The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 23

CHAPTER TEN

Mudi

They walked into the thick mist as they approached the skull-faced pillar. It cloaked their destination so completely they could no longer see it. Still, Bingmei felt it calling to her, drawing her in.

They walked arm in arm, and each step brought tugs of agony from her sutured wounds. The snow leopard was their scout, always a few steps ahead, leaping from rock to rock as the two of them clambered up and down the uneven ground. Sometimes she’d feel a dragon swoop low, and she’d freeze in place, gripping Quion’s arm to stop him. Once the threat had passed, they would continue on their way.

Each step brought them closer to their destination, but they were wary. Cautious.

The mist began to shrink, revealing patches of blue overhead. Soon they would be able to see the creatures that hunted them—and be seen by them too.

Quion looked up, and she smelled his disappointment. “I’d hoped the mist would last longer. We’d better hide.”

Bingmei agreed, and they slid into a thick copse of trees nestled atop boulders. The roots were exposed, stretching around the large stones until they pierced the rocky ground. Bingmei and Quion parted the foliage at the base of the trees and sank into a bed of crushed rock. The leopard joined them, its eyes alert.

Grateful for some rest, Bingmei leaned against Quion and raked her fingers through the gravel. Soon the impression of dragons became even stronger. They swarmed the skies overhead, relentless in their search.

“He’s persistent as the tide,” Bingmei said with a little chuckle.

Quion turned his head to look at her. “He is that,” he agreed. “But it is more like a toothache.”

They waited, listening to the breeze rustle the branches overhead. She kept clawing at the gravel just to distract herself. Then she felt a root buried in the rock. Turning her attention to it, she dug away the loose stones to look at it.

It wasn’t a root. It was a bone.

Bingmei stared at it, feeling a sickening sensation in the pit of her stomach. The garden of bones. That’s what the voice had whispered to her.

Her fingers closed around it, and she lifted it up for Quion to see.

“Doesn’t look like an animal bone,” he said softly.

“Help me dig through this,” she said, scooting away from him. They dug through the loose gravel together and found more remains, including a skull. A human skull. A tarnished helmet lay nearby, the straps long since decomposed.

Quion picked up the helmet. The metal had corroded, and parts were flaking off, but it hadn’t rusted because it wasn’t made of iron. There was a dent in the side. He shot her a look. “This is the first sign of humans we’ve seen since crossing the Death Wall,” he said. “Besides the grove, I mean.”

For someone had planted those meiwood trees, many years ago.

She held out her hands, and he placed the helmet in them.

An image flashed through her mind the instant the metal touched her flesh, accompanied by a cacophony of battle sounds. She jerked her hand away, and the helmet fell to the stones.

“What’s wrong?” asked Quion.

A compulsion came over her, and she reached out again to touch the helmet. On the brow of the armor, she saw faded lines, the carvings of an armor smith. When her finger traced them, she heard the noises of battle again, saw the helmet as it had been in the past.

A phoenix was carved on the brow.

Bingmei looked up, her hand still fixed on the helmet, and gasped at what she saw. There was no sign of Quion. No sign of the abandoned ruins.

Everywhere she looked, warriors fought with meiwood weapons, ensign warriors dressed in pale and dark robes and armored soldiers. Their robe color seemed to indicate their allegiance, for the dark-robed monks were fighting with the soldiers. Some of the ensign warriors leaped high in the air, displaying power beyond mortal abilities; others dealt dianxue blows that killed with a single touch. As she watched, she saw souls slip out of bodies, rising from the corpses in a harvest.

Followings the souls’ journey upward, she glanced up and saw dragons fighting phoenixes in the sky, some lunging into the soldiers on the ground to destroy them with claws and jaws. It was a scene of devastation. The dragons were winning. Shrieks from the massive birds filled the air as they dropped, one by one. And she realized that their bones were also buried in this shattered valley.

Understanding seeped into her, from the same intelligence that had spoken to her moments before. She was seeing the fall of the phoenix’s empire. The last retreat as her allies fell. This was when darkness had fallen on the world.

The smells of defeat and despair soured in her nose as she watched the destruction of the forces belonging to the phoenix. She saw the dead arrayed before her, atop a great, broad mountain tundra. Pennants flapped helplessly in the breeze. The dead faces lay still. Eventually even the moans of the dying quieted. A great silence fell over the battlefield.

And then she saw Echion, his cape in tatters, dragging a spear behind him. His face was ashen with exhaustion, but she recognized his horrible stench. He had commanded the slaughter. He walked through the field of the dead, looking for something.

A body.

Bingmei lay unseen amongst the dead. Until he saw her. His gaze fixed on her, and he began to stride forward purposefully, his scent full of murder. She looked down and saw the Phoenix Blade in her hand. There