were probably starving. The Qiangdao only know how to plunder. They don’t even have the patience to fish, let alone raise crops. They take what they want and kill anyone who stands in the way.”

  “I don’t understand why the kings won’t band together and destroy them,” Damanhur said, joining the conversation.

  “Because it would require them to cooperate,” Mieshi answered with a mocking tone, “and they don’t trust each other.”

  “But they should,” Damanhur said.

  “To what purpose?” Mieshi asked. “Do you know how long it would take to hunt all the Qiangdao? Years. They hide in caves and secret lairs. Who would protect the crops while the soldiers were away? They’d be slaughtered.”

  “Doing nothing isn’t helping either, my dear,” Damanhur said, shaking his head. “Each year the Qiangdao get stronger. People from the towns leave and join them. They do this to feel safer. If we instead made our lands safer, there would be no need to flee.”

  “You’re a fool if you think the kings will work together,” she scoffed, her eyes sparking. “They won’t.”

  “But they should. At least can we agree on that? Look at us. Our ensigns are working together. That’s a start.”

  “But our agreement does nothing,” Marenqo said. “Would Budai give up his power? Only if he were at risk of losing it. He is only interested in making a profit.”

  “Without the Qiangdao, he would save money,” Damanhur challenged. “It works to everyone’s interests to present a united front.”

  Bingmei was getting bored of the conversation and looked at the trees as they glided past. What Damanhur was suggesting was completely impractical. She’d heard Budai speak of unity in the past, had she not? Marenqo was right—he would never give up his position unless forced.

  She looked back the way they’d come and saw Quion resting, arms crossed over his knees. He was gazing absently at the water. He would never join a conversation like this. He didn’t like arguing. She appreciated that about him.

  He was gazing behind them, his expression solemn. Following the line of his gaze, she saw it too: a huge black fin had appeared in the water. As she watched, it submerged again.

  They found an island at the mouth of another fjord later in the day, and Keyi advised that they camp there since the strait would offer them little chance to stop until long after dark. Kunmia agreed, and they hauled the boat up onto the rocky shore. Everyone prepared their packs and rolls to hunker out the evening. Although Kunmia had ordered them not to light a fire, they didn’t need one for warmth or to cook food. Soon the two ensigns were laughing and swapping tales, eating the cold provisions they’d brought.

  Bingmei enjoyed the lighthearted mood, especially when Marenqo launched into a game—he would tell a tale, and the others would guess if it was true or false.

  After dark, Kunmia ordered a rotating guard schedule so that most could sleep. Bingmei was part of the first watch. She wandered along the shore to stretch her legs, watching the water lap against the rocks. After some time, she heard voices and smelled Damanhur and Rowen as they walked along the waterline. She ignored them, but they soon ventured close enough for her to hear part of their muffled conversation.

  “How much treasure do you think that ruler buried with him?” Damanhur asked. “It will take many trips to transfer anything of size.”

  “Some of it may be too big for boats,” answered Rowen. “That’s why we need Budai.”

  “I hope the fisherman is right about this. If we’ve found Fusang, it could be more than enough to achieve your dreams.”

  “I know. It’s difficult not getting my hopes up too much. My brother thinks—”

  “Your brother is too much like your father. Stop comparing yourself to him. You could do what they’ve only dreamed of.”

  “Do you think so?”

  Bingmei could smell the ambition. It stung her nose. She kept her back to both of them, not moving. There was something
they knew that they hadn’t shared with Kunmia. But given their circumstances, it wasn’t surprising they would go to any lengths to secure a hidden treasure.

  “I know it. Come on, let’s get some rest. I put our gear by Mieshi’s.”

  Rowen chuckled, and then their voices faded away.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ruins

  As the sun rose the next morning, a pod of enormous whales passed the island, and the ensign gathered around to watch the majestic creatures breach the water.

  While they ate their morning meal, the dawn brought a mask of natural fog that concealed the distant mountains and the nearer shores in short order. Keyi did not want to travel in the fog, and so they waited most of the morning for it to clear until he was satisfied that the danger was over. Bingmei and Quion explored the small island, examining the broken rocks and stunted trees. They found a massive eagle’s nest high in the branches of a dying tree, and the white-headed raptors eyed them suspiciously as they ventured near. Quion was mesmerized by the birds and stared at them a long while, shaking his head in admiration and wonder.

  After they left the island, the wind rose, and the river became choppy. The rocking and jolting of the boat banished Bingmei’s appetite. The weather was a constant danger. She was grateful the clouds didn’t choose to soak them, but their luck did not hold. Before long, rain began to fall.

  The fisherman scowled while he and Quion tried to steer the boat and manage the sail. “We need to find shelter again!” he shouted to Kunmia over the whistling wind. His short cloak was soaked, and his face grimaced in worry.

  “What harbors are near?” she asked, coming closer to him so she didn’t have to yell.

  “The nearest one is Wangfujing, but I don’t think you want to go back!”

  The boat lifted on a high wave, making Bingmei’s stomach lurch. It came slamming down hard.

  “What other choices do we have?” Kunmia asked.