The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 29
Her heart panged with dread and misery, and she found herself weeping, although no tears came from her eyes. She lacked the human ability to shed tears. These were such strange and powerful sensations, especially for one who had spent her life avoiding feelings. She wanted to cry, but lacked the relief that tears brought; she felt agony pierce her heart, but no heart beat in her chest.
There was also no way to lay the feelings to rest, she realized. She was hostage to them.
“I’m sorry,” she lamented. “I failed you and your people in Sajinau. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, clutching her hands together, head bowed, feeling the awfulness of the situation and her powerlessness to escape it. It felt as if she were being pulled apart, her very essence shredded by a vast force she didn’t understand.
Would she have to smell such feelings forever?
“Bingmei,” said Juexin. “You cannot bring back the dead. The lives of thousands were snuffed out through no fault of their own. Now, they languish on the other side of the Death Wall. Trapped in their own torment. Unable to find their families.”
His words only heightened her pain. Had she not felt the truth of his words? She remembered the mother looking for her lost daughter. That woman was only one of thousands.
She prostrated herself before his feet.
“Forgive me,” she begged, tortured by his presence. He had given up his life to save the man she loved—a rebellious younger brother who hadn’t deserved the sacrifice. She felt unworthy to kneel at Juexin’s feet, yet it was all she could do.
She felt the whisper of a touch on her shoulder, as if the wind had reached out a hand to her. A feeling of loss joined the others swirling inside her—she missed her human body.
“Bingmei. I do forgive you.”
And then, miraculously, the terrible stench that had shaken her to her core was lifted in an instant, drawn back into a flower bud until only the fragrance of a winter rose was left.
She felt like laughing in relief, but laughter was a boon reserved for the living. Surprise and wonder filled her. She looked up, gazing at Juexin to judge the truth of his words. An aura of gold trailed around his face. He smiled at her with a look of forgiveness and peace.
“I’m sorry you had to experience it yourself,” he said. “I would have spared you the torment, but the phoenix insisted you endure the full weight of it for a moment. There is no other teacher so powerful as our own experience. Know that I forgave you before you came here. Stand, Bingmei. We have much to discuss on our way to Fusang.”
She rose at his words, but confusion clubbed her stomach. “Fusang? Why are we going there?”
“It is different here, Bingmei,” Juexin said, smiling. “The palace of Fusang was built as a similitude of the palace found here in Tian. But the phoenix still rules in this Fusang. The palace in Tianxia, the mortal world, was conquered by Echion.”
She heard the trilling of birds from the trees nearby.
“Come, Bingmei. You have many questions, I am sure. I will answer them, if I can, along the journey.”
“I will come,” she said. “I wish I had come sooner.”
“It is in our nature to cling to our second soul,” he said. “I understand why you did what you did. I understand you much better now that I have been taught the way of the phoenix. Come, let us journey together.”
They ventured down the strange path through the woods. The ambient glow overhead banished all shadows. She felt the breeze as it caressed the trees, but it didn’t chill her. She kept expecting mortal sensations, and their absence was discomfiting.
“What questions do you have, Bingmei?” Juexin asked after a moment.
“Is my mother here? My parents? Will I see them?”
“No, they are trapped on the other side of the Death Wall. It was once called Diyu, though Echion has named it the Grave Kingdom. But his power cannot reach across the wall. That is why he tried to stop you from making your sacrifice. Had you died any other way, you would have found yourself trapped like the rest of them.”
She looked at him, trying to understand. “You came here . . . because of your sacrifice?”
“Indeed,” he said. “Even though my spirit-soul was snatched by Echion, it was rescued by the phoenix because of what I did. The same happened to Kunmia Suun, Muxidi, and Damanhur. And like my father, Kunmia chose to cross the Death Wall again to bring hope that you were coming. Echion cannot see what happens here. He is blinded by darkness, just like the souls he has imprisoned. They cannot see us, but we can see them.”
One of the birds, a siskin, swooped down in front of them, chirping brightly. Its coloring reminded her of the siskin she’d seen again and again in her journey to the shrine. It seemed more real than the trees from which it came.
“I have another question,” she said.
“Ask as many as you like.”
“I’ve always heard that each person has two souls. Yet I’ve seen many people die, and only one soul departs from the body. There’s only one of me here, talking to you, yet I still feel like my full self. I still have emotions. I have memories.”
“Your memories will fade the longer you’ve been dead,” he said. “I learned more in three days in Tian than I did during my whole life in Tianxia. Echion has deliberately concealed knowledge from our people in order to increase his power. That’s why the meaning of the runes has been kept secret. That’s why no one knows which stories are myth and