by Jeff Wheeler
“Be careful,” she said again, touching his arm. She was confident in her ability to leap with the cricket. For Quion, it was still very new.
“I’ll get it,” he said confidently. Then he breathed in quickly and slapped his head. “I forgot to have you tie a rope to my pack!”
It was still down at the base of the column.
“It won’t walk away,” she told him. “We have to keep moving.”
He pursed his lips in disappointment—he’d carried that pack everywhere, from Sajinau to Sihui and all the way back to Fusang—but he nodded. Rubbing his hands together, he glanced up again. Then he untied the rope from the tree and coiled it around his arm, leaving plenty of slack, and prepared to jump. With a quick touch to the cricket, he bounded up to the next tree. She held her breath until he made it there, then he pulled her up.
The rope was still attached to her waist, so she maneuvered to the edge of the tree. Looking down, she saw the tops of the trees far below and felt herself grow a little dizzy. Carefully and cautiously, they made their way up to the highest foothold that could hold both of them at the same time. Her muscles ached with the strain of the climb.
“There’s not much of a ledge here,” he said. “And that final group of trees is difficult to see from here. I think I’m going to try and climb that crack.”
“Quion, no,” she said.
“It’s wide enough. I think I can shimmy my way up. Once I get to that tree, I’ll throw the rope down to you.”
She didn’t like the idea. Not one bit. “It’s too high. You’ll get tired.”
“I’m already tired, Bingmei. That climb will give me a chance to use my legs more. I think it’ll work.”
He knew his own strength better than she did. But it still made her worry. A breeze tickled the back of her neck.
Quion faced the mountain with a stern look and stuck his foot in the crack. He used his arms and wedged the rest of himself into the fissure. She watched him climb, taking in his look of determination, letting herself feel reassured by it. He grunted and pushed until he was halfway up the crevice.
It was then she sensed a dragon coming toward them from the distance. What made the sensation stand out to her amidst the sea of dragons that surrounded them was a separate feeling. A tug, a binding, a shared thread connecting two hearts.
Rowen was coming. With a dragon.
And the dragon was Echion.
Her heart filled with dread. She remembered when Echion had flown, holding her in his monstrous claws, from Sihui to a lone mountain peak and on to Fusang.
Although she’d been correct about Rowen—he was alive—he’d been captured, and Echion was now bringing him to the phoenix shrine.
The sun was falling fast. They were still trapped on the edge of the pillar.
A feeling of warning came into her heart—a message from Rowen. She was running out of time. If she didn’t reach the tomb of the phoenix soon, all was lost.
“Quion,” she called up to him.
He was in an awkward pose, knees and back pressing against the cleft. “What?”
“Echion is coming,” she told him.
“I’m almost there,” he grunted, trying to move faster. But she could see his strength was failing him.
“Throw me the cricket,” she said. “I’ll leap up and tie off the rope so you can climb up. But I have to get to the shrine before he arrives.”
“Bingmei, I can do this!”
“He’s flying, Quion. We don’t have time. Throw down the cricket.”
“I wanted to be there,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to be there for you when you died. So you weren’t alone.”
“I won’t be alone, Quion,” she said. “Others are waiting for me in the Grave Kingdom. I know they are. Please. It’s time. Throw it down to me.”
He looked up at the sky and nodded. In his cramped position, he reached into his pocket and produced the cricket. Then, gazing down at her, he let it fall.
She saw the blur of wood plummeting toward her, and for a second she thought she would miss. At the last moment, however, she snatched it from the air.
Rowen was getting closer, and so was the dragon. She could feel Echion soaring across the broken valley, trying to reach the top of the single pillar before she did. She’d wondered why that column of rock hadn’t been swarmed with dragons before. Had some magic concealed its location from everyone but her? If so, it seemed the shield had failed or fallen now that she and Quion had arrived. Echion clearly knew where to find them.
Bingmei rubbed the cricket and felt its magic jolt through her legs. With a flex of her muscles, she soared up the remaining distance, landing atop the small fissure Quion was climbing. The jump had ripped open some of the sutures. Pain and dizziness made her totter.
From the top of the pillar, she could see the valley in every direction. And she saw the skies teeming with dragons. Several saw her now, and shrieks emerged from their massive throats.
Hurry.
The crown of the pillar was congested with trees, but she saw the little shrine nestled amidst them. With another jump, she landed near it. Quickly, she untied the rope still around her, feeling blood and sweat trickle down her ribs. She managed to tie off the end around the trunk of a small but sturdy tree before her legs gave out.
She caught herself on her palms. Lifting her head, she saw the gloomy entrance to the shrine. The little siskin stood on the roof of the shrine, beckoning to her urgently with its little trills.
The sun had set. Shadows thickened all around her. Rowen’s warning echoed through her mind, twining with the bird’s calls. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.
The sounds of frenzied anger filled the skies. The dragons were rushing to stop her, plummeting from the windy heights. Coming for her.
Bingmei’s back felt as if it were on fire again. Her lips were as dry as desert sand. Her body was dying. Each drop of blood and sweat brought her closer to the brink. And yet, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled forward toward the shrine she’d first seen in a vision. Fear surged inside her, fear that she wouldn’t make it. That the few steps remaining between her and the shrine would be too much, that her soul would slip out of her body all on its own. It took every bit of will she could muster to prevent it.
She collided with the edge of the doorway, and the pain in her shoulder nearly undid her. The rustling of leathery wings sounded just overhead. His smell engulfed her—the stench of countless murders. It was the kind of smell that struck hopelessness in the bravest of hearts, yet within it was another smell. Rowen’s scent of freshly baked bread.
Twilight had come. She stared at the sarcophagus in the middle of the shrine. The stone lid was open, facing her, and she saw the intricate carving of a woman in repose, eyes closed, as if she had been murdered by the killing fog. One hand was folded over her heart, a rendition of the Phoenix Blade within its grasp. It was the same style of armor she’d seen in her vision. This was the tomb of the empress.
Trees snapped and crashed as the smoke dragon reached the top of the mountainous pillar, loosing Rowen from its monstrous claws. Through the open doorway, she saw its burning yellow eyes fix on her hungrily. More dragons landed all around it, hissing and furious. They smelled ancient and terrible, the sour musk of reptiles.
Bingmei shoved away from the door and stumbled toward the stone tomb.
The black dragon opened its massive jaws and let out an earsplitting shriek that deafened her.
Bingmei slumped as she reached the edge of the tomb. It was empty. It was waiting for her.
Now, Bingmei! Now! she heard Rowen scream inside her mind.
She pitched over into the black maw and felt the rough stone of the tomb embrace her. She stretched out, lying down on her back, and heard the thud of armored boots approach. Echion drew near with a meiwood spear in hand. His face was terrible, and she smelled his intent to murder her.
She breathed in one final breath, wishing she could have seen Rowen fac
e-to-face one more time before she died. But she felt their connection, so strong and powerful now that she’d accepted it. Tears stung her eyes as the feelings of love swelled inside her. It felt like she loved the entire world. The feeling grew and grew, multiplying as her heart expanded. The wetness of her tears caressed the sides of her face. In her mind she thought of everyone who had helped her. Of Quion’s unswerving faithfulness. Marenqo and Mieshi. Of Jiaohua and the sacrifice he’d made for her. She thought of Prince Juexin kneeling before Echion, lowering his head to the blade. Of Jidi Majia and so many others.
And then she smelled it, the cinnamon-porridge smell of love from her mother.
Now! Rowen begged.
She saw Echion standing over the crypt, eyes flashing with murder as he raised the spear.
She closed her eyes. I love you, she whispered to Rowen in her mind.
And then she died.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cry of the Phoenix
Bingmei slipped out of her body, shedding it like an unneeded skin. As her soul began to lift away, she gazed into Echion’s blazing eyes, taking in his contorted mouth and the dark flames of hatred seething in his countenance.
She felt strangely calm. Although she’d seen the souls of the dead being pulled toward the Grave Kingdom, she felt no otherworldly current.
In a fit of terrible rage, Echion lifted the spear higher, gripping it with both hands. Flares of magic erupted down its meiwood shaft, and the sigils carved into the meiwood glowed. He thrust the spearhead toward her chest. He looked at her floating soul as he did this, one final act of revenge and desecration. He would mutilate her body.
As the spearhead plunged toward the tomb, she felt a thrum of power come from inside the crypt. White light exploded from it, propelling Echion out of the shrine as surely as if he’d been tossed by a giant. The light was brighter than the sun, robbing the night of darkness for just a moment, but it did not hurt Bingmei’s eyes. She felt no pain.
A piercing cry came from the sky above, and in her ghost form, she stepped away from the sarcophagus, leaving her body behind. Although she didn’t understand why, she still felt connected to it. They were tethered in some way.
As she stepped outside, she saw Echion rise to his feet. Rowen was on his knees, wrists bound with leather straps. He did not look wounded, although his eyes stared at the ground. With the dusk, she could barely see his face, but she felt him.
Rowen.
His head jerked up, and a smile of triumph brightened his face. She smelled his love, his pride in her. The smell was even stronger now, mixed with the relief that she’d succeeded. His eyes were cloudy, like milk spilled into soup.
Echion looked up, and his face transformed into terror. It was the first time she’d seen him look afraid. A piercing cry rent the air again, and when Bingmei looked up, she saw the sky was teeming with giant birds attacking the dragons. But the largest bird, the one whose plumage was the most colorful and lush, let out another piercing scream and swept down toward them, its huge wings spread wide.
Echion transformed into the dragon, whirling black smoke exuding from his scales. His yellowish eyes fixed on the creature diving toward him from above. Rowen struggled to rise and toppled over. Bingmei went to help him, but her hands passed through him.
With a fearsome roar, the dragon launched up from the stone pillar, flapping its massive leathery wings. It attacked the phoenix before it could reach him, and the two clashed with wings and claws.
Rowen pushed himself up on his wrists and crawled toward the shrine. His bound hands reached forward, groping for the tomb. Only, he’d turned in slightly the wrong direction. He was close to the edge of the cliff.
Rowen, no!
“Guide me,” he panted. “Where is your body?”
Follow my voice.
The way his head instantly angled toward her assured her that she had been heard. She glanced up at the sky, at the vicious fight between the dragon and the phoenix and their followers. Cries and roars and the clash of heavy, armored bodies filled the air.
Bingmei turned from it and retreated back to the shrine.
This way.
Rowen followed her voice and bumped into the side of the stone wall. She felt pain for him, worry about what he was going through. She wanted to know how he’d been captured, what had happened to him these past days.
Grunting in pain and surprise, he felt for the edge of the doorway and tumbled inside. With his hands bound in front of him, he couldn’t use both arms.
It’s right before you. What are you doing?
He pulled himself up on the edge of the tomb. Reaching inside, he found her face and cupped her cheek. It felt as if he’d touched her ghost form too, proof that she was still connected to her body. In her mind, she heard Echion scream, Xisi! Come! It will take both of us to defeat her!
She glanced up, watching the two mythical beasts attack and claw at each other, but her attention was drawn back to Rowen.
He found her waterskin, still strapped to her waist, and used it to splash water on his hands. Some must have splattered her physical clothes, for she could feel dampness.
Rowen knelt at the edge of the sarcophagus and, lifting a finger, began to trace a glyph on its wall. She watched the wet marks linger on the stone as he moved his hand swiftly. A few drops of water fell.
Rowen!
“Goodbye, Bingmei,” he said as he drew the lines. “Goodbye, my love. Nothing can break the bond between us. Not even death.” As he finished the last mark of the glyph, he rose and backed away from the sarcophagus, smelling relieved that he had accomplished it.
And then she felt it. The tugging sensation she’d always felt when leaving her body, only this time it wasn’t a breeze but a storm, carrying her away from him, away from her body, away from everything living. She caught a glimpse of Quion cowering within a crag, hiding amidst a sea of dragons.
The colors of the Woliu suddenly exploded in the night sky, brighter and brighter as she hurtled toward them. A roar of rage ripped through the air. She watched as the dragon Echion opened its massive jaws and belched out a plume of blackness aimed at her. Darkness engulfed the sky and the land, but this time she saw through it. She watched as a pale-scaled dragon rushed into the fray, shrieking with anger.
It struck her then that the phoenix fighting Echion had disappeared. They all had.
The Woliu embraced Bingmei’s spirit, cradling her in dazzling hues of orange, purple, yellow, and gold. She could still feel the phoenix tomb, could still sense Rowen, but they both felt distant now, as if they were on another world. Still, the strands connecting her to them—to Rowen and her body—were powerful, and she suspected she could make it back to them eventually.
The radiance of the Woliu dissolved, making her aware that she was flying over the vast cityscape of the Grave Kingdom. From her perspective, it seemed without boundary, one colossal maze as wide as the world. The sensation of flying felt strangely familiar. It felt . . . right. She glided down toward the land, which was when she saw the enormous replica of the Death Wall stretched beneath her. Or maybe the one from her world was the replica. On one side of the wall, she saw a gloomy city shrouded in darkness, as if the land were perpetually in the season of the Dragon of Night, when night stretched longer than day. She’d walked those teeming streets filled with lost and lonely souls. She’d felt the hopelessness of their situation. Which was why she was shocked by what she saw on the other side of the wall—a glorious realm of parks, fountains, groves of trees, and celestial palaces made of stone that shone like the moon.
Did any of the lost, lonely souls know how close they were to the wall?
Did any of them know what lay beyond it?
The magic carried her near the wall, close enough that she saw the soldiers walking atop it, armed with bows sheathed in gold. Wings sprouted from the armor on their backs, and each of them carried a quiver of meiwood arrows with delicate, colorful plumes. She wasn’t certain how she knew this,
but the knowledge sprang into her mind.
As she flew toward the wall, the sentries lifted their bows. Not to shoot at her, but to wave. She saw smiles on their faces, the sentries all cheering and shaking their bows as she flew overhead. Each of them, she noticed, had a suit of armor that bore the design of the phoenix.
She crossed the Death Wall to the side that was bright, as if the land were perpetually in the season of the Dragon of Dawn. The chirp of siskins met her ears, and a myriad of the colorful birds lifted up from the trees to greet her, surrounding her as she lowered to the ground. When her feet touched down on the pavement of a road leading from the wall into the woods, the birds finally calmed and returned to their perches. She’d never seen such trees before—they had thick trunks and limbs, long crooked branches, and shapely leaves.
In the distance, looming at the end of the path through the trees, sat a palace even more resplendent than Fusang. It seemed to glow with the light of the Woliu, and the same tugging sensation that had drawn her toward the lights compelled her toward the palace.
She looked back and stared up at the Death Wall. This structure stood taller than the one in the mortal world, and it didn’t show the ravages of time and neglect. Directly behind her, there was a gate with two massive red doors, tall enough to fit a dragon. The doors were embedded with golden knobs and huge, ornate handles shaped like lion heads. The top of the doorway was a stone arch covered in intricate carvings. The images of various animals and dragons and phoenixes seemed to be telling a story. She was drawn to the doors out of curiosity, although she still felt the tug toward the palace.
Her journey lay ahead, not behind, and she sensed a rune in place there, keeping the door closed. From what she could tell, it was impenetrable.
Turning back, she was startled to see a man approaching her down the smooth paved road separating the woods. A faint breeze rustled the branches of the trees. It struck her then that every sensation felt balanced and proper. She was neither hot nor cold. Nor did she hunger or thirst. The cravings of her mortal body were gone. All except one. The desire for connection, to know someone and be known by them. To be part of something larger than herself. She ached to see her family.