The Killing Fog

by Wheeler, Jeff

  “Where is the Phoenix Blade now?” Rowen asked, his voice full of dread.

  Kunmia turned to face him. “The sword belonged to this ruler. Bingmei felt a powerful urge to place it on the corpse. Then she drew a glyph on the side of the tomb.”

  “What?” Damanhur said. He looked at her as if she were raving mad. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Before she could speak, Rowen gripped Damanhur’s arm and shook his head.

  Her voice sounded small. “It compelled me.”

  “The glyph invoked a powerful spell,” Kunmia continued. “The ruler was restored to life. He said he was awakened from the Grave Kingdom. He intends to reclaim his empire. He performed glyphs himself, tracing strange symbols in the air with his finger. The air would spark and burn for a moment before fading. His power was beyond anything, and the myths of Fusang must be true, for none of it brought the killing fog. He summoned a dragon to chase us after we fled.”

  Keyi choked on his portion of fish, and Quion had to thump his back. Those who hadn’t experienced it stared at her in disbelief.

  “He didn’t summon a dragon,” Bingmei said, squirming in her seat. “The dragon is part of him. Echion is the Dragon of Night.”

  Kunmia turned to look at her.

  “Did he threaten you when you woke him?” Damanhur asked Kunmia.

  “Not at first, no.”

  Damanhur’s brow wrinkled, and he smelled of confusion and frustration. “So why did you allow him to make an alliance with the Qiangdao and not us? If he’s as powerful as you say, surely there was an opportunity there. I imagine he was grateful to have been awakened. And you say you saw a real dragon?” Doubt tinged his words.

  Kunmia’s brows knitted together. “I did see it.”

  “We should go back,” Damanhur said. He wrestled with his patience. “Perhaps a deal could still be made. It would be foolish for us not to try to form an alliance with such a man.”

  “No!” Bingmei said, shaking her head.

  “We’ve lost the Phoenix Blade,” Damanhur said, “and you brought nothing else with you. You lost one of your disciples too.”

  “Maybe you should go back,” Mieshi said with rage in her eyes. “You’d be killed by the guardians before you even made it through the gate!”

  The air was getting difficult to breathe, ripe with smells of anger and distrust.

  “When we get back to Wangfujing, you may do as you like,” Kunmia said. “But for now, you have sworn to obey me. Do you still have your honor?”

  Damanhur scowled at the rebuke. “It’s not that I distrust you, Master,” he said. “It just seems that you may have fled before understanding all the facts. Perhaps you even unintentionally caused offense. Why not go back and see if we can reason with him?”

  “Because he is untrustworthy,” Kunmia answered.

  “And how could you judge that so quickly?” Understanding flamed in his eyes, and he shifted to look at Bingmei. “Because of you?”

  She met his gaze. “Yes.”

  Damanhur shook his head. “And what gives you such insight? Why should we all trust your word on something so important?”

  “She’s never been wrong,” Kunmia said.

  “But does it stand to reason that because she’s never been wrong before she can’t be wrong now?” Damanhur challenged. His lips twisted into a scowl. “We are leaving that place to be plundered by the Qiangdao. They will use whatever they find there against us. Weapons. Artifacts. If so many of them have gathered together under such a leader, they will be a threat to the kingdoms.” He cut the edge of his hand against his other palm. “Wisdom dictates that we return and challenge them now, before they have a chance to gather others to their cause. If they have two hundred, then we face them in smaller groups. Ambush. Attack. Retreat. This is what King Budai would want. We’re doing the wrong thing out of childish fear.”

  His words caused a hot stab of pain in Bingmei’s chest. She was about to come out of her seat, but Kunmia shook her head, her expression firm.

  “Stop defending her,” Damanhur said. “Let her answer for herself.” He looked at Bingmei. “How do you know whether someone is honest or not? You are no more worldly-wise than I am. It will take a few days to reach Wangfujing. Perhaps the right course is to go back now. Explain yourself.”

  Anger, toward herself as much as Damanhur, flared inside her. Her own scent became an overpowering one of burnt metal. He was backing her into a corner, asking her to reveal herself before everyone.

  “Damanhur,” Rowen said warningly.

  “Why does it matter how she does it?” Kunmia said. “It is a gift. An instinct. It’s proven itself in a hundred situations.”

  “There is too much at stake,” Damanhur said, shaking his head. “I want an explanation. We deserve one.” His eyes never left Bingmei’s. “How do you do it? Why should we trust what you feel?”

  She licked her lips and tried to swallow. The anger had faded, leaving her vulnerable. He wasn’t wrong. They’d taken her gift on faith before. But circumstances had changed. She wouldn’t be able to convince them of what she knew without telling them how. If she refused to speak, the trust her companions had in her would be damaged.

  Bingmei swallowed again. Her throat was thick with anger and thirst. “I . . . I can smell emotions.”

  None of them, including Kunmia, had expected the answer. Confusion emanated from them in waves of ginger and old fish.

  “I know when someone is angry or disappointed or even embarrassed,” Bingmei said, the words gushing out. “I can sense their character. Someone who is dishonest has a certain scent to them. They appear one way but smell another. It conflicts. The worst smell I’ve ever known, up until now, was the Qiangdao. They murder without remorse or guilt. They hate in a way that you cannot understand.”

  She paused, looking around at them, waiting a moment to see if they questioned what she said. Their surprise was still evident on their faces. She sensed no disbelief, not yet, but they grappled with what she’d told them.

  Sighing, she continued. “Believe me when I say the Qiangdao smell nothing at all like the stench inside that tomb. The corpse itself smelled sweet, of burial spices, but after Echion came alive, he could not conceal his true nature from me. I nearly vomited.” Her voice trembled slightly. “I’ve never smelled something so horrid, so deceiving, so murderous before. And my parents and grandfather were murdered by Muxidi, the man we captured. Echion has killed . . . countless others. Thousands or thousands of thousands. More. I cannot even describe how much blood taints him.” She swallowed again, watching their widening eyes. Her gaze caught Quion’s for a moment. A little smile played on his mouth, and he nodded at her, silently reassuring her. She was grateful for his unwavering belief in her.

  Damanhur looked more subdued. By his look and his confused smell, he hadn’t expected such an answer. “Why did you revive him, then?” he asked with worry.

  “I couldn’t control it,” Bingmei said. “The palace looked beautiful. The level of craftsmanship . . . it’s impossible to describe. So many colors and hues, all in the same style of the buildings and art left behind by the ancients, but restored to perfection. It felt like it was my . . . my fate to awaken him. The sword whispered as much to me. I don’t know how I knew the glyph of resurrection. But it came into my mind while we were there, and I felt compelled to draw it. Once Echion’s depravity was revealed to me, I warned Kunmia to flee. Staying would have meant death for us all.” She sighed. “He will hunt for me,” she added. “I’m connected to the Phoenix Blade still. He gave it to the Qiangdao leader and sent him to bring me back. He wants me to revive his queen. His consort.” Bingmei turned to Kunmia. “It felt as if I’d been there before. In a past life.”

  “Maybe you were,” Kunmia said with worry. She reached out and stroked Bingmei’s cheek. There was no blame or anger in her. No disbelief or mockery.

  The boat continued to rock and creak as it lumbered down the fjord. Little splashin
g noises from the hull filled the air as everyone fell silent.

  Kunmia, after some silence, turned to the rest. “I faced the ruler to give the others time to run. If I hadn’t had the staff, he would have killed me in moments. His expertise with the Phoenix Blade is beyond anything I’ve witnessed. His reflexes were faster than mine. I couldn’t even touch him.” She fell silent for a moment. “I was afraid of him.”

  Damanhur nodded. “Perhaps both of us could have killed him.”

  Kunmia shrugged but didn’t insult him by speaking the truth—if they’d both stood against him, they both would have died.

  Damanhur looked pointedly at Bingmei. “What am I feeling now?” he asked her.

  There were so many smells on the boat at that moment that it wasn’t easy picking out a specific one. But Damanhur’s emotions were not very subtle.

  “You’re afraid,” she said. It probably wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was true.

  They were all afraid.

  It was nearly dawn when Bingmei awoke for her shift at guard duty. Kunmia nestled under her fur blanket to get some sleep before the others awoke. Quion stood at the tiller, gently steering the boat while Keyi slept. Bingmei carefully picked her way past the others and joined her friend at the rear of the boat. The others breathed softly, hunched and leaning against one another. Mieshi’s head rested on Damanhur’s shoulder.

  Bingmei sat down next to Quion, pulling her blanket more tightly around her, then wiped the sleep from her eyes.

  “Any ni-ji-jing following us?” she whispered to him.

  He shook his head. “No, but I spotted a whale.”

  They were quiet for a while. The moon was down, and the stars were their only light, but the sky was growing paler. Quion glanced at the horizon occasionally, but the fjord was guiding their path.

  “The other night,” he said softly. “You were about to tell me that, weren’t you? About what you can do?”

  She nodded, wishing she’d taken the chance to tell him sooner.

  He wasn’t disgusted by her, she knew. In fact, he was impressed. Even a little in awe. “What . . . ?” Then he shook his head and looked away.

  She butted him with her elbow, raising her eyebrows.

  “It’s foolish,” he said sheepishly.

  “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “I wondered . . . I wondered what I smelled like. To you. Am I . . . trustworthy?”

  She’d expected someone to ask her. Maybe all of them. Would they start treating her differently now that they knew about her special instinct? Some of her companions would probably be wary around her. But not Quion. He was still the same.

  “You smell like fish,” she said, butting him with her shoulder again. “But that shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “Stinking fish?”

  She shook her head, smiling at his question. He had always had a simple smell. He was naive and hardworking. Faithful, above all. She was glad he was part of the ensign. Glad they were still friends.

  A memory stirred inside her, one that had been lost during the chaos. She reached up and undid the pins of her wig and then pulled it off.

  “It’s changed!” Quion whispered, his eyes widening with surprise.

  The first rays of sunlight shimmered on her hair. The braids were no longer pale but bright as polished copper.

  She who knows her heart mistrusts her eyes.

  —Dawanjir proverb

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The King of Wangfujing

  It had taken them just six days to sail back to Wangfujing. They had stopped only rarely, enough to stretch their legs and practice their forms, always remaining watchful. The waterways were crowded with fishermen seeking to make their fortunes.

  Memories from the glacier continued to haunt Bingmei, but they dimmed as they reached familiar country.

  When they arrived, the market in Wangfujing was overcrowded with buyers and noisy with commerce. Some of the buildings had burned down, but the mess had been cleaned up, and only a few scars remained from the attack. If anything, the traffic and commotion showed an improvement in Budai’s fortunes, for each visitor was taxed on the cowry shells exchanged to trade there. The vendors’ huge vats of roasted frogs and steamed buns were nearly empty, and it was only midday. The jostling crowd made Bingmei long for the quiet of the boat. Marenqo crammed a still-steaming bun into his mouth and moaned with pleasure. The wound on his eye was still scabbed but healing.

  Another thing they had noticed upon entering Wangfujing was the mercenary force King Budai had hired to protect the town from the Qiangdao. Their black tunics bore a leopard badge instead of Budai’s frog, and they patrolled the streets in groups of four. Their silk hats made them easy to notice.

  Quion jostled Bingmei’s elbow and offered her a scorpion stick he’d just purchased. She accepted it with a smile.

  Another man suddenly accosted Kunmia, demanding to speak to Prince Rowen.

  “That man owes me a great debt!” he declared hotly.

  Rowen’s eyes flashed with malice. The smell of an indebted man was an unusual one. It was the bitter smell of worry, like onions, only it never faded. Its odor had increased the closer the boat had come to Wangfujing, and Rowen had become increasingly sullen and withdrawn. He was intrigued by the transformation of Bingmei’s hair, just as they all had been, but that secret was hidden beneath the dark wig again. The change was inexplicable.

  Kunmia told the man to appeal to King Budai.

  “But I want my share of the money first! Not after Budai has claimed his due! He’s owed even more than I am, and I’m just a poor moneylender.”

  His words stunk of a lie, but Kunmia didn’t need Bingmei’s assistance in discerning it.

  “Appeal. To. The. King,” Kunmia said, enunciating each word, and they continued.

  As they passed the frustrated moneylender, he scowled and shook his fist at Rowen.

  Rowen refused to meet the man’s eyes. He seemed impassive, but she sensed the shame and anger and despair that lay beneath it.

  “I think that man is offended,” Marenqo said after chewing and swallowing. “What do you think, Wuren? He looked positively upset.”

  Marenqo’s attempt at a joke didn’t land. Rowen glowered at him.

  “Did I say something amiss?” Marenqo asked innocently, but he was ignored.

  They reached the palace doors and found four of the black-silk guards stationed there with heavy glaives.

  The chief gave Kunmia a wary look. “State your business.”

  “I’m Kunmia Suun,” she answered, saying nothing more.

  The man’s expression changed. “Ah. Pardon me, Master Suun. I’m new to this duty.” The words were clipped and rough, his accent one Bingmei didn’t know offhand. “I report to Captain Heise. We are mercenaries from—”

  “Tianrui,” Marenqo interrupted. “I recognize your accent.” He addressed the guard in his own language, and the man’s face brightened. They conversed quickly, eagerly, and Marenqo then gestured to the door, which the man readily opened.

  The knobs on the door reminded Bingmei of the forgotten city beneath the ice. The doors had all been huge, tall enough to fit a dragon. The thought made her shudder.

  After a few more pleasantries were exchanged, they stepped into the interior of the garden. The vines were flowering, and the buds wafted a sweet smell at odds with the greed that still lingered in the air.

  In short order, they were met by Budai’s steward, Guanjia, who approached them with a look of grave concern.

  “You’re back suddenly,” he said with a tone of suspicion. “The season has only just begun. Why do you return so soon, Master Kunmia? Have you quit so easily?”

  “Take us to the king,” Kunmia answered. “We have come for good reason.”

  “He will not be pleased to see you, I should think,” Guanjia said. “This is highly unusual.”

  “So are the circumstances of our return,” Kunmia answered. “Take us to Budai at once.
”

  Guanjia gave Damanhur a probing look, but the warrior merely folded his arms and nodded for the steward to depart. The man nodded, although he looked less than eager, and quickly went ahead. The throne room was full of servants bearing trays of food. Budai had eaten well during their brief absence and seemed even thicker. Guanjia whispered in his ear as the group made their approach.

  There was a new man present, wearing the black silk jacket but no hat. His hair was braided in a queue down his back, and a straight sword was belted to his waist with a red sash. His arms were folded over his chest in an imperious manner. This was Captain Heise, no doubt.

  The captain turned to look at the arrivals, which was when his smell struck Bingmei like a fist. She knew that rancid smell, having just come from his palace beneath the ice. She gagged at the stench, her eyes watering, fear sapping her strength. The captain’s gaze took them in one by one, his lips twisting into a cruel smile.

  That smile seemed to tell her that a dragon could fly faster than a boat. Although his resurrected body was far, far away, the part of him that lived in the dragon had preceded them there. It had possessed this man’s body or transformed itself into an exact replica of it.

  It was abundantly clear to her that Echion had control of this man.

  Worry and panic seethed inside her.

  Before she could warn Kunmia, her master was striding forward to approach the king. Then she noticed the other guards stationed along the wall, pacing around the columns and watching the new arrivals like prey.

  “What is the meaning of this?” King Budai said, giving Kunmia a distrustful look. “Why have you returned so early in the season? If you’ve found what you sought, you should have left half of the ensign behind to guard it as we agreed. This is unlike you, Kunmia Suun. Surely you have much to account for.”

  “I do, my lord,” Kunmia said, walking past the pretend captain.

  “What’s wrong?” Quion whispered to Bingmei.

  He’d seen her shudder in horror. Bingmei tried to control herself. The Dragon Emperor was staring at her, a knowing stare. Did he know that she had detected him?