The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 25
“Be careful,” she told him, placing it in his palm.
He looked at it, then at the trees higher up the face of the pillar. He took a deep breath and rubbed the cricket with his thumb. She felt the magic stir, and he leaped up, making it easily to the stand of trees. As he landed, she sensed a ripple of magic, a silent crack of thunder, hearing it with senses beyond her natural ones.
He landed with a terrible cracking noise.
“Quion!” she shouted. “Get off that one!”
She saw him look around quickly. The tree bent, and pieces of stone came tumbling down.
The tree he’d landed on broke free of the mountain, its roots too shallow to support much weight. She dived to the side as she watched the tree plummet toward her.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Immortal Words
The tree crashed on the boulders nearby. Limbs snapped off on impact, scattering around the boulders and filling the air with the sweet smell of sap. Bingmei crouched, protecting her head with her arms, and as she rose, she bumped one of the branches with her head. Bits of bark dropped from her clothes. If she hadn’t moved, the tree would have broken her as well.
Worry blazing in her heart, she looked up and found Quion dangling from another branch, hanging over the void. Thankfully, he’d chosen a well-anchored tree. She watched as he swung his legs over the branch and carefully edged his way to the trunk. Relief enveloped her, but only for a moment. Their presence at the rock had triggered something.
Once Quion was secured, he quickly tied the rope to the trunk of the tree.
“Are you all right?” he called down to her.
Am I all right? she thought with disbelief. He was the one who had almost fallen.
After brushing more chips of wood off her arms, she waved up at him. The snow leopard yowled at her from another boulder and then hissed at the tree, which had fallen so close to both of them.
Quion let the rope tumble down to the bottom of the pillar. Bingmei glanced skyward, wondering how long they had until the Woliu appeared, and quickly tied the rope around her waist using the knot she’d been taught. Quion pulled up the slack, secured it to the trunk, and started to pull.
The rope bit into her sides, inflaming the pain of her cuts. She used her legs and feet to keep the wall of the pillar in front of her and tried to help pull herself up, but her strength failed almost immediately. As Quion continued to pull, she gazed up at him and the steep face of the column. It would be so much easier if she had access to the phoenix’s powers, but she’d been told it would not happen again until she reached the temple.
Finally, the pressure eased as she reached the first group of trees. Sweat dripped down the sides of Quion’s face. He rubbed his arms and gazed up the flank of the pillar.
“Where to next?” he asked, studying the broken edges of rock.
“There’s a single tree right there,” she said, pointing. “Looks like the roots are gripping into the stone. I wish there were more, but it’s halfway to the top.”
He nodded thoughtfully, studying it. “There’s a crack running from that piece next to it. I think the tree is wedged inside. A good place.”
“Be careful,” she said again, touching his arm. She was confident in her ability to leap with the cricket. For Quion, it was still very new.
“I’ll get it,” he said confidently. Then he breathed in quickly and slapped his head. “I forgot to have you tie a rope to my pack!”
It was still down at the base of the column.
“It won’t walk away,” she told him. “We have to keep moving.”
He pursed his lips in disappointment—he’d carried that pack everywhere, from Sajinau to Sihui and all the way back to Fusang—but he nodded. Rubbing his hands together, he glanced up again. Then he untied the rope from the tree and coiled it around his arm, leaving plenty of slack, and prepared to jump. With a quick touch to the cricket, he bounded up to the next tree. She held her breath until he made it there, then he pulled her up.
The rope was still attached to her waist, so she maneuvered to the edge of the tree. Looking down, she saw the tops of the trees far below and felt herself grow a little dizzy. Carefully and cautiously, they made their way up to the highest foothold that could hold both of them at the same time. Her muscles ached with the strain of the climb.
“There’s not much of a ledge here,” he said. “And that final group of trees is difficult to see from here. I think I’m going to try and climb that crack.”
“Quion, no,” she said.
“It’s wide enough. I think I can shimmy my way up. Once I get to that tree, I’ll throw the rope down to you.”
She didn’t like the idea. Not one bit. “It’s too high. You’ll get tired.”
“I’m already tired, Bingmei. That climb will give me a chance to use my legs more. I think it’ll work.”
He knew his own strength better than she did. But it still made her worry. A breeze tickled the back of her neck.
Quion faced the mountain with a stern look and stuck his foot in the crack. He used his arms and wedged the rest of himself into the fissure. She watched him climb, taking in his look of determination, letting herself feel reassured by it. He grunted and pushed until he was halfway up the crevice.
It was then she sensed a dragon coming toward them from the distance. What made the sensation stand out to her amidst the sea of dragons that surrounded them was a separate feeling. A tug, a binding, a shared thread connecting