by Jeff Wheeler
The fog had killed them all.
Jiaohua wandered among the dead, which Bingmei could see had been stripped of weapons. Some of the corpses no longer wore boots, and she could see their possessions had been rifled through. The vastness of the field, shadowed in the grass by the dark bodies, made her heart sink into her stomach. Thousands had been consumed by the fog, their lives snatched away by its misty tendrils. A large part of Sajinau’s army had been wiped out in one swoop, their lives extinguished like lamp flames. So many dead. It was almost too much for her mind to take in, the sight made stranger by the tranquil death masks on the bodies.
The other members of her ensign stood around in disbelief. Damanhur looked weak from the loss of blood, his stump bandaged and strapped to his chest. She could smell his despair, but his desire for revenge was stronger still. Hate was keeping him going, forcing him to march his way out of Sajinau step by step. She could smell his hate growing stronger as he gazed at the vast ranks of the dead.
Jiaohua straightened after examining another corpse and rubbed his mouth. He had a bandage over his face, but dried blood stained his cheek.
“This was General Renmin’s army,” he said with bitterness. “I could barely tell, they’ve scavenged so much. He was holding the Xifu pass.” He pointed to the mountains at the end of the valley. “It was the only pass that hadn’t been attacked yet, so I thought it would be safest to come this way. I’d hoped he would give us fresh supplies and maybe a few more men.” His lips squirmed with revulsion. “I just found his body. We’ll find no help here.”
“Do you think the Qiangdao who attacked them have moved on?” Bingmei asked.
Jiaohua nodded. “I think they’re converging on Sajinau. They’re probably already there. They just left the bodies here.” He turned again and looked into the distance, rubbing his jaw. “We’re too exposed. I think we should hide in the trees on that slope and wait until nightfall. If any of the Qiangdao have horses, we’ll be vulnerable if we travel during the day. There’s a village called Yonfeng on the other side of the pass. It’s another day’s walk from here. Maybe it’s been destroyed too, but at least we’ll find shelter. Maybe a chicken or two to kill for food. By land, Wangfujing is quite a distance. Are you sure you don’t want to try and find a fishing boat?”
“We’re not going to Wangfujing. It’s overrun with Echion’s men. The quonsuun is up in the mountains behind it. If we cross the mountains, we’ll get there sooner.”
“Or be eaten by bears,” Jiaohua snorted.
“All the weapons have been taken,” Quion confirmed, coming up to them. He was trying to be strong, but she could smell the devastation coming from him. The warriors had been caught and culled like salmon. “I don’t see a single blade among them.”
Damanhur grunted. “I noticed the same thing. They don’t want to leave any weapons behind that could be used against them. Even the spear shafts have been snapped deliberately.” He nudged one with the tip of his boot.
“Let’s get out of the open,” Jiaohua said worriedly. “This was about a fourth of Sajinau’s warriors. Gone. Just like that.”
Bingmei nodded, and the group trudged across the plains, careful not to step on the dead. When they reached the edge of the battlefield, Bingmei’s sadness stretched as far as the distant hills. She didn’t want to imagine what was happening back at the palace in Sajinau. Was Rowen still there? Her heart hurt for him, and for Prince Juexin. Had Kunmia survived her second battle with Echion? She hoped so, but her guts twisted with uncertainty. And what of Marenqo? Mieshi? The thought of losing all her companions was too horrible to bear. Inwardly, she grieved for them.
As they climbed, the trees grew closer together, thicker, and soon the horror of the plains was concealed. The group lay down to rest, and Jiaohua set guards to watch over them. Bingmei nestled in the scrub, sleeping on her arm. Quion looked pale and exhausted, and she watched him fall asleep almost instantly. And even though she was weary too, it took a long time before she fell asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she imagined Juexin kneeling before Echion. Then she saw his ghost, his pleading look, and heard the petition he’d made before the Death Wall dragged him away.
Save us.
She awoke when a hand shook her shoulder. Blinking, she saw Jiaohua crouching near her, his face full of concern. She heard it then—the moaning, the wails. It sounded like the wind through the trees, but the sound was made by humans, not the sky. It was the sound of mourning and grief. The sound of despair.
“What’s happening?” she whispered, sitting up. Quion was still asleep next to her.
“The Qiangdao brought over womenfolk to bury the dead. Mothers and sisters. The aged. There are guards set over them, making them work.”
She heard the crack of a whip cut through the groans. Jiaohua nodded. “Hear that?”
Bingmei nodded.
“We won’t be able to slip away until dusk. We can move along the tree line to stay out of sight.”
His whispers had aroused the others, who had been sleeping. Heads lifted, and then they, too, heard the sounds of mourning.
“I don’t think we’ll be sleeping anymore this night,” Jiaohua said bitterly.
He was right. The noise made it impossible. When dusk finally settled over the valley, and shadows replaced light, they moved away from their makeshift camp and followed the uneven ground along the tree line. When it became so dark that the footing was treacherous, they emerged from the woods and walked along the edge of the plains, where the high grasses also helped conceal them. The ground turned rugged as they ventured up into the pass. Bingmei led the way, smelling the air for the stench of the Qiangdao.
When they neared the top, she still didn’t smell anything, and so Jiaohua sent one of his men ahead to scout. He returned shortly with news that the pass was unguarded. They crossed it just as the moon started to rise. It surprised her how walking in the dark so long had heightened her sense of sight. The brightness of the moon almost hurt her eyes.
They traveled down the mountain into the valley beyond, keeping to the eastern edge rather than taking the main road. Once during the night, a group of torch-carrying horsemen—about a dozen or so—rode toward the pass along the road, but in the dark there was no way of knowing if they were friend or foe. The torches gave Bingmei and the others ample time to hunker down and conceal themselves.
Just before dawn, they reached the outskirts of the village of Yonfeng. Jiaohua led them to a spot in the woods to wait for sunrise. Bingmei and the others were tired, but they watched from their hiding places and saw that the village still had people inhabiting it. These were peasants mostly, with fraying boots and animal-skin jackets to ward off the chilly morning. Small cookfires began to appear, creating a little haze. A farmer came toward the woods with an axe, probably foraging for firewood.
“I’ll go have a talk with him,” Jiaohua said. “See what I can learn. Wait here.”
Bingmei nodded and watched as Jiaohua slunk away from them, trying to keep his movement concealed from the approaching peasant. When the farmer reached the edge of the woods, Jiaohua grabbed him and pulled him into the brush. There was no sound of struggle.
Bingmei waited in anticipation, anxious for news. After a little time had passed, she saw the farmer walk back to the village, dragging a slender fallen tree with him. Jiaohua returned to them shortly thereafter.
Damanhur sidled close, his gaze intense. He smelled feverish and his eyes were glassy. Sweat dripped down his cheek. His wound was likely inflamed. If they didn’t reach the quonsuun quickly, he was going to die. She was intent on saving him. On ensuring that one more death wasn’t added to the day’s tally.
“What did you find out?” Bingmei asked in a whisper.
The others huddled close, their faces intent.
Jiaohua rubbed his cheek. “He thought I was a Qiangdao,” he said with a chuckle. “After I explained, he was relieved. He said the Qiangdao army came through here days ago. They stole much of
the food from the village and nearly all the livestock. They told everyone they would not be harmed if they stayed inside. There are some Qiangdao there, about a dozen, and the villagers have to feed and shelter them. They say they are the masters now, and they eat the farmers’ food.”
Resentment chafed inside Bingmei’s heart. “Maybe we should free them,” she said.
Jiaohua shook his head no. “Riders come through regularly, and the Qiangdao give them reports. If we were to kill them, then the villagers would likely be put to death. They’re slaves, but at least they’re alive. They asked me for news from Sajinau and begged to know if King Shulian has returned to drive off the invaders. They believe the prince will send an army to free them. I didn’t have the heart to say that no one is coming. They’ll learn that soon enough.”
Bingmei frowned and nodded in agreement. More and more she felt like she was becoming a Qiangdao. The situations had been reversed. Instead of walking the lands in freedom and respect, they were hunted.
“There’s more,” Jiaohua said, looking at her.
Her brow wrinkled.
“The farmer said the Qiangdao have offered a reward. They’re looking for a pale girl with copper hair. Anyone harboring her or safeguarding her will be executed immediately. They’re looking for you.”
Bingmei nodded. But with the Phoenix Blade strapped to her back, they would have a difficult time finding her.
It took another week to cross the mountains and the rivers of melting ice. They stayed in the hinterlands, forsaking the villages except to learn what news they could. The news, when it came, was always awful. Wangfujing and Sajinau had both fallen. Yiwu and Xidan had been taken as well and were paying tributes. The Dragon Emperor, Echion, ruled from the palace of Sajinau, where he gathered the wealth from his conquests. Soon the dark season would come again, and when it ended, his empire would spread to the western shores. They’d stumbled into a band of Qiangdao roving the woods and quickly dispatched them. The mountains had always been so dangerous, but they seemed quiet, abandoned—it seemed the Qiangdao had abandoned their caves and hidden lairs and come in droves to settle the land.
Each day made Damanhur sicker, weaker. He had a fever, but he was relentless in his determination to reach their destination. Thanks to Quion’s skills, his wound wasn’t festering, and the young man caught enough fish to feed them amply every day. There were also sweet mountain berries, bitter-tasting roots, and mushrooms in abundance. They even managed to find a deer with its antlers stuck in low-hanging branches and enjoyed sizzling meat that day. They were always careful with their fires and concealed their camps after they left.
Although Bingmei didn’t say so to the others, she feared what they would find when they arrived. If the quonsuun had fallen, they’d need to find shelter during the season of the Dragon of Night. Maybe they could find a ship bound for Renxing, or Sihui, or Tuqiao? The rulers in each of those kingdoms would want to know as much as they could about Echion.
Or there was the Death Wall. When they reached the top of the mountain, she’d be able to see it again. Conflict roiled inside her. She wanted to live. She wanted to find another way to defeat Echion. One that did not require her to sacrifice herself. Why was that the only way? Or maybe they could find King Shulian. But she couldn’t bear the thought of facing him.
When they passed Wangfujing, hiking along the mountain trails, they could see the city harbor was bustling with ships. It was tempting to send someone down for news and supplies, but the risk was too great. Bingmei stared down at it for a long moment, thinking of all the time she’d spent there, good and bad, and then Quion nudged her elbow. When she turned, he showed her something in his palm. Her scorpion medallion, the one she’d yanked off in anger after being chased out of the city.
“You keep it,” she said with a smile. She remembered showing him around Wangfujing after his father died. How long ago that felt. How much their world had changed.
The climb became more arduous, and the accumulation of snow on the mountainside grew deeper. Patches were still melting, and some would stay until winter came again. This land was familiar to her, achingly so, and she felt an urgent need to get to the quonsuun. To discover what had happened there. In their eagerness, they hardly rested.
When they rounded the corner, she saw the quonsuun still standing and felt tears of relief prick her eyes. The mountain air smelled fresh and inviting, but she was worried all was not as it seemed.
They stopped, everyone breathing fast. She felt a trickle of sweat drip down the tip of her nose.
“We made it,” Quion gasped, leaning forward and pressing his hands against his knees.
“Who will go?” Jiaohua asked, wiping his mouth. “To see if it’s safe?”
“We will all go,” Bingmei answered.
He frowned but nodded. They would fight if they must. After resting and catching their breath, they trudged up the final slope of the trail toward the gate. She heard a voice calling out from the walls. A shout of warning. Then a cry of recognition. They demanded to know the watchword.
Bingmei answered with it.
As they approached, the main doors of the quonsuun were pulled open in greeting. Bingmei walked firmly, confidently, smelling the air for trouble. An oily, lemony scent flooded her with recognition. The smell of greed. And then Budai came hobbling forward, hand on a cane. He had lost some girth. A triumphant grin spread across his face when he saw her.
She smelled Marenqo before she saw him. When he did step into view, she saw he was gripping Kunmia’s battered staff in his hands.
Her worst fear had been realized. She saw it in his face. Smelled it in his essence.
Kunmia Suun had crossed the Death Wall first.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
A Final Sunrise
Bingmei’s sleep was fitful. Too many ghosts haunted her dreams. The quonsuun had always been a place of safety, of shelter, of defense against storms and the vagaries of life. Now it was a reminder, once again, of the fragility of existence. Death had claimed so many. But the harvest of souls was only beginning.
After resting for several hours, she rose from her bed and walked to the table with a basin and pitcher of water. She splashed some on her face and then stared at herself in the mirror. She’d hoped against hope that her mentor had survived Echion’s slaughter at Sajinau. Pressing her lips together, she stewed in grief and misery, wishing she could rail against the evil she had unwittingly unleashed on the world. A glyph, drawn with a finger dipped in water, had started it all. If only she could undo it.
Tension mounted inside her. Her reflection brought the painful reminder that she was the phoenix-chosen. Her coppery hair was unfurling from the braids she’d coiled around her head. She sighed, untangled them with vigorous strokes of a comb, and then plaited them again.
Whatever fates had chosen her had chosen poorly.
She fastened the wig onto her head, disguising the bright strands. Her eyes looked hollow, her face wan and tired. There was no feeling of safety anymore, there or anywhere. She doubted there ever would be.
After changing into fresh clothes, she made sure the Phoenix Blade was hidden and then left her room and walked in the direction of the training yard. She passed a room, its door open, and saw Mieshi sitting on the edge of a bed. Damanhur was sitting up on it, his stump bandaged anew, and she was trying to feed him soup.
“No more,” he said angrily, jerking his head away.
“Eat it. You need to regain your strength,” Mieshi said.
“Would you stop pitying me?” Damanhur said.
“This isn’t pity. It’s compassion. Now eat the soup.”
“I can feed myself!”
Bingmei passed quickly, anxious to be away from the strong, pungent smells coming from the room. Sometimes she hated her gift.
When she arrived at the training yard, she found Marenqo there, twirling Kunmia’s staff in the basic sets they had learned at the quonsuun. She waited by one of the support pillars, w
atching him attack, stomp, swivel, and pivot the weapon. He’d never been their best warrior, but his form was good. When he reached the end, he was dripping with sweat. It was then he noticed her.
“Now I’m embarrassed,” he said, chuffing, wiping his mouth. “The phoenix has been watching me.”
“I’m not the phoenix,” Bingmei said, stepping away from the pillar. “It made a mistake if it chose me.”
“Undoubtedly,” Marenqo said, agreeing quickly with a strident nod. “Why a fancy bird would choose someone so ugly and ill-tempered clearly proves it. But then again, a bird’s brain is about the size of a pea, so we shouldn’t be too surprised.”
His jesting had always struck a little too close to the heart, and yet it was a welcome familiarity at the moment. She was grateful he and Mieshi had survived. “I’ve missed you, Marenqo.”
He gave her a little shrug, but she smelled his pleasure at her compliment. “You made it out of Sajinau alive. I’m impressed.” He hefted the staff and approached her. “Not many did.”
“We learned from some of the villages we passed that Echion has defeated nearly all of the eastern kingdoms.”
Marenqo nodded. “He made quick work of them. Mieshi and I left by boat, so we got here before you. Qiangdao are everywhere. Thankfully, they can’t tell when someone is lying like you can. I bluffed our way out of several dangerous moments.”
“Did anyone else come with you?”
He shook his head no. “Just the two of us.” He pursed his lips. “Are you ready to hear how Kunmia died?”
Grief squeezed her heart again, making her gasp. “No, Marenqo. I don’t think I’m ready yet.”
He kept coming toward her, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter if you’re ready. She thought you were ready.”
Bingmei wrinkled her brows. “For what?”
“To take her place. This is yours now.” He offered her the rune staff.
Bingmei recoiled. “I don’t want it.”
“Her last command to me was to bring this to you, Bingmei. I will fulfill it, even if you don’t want me to. Take it.”