Quion’s face brightened. “You can make it snow?”
Bingmei grinned. “Yes. I guess so.”
He shook his head. “You’re amazing.”
“It’s not my power,” she answered. “It is the phoenix’s.” She steepled her fingers together and pressed them against her mouth. “But it’ll buy us some time. We’ll have to stay up here for a while.”
Quion pursed his lips. “I wish there were a way we could bring the snow leopard up here. She keeps pacing down below, trying to find a way up. There is a little cave nearby that she’s been sleeping in. I think that will work for shelter.”
“We’ll share our food with her,” Bingmei said. “With the cricket, you can get down there easily.”
“When I go down, I can also gather some reeds from the river. There are plenty of them. I can weave a cradle for the baby.”
Bingmei liked that idea very much. “Thank you. I’ll need you, Quion. Why don’t you gather the things you’ll need and make sure your pet is comfortable? I’ll draw the glyph when you get back. I don’t know how long it will take for the weather to change.”
“It could be quick,” he said. “I’ll get to work. There is plenty of daylight left.”
It took all the remaining daylight for Quion to gather together the supplies he wanted. He had cut branches and lashed them together, making a stronger shelter. He’d gathered reeds to make baskets and a cradle, filled their waterskins to the brim, and even did some fishing to provide fresh meat for them and the animal. She sensed a dragon nearby once during the day and called for him to hurry back, but the beast didn’t come near their peak. Quion was able to finish hauling his materials up to the pillar.
The sun had started setting earlier and earlier now that they were in the latter part of the summer. They built a little fire, and Quion tended to the fish. He had sprigs of herbs he’d found in the woods below, and the smell of sizzling fish made her ravenous. He stifled a yawn on the back of his hand, and she saw his eyes were drooping with weariness.
Her gaze fell on the meiwood staff propped up behind him. Somehow, in between the various stops on their journey, he had almost finished carving it. Kunmia’s weapon had possessed the ability to absorb the magic from others. As Bingmei looked at the newly carved staff, she sensed that she could recreate the magic. There were dozens of words of power. She saw that if she drew the symbols on the staff with soot from the fire, Quion could carve them into the bark. Together, they could finish the staff.
After eating the delicious fish, Quion started to clean the pan, blinking and yawning as he did so. As she watched him clean, she felt overwhelmed by the thought of all he had done for her and the ensign. He’d always labored so diligently without a murmur. She and the others had come to expect it from him, and they’d rarely ever thanked him.
She felt ashamed of herself as she stared at him in the firelight. Perhaps it was the phoenix’s presence inside her that had opened her eyes to something she’d always failed to see, but the revelation was no less powerful for it. Quion’s service was honorable, and his work habits exemplary. It saddened her that no one had ever offered to help him. That they had expected his service in exchange for coming along with them. And he’d given it so willingly.
“You’ve worked so hard, Quion,” she said. “Let me clean it tonight.”
He looked at her, and she smelled his confusion. “I don’t mind the work.”
“Please let me,” she said, looking into his eyes.
He offered her the scouring scraper and went to add another few sticks to the fire. It crackled, and a lazy plume of smoke drifted into the sky, where stars began to shimmer.
Bingmei felt at peace as she scrubbed the pan. It felt good to do something for a friend who had given so much already. By the time she finished and looked to him to gain his approval of the job she’d done, she saw he was stretched out on the floor asleep, head on his arm. He looked so peaceful that her heart tugged with compassion. She carefully set the pot aside and found his blanket on top of his bedroll. Lifting it, she took it over and spread it atop Quion’s body.
It was almost time.
She approached the fire and sat on her haunches in front of it, soaking in the warmth. In the dark, she heard an owl screech. Without thinking, she tugged herself into it so that she could see from its eyes. It was hunting for a meal. The action of shifting her awareness had become as natural as bending into a low bow stance. Returning to her own body was just as easy, just as fluid.
I’m ready, she thought.
She wondered whether she would need water to trace the glyphs but sensed it wasn’t necessary. In her mind, she saw two symbols next to each other. The first was the word for “ice”—Bing. Her thoughts immediately diverted to her name—her parents had named her “ice rose” because she was born with the winter sickness.
In her mind’s eye, the second glyph vanished, morphing into another one. The word for “sickness.” With dawning horror, she realized the Immortal Words were strong enough to give someone the winter sickness.
She focused her thoughts back on the task, but she couldn’t remember what the second glyph had been—until a cool breeze blew into the shrine. Refreshing, to be sure, but she needed wind, not a breeze.
That was it! She needed winter to ride in on a fierce wind.
The second symbol shimmered to life in her head.
“Ice wind.” That was the glyph that would summon winter.
She carefully traced the symbols she saw in her mind.
