The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 24

“I’ve won,” Echion told her. “The world is mine to rule. It was never meant for mercy. Only justice.”

She felt her lips moving, although she was not consciously speaking.

“You cannot prevent the Reckoning, Echion. Your decision invoked it. You can only delay it now.” It was a woman’s voice, familiar and not familiar.

“And so I will,” he said with disdain and plunged the spear into her chest. Bingmei felt all her strength gush out of her. She lay on her back, unable to breathe. And then she felt Echion’s boot crush her wrist. He pried the Phoenix Blade from her fingers.

“With this,” she heard him say, his voice growing fainter, as if buried within a tunnel, “I will know when you’ve chosen a new servant. And I will hunt down your daughters before they ever find your corpse.”

Bingmei felt the soul leave its body—a strange slippery feeling she’d experienced more times than any mortal should.

She awoke from the trance, still touching the tarnished helmet.

The air felt sweet and clear as she breathed it in. Remnants of the magic still swirled inside her, and she could sense the remains of the fallen warriors all around them, hidden beneath the shattered rock. They’d been dead for thousands of years. The land itself was as broken as they were, the mountain split into the strange, haunting columns of stone.

Echion had taken the Phoenix Blade. He’d enchanted it so he could always find it, and he’d used it to draw the disciples of the phoenix to him, one at a time. The sword had called to them, at it had always called to her, and he’d killed them before they could have a chance to defeat him.

Bingmei’s nose had saved her.

“What did you see?” Quion asked her, his eyes narrowing with concern. “You kept shuddering. I thought you were going to die again.”

She looked back at him. A sense of desperation filled her. “We have to get there, Quion. We have to hurry.”

“What about the dragons?”

She’d seen them slaughter her kind. The memory made her heart ache.

“We can’t climb the pillar at night, Quion. We have to get there today. We have to leave now.”

Gritting her teeth with determination, Bingmei gripped Quion’s arm and climbed over rocks and scrub. As they moved toward their destination, she sensed the sleeping dead beneath their boots. The magic still whispered to her, and she sensed there was a power capable of awakening them. One that required a deeper, stronger magic than the resurrection spell she’d tried—and failed—to use on Jiaohua. She didn’t know how she knew, only that she did.

They walked from tree to tree, copse to copse, slinking through the woods to get closer to the final pillar without revealing themselves. She felt drawn to it with an urgency she scarcely understood.

Her mind kept flitting back to her vision of the battle. The dragon had broken the balance of power. Once mercy and justice had both ruled the world. Once there had been true balance. But the dragon had destroyed it in his quest for personal power.

Bingmei knew she had to set it right.

It was a worthy ideal for which to give her life.

A dragon cry sounded overhead, and she feared they’d been discovered. They both pressed against the trees, hearts racing. Sickening fear struck them both. Then a copper-colored dragon with amber stripes raced over them, missing them completely. Once it flew past, they hurried to the next shelter, the leopard padding after them. The sun was starting its downward trek. Daylight would soon leave, giving them some additional protection but increasing the difficulty of their mission.

They finally reached the base of the pillar leading up to the phoenix shrine. The yellow siskin trilled from a branch, as if to welcome them.

“There it is again,” Quion said, gesturing toward the little bird.

Bingmei looked at the siskin and then at the trees and envied its gift of flight. There were many trees growing in the cracks and fissures lining the pillar. They would offer them concealment as they climbed, but it would be a difficult voyage. Her weakness and loss of blood were sure to hinder her.

“You’ll use the cricket,” she told Quion. When he started to shake his head, she said, “If I used it, I wouldn’t be able to help you. But you can jump to a secure place and use your ropes to lift me up.”

He looked at her and then up at the stones. “All right,” he finally said. “The leopard will have to stay behind,” he said, shooting it a fond glance, “but I think that’s a good plan. Do you remember the knot I taught you?”

“I think so. Let me practice it.”

He removed his pack and produced one of his ropes. She took the end and wrapped it around herself, using the special knot he’d shown her. After proving she remembered it, she handed the rope back to Quion.

“Good. I’m glad you remembered it. This is going to be a difficult climb, Bingmei. Are you sure you shouldn’t take the cricket? Just in case?”

“We have to get up there quickly,” she said. “We can rest once we’re there.”

Her rest, she knew, would be permanent. She was so very weary. Death did not sound so frightening anymore.

Quion nodded. Then he pulled out another rope before setting his pack in the bush. “I think it will be easier if I don’t have to carry that too. When I get up there, I’ll throw down two ropes. Tie one to my pack and the other to yourself. I’ll haul it up after I’ve got you up.”

Bingmei wanted to remind him that they wouldn’t need to bring the packs. She wouldn’t need hers, and he’d have no reason to stay in the shrine once she was dead. Had he forgotten that? Or was he still denying what would happen to her? She slipped off her pack and left it on the ground.

He rubbed