by Jeff Wheeler
When they finally reached the grove of tall trees, Bingmei’s worry began to ebb. Trees brought cover. As they walked into the woods, she stared at the peculiar trees. They were tall and slender, though some had thicker trunks. A few had lower branches that had grown into twin trunks, but most were straight and rigid, like the staves used in a quonsuun. Toward the tops of the trees, the branches forked upward and provided the thick canopy they’d seen from the other side of the valley.
Quion stopped at one of the trees once they were within the relative safety of the grove. He pulled out his knife, cut a slice of bark from it, and smelled it. His eyes widened with surprise.
“You recognize it?” she asked him.
He nodded and handed it to her. She took the pale fragment in her hand and held it up to her nose.
The scent of the cut wood was unmistakable: meiwood.
She looked around at the vast forest, filled with trees of various sizes. Her jaw dropped. Meiwood had been used to build palaces and cities. Weapons and relics that could be charmed with magic. But its source was treated as a mystery—no one she knew had ever seen a meiwood tree or even knew what one looked like. This forest was a wood of untold riches.
“This is where all the wood came from,” Quion said in wonder, hands on his hips.
“It’s been hidden here, all this time,” she said, rubbing her hand down one of the trunks. “I think Echion built the Death Wall to separate people from it.”
“If meiwood weapons are the only thing that can be imbued with magic, it makes sense that he’d want to keep the grove for himself.”
They continued walking, ascending a small hill until they reached the top. When they did, the meiwood trees fanned out in front of them as far as the eye could see. The trees were growing in orderly rows, column after column.
Light from the sun reflected off water, and she saw a little creek winding through the trees, leading to a large pond.
“Water,” she said. “I hope it’s fresh.”
“Me too. I’m thirsty. We can fill our waterskins there.”
The two of them started walking toward the edge of the pond. It was wide enough that it cut into the line of the trees. By design? Had someone dug it there?
Who?
Her eyes drifted to the center of the pond. Something glimmered within its depths. She thought it was a glyph, but the rippling of the water prevented her from seeing it clearly.
Quion gripped her arm, the smell of fear gushing from him. As she looked up, she spotted them just before she reached the edge of the water. Lions crouched low by the water on the far side of the pond, lapping the surface with their long, pink tongues. There were probably a dozen in all, including the cubs. An enormous lion with a thick mane lifted its head as they intruded on the scene. A set of golden eyes stared at her.
The first lion rose, and the rest quickly followed.
“Oh no,” Quion gasped.
There was nowhere to run. The head lion began to lope around the pond, its head bent low in a hunting gesture.
Fear quivered in Bingmei’s belly. She had the meiwood cricket in her pocket, but her friend had no such escape.
“Climb a tree. Hurry!”
Quion didn’t need to be told twice. He went to the closest tree and wrapped his arms around the trunk, digging his boots into the shaft. Bingmei came up under him and gave him a push.
“Hurry, Quion!” she said. He wasn’t high enough, and the lions would be upon them any moment. The animals were now stalking toward them from both sides of the pond.
Quion grunted, pulling himself higher and higher, out of reach of Bingmei. The first lion loped up to her, a low growl in its throat, but Bingmei rubbed the cricket and bounded away from it.
As soon as she jumped, the lion roared and charged at her, baring its fangs. She leaped again, this time in another direction, coming closer to Quion. The other lions were converging around her, their muscles rippling beneath golden hides.
Quion had reached the lower branches of the tree and hung there, his legs dangling. One of the lions jumped to reach him and nearly snagged his boot.
“Higher!” Bingmei yelled.
She turned and saw a lion prowling toward her, tail swishing. Brushing the cricket again, she leaped straight up into a tree as the beast pounced at her, snarling and growling. She caught the branches and pulled herself up. The lions patrolled beneath both trees, weaving in and out, growling and snarling.
She glanced into the neighboring tree at Quion, who looked pale with fear as he gripped the trunk of the meiwood tree.
Now what were they going to do?
“Bingmei!” Quion called out, his voice revealing his rising panic. The largest of the massive cats had leaped at the trunk of the tree he’d climbed, its claws digging into the bark. As its companions looked on, it started to climb the tree.
“I see it,” she answered, her mind working quickly. “Can you climb any higher?”
Quion’s heavy backpack made him sway a little as he stood up on the branch. He was climbing, but not fast enough. The limber cat had made it to one of the lower branches, and Bingmei watched as it jumped to a higher one, a low growl ripping from its throat. The tree’s foliage obscured her sight of Quion, but she heard the rustling sounds of him moving.
She glanced down, seeing the swishing tails of the majestic beasts.
She took stock of her meager weapons—a hunting knife and a short sword with a meiwood hilt—and glanced down again, looking for an opening in the pack of lions. She saw one in between the two trees separating her and her friend.
“I’m coming,” she told Quion. “Keep climbing.”
“But where will I go when I reach the top?” he asked nervously. “I’m running out of tree!”
Bingmei glanced down again, feeling her stomach wriggle in concern at what she was about to do. It was a long way down. And even though she had the cricket’s magic at her command, her instincts still revolted at the thought of jumping that far. The Death Wall was, of course, much higher, but she hadn’t stopped to think before jumping—she’d only acted.
Slowing her breathing to calm her nerves, she unsheathed the short sword.
The lion in Quion’s tree growled as it prepared to spring again, the muscles in its haunches tensing and quivering.
Bingmei stroked the cricket and felt its magic tingle in her legs. She leaped from the tree, plummeting to the earth, and landed with a bounce that sent her catapulting up into Quion’s tree. She landed just beneath the lion and lunged, stabbing it with the blade.
It was not a killing blow. The beast came down snarling, and it roared at her as it leaped down to her branch, the wood bowing slightly beneath its weight. She kept her balance and quickly backed away. The lion came after her, its jaws widening to reveal hook-sharp teeth. She met its yellow gaze and smelled the fear coming from herself in a rush of burnt soup. The lion lunged, swiping at her with a paw.
Bingmei backed away, feeling the limb creak. Then crack.
A loud cracking sound that rivaled the lion’s roar.
Invoking the cricket’s magic, Bingmei sprang straight up as the branch and lion went crashing down to the ground.
As her body collided with the upper branches of the meiwood tree, she tried to grab one of them and missed. The pull of the earth yanked her back down, but as she plummeted through the branches, she managed to hook her arm around one. The wood dug into her arm painfully, and she hung there, her legs dangling. The lion that had crashed below had already risen, shaking its head and snarling with agitation.
Most of the others had scattered, but one of them leaped at Bingmei, trying to grab her flailing legs. She pulled them up just in time. If one of the claws had hooked her boot, the beast would have dragged her down easily. Her heart skittered in her chest, and her muscles began to ache from the effort of hanging on. She slipped the short sword into her belt to free her other hand.
“Grab the rope!”
She heard him before sh
e saw it—the end of one of Quion’s ropes lowering down to her. She reached for it, shoulders flexing painfully, and gripped the end. Before the lion could leap at her again, she felt a tug from the rope. She let go of the branch, twisting slowly on the line as Quion pulled her up.
Soon, they were on nearby branches attached to the same trunk, breathing fast and hard as they watched the remaining lions saunter away. Wood from the shattered branch lay beneath them like shrapnel.
“Thank you,” she breathed with a sigh.
Quion shrugged. “Thank you. It would have gotten me if you hadn’t come.”
Now that the immediate threat was over, she leaned back against the trunk, wondering how they were going to escape the lions. “Clearly Echion doesn’t want anyone trespassing.”
“He should have left a warning.”
Bingmei chuckled. “He doesn’t strike me as the kind of person who would do that. Once you’ve come too close, you get devoured. That’s your only warning.”
“What are we going to do?” Quion asked quietly. “We can’t stay up here.”
“I don’t know,” she whispered back, slowing her breathing. The lions had gone back to the pond but had stayed close enough to reach them in a few bounds. Some began settling down for a nap. The largest one lay facing them, its yellow eyes watching their tree for a moment before it started licking its wounded hide.
Once again, Bingmei’s eyes were drawn to the glowing glyph beneath the rippling waters of the pond. What purpose did the glyph serve amidst such a grove of trees?
She wanted to examine it, but she wasn’t ready to battle the lions again. Instead, she and Quion shared a little food from their packs and watched and waited to see if the lions would leave to hunt something else. Hours passed like that, bringing them closer to nightfall. Still the lions did not leave.
A sweet trilling pierced the air, and the little siskin finch fluttered up to them. It landed on the branch and chirped.
“It’s back,” Quion said. He reached out his finger for it, but the bird hopped farther away. It was a jittery little thing. It chirped again and again, as if trying to talk to them.
Moments later, the lions rose as one, all of them looking off in the same direction. The lead lion, the one that had climbed the tree, left first, and the rest followed. Something had spooked the beasts.
“Why did they go?” Quion wondered in a half whisper.
“They’re pack animals,” she said. “Something startled them.” Bingmei shifted her weight to lean forward, staring down in the failing light.
“A dragon?” His voice thickened with worry.
She hadn’t felt one approach. There was nothing save the noisy chirping of the siskin.
Finally, she saw it—a glowing beast cutting through the woods toward the tree.
“Quion, look!”
His breath hissed and stopped.
It was a snow leopard. The fur was silver and shone like moonlight in the approaching dusk. The long spotted tail swished as it approached their tree. When it arrived, it stretched its neck up to look at them.
“It’s her,” Quion whispered in awe. “She found us.”
“She’s glowing,” Bingmei said, her heart worrying. Quion smelled like savory fish. His fear had vanished immediately upon seeing it.
“I know it’s her,” Quion said. “And the siskin came back too. Come on. Let’s go down.”
“It could attack us,” Bingmei said worriedly.
“She won’t. She drove off the lions, even though they’re bigger. I’m going down.”
“Don’t be hasty,” she said, seizing his arm.
“I’m not, Bingmei. I know that leopard. It’s her.”
She was incredulous at first. Quion had lost his “pet” after he’d left Sihui to join the other members of their ensign in a rescue mission to find Bingmei. “How did it get over the Death Wall?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. Come on.” She let him go, still anxious about the animal’s otherworldly appearance. As Quion climbed down the tree, one branch at a time, the leopard seemed to get excited. But was it excited to see an old friend or to get an easy meal?
“Quion,” she warned.
“It’s all right, Bingmei,” he called, nearly to the bottom now.
She bit her lip, watching with dread as he dropped down the final distance. He knelt by the snow leopard and ruffled its fur with his hand.
It licked his face.
Bingmei couldn’t believe it. She rubbed the meiwood cricket and jumped down, landing in a low stance so she could jump into the air again if the beast lunged at her. The snow leopard gave her a lazy look. She did not understand why it was glowing, but she saw Quion’s hand in its fur and could tell it was a living thing, not some apparition.
Looking around, she saw the lions had gathered on the other side of the pond, fearful.
“I’m glad you found us, girl,” Quion said, speaking to the leopard. He smelled giddy and content.
Bingmei slowly stood and approached the beast. Quion gave her a reassuring smile. She reached out tentatively, and the snow leopard growled low in its chest.
“Oh, don’t be sassy,” Quion said, giving it a playful cuff.
Bingmei had never really cared for the snow leopard, and apparently the feeling was mutual. She’d injured it once, when it had approached them outside of Kunmia’s quonsuun, and Quion had fed it some fish. He’d shared a strange bond with the beast ever since.
Bingmei hoped it wouldn’t continue to glow and attract attention to them, but she realized that whatever had caused it to glow had frightened the much larger lions. For that, she was grateful.
“I think the mountains are that way,” Quion said, rising and pointing.
“I can find them even in the dark,” she said. “Let’s go.”
Quion nodded but then stopped and picked up a piece of the branch that had cracked off the meiwood tree. “I’ll take this with us and carve it,” he said. He gave her a knowing look. “You’re going to need a new staff.”
CHAPTER THREE
Forgotten Memories
They walked all night. There was no path or trail leading to the gorge, but it didn’t matter. They were used to journeying in the rugged countryside. Beyond the grove, they found themselves once again in a deep meadow crisscrossed with rivers. The silver light of the leopard had faded as soon as they left the meiwood trees, and the beast walked alongside Quion, away from Bingmei.
In the solitude and quiet, her mind wandered to Rowen. Had he survived? He’d once used the connection they shared to find her at the ice caves. She could likely use it to discover his fate, but the prospect terrified her. What if the connection was gone? Would it mean he was dead?
Sucking in a breath, she turned her head up to the stars overhead, closed her eyes, and reached for the connection. Relief flooded her when she found it—an invisible thread tying her to another. And she knew deep inside that Rowen was still alive.
Although she could not communicate with him, she knew how to find him. The thread would guide her. She sighed, wishing she could see him one more time. Wishing she had allowed herself to be more open with him. But King Shulian’s prophecy for her had spoken only of sorrow, not of love. And yes, a sword shall pierce through your own soul also. That the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.
She knew what that meant: this journey would end in her death.
Opening her eyes, she sighed and continued onward. The sidelong look Quion gave her indicated he’d noticed that she’d stopped, but he didn’t say anything.
At dawn, they set up camp by one of the streams, and in short order, the young fisherman had caught their breakfast, including extra fish for his cat. They ate the fish raw, fearing they might draw attention from the skies with smoke, but Quion added some spices to the jiggling pieces, which made them more palatable. Bingmei chewed the raw fish, feeling her stomach gurgle at the sight of the leopard devouring its meal. Quion squatted nearby, eating his own meal in sile
nce.
The valley they were in had been formed by glaciers, the stone containing a multitude of colors. It reminded her of the vision the phoenix had given her. The mazelike canyon they were about to enter had also been carved by time and weather. Her thoughts were on the phoenix and the path ahead when she smelled a sudden surge of fear from her friend.
“I think that’s a bear,” Quion said softly, his voice trembling.
She whipped her head around and saw the massive beast lumbering in the waters, heading their way. It was larger than any crook-backed brown bear she’d seen before. Its fur was a grayish white, and it had a ridge of small bony horns protruding from its brow. The claws were bigger than daggers.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bingmei suggested, feeling her own stomach clench with mirrored dread. They abandoned the scraps and quickly fled into the brush, staying low to the ground.
Once they’d concealed themselves, they peered around the edge of a boulder and watched the gray bear approach their camp. It stopped to sniff the remains of their meal. Then, in an almost bored fashion, it lumbered away, continuing through the river, which hardly covered it. Its noisy splashing eventually receded, and they breathed easier.
The sky held thin wisps of clouds, and the morning sunlight colored the rippled edges of the valley walls. It was truly a beautiful scene, a marked contrast to the dangers they faced.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m tired. What about you?”
“I could use a little nap. Maybe we should rest until midday?”
“Good enough.”
They found some shelter from the sun in a stand of aspen. The thin white trunks were wide enough apart to give them plenty of room to lie down, the green leaves provided cover from any dragons flying above, and the tall grass made for a comfortable bedroll. They were both so exhausted that neither stayed watch, trusting that the snow leopard would alert them should any predators come.
Bingmei awakened to the sound of lightly scraping wood. Quion was seated a little ways off from her, whittling the meiwood branch they’d taken from the grove. His head was bent in concentration, and she watched as he made smooth, patient strokes with the knife, spraying the ground with little flecks of bark. The leopard sat beside him on its haunches, watching.