The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 5
Bingmei’s flesh had been embedded with splinters from Kunmia’s meiwood staff, which had exploded in her battle with Echion atop the Death Wall. Most of them could be removed with fingernails, but some of the bigger pieces required the use of Quion’s dagger. It was a painstaking process, even with both of them working—Bingmei focusing on her hands and arms, and Quion delicately plucking the wood shards from her face and neck.
They sat amidst the quaking aspen, near a trickling stream that fed into a gully. Quion had carried her there after pulling her out of the hidden place. If she had fallen all the way to the bottom, he would have never found her.
A little chirping noise sounded to her left, and she turned and saw the tiniest siskin finch. Its plumage was yellow with flecks of green and darker blue splotches, and it sang a lovely song. It perched on one of the smaller branches of the aspen.
“There’s that little bird again,” Quion said, smiling. “A siskin, I think. It perched on a branch right over where I was trapped, and it kept crying out like it was warning me or something.” He shot her an intent look. “I think it led me to you. The birds seem to . . . recognize you somehow.”
“Maybe they do,” she said softly. Bingmei felt a small throb of gratitude in her heart. The birds had helped her, and so had that voice. She’d claimed to be a sister, but Bingmei had no sisters.
She held out her hand to the colorful bird, half expecting it to perch on her finger, but the siskin flew away in a panic, warbling again.
“Birds are skittish,” Quion said. “Except seagulls. My father and I would have to shoo them away from our nets. They’d come flapping in, easy as you please, and start pecking at the catch, ruining the fish.”
Bingmei grinned at his little story as she continued to pick out the splinters. Quion sat very close to her, his fingers carefully examining her face for more splinters. Periodically, he’d gather water from the river in his hands so he could wash away the blood and get a better view of her injuries. He’d brought along her pack, which she’d thrown off the edge of the wall earlier. It held a change of clothes and some supplies to help them survive in the wild, but no doubt they’d need to forage for food. From what she could tell, they were in a completely unpopulated land. Perhaps no humans had ever lived there.
Sitting in the aspen grove, Bingmei could sense the phoenix shrine in the distance, beyond the twisting path carved by the river. The phoenix had shown it to her in a vision, and now that she was beyond the wall, she felt guided toward it. Once she found it, she would go to the Grave Kingdom. And that was the one place Quion couldn’t follow her. The smell of sadness struck her nose, but this time it was her own scent.
“You’ve been a dear friend to me,” she said, looking at him. “Part of me still doesn’t want to do this. But I must. When we reached the Death Wall, and I touched it . . .”
“It looked like you died,” he said somberly. “I thought it killed you.”
“Maybe it did,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s been happening more and more often. Like my body has become slippery. My souls keep falling out.”
He sniffed. “You’re a person, not a shoe. Hold yourself together until we get there.”
“I will try. Whatever happens, Quion,” she said, touching his arm so she knew she had his attention, “I want you to survive this. We’ve lost . . . so many already.” She didn’t know what had happened to any of their friends. To Rowen, Eomen, or Jidi Majia. To Liekou or Cuifen. To Mieshi or Marenqo. But knowing Echion’s disdain for the living and his ability to control the dead, she suspected they might all have already perished.
“A somber face,” Quion said. “What are you thinking?”
“When I left my body at the Death Wall, I had another vision. The whole wall was built on the corpses of Echion’s slaves. He used so many people to build his palaces, this wall—and their lives, their sacrifice, meant nothing to him. He cares for no one. Not even his queen.” She felt her insides twist. “How they hate each other, Quion. It goes beyond reason. They could have easily killed me on top of the wall, but neither of them would yield to the other.” She pinched her tongue between her teeth. “They won’t stop hunting us.”
Quion sniffed again. “I suppose not. Let’s finish cleaning you up. You’re like a porcupine with all these quills.”
Later, much later, after Quion had slid most of the slivers out of her skin, they continued their hike through the aspen, moving as quickly as they could. Every now and then, Bingmei caught sight of a flicker of yellow weaving through the trees. A siskin, or maybe the siskin. She felt the tugging of the phoenix shrine in the distance, leading her forward. She’d explained as much to Quion before they left the river.
He dodged a tree in their path. “Are you nervous?”
She was walking toward her death, yet it no longer bothered her. “I feel calm.”
“I’m nervous for you,” he said, sighing. “This isn’t what you wanted.”
“I know. But all of us die eventually, Quion. Maybe my death will have greater meaning. Maybe I can finally stop Echion.”
Prince Juexin of Sajinau had offered to build her a shrine should she agree to sacrifice herself. But now he was dead, and his kingdom belonged to Echion. Her death would be more of a whimper—the only person who would know what she’d done was Quion. Yet it felt right. It felt inevitable even.
“I’ll miss