The Buried World (The Grave Kingdom)

by Jeff Wheeler

  “Bring the warriors here,” Bingmei said to Mieshi.

  Mieshi nodded and then took the lamp and left, plunging Bingmei into darkness after she’d gone only a short distance. Bingmei grabbed the rune staff, which had been Kunmia’s, and invoked its power. Wisps of green light danced on the meiwood.

  She’d learned it could be used like this, for light, without summoning the killing fog. The power it used was too little, much like her meiwood cricket. With its dim light, she added to her fur clothes and then quickly ate some sour jujubes.

  The tingling sensation from the lack of blood in her hands and feet subsided, but the vision of Jidi Majia and Echion still tormented her. She didn’t know what to do with it. Why had the vision come to her? What did it mean?

  She wondered what would have happened if Echion had caught her. Could he have harmed her spirit, or prevented her from returning to her body?

  She rolled up her bed furs and there, hidden beneath them, lay the sheathed Phoenix Blade. In the green glow from the staff, it almost looked as if the phoenix carved in the hilt was flapping its wings. As she stared at it, she felt the urge to pick it up. To draw the blade and hunt down her foes.

  She heard boots scuffing against the stone, and then Marenqo entered the chamber, eating from the huge leg joint of an elk.

  “I was bringing this for you to eat,” he said. “I promise. But then I realized you’re so small, you probably weren’t going to be able to finish it. And since you’re also so nice, I knew you’d offer the rest to me. So . . . I thought I’d just start on it now. Thank you for being so generous.”

  She arched her eyebrow at him, watching him take another bite. Then another. He reached out as if to hand it to her, then took one more.

  “Thank you, Marenqo,” she said after she wrenched the bone from him, looking at him with exasperation.

  She was hungry. They were all hungry.

  Huqu came jogging up, winded, followed by Bao Damanhur, whose stump of an arm still made her wince. His sword was belted to his waist.

  Bingmei lifted the staff, holding it up to give them light. “Where are the others?” she asked.

  “Jiaohua has his men watching the Qiangdao,” Huqu said. He was one of the warriors who’d been part of Damanhur’s ensign before it had joined with hers.

  Jiaohua had once been the head of King Shulian’s Jingcha in Sajinau, responsible for fighting crime and keeping peace in the streets. The cunning man was their best source of information from the outside world. Sometimes he disguised himself as a beggar to seek news. Sometimes he intimidated someone for it with the threat of violence. He was always trying to stay one step ahead of everyone else. Of course he’d be right in the middle of the threat.

  “Are we going to fight, Bingmei?” Damanhur asked, his voice serious.

  Mieshi returned with three sister warriors just as the words were spoken.

  “We need information first,” Bingmei said. “I don’t even know how many there are. Huqu?”

  “They’re still coming in,” he answered. “It’s probably up to a hundred by now.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “A hundred?”

  “It’s hard to say,” he answered. “Some of them have made camp by the icefalls. There’s more light over there, but they’ve started sending search parties into the caves. Bands of ten or more.”

  “This isn’t random, then,” said Damanhur firmly. “We’ll have to fight.”

  She knew he wanted to fight—he’d been aching for a fight ever since the battle that had cost him his arm.

  “Are you even able to fight?” Mieshi asked. Bingmei could smell the worry in her, but she could sense Damanhur had misjudged her meaning. That happened a lot between the two of them. Bingmei hated that they argued so much, especially since most of their arguments could easily be resolved if they would only talk to each other.

  “Of course I can!” he snapped. “I’m not helpless.” And he wasn’t. His wound was still healing, but Bingmei had watched him train with his nondominant arm. To her eye, he was just as strong and capable as he’d been before.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Mieshi said.

  “Enough bickering,” Bingmei said, trying to mimic Kunmia’s decisive tone. “I’ve sent the servants and the young to escape out the back. The icefalls isn’t the only path out of Dongxue. We’ll hide in the sentry row. The formations there will provide many places for us to conceal ourselves. It’s a difficult climb to that spot. They’ll be exhausted when they get there, and we’ll attack from both sides of the trail. Then we can fall back and choose another place to attack from. If nothing else, we’ll give the others time to evacuate. What do you think?”

  “Sentry row is a good location,” Marenqo said. “But we should leave now before their main group gets there first.”

  “Agreed. Let’s go.”

  Bingmei lifted the Phoenix Blade strap over her head and felt it thump against her back. Gripping the rune staff, she led the way. Some of them held lamps, others clutched lanterns, but each of the lights could be shuttered if need be. When it was truly dark, Bingmei couldn’t see her hand in front of her face, and all sense of distance faded. It really took feeling your way to travel in the dark. She set a quick pace. Drops of water splashed down on them intermittently. Before long, they reached one of the sections where they had to climb up boulders to reach the next level of the tunnels. Some of the trails were very steep, and the columns of stone from the floor connected with the ceiling.

  In some portions of the cave, the ceiling came down so low that even Bingmei, who’d always been small for her age, needed to duck. It felt as if the mountain might collapse on them at any time.

  When she reached the top of the rock, she smelled Jiaohua’s strong odor, his rampant smell of trickery and dishonesty. Although his scent made it difficult for her to trust him, there was no denying those very qualities made him useful.

  He tried to reach out and help her, but she bounded up the last bit on her own. She hated it when people tried to assist her in things she could do for herself.

  “Where are they?” she asked him. His dirty face was outlined by shadows from the faint light exuding from the rune staff.

  “Coming this way,” he answered.

  “How many?”

  “Hard to say,” he answered. “I hid some men closer to the icefalls to keep counting. Haven’t heard from them. Hope they’re still alive.”

  “We’re going to hide here at the sentry—” Bingmei said.

  “Of course you are,” Jiaohua said, interrupting her. “Smart. I’m going to hide myself by the entrance to the sentry row. I’ll see if I can identify the leader and capture him. Then we can question him.”

  “But if there are a hundred, you’ll be cut off from the rest of us,” she said.

  He smirked and pursed his lips. “Worried about me, Bingmei? I didn’t know you cared so much.”

  She knew he was goading her. “Just be careful.”

  “They’re blundering around with torches. Don’t look right at the flames, it will hurt your eyes after being in the dark so long.”

  “I know that, Jiaohua,” she said.

  “Just being sure.” He stiffened. “I hear them. They’re coming this way. Get into your hideouts.”

  “Do you think they brought a lot of food with them?” Marenqo whispered to Jiaohua. “If so, perhaps we should welcome them instead.”

  Jiaohua scowled at the jest—Marenqo had yet to get a smile out of him, but that didn’t keep him from trying. He jerked his head and then slunk into the shadows, weaving behind the natural columns like a lurking spider. Bingmei silently commanded her people to take their positions, indicating with hand gestures who should go where. By the time she finished, she, too, could hear the voices echoing off the walls, the tromping footsteps of men who weren’t bothering to conceal their movements.

  Bingmei maneuvered past the various thick and thin columns. They were hunchbacked and crooked, nothing like the
tall straight meiwood pillars that held up the quonsuuns and other buildings left by the ancients. Yet the stone had a rippled appearance that she found beautiful.

  She picked out a spot behind a pillar of damp stone. With a thought, she revoked the power of the staff, and the runes went dark. Others settled in close to her, and those with lamps shuttered them.

  “I’ve always been tempted to lick these rocks,” Marenqo whispered from his perch next to her. “I don’t know why that feeling keeps coming over me.”

  She leaned her back against the rippled edge of rock behind her. Light appeared in the distance, coming nearer, and soon she could see the outline of her arms and legs. Then her fur cloak and leggings. The caves were cold, although they didn’t get much colder at night—the temperature stayed oddly consistent, given the lack of wind and sunlight. Turning her head, she saw Marenqo crouching, staring around the pillar he’d hidden behind.

  “They’re making a lot of noise,” he whispered.

  “So are you,” she whispered back.

  He ignored the jibe. “I’m just starting to pick out words.” He knew many languages, a talent that had already proven useful in their travels. She held her finger to her lips for him to be quiet, and he obeyed, cocking his head to hear better.

  The lights from the Qiangdao’s torches made shadows writhe and dance on the broken edges of the tunnel walls. She crept back a pace, tucking herself more securely behind her pillar, when the light threatened to touch her knee. Pressing hard against the wall, she watched. And waited for the right moment to attack.

  It was then the smell of the Qiangdao struck her, a noxious stench of murder and death. A few moments later, she saw the first of them. Dressed in layers of furs and thick boots, they carried torches and weapons. She heard their voices but didn’t recognize the language they spoke. Patiently, she let the first arrivals pass without opposition. She wasn’t ready to give the signal to attack. Better for the Qiangdao to believe they were safe.

  A visceral feeling of hate filled her stomach as she watched them. A band of Qiangdao had murdered her grandfather, her parents. She’d had an opportunity to kill the leader of that band, Muxidi, but in the end she’d allowed him to live, a decision she still questioned. The Qiangdao were lawless marauders who preyed on the weak, and now they were ruling every village and town, eating food they didn’t grow or cultivate. Getting drunk on drinks they hadn’t made. The injustice stung her nose, making her despise them even more. But she wrestled down her hate. She would not let it control her. She would master it.

  At least a dozen had already come up the rocky slope, and more were coming. If she waited too long, they’d be too many. She saw the worry in Marenqo’s eyes, saw him waiting on her order to attack. She saw Mieshi looking at her too, a forceful look that said, now . . . soon . . . now?

  Bingmei reached into her pocket for the meiwood cricket she’d gotten from her grandfather. She leaned forward, squatting low on her heels. This was another reason she’d chosen this spot for their attack—there was ample room for her to invoke the cricket’s magic without crashing into the ceiling.

  She nodded and then rubbed her thumb across the cricket, invoking its magic. The meiwood cricket sent a jolt of magic through her legs, and she sprang up from her hiding place, soaring into the midst of the Qiangdao trudging through the tunnels.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Withering Touch

  As soon as Bingmei landed, she swung the rune staff in a wide arc. The wood jolted against her hands as the staff connected with heads and bodies. Shouts of surprise were followed by cries of pain and alarm. Firelight from the Qiangdao’s torches twisted and deformed the shadows against the walls of the cave.

  Twirling the staff, she blocked someone who thrust at her with a blade, deflecting it, and then reversed the staff and jabbed him in the throat. She crossed her legs, sweeping the staff down then around, and struck another man in the face. Planting one foot, she flipped around and kicked another bandit in the gut, knocking him back into his fellows. With a quick glance back, she saw Mieshi do a dive roll, come up, and strike the heel of her hand into someone’s jaw. Damanhur, one-armed, swung his sword in lethal circles, carving a path through his enemies with an almost bored look on his face.

  She whipped the staff around and down, clubbing someone on the head, and then rushed forward to where new Qiangdao were clambering up the boulders to reach Bingmei’s section of the cavern. The first one who did was met with a kick to the stomach, and he flailed his arms as he fell backward to his doom, his face grotesque with terror. She didn’t care.

  Someone grabbed her from behind, and she felt the cold bite of metal at her throat.

  “I know who you are,” the Qiangdao growled in her ear. “The master wants you alive!”

  Dropping the meiwood staff, she gripped the wrist of the hand at her throat, then stomped backward on the man’s foot. He grunted with pain, and she pulled the arm away, using it to flip him over her back. But he surprised her when he landed in a low crouch instead of falling onto his back—even more so when he swung his leg around to trip her.

  Bingmei jumped to avoid the sweep and did a palm strike into his face, which he caught with his other hand before kicking her in the stomach.

  The blow took her breath away and knocked her backward. She stared at him in surprise. This man was not a Qiangdao after all. He’d clearly been trained in one of the mountain temples, a quonsuun, in the ways of fighting. Although he was dressed in furs like the others, she thought she saw a flash of colorful silk beneath them. His eyes were dark and menacing as he lunged forward, the knife held protectively in front of his face. He did a series of jabs before dropping down to sweep her legs again.

  More Qiangdao appeared at the top of the bluff, shouting as they joined the fight.

  Bingmei retreated, and her adversary’s leg struck the stone pillar formed by the natural processes within the cave. She ducked around the other side and attacked him again, only to notice one of the approaching Qiangdao had picked up her meiwood staff. Bingmei scowled and ran at him, launching into a flying kick that struck him in the side of his head, dropping him. She snatched the staff while it was still upright and then swung it around, catching the warrior’s wrist with it as he swept the blade down at her.

  “You will come with me!” he snarled at her.

  She launched at him again, levering the staff behind her back before coming at his head. He dodged to one side and kicked her knee, the blow sending a spasm of pain down her leg. He then whipped his knuckles at her forehead, but she managed to yank away just in time.

  She had the sinking feeling she was outmatched, even with the staff, but she tried to subdue her worry and focus on the fight. The Phoenix Blade called to her, whispering that she should use it to kill him, but she didn’t have enough time to draw the weapon. He jumped high in the air, his boot aiming for her head. Bingmei dived forward and slammed him in the ribs with her staff. The Qiangdao were everywhere now, like an ant hive that had been disturbed.

  He grabbed hold of the staff with one hand and yanked her toward him. Maybe she should release the staff. Maybe he was counting on her doing just that. Instead, Bingmei got closer and pushed with all her might, setting him off balance. She kicked the side of his leg, and he dropped down to one knee, his face twisting with pain. Then, pulling hard on the staff, she tried to lever him backward, but he let go, sending her reeling. Once she steadied herself, she reversed her grip and tried to crush his skull, but his reflexes saved him, and she hit the stone instead.

  His foot swept out again and caught her, and she fell hard against the cavern floor. As lights exploded behind her eyes, she felt his knee crush her chest. He was on top of her. With one hand he grabbed her hair and pulled, and the wig she wore came off, the pins scraping against her scalp. He clutched the wig in his hand, his other fist still closed around the dagger handle.

  Her red hair was exposed, and she was on her back, hardly able to breathe. He was staring
at the wig, as if surprised to find it in his hand, when Mieshi’s foot collided with his cheek. He fell backward off Bingmei, and she struggled to her feet, gasping for air.

  When Mieshi lunged at the man with her staff, he dodged the blows and came at her with the dagger. Bingmei gripped her own staff and joined the fight, attacking him from behind. She landed two blows against his back before he adjusted his stance so he could see them both at once. His face flamed with anger.

  Mieshi kept up the pressure with her staff, but he lunged too close, limiting the weapon’s usefulness. She dropped it and switched to hand techniques, punches and flat-handed thrusts at his face. Seeing her opening, Bingmei hit him again on the back of his neck, which stunned him for just a moment.

  Mieshi grabbed his wrist, torqued his arm, and the blade clattered onto the stone, ringing like bells. She hefted his arm, twisting it again to gain control of him, and Bingmei watched as he reached out with his other hand to touch her neck and cheek.

  Mieshi’s eyes widened with pain, and she crumpled to the ground, unable to move.

  Bingmei looked on in disbelief. “Dianxue,” she whispered in dread. The withering touch. It was a legendary fighting maneuver, one thought to be mythical. Not even Kunmia Suun had known its secret. Variations of the touch could paralyze, weaken, or even kill an opponent.

  Echion must have brought this back as well.

  The attacker turned, his face dark with anger, and Bingmei retreated from him. He lunged at her, trying to touch her, but she fled behind a column. When she came out the other side, she bowled over two Qiangdao whose backs were to her, shoving them forward with her staff. Her enemy followed her. She swung the end of the staff at his head, but he ducked the blow and continued to advance on her, feinting, shifting from stance to stance.

  A quivering dart embedded in his neck. He flinched, his mouth twisting in pain, and pulled it out. His eyes clouded as he looked at the dart, and then he collapsed.