The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 26

Rowen was coming. With a dragon.

And the dragon was Echion.

Her heart filled with dread. She remembered when Echion had flown, holding her in his monstrous claws, from Sihui to a lone mountain peak and on to Fusang.

Although she’d been correct about Rowen—he was alive—he’d been captured, and Echion was now bringing him to the phoenix shrine.

The sun was falling fast. They were still trapped on the edge of the pillar.

A feeling of warning came into her heart—a message from Rowen. She was running out of time. If she didn’t reach the tomb of the phoenix soon, all was lost.

“Quion,” she called up to him.

He was in an awkward pose, knees and back pressing against the cleft. “What?”

“Echion is coming,” she told him.

“I’m almost there,” he grunted, trying to move faster. But she could see his strength was failing him.

“Throw me the cricket,” she said. “I’ll leap up and tie off the rope so you can climb up. But I have to get to the shrine before he arrives.”

“Bingmei, I can do this!”

“He’s flying, Quion. We don’t have time. Throw down the cricket.”

“I wanted to be there,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I wanted to be there for you when you died. So you weren’t alone.”

“I won’t be alone, Quion,” she said. “Others are waiting for me in the Grave Kingdom. I know they are. Please. It’s time. Throw it down to me.”

He looked up at the sky and nodded. In his cramped position, he reached into his pocket and produced the cricket. Then, gazing down at her, he let it fall.

She saw the blur of wood plummeting toward her, and for a second she thought she would miss. At the last moment, however, she snatched it from the air.

Rowen was getting closer, and so was the dragon. She could feel Echion soaring across the broken valley, trying to reach the top of the single pillar before she did. She’d wondered why that column of rock hadn’t been swarmed with dragons before. Had some magic concealed its location from everyone but her? If so, it seemed the shield had failed or fallen now that she and Quion had arrived. Echion clearly knew where to find them.

Bingmei rubbed the cricket and felt its magic jolt through her legs. With a flex of her muscles, she soared up the remaining distance, landing atop the small fissure Quion was climbing. The jump had ripped open some of the sutures. Pain and dizziness made her totter.

From the top of the pillar, she could see the valley in every direction. And she saw the skies teeming with dragons. Several saw her now, and shrieks emerged from their massive throats.

Hurry.

The crown of the pillar was congested with trees, but she saw the little shrine nestled amidst them. With another jump, she landed near it. Quickly, she untied the rope still around her, feeling blood and sweat trickle down her ribs. She managed to tie off the end around the trunk of a small but sturdy tree before her legs gave out.

She caught herself on her palms. Lifting her head, she saw the gloomy entrance to the shrine. The little siskin stood on the roof of the shrine, beckoning to her urgently with its little trills.

The sun had set. Shadows thickened all around her. Rowen’s warning echoed through her mind, twining with the bird’s calls. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

The sounds of frenzied anger filled the skies. The dragons were rushing to stop her, plummeting from the windy heights. Coming for her.

Bingmei’s back felt as if it were on fire again. Her lips were as dry as desert sand. Her body was dying. Each drop of blood and sweat brought her closer to the brink. And yet, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled forward toward the shrine she’d first seen in a vision. Fear surged inside her, fear that she wouldn’t make it. That the few steps remaining between her and the shrine would be too much, that her soul would slip out of her body all on its own. It took every bit of will she could muster to prevent it.

She collided with the edge of the doorway, and the pain in her shoulder nearly undid her. The rustling of leathery wings sounded just overhead. His smell engulfed her—the stench of countless murders. It was the kind of smell that struck hopelessness in the bravest of hearts, yet within it was another smell. Rowen’s scent of freshly baked bread.

Twilight had come. She stared at the sarcophagus in the middle of the shrine. The stone lid was open, facing her, and she saw the intricate carving of a woman in repose, eyes closed, as if she had been murdered by the killing fog. One hand was folded over her heart, a rendition of the Phoenix Blade within its grasp. It was the same style of armor she’d seen in her vision. This was the tomb of the empress.

Trees snapped and crashed as the smoke dragon reached the top of the mountainous pillar, loosing Rowen from its monstrous claws. Through the open doorway, she saw its burning yellow eyes fix on her hungrily. More dragons landed all around it, hissing and furious. They smelled ancient and terrible, the sour musk of reptiles.

Bingmei shoved away from the door and stumbled toward the stone tomb.

The black dragon opened its massive jaws and let out an earsplitting shriek that deafened her.

Bingmei slumped as she reached the edge of the tomb. It was empty. It was waiting for her.

Now, Bingmei! Now! she heard Rowen scream inside her mind.

She pitched over into the black maw and felt the rough stone of the tomb embrace her. She stretched out, lying down on her back, and heard the thud of armored boots approach. Echion drew near with a meiwood spear in hand. His face was terrible, and she smelled his intent to murder her.

She breathed in one final breath, wishing she could have seen Rowen face-to-face one more time before she died. But