by Jeff Wheeler
“Marenqo,” Bingmei said, her throat thickening. But he shoved the staff into her hands. As her fingers closed around the scarred and battered wood, she felt something rip deep inside her.
He nodded firmly. “The ensign passes to you. She’s been grooming you for it. I’ve already told all the servants. Haven’t you noticed how they’ve been treating you since you returned? She had no children. She has no siblings left. She wanted me to give this to you and to tell you something.”
Bingmei winced again, closing her eyes, dreading what was coming.
He put his hands on her shoulders. “Kunmia said, and I’ve heard her say this before while gazing up at the sky, that the most beautiful things in the universe are the starry heavens above us and the feeling of duty within us. She bid me tell you to do what you feel is your duty, no more and no less.” He paused. “She supported your decision, Bingmei. Duty is a feeling that must come from within. No one can compel it on you. If you feel it is your duty to go to the Death Wall, then do so. If you feel it is your duty to do something else, then pursue it with equal vigor.”
Bingmei opened her eyes, looking at him in surprise, feeling relief and gratitude for Kunmia’s final words. She’d never heard Kunmia say it before, but the master’s entire life had been lived according to that principle. When she made a promise she would do something, she always delivered on it.
Marenqo smiled at her, his face full of sympathy and pain. “I miss her,” he admitted, his throat catching. “She was a sister to me. Mieshi, not so much. Zhuyi . . . well, I always liked her, but she never understood my humor. Damanhur lost his sense of humor along with his arm, poor wretch. You’re the only one I would dare follow, Bingmei. If you take up this staff and all that it means, I’ll be loyal to you. Assuming you don’t make me clean latrines all day. And I’m pretty sure the fisherman’s son won’t leave your side either. I’m talking too much. I do that, I know. It’s one of my many failings. I just want to know if you are planning to lead the ensign now. What do you think?”
Bingmei felt gratitude for his words and used the staff to tap his arm. “I do need someone who can speak many languages.”
“I can babble in plenty of tongues, Master.” He dropped down to his knees in a show of obeisance. “I will serve you, if you will have me.”
“I will,” she answered, nodding. He rose, then rubbed his hands together. “I think your first act as master of the quonsuun should be to order a large feast. If you’ve been walking all this way, and you must have because it took you so long to get here, then you’re clearly famished. A feast would set you up just right.”
“Why is it always about food with you?” Bingmei asked, grinning.
“When you never know which day will be your last, it’s important to eat well every day. I try to take these words to heart.”
“More likely, you take them to your stomach,” she pointed out.
He laughed at that, just as she smelled Budai’s approach. The scent came from behind her. Marenqo looked over her shoulder and muttered, “Speaking of feasts. Well, I’ll let you deal with him. I have a feeling he is going to try and offer you a deal.”
Bingmei nodded. “And tell the cooks to prepare a feast for tonight.”
“With pleasure, Master,” he said, bowing.
Bingmei turned, gripping the staff, and faced Budai as he approached her. Though he still smelled of greed, he’d been humbled by his near miss with death. The gnawing ambition had faded, and he was fixed on getting revenge and reclaiming his wealth. And it felt to her that he would try to use her to do this.
“So Kunmia wanted you to have the staff,” he said, nodding gravely. She noticed a limp as he walked closer.
“How did you survive the attempt on your life?” she asked him. “When we fled Wangfujing, your steward said you’d been stabbed.”
“Oh, I was stabbed,” he admitted. “Thankfully, the blade didn’t overcome my protection.” He rubbed the lower part of his belly. “I feigned injury and escaped in the chaos.”
“How did you climb this mountain?” Bingmei asked.
“Some of my faithful servants carried me up here on a litter.”
Bingmei gaped, feeling sympathy for those servants. It was a difficult climb for someone with a pack, let alone for people carrying such a corpulent man. She smelled his offense at her reaction.
“You can’t stay here,” Budai said. “They will come looking for you.”
“I know this already,” Bingmei answered. She didn’t feel he was trustworthy, but she’d hear him out.
“You need a place to go. And you need money. Not all of my treasures were kept in Wangfujing.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed not. I knew there was a chance the Qiangdao would overrun the town, and I planned for it. That’s how I escaped, through a back exit. I have a hunting preserve on an island east of Yiwu. It’s not far, by boat, from the ruins of your grandfather’s quonsuun. There’s plenty of game there for those who stay to survive the season of the Dragon of Night.” His eyes glittered. “Weapons. Armor. It’s a start. Then we seek an alliance with another king.”
Bingmei gave him a level look. “What do you want, Budai? You never do anything without benefitting from it.”
She could sense an ulterior motive, although she couldn’t root it out. But something didn’t smell right, and it put her on her guard.
“I want to help you,” he said, holding up his hands. He reeked of insincerity.
“The only person you’ve ever wanted to help is yourself,” she answered.
“Of course you see me that way, Bingmei. You are young and still rather inexperienced in the ways of life. You need an advisor. Someone to counsel you. Of course, you will make all the decisions.”
“Like Guanjia was to you?” she asked.
“Yes! Very much like that. I’ll be honest, because I know you have a special gift. I want Wangfujing back. It’s true. It was stolen from me. I was tricked and deceived.”
“I do recall warning you,” Bingmei said. “And you didn’t listen.”
“But I’m listening now. And I think, with a little help, this problem with Echion might be concluded in our favor. If that happens, I want your assurance that Wangfujing will be mine once again. I do not ask for favors. I’m offering you a place of refuge. A place no one else knows about. Everyone is looking for you. There won’t be many places you can hide without being recognized. Let me help you hide. That is my offer. Will you accept it?”
She smelled his desperation like a rotting onion. There was a trick at play here, a deception she couldn’t see.
Bingmei shook her head no. “I appreciate your offer, Budai.” She started to leave and then paused, staring at him. “Oh, and now that I’m the master of this quonsuun, you will owe me for each day you have stayed here. The food you have eaten from my stores. The medicines and healing you have received. I will have Marenqo bring you the tally.”
She watched his eyes narrow into slits and felt humiliation coming off him in waves. How many times had he done this to others? Taken advantage of their difficulties to bind their interests with his? He’d deliberately done this to Rowen.
“I . . . have no money . . . at the present,” he said, his voice choking with anger.
“A pity,” she answered dispassionately and left the training yard.
Bingmei hiked up the steep trail to the top of the mountain. She had last been there with Kunmia, the day she’d practiced with the Phoenix Blade. The blade, strapped in a new scabbard to her back, bounced against her as she climbed. Her fur hat helped stave off the morning chill. Patches of snow blended in with the rocks and small scrub.
The feast at the quonsuun the night before would be remembered for years to come. After they had eaten, Bingmei announced they would be abandoning the quonsuun the next day. Although Bingmei did not want Budai’s help, she agreed with his assessment—it wasn’t safe to linger there. They would secure the doors and leave it to the elements, trusting tha
t whatever strength had sustained it during the centuries would continue to do so. Maybe they would return.
There were questions about where they were going. Bingmei refused to answer them. Those who wanted to follow her would. But she wouldn’t allow her whereabouts to be revealed to anyone after she was gone.
As she climbed, she thought of the look on Budai’s face, his resentment and rage burning beneath the surface. He was not healthy enough to join her, nor did she want him to come. She’d rebuffed him. That would come with a price later on, she knew. Better to cut strings now instead of later, when he could do more damage.
She reached the little shrine at the top of the mountain and set her staff against one of the stone pillars. For a long moment, she stood there, hands on hips, catching her breath. The air smelled of sweet pine and spruce and the little bit of snow that crunched under her boots. A few shoots of wildflowers were blooming on the other slope, facing the sun. She even saw a black bear rooting in a berry bush, gorging itself.
The Death Wall loomed in the distance, the sharp lines of the wall starkly visible against the rock. She gazed at it, feeling a strange sensation ripple through her stomach. It was a feeling of longing. A sadness for those who had gone there before her—Grandfather, her parents. Although the sharpness of memories blurred with time, her feelings for them were still strong. Lieren had also gone before her. And sweet Zhuyi. Their lives had been snuffed out too soon. Prince Juexin’s ghost-soul shimmered in her memory, his final words a plea for her to save them. But he, too, was gone to the Grave Kingdom. Kunmia Suun too. They’d all gone.
Bingmei pressed her lips firmly, staring at the morning sun as it rose over the Death Wall and stabbed at her eyes. Death was inexorable. It claimed the young as well as the old. What lay beyond that wall? What secrets were hidden on the other side? Echion knew. He had gone there and returned. He’d mastered death itself. How? She had a suspicion that he’d destroyed the knowledge of it deliberately, to prevent anyone else from achieving comparable power. All that remained of the ancients, and their knowledge of him, were the glyphs. And only he understood them.
Another memory flittered through her mind. Rowen’s face. The warm, sweet smell of the feelings he’d finally revealed to her. Her own heart resisted the confusing emotions that suddenly swelled up. They’d not known each other very long. She’d asked Marenqo what had become of him. He didn’t know, but he suspected he was one of Echion’s prisoners. She shook her head. The prince had always been so full of contradictions. Irresolute yet determined. Poor yet ambitious. Unfaithful to his family, but devoted to his beliefs. It was dangerous to care for someone like Rowen. Yet she felt drawn to him. She wished for a moment that he were there, sharing this sunrise with her.
Where are you? she called out in her mind.
But there was no answer.
She heard the crunch of boots in the snow coming up the trail. With the breeze blowing into her face, she hadn’t smelled anyone approaching. She turned cautiously and saw Quion ambling up the trail. A lean snow leopard padded behind him, not exactly stalking him but definitely following him.
Was it the one that had attacked him last winter?
She came away from the shrine and stopped, hands on her hips again.
“I’ve already given it three of the fish that I caught this morning,” Quion said, looking back with a quirk of a smile. “I don’t have any more, but it’s still following me.”
“Maybe it likes you,” Bingmei said. “You saved it from starving.”
“I can’t make sense of it,” Quion said. “I keep looking back, afraid it’s going to pounce on me again.” He wore his large pack, as usual, and the pots were jangling against it.
“It doesn’t look hungry anymore,” Bingmei said, folding her arms. She grabbed her staff from the pillar and sighed. “You followed me up the mountain?”
He nodded and looked a little sheepish. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t . . . slipping away on your own. It looked like you were heading east.” Toward the Death Wall.
“I’m not going anywhere near it,” Bingmei replied. “I just wanted to see the view from the mountain one last time.” She sighed. “I don’t feel ready to be anyone’s master. I’ve still much to learn.”
“Oh, you’re ready,” Quion said, grinning. “You can handle anything, Bingmei.”
His words smelled fragrant, and she appreciated his confidence in her. Her own self-doubts weren’t nearly as pleasant. She saw that the snow leopard had paused, watching them both with an enigmatic look. It seemed only half-wild now.
She turned back one last time, gazing at the distant mountain. The wall. She turned her back then, and walked with Quion back down the other side toward the quonsuun they were about to leave.
If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow.
—Dawanjir proverb
EPILOGUE
The Dragon Emperor
Rowen, like the other prisoners, had been herded into the throne room. A Qiangdao stood behind him, his saber resting on Rowen’s left shoulder, the blade facing his neck. He could feel the tiny hairs on his skin prickle in awareness of the sharp edge. Kneeling in submission, as did the others, he waited his turn before the Dragon Emperor, Echion. His sister, Eomen, knelt beside him.
The fall of Sajinau was complete. Rowen had watched in horror as the killing fog decimated the soldiers. The bodies had already been carried out and tossed into the icy water, where they sank into the deep to feed the fish. All the weapons from the soldiers had been gathered and were being melted in the various forges throughout the city. Anyone who was not a Qiangdao would be put to death if they were spied carrying a weapon longer than an eating knife.
But Echion spared the lives of the common people of Sajinau. He had brought with him in the enormous ships huge casks of coins stamped with the symbol of the dragon. These were exchanged for cowry shells, which were fragile in comparison. Only the coin stamped with the dragon would be acceptable for purchasing food or paying bills. There were lines still as people came to exchange their shells. What became of the shells . . . Rowen had no idea.
Another man was dragged before the dragon. His armor had been stripped away, but Rowen could see his military bearing. His braided hair had been cut away since the loss of the battle. Every man in the kingdom had shorn hair.
“Who are you? What is your rank?” Echion asked from the throne of King Shulian, which had been built on stone plinths to make it higher. Even though Rowen had yearned to sit on that very throne, he resented seeing Echion up there, usurping his father’s position.
“M-my name is Wuluju,” stammered the man, his voice thick with fear. He dared not look up.
Echion stared at him, waiting.
“I am an officer in the army,” he finished.
“Do you know where General Tzu is?” Echion asked. “That is why your life has been spared thus far. Do you have any useful information?” He sounded bored.
“I-I do,” he replied.
“Go on,” Echion said, gesturing for him to continue.
The man lifted his head slightly, but kept his gaze averted. “He was ordered by the crown prince to abandon Sajinau and rally the armies guarding the passes.”
Traitor, Rowen thought with anger, glaring at the officer.
Echion sat in silence.
The soldier, emboldened, spoke more. “I believe he was planning to guard the Xishan pass first. He was ordered to mount a resistance. I heard the p-prince speak this. General Tzu left before the . . .” He gulped and swallowed and then fell silent.
“Your information was useful,” Echion said, stroking his smooth chin. He wasn’t wearing his dragon armor anymore but a costume of sumptuous silk, black with dazzling embroidery. His large sheathed blade was propped near him, and his other hand fondled the pommel. “I need capable officers, Wuluju. You will serve in the Qiangdao army as an officer. I will give you some advice, if you will hear it.”
�
�Th-thank you, great dragon!” sputtered the relieved officer. “I would hear anything you wish to tell me.”
“This is not the first time I have ruled from this palace. I once chose a general to serve me here who was especially cunning. As a test of his leadership skills, I asked him to take command of my household of concubines and prepare them to march in the courtyard. He asked me to choose my two favorite concubines to serve as officers. I thought he was merely trying to ingratiate himself to me, so I named my two favorites, who were rivals with each other. He divided the consorts into two groups and explained the marching pattern to the officers who had been chosen. He then ordered them to march. They tittered and did nothing.” Echion smiled in a wily way.
Rowen knew the speech was intended for everyone gathered there, not just the soldiers. He was teaching them what he expected of his servants. Rowen listened warily, expecting a dark ending to the tale.
“The general turned to me. If orders aren’t obeyed, he said, it is the fault of the general. Perhaps he had not been clear. So he repeated his instructions, which were rather simple. Again he issued the order to march. Again the concubines tittered, mocking him with their inaction.”
Echion’s gaze swept the great hall. Rowen listened to the tale, riveted. Even though he hated the man, he was intrigued by the story.
Echion rose from the throne and stepped down the dais. He was impressive in size and strength. Rowen had not been there when Bingmei had revived him from his tomb. But he matched her description of him. Pale and powerful. He had the winter sickness, just as she did. Just as Jidi Majia did.
“The general then turned to me and said that if orders were understood but not obeyed, it was the fault of the officers, not the general. And the consequence for such disobedience should be swift death. He insisted they both should perish. Of course I remonstrated with him. We were all shocked. But I saw the wisdom in his counsel. If I failed to empower him, then he could not be trusted to lead my armies. My queen, my empress, was not wroth to see her rivals executed. And they were. Such a general. Such a man. Two more concubines were chosen as officers. And this time the consorts marched precisely. This was the man who built the Death Wall. Who devoted his full measure of strength and cunning to my cause. And now his bones lie buried under that sacred edifice.”