by Jeff Wheeler
The phoenix didn’t respond this time. It horrified her to think of more violence, more death. She covered her face, stifling her sobs, and waited for the aching to subside. When it finally did, she reached into the darkness and placed her palms on the lid of the sarcophagus. She didn’t know how it had gotten there. Echion had stood over her, ready to drive his spear into her dead heart in a final act of revenge. Perhaps Quion had set it in place? She pushed against the stone and felt its heaviness. Her arms were weak from lack of food. It gave her a light-headed feeling.
She pushed again, frowning as she did so, and the stone began to budge. The grinding sound of rock against rock filled the interior of the crypt.
When she felt she could push no more, the lid was pulled away, and the smell of fish rushed into the void, along with the bright light of day.
The lid tumbled to the ground, and Quion stood there, hands planted against the rim, his eyes wide with shock. She smelled his astonishment, which had the scent of rosemary, mingled with the fish.
“You’re . . . you’re alive again!” he gasped. “Your hair. It’s white again.”
Bingmei tried to sit up and felt the weakness overpower her again. She hadn’t eaten in days. Well, her body hadn’t. She slumped back down, catching herself on her elbow. Quion was right, the hair she saw against her shoulder was white once more.
“Bingmei,” Quion whispered in awe. “I thought . . . I had a feeling you might wake up. Your body still felt so warm. I knew it might take a long time, maybe even a hundred years, but I hoped not.”
“Why did you stay, then?” she asked, feeling so grateful not to be alone.
“When I looked at you,” he said. “It felt like you were just sleeping. I don’t know . . . I just couldn’t leave you.” He stared at her with relief in his eyes. “It felt wrong to go.”
“Help me up,” she said, extending her hand to him.
He gripped it and helped pull her up to a sitting position. The dizziness grew worse. She tried to leverage herself to her feet, but the dizziness made her want to vomit. Instead, she rested a few moments, trying to gather her strength. She wondered what it felt like for Echion when he reclaimed his corpse after a long sleep.
Noticing her failed attempt to rise, Quion scooped her up in his arms and lifted her out. She felt she was as light as a bird herself, that even her bones had been hollowed out.
“Are you thirsty? What can I get for you?” he asked.
A drink sounded heavenly. And so did some food, so she asked for both. He left her propped against the edge of the empty sarcophagus. She gripped the rim with her fingers, trying to steady herself, as she took in how the shrine had changed. Quion had spread out his bedroll there next to the sarcophagus and set up a little camp as he had in the woods outside Sihui. He had a little pot suspended over black stubs of charcoal, and both of their packs were nestled in the corner. He went to his and withdrew some strips of meat and his flask of water.
As he fetched those things, she remembered the glyph she’d felt on her way back to the shrine, but she could no longer feel it. During Echion’s attack at the shrine, she remembered that Rowen had drawn a glyph on the edge of the sarcophagus where she lay dead, as she had done at the dragon’s tomb. What had he drawn, and why?
She thought the phoenix might answer her silent query, but nothing came.
Will you tell me what Rowen did? What glyph did he draw?
She felt the feathery brush of thoughts in her mind. Rowen drew the reviving glyph on the wall of the sarcophagus. Similar to the one you drew on Echion and Xisi’s tombs. He added a time rune as well, one that would delay the action.
Bingmei nodded to herself. How did he learn it?
The same way you knew how to draw it. He’s been more . . . pliable than you.
Quion returned with the food and water, and Bingmei ate hungrily from the strips of dried meat, enjoying the taste. As she chewed, the sadness she’d felt in the sarcophagus weighed on her again. The thought of so many dying was unbearable to her.
She saw Quion’s look of concern. He nibbled some meat himself. Then he said, “Why are you sad?”
Of all the questions he could have asked. It made her smile.
“I’ve not been sleeping, Quion,” she said, looking at him. “I’ve had a journey so strange and unexpected I hardly know how to describe it. But I will try.” She did that, trying to relate her experiences as best she could. How she had met Prince Juexin after dying and experienced the glory and splendor of the real Fusang. She described meeting the phoenix and her phoenix-sisters. Now that she was back in the mortal world, she could still feel the wings on her back. They weren’t physical, but she sensed their power and knew that she could fly. She summarized the experience of using the time glyph and going to the future—and revealed to him that she was pregnant and Rowen was the child’s father from a time when they were married. He nodded solemnly as she spoke, gazing at her intently. Then she described the way she’d left her body behind in the crypt to travel from bird to bird, to visit different kingdoms.
“So that little siskin wasn’t just a bird, then!” Quion said with eagerness. “It was a messenger from the phoenix!”
He is wise, said the phoenix in her mind.
She smiled at him. “You’re right. I could only be where the birds were. Xisi and Echion have no idea that I can spy on them through the birds in their cages. I went to Sihui too, and it took a lot of coaxing to get a little thrush to fly where I wanted it to go. But I was able to overhear the rulers of the unconquered kingdoms. They are combining their forces under the command of General Tzu and will attack Echion’s palace. What they don’t realize is that Echion is hoping they’ll come. He has a spy in the Eagle Palace. He’ll use his dragons to slaughter them all.”
Quion’s look turned instantly aggrieved, and she smelled it too. “How can we warn them?”
“I don’t think that we can.”
“Surely we must try, Bingmei!”
“I was told that I cannot leave this rock until after the child is born. It is the only place in the world where I’ll be safe. The dragons are still hunting us, but this place will protect us. I saw it repel Echion.”
“I will go,” Quion said. “I have your little cricket now. That’s how I’ve been getting fresh water and tending to the leopard. I’ve gotten pretty good at jumping down. I can jump over the Death Wall and hurry to Sihui and warn them. I can tell them you’re alive!”
Bingmei smiled at him.
He cannot go.
It wasn’t a rebuke. But she felt the sting of it anyway. Why not?
If he leaves, he will be trapped by the season and be unable to return. He is here to help you during your pangs. You will not be left alone.
“What’s wrong?” Quion asked, noting the change that came over her.
“The phoenix speaks to me, Quion. It’s part of me now. Rowen has bonded with it too, and I think you were also chosen. It wants you to stay here and help me.”
“The phoenix . . . knows me?”
Immediately, she felt her heart surge with feelings of tenderness, compassion, and deep love. These were brought on by the phoenix, a demonstration of its power as well as its compassion. Yes, indeed, it knew Quion. And it cherished him too.
Bingmei started to weep again and nodded. She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, unable to speak.
With his other hand, he wiped a tear from his own eye. He sniffed, looking so overwhelmed and humbled. Then he pulled his hand away and went outside, standing in the bright sunshine. He gazed at the sky, his back to her, and she saw his shoulders slump. The feelings of love intensified, and she wondered at how her heart could contain so many feelings. Their smells were overpoweringly pleasant. It lessened the sting of her anguish.
Finally, Quion turned back and entered, his eyes red-rimmed and a little puffy. He nodded to her. “If that’s what it wants, then I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” she whispered thickly.
“I just can’t tell you how good it made me feel . . . to know that the phoenix knew there was such a person as me.”
Her heart swelled again. “It knows every finch and every thrush, Quion, not just the eagles and falcons. And it knows all of us. I’ve spent my whole life avoiding emotions, but now it feels like I’m never going to stop crying.” She laughed and wiped her eyes again. “I’d thought everything would be different when I returned. That it would be farther into the future, and the baby might be ready to come. But everything’s the same.” She paused, thinking, then added, “Maybe it’s better this way. I don’t know much about being a mother.”
Quion shrugged. “I don’t know anything about taking care of babies either,” he said, “but people have been doing it since the dawn of time. It can’t be that hard.” His lips pressed together, and he rubbed his arms. “It gets a little cold at night. And it will get colder as the season changes. I’ll get some wood so we can have a larger fire tonight.”
In her mind, she recalled vividly the time Echion, in his dragon form, had abducted her from Sihui and flown her to the top of a majestic mountain. He’d drawn Immortal Words in the air, one for fire and one for air. She felt she could do the same.
You can. And I will summon the birds to bring you food.
Bingmei took another nibble from the meat. “We won’t suffer from the cold, Quion,” she promised. “And we won’t starve. This place was made to protect us.”
She sensed the ancient shrine had served as a shelter for her sisters as well. In a flash of unbidden memory, she saw a girl, one of her sisters, demonstrating a form atop this very mountain. Bingmei felt she was watching the scene from a bird flying around in a huge circle. She recognized the phoenix form as the one she’d practiced in Fusang. The one that had given her power to knock her guard down.
Power to confront a being such as Echion.
She couldn’t leave this rock until the child was born. And how long would she need to stay after that? When would the protection end?
I cannot answer every question you ask, Bingmei. Time will tell.
The thought of staying in the shrine for so long was daunting. She wanted to help. She wanted to do something, but she couldn’t speak through the birds. How could she get a man like General Tzu to listen to a bird?
He was too hard-headed, too pragmatic. It was in General Tzu’s character to be a general. To act like one. To think like one. He’d developed his plan because he thought it was the right thing to do.
It would take something powerful to stop him, to change his thinking, and there simply wasn’t time. Bingmei herself had heard him say that he intended to attack before the snowy season arrived.
And that’s when the thought struck her mind.
Was there an Immortal Word that could start the season of the Dragon of Night now? Not even the brave general would attempt an attack then. And neither would Echion. If the battle could be held off long enough, she could join it.
The phoenix seemed to stir inside her.
Yes.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ice Glyph
“I think I have an idea,” Bingmei told Quion. She started pacing around the sarcophagus. Why hadn’t the phoenix suggested the idea to her? Or had it sparked the idea within her? She wondered whether it would become increasingly difficult to separate her own thoughts from those of the majestic bird.
Please understand, Bingmei. We are one in purpose, but we are not the same being. You will still make your own decisions. Even if you choose poorly, I will not always correct you. It is important that you gain wisdom from experience. That is the way of things. I will guide and help you. Just as I will guide and help you once I am reborn, but the actions and choices are yours to make.
“What is it?” Quion asked her.
“We cannot leave this place until after the baby is born. And we cannot warn General Tzu from here. But there is an Immortal Word that can bring on a change of the season.”
Quion’s face brightened. “You can make it snow?”
Bingmei grinned. “Yes. I guess so.”
He shook his head. “You’re amazing.”
“It’s not my power,” she answered. “It is the phoenix’s.” She steepled her fingers together and pressed them against her mouth. “But it’ll buy us some time. We’ll have to stay up here for a while.”
Quion pursed his lips. “I wish there were a way we could bring the snow leopard up here. She keeps pacing down below, trying to find a way up. There is a little cave nearby that she’s been sleeping in. I think that will work for shelter.”
“We’ll share our food with her,” Bingmei said. “With the cricket, you can get down there easily.”
“When I go down, I can also gather some reeds from the river. There are plenty of them. I can weave a cradle for the baby.”
Bingmei liked that idea very much. “Thank you. I’ll need you, Quion. Why don’t you gather the things you’ll need and make sure your pet is comfortable? I’ll draw the glyph when you get back. I don’t know how long it will take for the weather to change.”
“It could be quick,” he said. “I’ll get to work. There is plenty of daylight left.”
It took all the remaining daylight for Quion to gather together the supplies he wanted. He had cut branches and lashed them together, making a stronger shelter. He’d gathered reeds to make baskets and a cradle, filled their waterskins to the brim, and even did some fishing to provide fresh meat for them and the animal. She sensed a dragon nearby once during the day and called for him to hurry back, but the beast didn’t come near their peak. Quion was able to finish hauling his materials up to the pillar.
The sun had started setting earlier and earlier now that they were in the latter part of the summer. They built a little fire, and Quion tended to the fish. He had sprigs of herbs he’d found in the woods below, and the smell of sizzling fish made her ravenous. He stifled a yawn on the back of his hand, and she saw his eyes were drooping with weariness.
Her gaze fell on the meiwood staff propped up behind him. Somehow, in between the various stops on their journey, he had almost finished carving it. Kunmia’s weapon had possessed the ability to absorb the magic from others. As Bingmei looked at the newly carved staff, she sensed that she could recreate the magic. There were dozens of words of power. She saw that if she drew the symbols on the staff with soot from the fire, Quion could carve them into the bark. Together, they could finish the staff.
After eating the delicious fish, Quion started to clean the pan, blinking and yawning as he did so. As she watched him clean, she felt overwhelmed by the thought of all he had done for her and the ensign. He’d always labored so diligently without a murmur. She and the others had come to expect it from him, and they’d rarely ever thanked him.
She felt ashamed of herself as she stared at him in the firelight. Perhaps it was the phoenix’s presence inside her that had opened her eyes to something she’d always failed to see, but the revelation was no less powerful for it. Quion’s service was honorable, and his work habits exemplary. It saddened her that no one had ever offered to help him. That they had expected his service in exchange for coming along with them. And he’d given it so willingly.
“You’ve worked so hard, Quion,” she said. “Let me clean it tonight.”
He looked at her, and she smelled his confusion. “I don’t mind the work.”
“Please let me,” she said, looking into his eyes.
He offered her the scouring scraper and went to add another few sticks to the fire. It crackled, and a lazy plume of smoke drifted into the sky, where stars began to shimmer.
Bingmei felt at peace as she scrubbed the pan. It felt good to do something for a friend who had given so much already. By the time she finished and looked to him to gain his approval of the job she’d done, she saw he was stretched out on the floor asleep, head on his arm. He looked so peaceful that her heart tugged with compassion. She carefully set the pot aside and found his blanket on top of
his bedroll. Lifting it, she took it over and spread it atop Quion’s body.
It was almost time.
She approached the fire and sat on her haunches in front of it, soaking in the warmth. In the dark, she heard an owl screech. Without thinking, she tugged herself into it so that she could see from its eyes. It was hunting for a meal. The action of shifting her awareness had become as natural as bending into a low bow stance. Returning to her own body was just as easy, just as fluid.
I’m ready, she thought.
She wondered whether she would need water to trace the glyphs but sensed it wasn’t necessary. In her mind, she saw two symbols next to each other. The first was the word for “ice”—Bing. Her thoughts immediately diverted to her name—her parents had named her “ice rose” because she was born with the winter sickness.
In her mind’s eye, the second glyph vanished, morphing into another one. The word for “sickness.” With dawning horror, she realized the Immortal Words were strong enough to give someone the winter sickness.
She focused her thoughts back on the task, but she couldn’t remember what the second glyph had been—until a cool breeze blew into the shrine. Refreshing, to be sure, but she needed wind, not a breeze.
That was it! She needed winter to ride in on a fierce wind.
The second symbol shimmered to life in her head.
“Ice wind.” That was the glyph that would summon winter.
She carefully traced the symbols she saw in her mind. As she did, the air sparked to life beneath her finger. The colorful, burning glyphs danced in front of her. Soon there was plenty of light, glowing and shifting and dancing with the magic’s power. Quion snorted and lifted his head, seeing the shimmering glyphs hanging in the air.
Bingmei finished the last line and felt confident she had done it properly.
It is well made, came the thought-voice inside her mind.
The light from the runes sizzled in the air as they invoked the magic. She felt it sweep past her, rippling out like a heavy rock tossed into a pond. A spasm went through her as the magic took hold, leaving her helpless, weak, and completely drained. She slumped to the ground, unconscious, while the glyph continued to burn.