by Jeff Wheeler
Had the birds always been there? Had her party wandered beneath their nest tree without even noticing it?
The one with the spread wings launched itself from the tree. The other three followed suit.
“Bingmei, please listen to reason,” Rowen said, trying to divert her attention back to him.
“Do you see them?” she asked, pointing.
He turned and noticed the massive birds rising from the tree. A few moments later, she saw the first few men approaching from the trail, armed with spears and swords. To Bingmei’s astonishment, the first of the eagles let out a shriek and attacked her enemies. Their wings flapped furiously as they raked the armored men with their talons.
Cries of alarm came from them. Jiaohua, who was hiding behind a tree, poked his head around the thick trunk and sent a poisoned dart into their midst, stinging one of the men in the neck. In an instant, the man collapsed, unconscious.
The other members of the Jingcha were hustling across the ropes, each one supporting a younger person. Many of them were on the ropes at once, and the lower one sagged into the water, but they continued in spite of it. There were only a handful left. They could make it.
Bingmei stared as the eagles continued to swoop down, making cries as they attacked. Their enemies were driven back, trying in vain to shield their heads.
Watching the birds, she suddenly felt a presence in the woods, by the falls. She looked up, blinded by the sun, and thought she caught a glimpse of another eagle circling high overhead, although the plumage was too colorful, the body too large. Squinting, she tried to get a better look, but whatever she’d seen had slipped out of view.
Jiaohua sent off another dart, then another, before retreating to the shore. All the children had safely made it across. Only Jiaohua and Quion were left on the other side, and a couple of Jingcha were still on the ropes. Bingmei watched in horror as one of them lost his grip on the rope. The river caught hold of his legs. Powerless to help, she watched as the river yanked him from safety, and he went over the falls. A collective groan came from those who stood watching on the riverbank. The fall was fatal.
Quion untied the lower rope from the base of the tree and tossed it into the river. From his side, Marenqo began pulling it up. That just left the upper rope. Jiaohua motioned for Quion to grab it, but he shook his head no and began fidgeting with the knot. He produced another, shorter length of rope and quickly worked in a series of knots. Bingmei yelled at him to cross already, since no one was left on the ropes, but he didn’t heed her. What was he doing with the knots? Why not just cross?
He finished whatever he was doing and motioned for Jiaohua to go first. It alarmed her even more when Quion lifted the snow leopard up onto his shoulders as if it were a mere housecat. He intended to carry the leopard across! His big heart would be the death of him.
Jiaohua grabbed the rope with both hands and swung his legs up onto it, starting to pull himself across. Quion watched to make sure the rope held, and the rest of them took in the spectacle from the opposite shore.
Bingmei saw Liekou emerge from the trees higher up the slope. Her breath caught in her chest as she watched him follow the river down to where Quion stood, bearing the strain of the mountain cat.
“Quion! Now!” Bingmei screamed.
He looked at her across the river, not seeing the threat coming his way. Jiaohua had made it partway across the river, and the rope was swinging with his weight. Bingmei gritted her teeth, watching as Liekou picked his way down the river stealthily. She shouted to Quion again, but she knew he couldn’t hear her.
Quion grabbed the rope. He started to pull himself up, and she noticed he still held a piece of rope in his left hand, tied to the knots connecting the rope to the tree. Like Jiaohua, he slung his legs up on the rope, but she could see the fatigue in his expression, and the leopard yowled and dug its claws into his cloak to keep from falling into the river. He moved at a turtle’s pace, his burdens weighing him down.
Liekou reached the edge of the other shore, and he gazed at his prey on the opposite bank. A dark look came across his face. Because of the river, she couldn’t smell him, but she sensed his pulsing anger.
Jiaohua made it to their side, huffing for breath, but Quion wasn’t even halfway across. He was struggling, his pace slow.
“I told him to go first,” Jiaohua growled, his expression grim. She smelled the minty scent of fondness wafting off him.
“He knew he would go slower,” said Rowen, his eyes fixed on the scene.
Liekou grabbed the rope. Bingmei feared he’d untie it or try to shake Quion loose, but instead he pulled himself up onto the rope. Rather than creep across it like Quion, he stood atop it, arms outstretched for balance, and began walking. His pace was much faster than Quion’s.
It wouldn’t take long to overrun him.
“Can you hit him with a dart?” Bingmei asked Jiaohua. He blinked in surprise, but he pulled out his blowgun and began searching for a dart.
Bingmei watched in suspense, her heart in her throat, as Liekou came up on Quion, who still struggled to make any progress.
And then Quion sprung his trap.
CHAPTER NINE
Escape
Gripping the rope with one hand and his legs, Quion yanked the other length of rope hard, which unraveled the knot at the other tree. Suddenly, they were both falling. But only Quion had a good grip on the rope.
Bingmei gasped in surprise as Quion and the snow leopard hit the water. The big cat snarled at the unexpected plunge and swam fast and hard for the shore as Quion pulled himself across the rest of the way, much faster and stronger now. Marenqo and some others pulled on their end of the rope to help hasten the process. The snow leopard scampered away as soon as it made it across, although Bingmei had no doubt it would return.
Liekou had fallen into the river, and the current dragged him toward the falls. But just like Bingmei, he found a boulder at the edge and caught himself with his feet. Bingmei stared at him, willing him to fall, to die, but the ensign master managed to pull himself up onto a boulder protruding from the waters. He was midway across the river, stranded at the edge of the deadly falls.
He faced them, sopping wet, his face nearly purple with rage.
Jiaohua raised the blowgun to his lips and shot a dart at him.
Liekou twisted, and the dart sailed past him. He glared at them, his eyes promising revenge.
With effort, they hauled Quion out of the river. He was still clutching the other rope, the one he’d used to destroy the knot, which meant they’d salvaged all three. Bingmei grinned when she saw him come up on their side of the bank, teeth chattering.
Jiaohua readied another dart, but Bingmei gripped his arm and shook her head. “Don’t waste any more.”
“I’d rather kill him now,” Jiaohua said.
“I’d rather you not lose all the rest of your darts,” she answered. “Come on. Let’s get Quion into some dry clothes. We made it.”
She shifted her attention to the other shore. The eagles she’d noticed were gone. Men climbed up on the other side and stared in disbelief at their leader, stranded on a boulder in the middle of the river.
Liekou didn’t appear to be cold. His attention was fixed on her, the look on his face assuring her that he would still come after her.
She smiled at him, a crooked smile of victory. Then, gripping her staff, she walked away.
That night, they camped in a canyon of broken boulders on the valley floor. She’d ordered a few Jingcha to remain behind to watch the progress of their pursuers. They’d caught up to the group near sunset, with some heartening news—although Liekou had been liberated after several hours of being marooned on that boulder, he hadn’t even tried to lead his forces across the river. They’d abandoned the mountain, returning on the trail they’d taken up to the riverbank.
Since it would take some time for their pursuers to find them again, Bingmei had allowed some fires to be built at the base of the broken boulders, hidde
n from the guards patrolling the Death Wall by the canyon. With fire came warmth and cooked salmon, which Quion had caught and seasoned to perfection. Marenqo grunted with pleasure, licking his fingers as he enjoyed the meal. The snow leopard had eventually skulked out of the woods to join them. In apology, Quion had tossed a bit of raw fish her way.
For the first time in a while, Bingmei experienced the lulling sense of relief. She knew better than to think Liekou would stop hunting her. But he no longer had Rowen as a guide. It would take much longer for him to find evidence of their passage.
After everyone had eaten, she noticed Quion cleaning the pan near the cooking fire he’d used. The light of the flames danced off his face, revealing his deep concentration on the task at hand. She wandered up and squatted near him. He glanced at her, but then kept working.
“I forgot to thank you earlier,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re not tired of salmon yet.”
“It’s delicious, but that’s not what I was thanking you for. Without you and your knots, we wouldn’t have crossed the river. That trick at the end . . . that was pretty clever.”
He smiled with pleasure at her compliment, but he didn’t say anything. He only shrugged.
“What knot did you use?” she asked him.
“I didn’t want to cut the rope if I could avoid it,” he said. “So I used a different knot on my side of the shore—one that could slip free if tugged a certain way. I had a feeling I wouldn’t make it across in time. Jiaohua and I would have been in trouble if those eagles hadn’t come when they did.” He glanced at her when he said it. “That was strange.”
“It was indeed,” she said. Eagles were powerful creatures. They usually hunted fish and rodents, not men. Why had they attacked their pursuers? And what of the other bird she’d seen, the larger one with the strange plumage? “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m not complaining,” said Quion with a grin. “I thought maybe . . . you summoned them.”
Bingmei shook her head. “I can’t control the magic, Quion. I’ve tried, but it only comes when it wants to, like in the caves. When it goes, there’s no way I can make it return. It’s all very confusing.”
He looked back down at the pan and kept scraping it. He always took care of his tools and his gear. Because of his meticulous ways, he didn’t let others help him, but he didn’t seem to mind the work.
He stopped scraping a moment, his eyes still downcast. “Maybe it hesitates because of you.”
She fell quiet, staring at him.
He didn’t look at her, but she could see he was serious. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t accepted that you were chosen by the phoenix.”
It felt like a knot tightened inside her chest. Could it be that simple? If she embraced her destiny, would the magic come when she called for it? Part of her believed he might be right, that he’d seen down to the root of the issue. It didn’t escape her that Rowen had told her much the same thing.
“I don’t want to die,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one else was close enough to hear them.
He didn’t respond to that, choosing silence instead as he continued to scour the iron skillet. But it was a companionable silence, not fraught with awkwardness.
“When I went into the river and got so cold,” she said, edging closer to him, “I had a strange dream. Or a vision. I thought I’d died, like I have in the past, but Mieshi said I never stopped breathing.”
“What did you see?” he asked.
The memory of it was still poignant.
“I dreamed I was in the Grave Kingdom. I saw my mother.”
He stopped with the scraper, looking at her in surprise and wonder. She explained her dream to him, including as many details as she could remember. The endless walls lined with painted, barred windows. The smoke-filled sky overhead, the deep chasm of the street. And the mass of women, all seeking and hunting and worrying.
He listened patiently, taking it all in.
“She implied I was going to die soon,” Bingmei concluded. “She told me that dreams of the Grave Kingdom come to prepare us for death, and she promised to try to meet me after it happens.”
He stared at her for a long moment, lips pursed in thought. Finally, he said, “I’d give anything to see my mother again. I loved my father, but I miss my mother even more. She . . . she always cooked for me. I learned how to use all the spices from her.” He let go of the scraper and gently touched the edge of the pan. “This was hers. That’s why I couldn’t leave my pack behind in Sajinau. I couldn’t bear the thought of someone misusing all her things. It’s how I stay close to her memory. She loved me, Bingmei.” A wonderful scent surrounded him—the deep love and affection a son had for his mother. It was similar to the smell of a mother’s love.
He looked into her eyes. “I’m glad you got to see her, Bingmei. What a gift. And a curse. I’ve always thought that I would never see my mother again.” His eyes filled with tears. He gave her a little smile. “Our loved ones still remember us in the Grave Kingdom. Maybe they’re even waiting for us. You’ve given me a little hope. Thank you.”
His words made her heart ache and feel glad at the same time. He was right. Although the Grave Kingdom did not seem like a pleasant place, it was better than going into a void of nothing.
She wondered what buried world lay beyond their awareness.
Rising again, she walked away from the fire and hugged herself. Her head tipped up toward the sky, and she gazed at the stars, which had come into view in all their majesty. What were they really?
She lowered her gaze to find Rowen sitting in the shadows of a boulder, arms crossed atop his knees. It was his smell that had drawn her attention.
The smell of jealousy.
Fortune does not come twice. Misfortune does not come alone.
—Dawanjir proverb
CHAPTER TEN
Sihui
They approached the kingdom of Sihui from the north. The season of the Dragon of Night had long since ended, and the air was muggy and full of ravenous insects. Thankfully, Marenqo, who’d traveled more than most of them, knew of an oil from local plants that kept the mosquitos at bay. But the bugs’ sickly droning still filled the air, and the thick green canopy they passed under gave the world a greenish cast. Enormous hills covered in gingko trees became more abundant the farther south they went.
After they left the glaciers, flocks of blue herons passed overhead constantly, and it seemed to Bingmei that the birds were almost leading them to Sihui. They followed a wide river that forked through the upper valley and finally came to the first sign of civilization they’d witnessed since leaving the shadow of the Death Wall. In the distance, a stone bridge straddled the river, different in style from the wooden ones she’d seen in Wangfujing. The bridge was made of three stone arches, the largest of which straddled the river. The two smaller arches, one on each side, supported covered shelters with shrine-like pagodas. The roofs of the pagodas were steeply slanted, and they met at a high point in the middle with iron knobs on top. The river was wider at that spot, the water so smooth and slow that they could see the reflection of the arches and bridge in it, which had the appearance of a huge eye.
The air was thick with haze, but through the bridge’s arched opening, she could make out buildings in the distance. She had not worn her wig while traveling through the wilds, but this view told her it was time to put it back on, and so she did.
“We’ve made it to Sihui,” Marenqo said with relief, coming up next to her. They were all footsore and weary from the long journey, the indeterminable weeks spent crossing the hinterlands. Bingmei’s pack dug into her shoulders, and she imagined the pleasure of sleeping in a bed instead of on the turf. Even though the oil mostly warded off the insects, they each sported scabs from where it had failed to protect them. She looked behind her at the straggling ensign and hoped that their presence in Sihui would be welcomed.
And she hoped the kingdom hadn’t fallen.<
br />
Guards armed with longbows waited on both sides of the bridge, standing in the covered areas. Bingmei did not attempt to conceal their intention to cross. The trees had been cleared around the base of the bridge to a fair distance, so approaching under cover would have been impossible anyway.
Loud frogs croaked from the edge of the river. Her scalp felt itchy beneath the wig after being so long without it, but she ignored the discomfort and motioned for the ensign to halt as several horsemen rode forward to meet them.
“Are you ready to translate?” she asked Marenqo.
“I may not need to,” he said. “Many of the nobles are fluent in other languages.”
The horsemen approached, and Bingmei tried to catch their scent. She did not trust that these were not Qiangdao.
“Be prepared to flee back to the woods,” she said, speaking loudly enough for the others to hear. They relied on her ability to smell friend from foe, which had saved them more than once.
The riders drew near, stopping close enough to talk but far enough away for safety. The lead horseman wore armor made of square patches of hardened leather, dotted with metal studs. Pieces of the leather had been sewn together to cover his chest, back, and shoulders. His lower arms were covered in thick cloth down to his wrists, and a thick scarf was wrapped around his neck. The lopsided cap on his head reminded her of the shape of a gourd.
The leader frowned at them, his look suspicious. He smelled of sweat and green onion, nothing rancid. It was nothing like the stench of the Qiangdao.
Bingmei nodded to Marenqo, who stepped forward a pace and offered some form of greeting, his palms up, hands spread apart.
The leader’s eyebrows rose in surprise at being addressed in such a manner. He asked a few questions in a strange language, which Marenqo promptly answered in the same tongue. Then he backed his horse up a few steps and began conferring with the other soldiers.