The army’s leader says something to the prisoner who can read lips, and cringing, the man holds up his hands so that all can see. Watch now and see what happens when you defy the great king! The soldier’s hand tenses on my shoulder. I know he is only seconds away from pushing me off the edge to my death. All he’s waiting for is his leader’s command. The prisoner continues as directed: Those who attempt to stir discord will be punished accordingly. Those who are obedient will—
The prisoner trails off as a shadow passes over his face.
Then another.
And another.
Eyes wide, he looks up to the sky . . . and that’s when we see the impossible.
CHAPTER 19
A DOZEN GLITTERING FORMS circle above us, dazzling in the late afternoon sunlight, powered by strong wings. The soldier lets go of me, backing up and abandoning me on my precarious perch. I’m caught off guard by the sudden movement and find myself wavering on the cliff’s edge. Using both hands and feet, I scramble to move backward, far from the dangerous precipice and onto more solid ground. All the while, I keep my eyes fixed above.
Those glittering beings circle lower and lower, and I feel tears prick my eyes as I see the same wondrous forms from Elder Chen’s scroll: the regal bearing, dragon-like head, lion’s mane, and full-feathered wings. Dream has become reality. Myth has been made flesh.
The pixius are here.
They are so beautiful, even with the ferocity of their sharp teeth and claws, that it makes my heart ache. That instinct I so often feel, to capture the world in my art, rears up within me, a thousand times stronger than ever before. I want to draw that exquisite profile, the way the pixius command such incredible power yet seem so graceful as they glide on currents of air. I want to convey the sense of the breeze rustling their thick manes. I want to recreate the glimmering metallic color of their coats, varying from shades of deep bronze to brightest silver, even though I have no idea how to begin. The color ripples on their fur almost like water. Capturing the full majesty of these creatures would probably be an impossible task, but in this moment, I could happily spend a lifetime trying.
When I can finally drag my gaze from their beauty, I see that chaos has returned below. The horses are rearing, and the soldiers try to calm them, splitting their attention between the animals, the villagers, and the majestic creatures in the sky. The reactions of my own people are mixed. Some are simply stunned, unable to move. Others, terrified, attempt to flee. Still others make the connection between our cries and the appearance of the pixius. Many of these people are older, familiar with the myths, and see this as our salvation. They fall to their knees, holding their hands up and raising their voices, though this time there is a note of joy to the cries.
One such supplicant is an older woman not far from me. I know her as someone who has lost much of her sight, but it’s clear she can still make out the glittering of the pixius as they continue to circle above us. She lifts her hands in thanksgiving, crying out in happiness. A young soldier stands nearby, nervously watching the sky. When he hears the old woman, he strikes her in the head with the hilt of his sword.
In the blink of an eye, one of the pixius—a golden one—breaks formation and dives down, straight for the soldier. With talons glittering as brightly as that metallic fur, the pixiu snatches the soldier up and tosses him over the cliff in one smooth motion. His screams as he goes over raise the hair on the back of my neck.
That action is like a spark to tinder. The soldiers mobilize, seeing a clear and immediate threat in the pixius. The soldiers’ leader begins shouting orders. Swords are raised, and a handful of men with bows and arrows come hurrying forward. Even though I can’t understand the leader’s words, his actions and expression convey his orders clearly: Bring down the pixius!
Arrows fly into the sky. Most are dodged easily by the swiftly moving pixius. Those arrows that do make contact bounce harmlessly off the pixius’ hides. Their fur looks luxuriously soft but apparently has the impenetrability of the hardest rock. These direct attacks drive the pixius to action. They break out of their circling formation now, diving and striking with incredible speed as they pick off their enemies one by one. From my vantage, I notice the pixius easily distinguish soldier from captive and spare both my people and the plateau miners. As for the soldiers . . . they meet a different fate. Some are thrown over the cliffs. Others are simply torn apart.
For those in the thick of the crowd, it is not obvious that the pixius are sparing the prisoners. Villagers panic and begin running, once more nearly stampeding over one another in their haste to get away. Soon they are joined by panicked soldiers who realize the futility of trying to kill these creatures. The soldiers seem to be heading back toward the village, and my guess is that they are running away to the recently opened passes that will lead down the other side of the mountain. Frightened villagers, not wanting to cross paths with their former captors, head in the opposite direction, toward the mines to join those hiding within. Still others cannot move at all. They stay where they are, eyes trained upward at the beautiful, deadly display happening in the air.
Chaos reigns.
I leave my spot and head toward where I last saw my sister. The crowd around her has dispersed, but she is still there, transfixed by the sights above. She squints, her face filled with wonder. Someone fleeing pushes me from behind, causing me to bump into her. She glances down, smiling when she sees me.
You did it, Fei! You were able to—
I don’t see what else she says because my attention is caught by a sound—a voice. It is one I know by now: Li Wei’s. I would recognize it anywhere, and I have a brief, surreal memory of the blue thrush and how it could find its mate with a single cry. I don’t have to see Li Wei’s face now to hear the warning in his voice. Even without words, the message is clear. I spin around and am just in time to see a soldier barreling through, uncaring of who or what is in his way as he wields his swords.