The Immortal Words (The Grave Kingdom), стр. 7

“This is where all the wood came from,” Quion said in wonder, hands on his hips.

“It’s been hidden here, all this time,” she said, rubbing her hand down one of the trunks. “I think Echion built the Death Wall to separate people from it.”

“If meiwood weapons are the only thing that can be imbued with magic, it makes sense that he’d want to keep the grove for himself.”

They continued walking, ascending a small hill until they reached the top. When they did, the meiwood trees fanned out in front of them as far as the eye could see. The trees were growing in orderly rows, column after column.

Light from the sun reflected off water, and she saw a little creek winding through the trees, leading to a large pond.

“Water,” she said. “I hope it’s fresh.”

“Me too. I’m thirsty. We can fill our waterskins there.”

The two of them started walking toward the edge of the pond. It was wide enough that it cut into the line of the trees. By design? Had someone dug it there?

Who?

Her eyes drifted to the center of the pond. Something glimmered within its depths. She thought it was a glyph, but the rippling of the water prevented her from seeing it clearly.

Quion gripped her arm, the smell of fear gushing from him. As she looked up, she spotted them just before she reached the edge of the water. Lions crouched low by the water on the far side of the pond, lapping the surface with their long, pink tongues. There were probably a dozen in all, including the cubs. An enormous lion with a thick mane lifted its head as they intruded on the scene. A set of golden eyes stared at her.

The first lion rose, and the rest quickly followed.

“Oh no,” Quion gasped.

There was nowhere to run. The head lion began to lope around the pond, its head bent low in a hunting gesture.

Fear quivered in Bingmei’s belly. She had the meiwood cricket in her pocket, but her friend had no such escape.

“Climb a tree. Hurry!”

Quion didn’t need to be told twice. He went to the closest tree and wrapped his arms around the trunk, digging his boots into the shaft. Bingmei came up under him and gave him a push.

“Hurry, Quion!” she said. He wasn’t high enough, and the lions would be upon them any moment. The animals were now stalking toward them from both sides of the pond.

Quion grunted, pulling himself higher and higher, out of reach of Bingmei. The first lion loped up to her, a low growl in its throat, but Bingmei rubbed the cricket and bounded away from it.

As soon as she jumped, the lion roared and charged at her, baring its fangs. She leaped again, this time in another direction, coming closer to Quion. The other lions were converging around her, their muscles rippling beneath golden hides.

Quion had reached the lower branches of the tree and hung there, his legs dangling. One of the lions jumped to reach him and nearly snagged his boot.

“Higher!” Bingmei yelled.

She turned and saw a lion prowling toward her, tail swishing. Brushing the cricket again, she leaped straight up into a tree as the beast pounced at her, snarling and growling. She caught the branches and pulled herself up. The lions patrolled beneath both trees, weaving in and out, growling and snarling.

She glanced into the neighboring tree at Quion, who looked pale with fear as he gripped the trunk of the meiwood tree.

Now what were they going to do?

“Bingmei!” Quion called out, his voice revealing his rising panic. The largest of the massive cats had leaped at the trunk of the tree he’d climbed, its claws digging into the bark. As its companions looked on, it started to climb the tree.

“I see it,” she answered, her mind working quickly. “Can you climb any higher?”

Quion’s heavy backpack made him sway a little as he stood up on the branch. He was climbing, but not fast enough. The limber cat had made it to one of the lower branches, and Bingmei watched as it jumped to a higher one, a low growl ripping from its throat. The tree’s foliage obscured her sight of Quion, but she heard the rustling sounds of him moving.

She glanced down, seeing the swishing tails of the majestic beasts.

She took stock of her meager weapons—a hunting knife and a short sword with a meiwood hilt—and glanced down again, looking for an opening in the pack of lions. She saw one in between the two trees separating her and her friend.

“I’m coming,” she told Quion. “Keep climbing.”

“But where will I go when I reach the top?” he asked nervously. “I’m running out of tree!”

Bingmei glanced down again, feeling her stomach wriggle in concern at what she was about to do. It was a long way down. And even though she had the cricket’s magic at her command, her instincts still revolted at the thought of jumping that far. The Death Wall was, of course, much higher, but she hadn’t stopped to think before jumping—she’d only acted.

Slowing her breathing to calm her nerves, she unsheathed the short sword.

The lion in Quion’s tree growled as it prepared to spring again, the muscles in its haunches tensing and quivering.

Bingmei stroked the cricket and felt its magic tingle in her legs. She leaped from the tree, plummeting to the earth, and landed with a bounce that sent her catapulting up into Quion’s tree. She landed just beneath the lion and lunged, stabbing it with the blade.

It was not a killing blow. The beast came down snarling, and it roared at her as it leaped down to her branch, the wood bowing slightly beneath its weight. She kept her balance and quickly backed away. The lion came after her, its jaws widening to reveal hook-sharp teeth. She met its yellow gaze and smelled the fear coming from herself in a rush of burnt soup. The lion lunged,