by Jeff Wheeler
The dragon Xisi lifted its head toward the baleful sun and then broke free from the phoenix’s clutches and began to flap away frantically, soaring north, beating a hasty retreat.
Bingmei swept down and began attacking the remnants of Echion’s ensign, which still enclosed the solitary Zhuyi. The phoenix charged as well, grabbing one man in its claws and bringing him to a great height before dropping him to his death on the stone paving. With their master dead and his queen gone, the remaining members of the ensign took to their heels and scattered.
Bingmei breathed fast and hard, wondering at the scene she’d witnessed. Gazing up at the bright sun, she thought she saw a shadow there still, but it was too bright to see. The phoenix landed beside her and transformed back into Rowen. He stood there, his cloudy eyes looking confused, but he walked deliberately toward her, even though she hadn’t made a sound.
“He’s dead?” Rowen asked, taking her hand.
Bingmei looked down at the frigid corpse. “He is dead,” she answered with a sigh. The smell of Echion was gone. Zhuyi panted, but her heart was grieving as she dropped to her knee by Mieshi. Both she and Marenqo had perished in the fight. Tears wet Zhuyi’s cheeks.
Bingmei touched her shoulder. “It’s not too late, Zhuyi. I can bring them back from the Grave Kingdom,” she said in comfort.
Even as she said it, she smelled the Qiangdao. Looking toward the edges of the Hall of Unity, she saw soldiers creeping around both sides of it, weapons in hand.
“I can see through the eyes of the birds,” Rowen said. “The Qiangdao are coming back this way.”
“Do we run?” Zhuyi asked, rising, gripping her bloodstained saber.
“No,” Bingmei answered. “This is our palace. I won’t flee it again.” She looked to Rowen, whose face was still turned toward the approaching enemies. His mouth was grim.
There was an army still to face.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Fusang Redeemed
“We don’t have much time,” Bingmei said, her stomach clenching with dread as she smelled the ranks of Qiangdao thickening as they returned. The first few came hesitantly, then others were emboldened and grouped together in bands of three or four, hefting weapons, muttering the first grunts of war chants. Why were they returning to fight when they lacked magic to protect them? She had thought they would flee out the gates.
Zhuyi looked down at the bodies of her friends. A spasm of grief struck her, the smell stinging Bingmei’s nose. If only they hadn’t fallen.
Rowen knelt by Marenqo. “Bingmei,” he said, holding out his hand.
She approached him and took his hand. “We don’t have ash and water,” she said. There was plenty of blood.
“We don’t need ash and water,” he answered. “Not if we combine our powers.” Then, bowing his head, he put his other hand on Marenqo’s chest. She felt power rippling from him, spreading from his hand. “Shui, Xue, Po.” He said the incantation calmly, deliberately, but it was more than just a revival of the dead, the magic was infused with healing and strength.
Marenqo’s chest swelled as he took in a fresh breath of air. Rowen’s shoulders sagged a little, his face going slack with weariness, and Bingmei’s hand tingled from the energy she’d given him. Then, still on his knees and still holding her hand, Rowen crawled to Mieshi’s body. He went directly to it, as if he could see her, even though his eyes were cloudy. He touched her chest, bowing his head again, and repeated the words of life.
As Mieshi took her first breath, Rowen slumped to the ground, exhausted. He had borrowed strength from her as well, and she felt her own knees tremble. Mieshi blinked her eyes and then promptly sat up. Her face wilted with emotion as she looked up at Bingmei and then at Rowen, who lay prostrate next to her.
“I was just in the Grave Kingdom,” Mieshi said, gazing at Bingmei and then Marenqo. “I was looking for you,” she said, her eyes on him. “I couldn’t find you.”
“I was looking for you as well,” he said.
“I found Kunmia,” Mieshi said. “She told me I was needed back in Tianxia. I took her words to mean the mortal world.” She rose and then reached for Marenqo’s hand, helping him stand as well. They both seemed full of strength and vitality.
“We are the defenders of Fusang,” Bingmei said, looking at them.
“They’re coming,” Zhuyi warned, hefting her saber, preparing for the onslaught.
“This is the palace of the phoenix,” Bingmei continued. “It always has been. It is ours, and we are its ensign.” She reached out her hand and traced two glyphs on Mieshi. Sudu for speed. Dan for protection. Then a third came into her mind. The glyph Yongqi—for valor and courage. She drew that one as well.
Next, she moved to Marenqo. Different words came to mind for him, ones that suited his needs and abilities. Weili, the glyph for power, might, and great force. Yili for determination. She finished with Dan for protection.
Zhuyi saw what she was doing and awaited her turn. Bingmei gave her speed, plus the glyph Hua for cunning. As with the others, she added Dan for protection. Zhuyi gave her a smile, her smell of determination growing stronger with the invocation of magic.
A cry of rage came from the assembling Qiangdao. They were armed with an assortment of weapons, gathering their courage to attack now that the dragons were gone. Bingmei and the others were hopelessly outnumbered, but her courage didn’t falter. Casting her eyes down at Rowen, she dropped onto one knee. In one hand she held the Phoenix Blade, and with the other she drew the glyph of healing and protection on his shoulder.
A collective roar of rage came from the host gathering in the courtyard. As a giant swarm, the Qiangdao rushed at Bingmei and the four members of her ensign.
“Courage,” Bingmei called out. “We defend our quonsuun.”
Marenqo picked up Echion’s fallen spear and handed the meiwood staff Bingmei had given him to Mieshi. “We are crazy.”
Bingmei smelled the determination of her companions, their ferocity and unwillingness to give ground. Mieshi and Zhuyi ran at their enemies, brandishing their weapons. Marenqo puffed out a grunt and joined the charge.
Pride filled Bingmei as she took to the air. Her ensign would keep fighting until they dropped. She would keep fighting until she found Shixian and whoever had taken him. Flying as fast as her wings would take her, she soared into the front ranks and began attacking the enemy with all the ferocity of an eagle. Qiangdao scattered from her as she swooped through them, swinging the blade like a deadly scythe. She flew over their heads and landed amidst a cluster of them, attacking the group in deadly whirls. Energy and strength filled her as she fought. When several of them surged forward from different directions at the same moment, she lifted into the air, watching as the warriors collided with one another.
She soared higher to see if the others needed help. Mieshi and Zhuyi moved like lightning, unable to be boxed in. And Marenqo, valiant Marenqo, every time he swung the spear, men toppled over at his strength. The soldiers seemed to keep coming, though, and Bingmei rose higher to determine why. There was a sea of Qiangdao entering the courtyard from either side of the Hall of Unity, pushing one another in their eagerness to join the fight. But why? She lifted higher, looking for an explanation, and gasped when she saw them.
Soldiers were spilling in from the main gates, and she saw a dozen battle flags coming—Sihui, Tuqiao, and Sajinau. General Tzu’s army! The Qiangdao were swarming the courtyard because they were trying to flee them. She wondered what had happened to the dragons, but she didn’t care.
An arrow swept right by her, and she turned in midair, seeing the archers along the walls preparing to defend the palace. Bingmei flew at them, striking them down, one by one, as she went down the line. Some of them risked jumping off the wall in their haste to escape her.
A deafening screech filled the air. Rowen had transformed back into a phoenix again, and she watched his fiery amber plumage as he lunged into the ranks of soldiers. The Qiangdao were terrified by the majesti
c bird, and suddenly all the birds of the palace joined the fray once again. Bingmei grinned, feeling the scales tilt toward victory already. She swooped higher, watching as the armies collided in the outer courtyard.
Bingmei soared down to scatter another group of Qiangdao, and realized they had begun to retreat—only there was nowhere for them to go in the morass of men and the dead. Zhuyi and Mieshi continued to drive them back, along with Marenqo and his terrible spear.
Phoenix Rowen lifted up, his wings spread wide, both terrible and beautiful. As he did so, glyphs glowed to life in the painted meiwood pillars of the palace.
The air sizzled with magic and the stench of burning metal. All the remaining Qiangdao turned to flee, crying out in panic and despair. Bingmei looked at Rowen in awe, impressed at the power he commanded.
He had truly claimed Fusang.
Bingmei’s heart soared with the thrill of victory. Then she noticed the Qiangdao were no longer fighting. Most had thrown down their weapons and knelt, begging for their lives, only to be thrust through with bladed spears. They smelled of defeat, of shame, of hopelessness—a heart-wrenching scent that reminded her of the soldiers of Sajinau as they were decimated by Echion’s army.
Her heart plummeted within her chest. She sensed the Qiangdao weren’t expecting to live. They anticipated death, knowing what they had done to other armies they’d defeated. Theirs was the despair of the dying. They deserved death. They had done horrible things since coming from the mountains. Yet still she felt compassion for them, compassion that had stirred to life when Muxidi, the man who’d slain her parents and grandfather, had begged her to forgive him.
She wanted to stop the violence. Bingmei turned her head, seeing the majestic phoenix Rowen looming above the Hall of Memory. As she looked into the bird’s eyes, she felt her connection to him grow, felt a sharing of hearts and minds.
The phoenix let out another earsplitting screech, and the glyphs on the meiwood pillars dimmed, the magic draining from them. The air still smelled of the tang of burnt metal.
The phoenix soared over the ranks of Qiangdao, who rippled with fear and cringed as the great shadow passed over them. Bingmei followed in Rowen’s wake and, searching the crowd of soldiers from Sihui, found the helmet and armor of King Zhumu. General Tzu stood nearby and so did Liekou, who was surrounded by fallen enemies.
The Qiangdao had gathered closely together, like so many fish tangled in a net. As the phoenix swooped down, Rowen transformed back into his human form and landed in front of Zhumu and Tzu. The general stared at Rowen in wonder, although the expression quickly faded. Bingmei landed as well, coming in at his side as they advanced together.
“What is the meaning of this?” General Tzu said. His emotions were charged, intent on killing all the Qiangdao they’d captured. She could smell his desire for revenge.
Rowen walked confidently, even though he was blind. “General Tzu,” he said. “We have defeated Echion’s forces. The battle is over.”
General Tzu scowled. “Prince Rowen, but the war is not over. There are armies still throughout the kingdoms. We will need all our force if we are to reclaim them. We can’t leave a defeated army in the field. Echion slaughtered our people. These people must be destroyed in kind.”
Bingmei felt another surge of compassion, this one even stronger. “No, General,” she said. “We will spare them.”
King Zhumu’s expression was dark with concern. “They would not have spared us,” he said succinctly.
Rowen turned his face toward Zhumu. “The season of the Dragon of Night has come to an end. It has been a long season, not of snow and darkness but of war. There is a better way. My father, King Shulian, knew it. I thought he was wrong, but he was not. The cycle of death ends here. The shadow that stretched across the sun was a sign that a new era is upon us. The season of the Phoenix of Dawn has begun.”
The scent in the courtyard changed in response to his words. Amidst the stench of death and despair came a honeyed smell. Bingmei turned, inhaling the smell as it came from the vanquished army of Qiangdao. They had heard his words. They were whispering one to another, relaying what was being spoken. Hope rose within them, the hope that they might yet live.
“Bingmei, Rowen—” said General Tzu, shaking his head. “Surely it isn’t wise to lose the advantage we’ve worked so hard to gain. There will still be months of fighting before the season changes again.”
“It may not be wise,” Rowen said, “but it is merciful. We will liberate the other kingdoms, General. In due time. But let us not celebrate our first victory in a baptism of blood. Echion is dead. Xisi has fled. We have plenty of foes still to face. But the killing fog has been tamed, and we will work to break open the gates of the Grave Kingdom and free the prisoners there as well. This battle is as much about them as it is the living.”
General Tzu stared at Rowen, and Bingmei smelled his worry as well as his pride in the son of his old king.
“Spoken like a true king,” said Zhumu. He looked at General Tzu and nodded. “Some of the dragons are still out there. But we have phoenixes. The balance has been restored.”
General Tzu’s eyes crinkled, and he bowed his head. “I wondered if I would live to see this day, my prince. My king.” And he dropped to one knee before Rowen.
Bingmei’s heart ached with pride, and her feelings for him only intensified as he took her hand. A hush fell over the massive courtyard as he turned and faced the cowering army of Qiangdao. Bingmei could see Mieshi, Marenqo, and Zhuyi at the far side of the mass of men.
“Lay down your weapons,” he said in a loud, clear voice, “and you will live. Bury your weapons, and you will be welcomed as brothers.”
A cacophony of noise rose, the clatter and clang of weapons being thrust down hurting Bingmei’s ears. But the smell that came, the blooming smell of hope and reprieve made tears sting her eyes. She squeezed Rowen’s hand, her heart brimming and almost bursting.
A bird does not sing because it has an answer.
It sings because it has a song.
—Dawanjir proverb
CHAPTER FORTY
The River of Time
“This is the room where you will visit me?” Rowen asked, his hand stroking the curve of the couch as he stood behind it, exploring the chamber with his hands since he couldn’t use his eyes.
It was indeed, and the memories from that time struck Bingmei forcibly. She walked behind him, running her hand across his back so he’d know where she was. There were no birds nearby, and so he was effectively blind still.
“You were waiting for me here,” she said. “I’ve searched the palace, but I cannot find him. I had hoped to introduce you here. I won’t stop searching until I find him. In my heart, I know he is safe.”
“Introduce me? To whom?”
“My son. Our son. He’s still alive.”
She watched as his fingers dug into the fabric of the couch, so hard his knuckles turned white.
“Can I . . . have a son?” he asked hoarsely.
She nestled against him. “Yes. I wish you had been there to see his birth. He is your child, conceived in the future when we are husband and wife. The power of the Immortal Words is beyond anything we’ve ever known. You’ve learned some of them. I will teach you more. But this is the room.”
Rowen draped his arm around her shoulder. “Do you know when?”
“In the future? No.”
“Were you already there? Did you see yourself?”
“I didn’t. I don’t know if my future self was there or not. But you were waiting for me, and I could not speak.”
He sighed. “Just like in the visions I had.” He pressed his lips against her hair. “We’ll find him, Bingmei. I know we will.”
“There is more,” she said hesitantly. “Xisi was going to kill him. I agreed to make a magical oath with her because it was the only way to keep him safe. The only way for us to kill Echion. If she comes for him, I cannot prevent her from taking him away. But she does
n’t have him now. When she attacked me at the temple earlier, before the shadow blocked the sun, she was in a frenzy. I’ve sent birds looking for him and the concubine who was his nursemaid. If she fled with him, she won’t have gone far.”
He breathed evenly, and the smell of his emotions intrigued her. A new smell had started. The smell of a father.
Much happened in the two days following the Battle of Fusang. The memories were still fresh, like a bouquet of flowers. Bingmei had watched as the concubines were freed from bondage and returned to fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers, who wept and clung to them in relief and joy. She’d witnessed a ceremony in which the Qiangdao had buried their weapons in a giant sand pit they’d dug by the waterfall near the cove, where their brothers had once lain in wait for Kunmia’s ensign.
The siskin her phoenix-sister had used to help her had gone missing following the battle. Bingmei’s attempts to coax other birds to do the deed had only resulted in failure so far. There was no sign of the concubine either, which added to her worries but gave her hope that perhaps Shixian was safe after all.
Echion’s body had been placed inside the sarcophagus, and workers had removed both his body and Xisi’s empty tomb from the Hall of Memory, relocating them to another palace as a reminder of the threat they posed.
Bingmei had the power within her to bring Echion back. And that first day, she’d actually felt the urge to do so—a desire linked to the corrupted Phoenix Blade. She’d examined the weapon and found an extra glyph Echion had added to the sword’s meiwood hilt. With a chisel, she had gently scraped it away, and once it was gone, the urge faded to nothingness. Her connection to Echion had been severed.
Emissaries had been sent to the conquered kingdoms by ship, with news of the Battle of Fusang and offers of peace. It would take days for the responses to come, but Rowen was patient and willing to wait for the answers before attacking. He would not force the other kingdoms to join him, he had confided in her. But he would liberate them from Echion’s minions when the time was right. That was when he asked her, once again, to be the leader of his ensign to the world. She agreed.