by Jeff Wheeler
As the man approached her, something about him seemed familiar. She started to walk toward him to hasten their meeting. Was it Grandfather Jiao? Her father?
But as he came nearer, she realized it was someone else. When she had last seen this man alive, he had knelt before Echion and exposed his neck, offering his life on behalf of his brother.
She stared at him in surprise and recognition as he came fully into view.
“Prince Juexin,” she said, dropping to her knee in respect.
Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
—Dawanjir proverb
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cry of Mercy
As she knelt, awaiting his approach, his scent blossomed around her, like the bulb of a flower opening to the touch of the sun. Only it wasn’t a flowery smell at all. It was the smell of unspeakable grief at the loss and desolation of his people, the kingdom of Sajinau. Grief had a variety of smells, but they were always sharp, like fresh-cut onions. Beneath his mourning for his people, she smelled the pungent earthiness of blame—and it was directed at one person. Her.
Her heart panged with dread and misery, and she found herself weeping, although no tears came from her eyes. She lacked the human ability to shed tears. These were such strange and powerful sensations, especially for one who had spent her life avoiding feelings. She wanted to cry, but lacked the relief that tears brought; she felt agony pierce her heart, but no heart beat in her chest.
There was also no way to lay the feelings to rest, she realized. She was hostage to them.
“I’m sorry,” she lamented. “I failed you and your people in Sajinau. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, clutching her hands together, head bowed, feeling the awfulness of the situation and her powerlessness to escape it. It felt as if she were being pulled apart, her very essence shredded by a vast force she didn’t understand.
Would she have to smell such feelings forever?
“Bingmei,” said Juexin. “You cannot bring back the dead. The lives of thousands were snuffed out through no fault of their own. Now, they languish on the other side of the Death Wall. Trapped in their own torment. Unable to find their families.”
His words only heightened her pain. Had she not felt the truth of his words? She remembered the mother looking for her lost daughter. That woman was only one of thousands.
She prostrated herself before his feet.
“Forgive me,” she begged, tortured by his presence. He had given up his life to save the man she loved—a rebellious younger brother who hadn’t deserved the sacrifice. She felt unworthy to kneel at Juexin’s feet, yet it was all she could do.
She felt the whisper of a touch on her shoulder, as if the wind had reached out a hand to her. A feeling of loss joined the others swirling inside her—she missed her human body.
“Bingmei. I do forgive you.”
And then, miraculously, the terrible stench that had shaken her to her core was lifted in an instant, drawn back into a flower bud until only the fragrance of a winter rose was left.
She felt like laughing in relief, but laughter was a boon reserved for the living. Surprise and wonder filled her. She looked up, gazing at Juexin to judge the truth of his words. An aura of gold trailed around his face. He smiled at her with a look of forgiveness and peace.
“I’m sorry you had to experience it yourself,” he said. “I would have spared you the torment, but the phoenix insisted you endure the full weight of it for a moment. There is no other teacher so powerful as our own experience. Know that I forgave you before you came here. Stand, Bingmei. We have much to discuss on our way to Fusang.”
She rose at his words, but confusion clubbed her stomach. “Fusang? Why are we going there?”
“It is different here, Bingmei,” Juexin said, smiling. “The palace of Fusang was built as a similitude of the palace found here in Tian. But the phoenix still rules in this Fusang. The palace in Tianxia, the mortal world, was conquered by Echion.”
She heard the trilling of birds from the trees nearby.
“Come, Bingmei. You have many questions, I am sure. I will answer them, if I can, along the journey.”
“I will come,” she said. “I wish I had come sooner.”
“It is in our nature to cling to our second soul,” he said. “I understand why you did what you did. I understand you much better now that I have been taught the way of the phoenix. Come, let us journey together.”
They ventured down the strange path through the woods. The ambient glow overhead banished all shadows. She felt the breeze as it caressed the trees, but it didn’t chill her. She kept expecting mortal sensations, and their absence was discomfiting.
“What questions do you have, Bingmei?” Juexin asked after a moment.
“Is my mother here? My parents? Will I see them?”
“No, they are trapped on the other side of the Death Wall. It was once called Diyu, though Echion has named it the Grave Kingdom. But his power cannot reach across the wall. That is why he tried to stop you from making your sacrifice. Had you died any other way, you would have found yourself trapped like the rest of them.”
She looked at him, trying to understand. “You came here . . . because of your sacrifice?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Even though my spirit-soul was snatched by Echion, it was rescued by the phoenix because of what I did. The same happened to Kunmia Suun, Muxidi, and Damanhur. And like my father, Kunmia chose to cross the Death Wall again to bring hope that you were coming. Echion cannot see what happens here. He is blinded by darkness, just like the souls he has imprisoned. They cannot see us, but we can see them.”
One of the birds, a siskin, swooped down in front of them, chirping brightly. Its coloring reminded her of the siskin she’d seen again and again in her journey to the shrine. It seemed more real than the trees from which it came.
“I have another question,” she said.
“Ask as many as you like.”
“I’ve always heard that each person has two souls. Yet I’ve seen many people die, and only one soul departs from the body. There’s only one of me here, talking to you, yet I still feel like my full self. I still have emotions. I have memories.”
“Your memories will fade the longer you’ve been dead,” he said. “I learned more in three days in Tian than I did during my whole life in Tianxia. Echion has deliberately concealed knowledge from our people in order to increase his power. That’s why the meaning of the runes has been kept secret. That’s why no one knows which stories are myth and which are true. He’s stolen from us.” He glanced into her eyes, pausing his steps for a moment. “Every person has two souls, Bingmei. The spirit-soul and the body-soul. Together, combined, they make a person. When our two halves are separated, we yearn to be whole again. It is Echion’s goal to keep the souls in the Grave Kingdom separate and unfulfilled until the Reckoning, to lock them within his dominion and prevent them from finding the redemption he is denied. He does not want others to achieve immortality as he did. He jealously guards the secrets of the Immortal Words.”
“And what are those?” she pressed.
“Most of them can only be used by those who have bonded with a phoenix or dragon, although meiwood has a power that spans the worlds. There are many words, and each has a different power. Some are powerful enough to reunite the spirit-soul and the body-soul. The words you used to bring Echion and Xisi back, for example.”
“I don’t know them,” Bingmei said.
He gave her a quizzical look.
“I mean, I drew them, with my finger. But I didn’t know what I was doing. I was compelled.”
“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” he said, shaking his head. “But you will. This is difficult to explain, but time flows like a river. During our existence, we stand in the current, walking upstream. The water that touches us comes from the future, not the past.”
She looked at him curiously. “But I saw a vision of the
phoenix dying. That was in the past. And I also had another vision of the creation of the Death Wall.”
“Yes, those visions were of the past, but not of your past. They were shared with you, at great difficulty, by the spirit of one of the other phoenix-chosen so that you might better understand the dragon. The other visions you’ve experienced were all from your future, Bingmei. Rowen began to understand this. Although he was blind in his visions of the future, he knew he was himself. And, with time, he realized you were the woman he had felt. Like you, he longed to escape his future at first. He wrestled against it for a season. But he came to accept it because he fell in love with you. The phoenix started to teach him because it sensed he was more open to his destiny.”
Juexin’s revelation shocked her. Never once had she suspected her visions were of the future. Although she could still feel a thread connecting her to her body, and an equally strong one connecting her to Rowen, she’d thought she was dead for good. That her body would either stay dead or serve as some sort of vessel for the phoenix.
Could she have a future in the mortal world? With Rowen?
“But I don’t understand,” she said. “I’m dead, Juexin. I gave up my life. Isn’t that what was expected of me?”
He shook his head slowly, and she smelled a gust of sympathy from him. “You needed to die, Bingmei, in order to come to Tian. It had to be done willingly, or you would have ended up in Diyu as one of Echion’s many slaves. The only place you could learn about your destiny is here. Rowen would not speak of his visions with you for fear of spoiling your natural love. Your future lies back in Tianxia. Your work there is not yet finished.”
That news astounded her. “I’ve believed a lie? Is that what you are saying?”
“The phoenix does not lie. The creature is incapable of doing so. No, it was something that could not be explained to you until you experienced it for yourself.” Silence hung between them for a moment, seasoned only by the music of the siskins.
“The times when I’ve felt the magic overwhelm me,” she said as they continued down the beautiful garden path, “were the times when I . . . was helping others. When we escaped after reviving Echion. After the ensign rescued me in Fusang. The magic aided me then. But when I tried to use it for myself, it never came.”
“It is in opposition to the magic that Echion wields,” Juexin said. “A magic he’s cursed so it serves only him and those he permits to use it. He cannot give it up. He cannot let go of it. So he hoards it. Even if he could go back, he would do it all again. There is no remorse in his heart. Only anger and pride.”
“The word ‘pride’ doesn’t begin to do it justice,” she said, again feeling the urge to laugh but not having the ability to do so. Her voice rose slightly, but that was all. How strange it felt.
“Ah, there’s a word. Justice,” Juexin said, looking satisfied. His smell had been so pleasant during their walk, full of comfort and ease, but upon saying that word, it took on a little burnt flavor. The scent of charring meat. “The dragon is meant to embody justice. The symbols you saw when you visited the Grave Kingdom were not put there by Echion. Diyu is intended to be a place of torment, of anguish, of despair, where souls suffer for actions they have committed. They suffer for how they have treated others. When a thief steals from a vendor in Wangfujing and isn’t caught, he feels glee that he has acquired something for nothing by his trickery. But in Diyu, he begins to experience the consequences of what his actions have caused others to feel. He experiences their anger and resentment against him. But that is not all. The criminal also feels the despair of the wronged merchant who works hard to feed his family. He feels the hunger of those he has robbed of food. As his body decomposes in Tianxia, his memory fades of what he’s done, but not the feelings. Ultimately, there will be the Reckoning. When the spirit-soul and the body-soul are reunited again, fused together eternally by the Immortal Words, and then the memories will be bound together with the feelings. Forever. That is the suffering of those in Diyu, who otherwise would never have a chance at redemption from their faults. The phoenix wishes to grant them mercy. But Echion intends to trap them in Diyu until the Reckoning, which he would hold off forever if he could.”
As he spoke, Bingmei understood what he was saying because she had experienced it her entire life. She knew the cost of greed and dishonesty, for she’d always been able to smell them.
He gave her a shrewd look. “From what I understand, it is a form of suffering with which you are acutely familiar. And it will be their curse unless . . . unless . . .” He paused, smiling at her. “Unless there is mercy. The other ideal. Echion has weighted the balance scales toward justice and, in so doing, made a mockery of it. He seeks to delay the Reckoning because he knows he will have to answer for his actions as much as anyone else who has ever cheated or lied or taken advantage of someone else because of selfishness, hatred, or disdain. But, as you have learned, it is possible to be released from that torment.”
“Because of mercy,” Bingmei said.
“Yes. You showed Muxidi mercy, and I showed it to you when I greeted you here in Tian. You needed to experience for yourself the gift that you will be bringing to the world.”
“I think I’m beginning to understand,” Bingmei said. The words resonated inside her. She felt peace and confidence. She also felt a determination to succeed. “I must defeat Echion,” she said. “I must restore the balance . . . but how? Didn’t you say my future is on Tianxia?”
He stopped, his look becoming somber and earnest, as if he were about to share a truth even weightier than all those he’d given to her thus far. “Bingmei. It is not your life that you must sacrifice. You are to be the mother of the phoenix reborn. That is the meaning of the prophecy my father shared with you in the Hall of Unity. Do you remember what he said? ‘This child is set for the fall and rise of many kingdoms. For a sign of dawn, which shall be spoken again. And yes, a sword shall pierce through your own soul also. That the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.’ It was about your child, Bingmei. The child that you and Rowen will conceive as husband and wife.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sacrifice
Bingmei stopped where she was, dropping to her knees as she struggled to understand the implications of what Juexin had just told her. Her feelings were like the sea during a vicious storm, tumbling her this way and that.
A child.
It was the very last thing she’d expected to hear. She’d been ready to fight. To sacrifice herself—again and again if need be. She was a warrior. Fighting was the only thing she knew. The thought of a baby growing inside her was revolting, and the thought of protecting a helpless newborn terrified her.
The urge to weep came strongly, but she had no way of doing so. There was no muscle, no tears, nothing to enable it. But the feelings strangled her all the same.
“Bingmei,” Juexin said in a gentle tone.
She lifted her head, looking up at him. Words simply wouldn’t come.
“I know this is new. Unexpected.”
She stared at him. Those words were insufficient.
“This is what you were chosen for.”
“Do I . . . do I have a choice?” Bingmei finally managed.
“No true sacrifice can be forced. It must always come from your taidu. An offering from your heart.”
“I know nothing about being a mother,” Bingmei said in desperation.
“You, more than anyone else, understand it. Because of your gift. You can smell emotions, Bingmei. What does a mother’s love smell like?”
She looked down, putting her face in her cupped hands, but the smell of cinnamon porridge was never far from her memory. Her mother used to make that dish for her some mornings when they were alone together. The smell had always been accompanied by a look of tenderness in her mother’s eyes. Even though Bingmei looked different from other children, her mother’s smell had never once contained a hint of disgust or remorse. It was a smell that meant she was cherished. That motheri
ng smell was the best smell Bingmei had ever experienced.
She lowered her hands to her lap, still shocked and in a state of disbelief. “He said . . . he said a sword would pierce my soul. I had assumed it meant Echion would kill me with the Phoenix Blade.”
“Sorrow is another form of death,” Juexin said. “I never had the chance to become a parent. But I loved my father, and I felt his deep love for me. I want to see him again, Bingmei. I want to see my mother. But they are trapped inside the Grave Kingdom.”
She looked at him in confusion. “Your father sacrificed his life to save mine. Why didn’t he come here?”
“He did,” Juexin said. “But he could not bear to remain here without my mother. He is wandering the maze streets of the Grave Kingdom, even though he knows he cannot possibly find her. He went there to tell the people that the phoenix will be reborn, that death will finally be conquered. He believed in you, Bingmei. He believes in you still.”
“I don’t believe in myself,” she said bitterly. “I’ve trained all my life to be a warrior.”
“Yes,” said Juexin, nodding. “And so you must be. You must train your child to defeat the greatest evil this world has ever known. The child’s role will require unimaginable courage. And so will yours. It is you who will instill that courage. It is you who will nurture it. Why did you come here, Bingmei? Why did you seek out the phoenix shrine?”
She did not need to breathe, nor could she, yet there was still a sensation of sighing. “I wanted to stop Echion. I’ve seen the way he’s poisoned our world,” Bingmei said. Her heart still ached, but she was beginning to imagine a different future from what she had expected. “He cares nothing for the lives of the people. We are ants to him. Worms. He hoards the magic of the meiwood grove for himself, and he’s cursed the wood so he controls it.”