The Buried World (The Grave Kingdom) Read online

  ALSO BY JEFF WHEELER

  The Grave Kingdom Series

  The Killing Fog

  The Buried World

  The Immortal Words (forthcoming)

  The Harbinger Series

  Storm Glass

  Mirror Gate

  Iron Garland

  Prism Cloud

  Broken Veil

  The Kingfountain Series

  The Poisoner’s Enemy (prequel)

  The Maid’s War (prequel)

  The Poisoner’s Revenge (prequel)

  The Queen’s Poisoner

  The Thief’s Daughter

  The King’s Traitor

  The Hollow Crown

  The Silent Shield

  The Forsaken Throne

  The Legends of Muirwood Trilogy

  The Wretched of Muirwood

  The Blight of Muirwood

  The Scourge of Muirwood

  The Covenant of Muirwood Trilogy

  The Lost Abbey (novella)

  The Banished of Muirwood

  The Ciphers of Muirwood

  The Void of Muirwood

  Whispers from Mirrowen Trilogy

  Fireblood

  Dryad-Born

  Poisonwell

  Landmoor Series

  Landmoor

  Silverkin

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2020 by Jeff Wheeler

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542015035

  ISBN-10: 1542015030

  Cover design by Shasti O’Leary Soudant

  To Sierra

  CONTENTS

  MAP

  GLOSSARY

  Sleep is the...

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The lone sheep...

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  Fortune does not...

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Respect out of...

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Neither fire nor...

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  All of Life...

  EPILOGUE

  CHARACTERS

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  GLOSSARY

  Baobei——term of endearment for a beloved child

  Dianxue——a long-rumored skill of rendering killing/paralyzing blows by touch

  Dongxue——series of caves where the Qiangdao had hidden

  Ensign——a band of trained warriors for hire

  Jingcha——the police force in Sajinau

  Li——an approximate unit of measurement, less than a mile, used to estimate

  Meiwood——rosewood, a hardwood used for magic and construction

  Namibu Desert——a coastal desert far to the south

  Ni-ji-jing——killer whale

  Qiangdao——roving bandits

  Qiezei——a thief, cat burglar, picklock, professional criminal

  Quonsuun——a temple, fighting school

  Taidu——one’s attitude, demeanor, bearing

  Taoqi——disobedient child

  Tianshi——angelic beings from the Grave Kingdom

  Woliu——the vortex separating the Grave Kingdom from the mortal world

  Xidan——port town on trade route to Namibu Desert

  Xixuegui——the undead

  Sleep is the brother of Death.

  —Dawanjir proverb

  PROLOGUE

  Dragon of Night

  Sometimes when Bingmei fell asleep, she died. It was happening more and more, as if her ghost-self could be removed from her body as easily as a foot from a shoe. Only, she couldn’t just return at will. No, her ghost-self would be forced on a journey, and she’d find herself leagues away, a thin invisible thread connecting her souls to her body. Until she returned, her body would lie still, unbreathing.

  It was a terrifying feeling, knowing she might not wake up. If she was gone too long, she feared she would have no living body to come back to.

  Someone always slept near her to shake her awake when it happened.

  But this time, it seemed Mieshi had fallen asleep too.

  Her ghost-self wandered down the shadow-draped corridor of the palace at Sajinau. The atmosphere had turned oppressive since the dark lord Echion had claimed the place as his own. The walls seemed to be closing in on her as she dreamwalked down the corridor, leaving no trace, no sound. Incense hung in the air, cloyingly sweet, but the stench of Echion overpowered it.

  All her life, Bingmei had been cursed with the ability to smell emotions. Greed had a lemony smell. Dishonesty, a stench like rotting meat. In crowded places, like the trading hub inside a town, the stew of emotions quickly became overpowering, making her crave seclusion. But she’d never smelled anything worse than the terrible, pervasive scent of Echion. It was the smell of a million murders, of savagery masked in justice.

  It was her fault the ancient ruler had risen from his tomb. She’d drawn the glyph that had initiated his release, compelled by forces she still didn’t fully understand. According to Jidi Majia, the wise steward of King Shulian of Sajinau, she was the phoenix-chosen, the one person capable of destroying Echion for good. She didn’t doubt him, but she had not chosen her role, and she didn’t want any part of it. Not when the only way she could defeat Echion was by willingly sacrificing her own life.

  A feeling tugged her toward a set of large doors leading to the audience hall. Prince Juexin’s face surfaced in her memory. Sadness welled inside her. The prince was dead—she’d watched Echion kill him—and so was his once-mighty army. They’d been obliterated by the killing fog, a curse summoned by using ancient magic.

  Only Echion could control the fog.

  She felt herself tugged up and through the crack between the doors, entering the massive audience hall with its giant meiwood pillars. Moonlight poured in through the upper windows and silky curtains, drawing her attention to the room’s altered appearance. The tasteful antiques had been replaced with huge casks of coins, coffers stuffed with jade and gold jewelry, and ornate statuary carved w
ith lions, tortoises, and ravens.

  A prickle of awareness shot down her back. The shadows looked . . . alive. As she watched, they began to twist and quiver, joining together, growing thicker.

  She shuddered, trying to wake herself up, to escape the dreamwalk before her body remained dead forever. Her heart filled with dread as she felt an irresistible tug toward the light coming from one of the anterooms. She attempted to resist the impulse, but she kept moving toward the light.

  The anteroom door was made of paper fixed to latticework. The smell of Echion was everywhere, and it horrified her. The shadows in the hall were pulling together faster, coalescing into a huge, beastly shape. Her fear multiplied when a pair of slitted yellow eyes opened.

  It was Echion’s shadow dragon.

  As she reached the paper-thin door, she passed through it, and noticed that the paper rippled slightly as she did. She could almost feel it, which made a shivering sensation go through her.

  Jidi Majia was working intensely at a desk. She’d not seen him since the fall of Sajinau, but his pale skin and white hair were unmistakable. Like her, he had the winter sickness, except her hair had turned a rusty amber—a transformation that marked her as the phoenix-chosen. Beneath the scent of Echion, she sensed the bite of sadness.

  The steward wasn’t seated at the desk—he stood over it. A large white paper lay before him, next to a collection of ancient scrolls. He had a paintbrush in his hand, glistening with an oily black substance. On the white sheet, he had drawn three rows of glyphs. As Bingmei watched him painstakingly finish another one, she saw the last stroke smudge. He gritted his teeth in frustration and crumpled the whole sheet, tossing it onto the floor, where she saw a mound of other similar failures. With a sigh, he mopped his sweaty brow on his sleeve and started again, poring over one of the ancient scrolls and retracing its sigils, stroke by stroke.

  She felt the darkness gather behind the light of the oil lamps. She could hear the scratch of claws on the marble floor, the dragging of scales. The dragon was coming.

  Jidi Majia, Bingmei whispered.

  Nothing changed. He continued to pucker his brow and retrace the glyphs. What was this? Although she’d drawn the glyph that had awakened the dark lord, she hadn’t been in control of herself. She’d never seen anyone else draw a glyph, or even try. It was best to be cautious when it came to the ancients’ magic—no one knew what might summon the killing fog.

  Echion had clearly brought back a lost art . . .

  Or was Jidi Majia copying the scrolls in the dark of night because he’d stolen them?

  Jidi Majia, the dragon is coming!

  She reached her ghost hand out and tried to touch his arm, but her hand passed through him. He was oblivious to her presence. In short order, he had retraced several of the glyphs, his arm moving in a delicate fashion, pausing every so often to dip the brush again into the black oil.

  Bingmei wanted to go—she saw yellow glowing eyes through the paper door—but she could not. Nor could she force herself to return to her body.

  Jidi Majia!

  The door slid open, and Echion stood beyond it. She had expected to see the snout and fangs of the dragon, but she sensed they were one and the same. Two essences fused together. He was both beautiful and terrible to look at. Tall and muscular, but graceful. His long pale hair was loose around his shoulders. He wore a black silk dressing gown embroidered with gold thread. His expression was always so kindly, gracious, and patient, all of which belied his true nature, his willingness to slaughter any who defied him. Sajinau had not been the only kingdom to fall in the time since his rebirth. And that was to speak nothing of the people he’d killed during his other reigns of terror.

  Jidi Majia looked up, blinking in surprise. “Dread sovereign, I did not hear you approach.”

  “You do not sleep, Jidi Majia?”

  Jidi set the brush down on a porcelain rest, the black tip away from the paper. “It requires great patience and practice to master the craft of writing,” the old advisor said. “I must discipline my hands and my mind to do this. I wish I were younger. What a masterful invention, my lord, being able to relay messages across great distances without trusting the memory of faulty servants.”

  “Your tirelessness is impressive, Jidi Majia,” said Echion. He entered the room, and Bingmei thought she heard the flutter of leathery wings. “Every general is being taught to read and write. Every officer as well. You do well by setting an example. Your service will be rewarded.”

  “Thank you, great one,” replied the servant. His tone was humble, but she could smell his sorrow as well as the memory of pain inside him.

  “Do you know why I am here?” Echion asked.

  Jidi Majia’s brow wrinkled. “I . . . I know you do not sleep, great one. You are tireless in your inventions that benefit the people.”

  “My laws are just; it is true. I impose order in the world. But that is not why I am here this night.”

  There was a burst of dread from Jidi Majia. Bingmei stood at his side, across the table from the overlord, who had not looked at her yet. But she knew he had the ability to see her ghost-self. Was he toying with her?

  She wanted to fly away but could not.

  “Have I displeased you, dread sovereign?” Jidi Majia whispered huskily.

  “Only because you cannot see her, like I can,” Echion answered, his eyes finally shifting to Bingmei’s, a lurid smile twisting his mouth. “Come back to Sajinau, Bingmei. I need my queen.” She could smell his impatience, his anger, his determination thrumming inside of him.

  She stared at him, frozen in terror.

  “Who?” Jidi Majia said, looking around in confusion. “Bingmei?”

  “She’s here,” Echion said. “Come back to your cage, little bird,” he said coaxingly, but she smelled death on his breath. Creeping around the desk, he surreptitiously lifted his hand and traced a glyph in the air.

  Bingmei bolted. Echion’s face twisted with hatred, and he pounced at her, trying to snatch at her with his now-glowing hand. She ran without looking back, but the dragon’s claws closed around her tunic. She tried to scream as she was violently yanked through the audience hall, but no sound came out. When she looked up, a play of shadows revealed an enormous scaled snout and a pair of flaring yellow eyes—inhuman eyes filled with a reptilian menace that made her whole soul shrivel for fear of being devoured.

  She heard a snapping noise, the clash of fangs, and then suddenly she was back in her body, being shaken vigorously, a voice begging in the distance.

  “Bingmei, please! Please wake up! Please!”

  It was Quion’s voice.

  And it was sick with worry.

  “They’ve found us!”

  CHAPTER ONE

  Dongxue

  The pricks of pain in Bingmei’s palms and the soles of her feet were excruciating. Each time she died, it became harder and more painful to come back to her body. A small oil lamp sat nearby, exposing the deep night of the cave. She blinked, trying to banish the image of the dragon’s snapping jaws and reorient herself.

  They’d abandoned Kunmia’s quonsuun in the summer because it was no longer safe to stay there. Kunmia was dead and had bequeathed the leadership of the ensign to Bingmei. At first, they’d gone west in the hopes of reaching one of the kingdoms that hadn’t fallen. But Echion controlled the waters and the inland passages now. And he hunted for Bingmei relentlessly. Armed bands of Qiangdao chased them wherever they went. The thieves and murderers had been ushered out of their mountain lairs and made overlords.

  The ensign had hunted for a safe place to spend the winter, and their search had ended here—a series of hidden caves they called the Dongxue, which ran beneath the faults of the mountains. The caves were cold, but not nearly as cold as the winter air outside. Water from mountain streams trickled through the twisting passages, some of which looked like the jaws of an ancient fish, with lumps of stone stretching from both the floor and ceiling. They’d taken up residence in
an abandoned lair of a Qiangdao war band that had previously inhabited the mountain.

  “She’s awake,” Mieshi said in relief. She was hunkered down near Bingmei, chafing one of Bingmei’s fur-covered hands.

  “What’s happened?” Bingmei asked, still struggling to awareness.

  Quion leaned closer, his smile evident. Behind him, his pet snow leopard yawned lazily. “Huqu was guarding the icefalls entrance when he heard noises coming up the trail. He had just enough time to escape deeper into the caves before the Qiangdao arrived. They have torches and gear.”

  Bingmei shook her head in confusion. “Why would they come here in the middle of winter?”

  “Maybe winter is ending early again?” said Mieshi. “What are your orders, Master?”

  The last word was said respectfully, but Bingmei caught a whiff of contempt. It smelled like the desiccated jujubes they’d found in storage in the caves, which hunger had finally forced them to eat. Not everyone in the ensign had taken to having such a young, inexperienced master.

  She tried to stand, but dizziness washed over her. “Are they still at the icefalls?”

  “No, they’ve entered the caves,” Mieshi said. “Are we going to defend or run?”

  “Where can we go in the middle of winter?” Bingmei said. “Move the young disciples and the servants into the deep tunnels. There are plenty of places to hide. Maybe these Qiangdao are a foraging party. Let’s see what they’re after.”

  “But how did they find us?” Quion asked.

  Bingmei shook her head. “I don’t know, Quion. Take the servants and the younger disciples and leave through the back exit. I don’t want you part of the fighting if it comes to that.” He was a fisherman by training, and although he could not be relied upon to fight, his survival skills had kept them all alive.

  He nodded and then rose. “Here; keep the lamp. I know my way through the caves blindfolded.”

  He wasn’t exaggerating. He’d spent weeks memorizing the trails in and out, learning to trust his hands and not his eyes. Dongxue held natural beauty, not the painted construction of Echion’s palaces. The strange pillars of stone that decorated the caves had been formed over thousands of years by the steady dripping of water. It was a strange, ethereal sort of beauty. The woods outside teemed with life, but the only plant life that grew inside the caves was lichen. It speckled the strange stone sculptures only nature could fashion.