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.
Thanks to Li Wei’s warning, I’m just barely able to grab Zhang Jing and dodge out of his path, though it knocks her and me to the ground. The soldier swings his swords where we stood and then pauses in his escape to regard us menacingly. Before he can decide what to do next, a bronze pixiu swoops down and intercepts him, carrying him off, only his screams ringing behind him. I hurry to help Zhang Jing stand. It is unclear what place will be the safest, and then I remember Li Wei’s voice. I search in the direction it came from and see him standing over by the mines, where the majority of our people have gathered. He waves at me through the pandemonium, and, taking Zhang Jing’s hand, I begin making my way toward him.
It’s complete disorder, almost a repeat of when I was trying to cross the village’s center earlier today. At least now no one is targeting me specifically, but danger still abounds. Everyone is so concerned with saving themselves that they pay little heed to who’s in their way. The soldiers don’t hesitate to use weapons and force to clear their paths, fear making them even more desperate and brutal. The pixius are coming for them, and they know it. I hear their screams, and they are awful, heart-wrenching sounds—even though I regard these men as my enemies. It makes me wish for silence again, and I wonder how soldiers can stand to devote their lives to war. Who could live with such confusion and despair on a regular basis?
At last, Zhang Jing and I join the rest of our people standing by the mines, and Li Wei puts his arms around me. Because Zhang Jing is still clinging to me, he ends up hugging us both. We huddle together with others by the mine’s entrance and watch the scene around us. Most of the soldiers are gone, either dead or having escaped. A couple became trapped here in the clearing, and when they are spotted by pixius, their end is quick and bloody. One soldier, seeing a pixiu coming for him, chooses an alternate ending: throwing himself off the cliff.
Around me, the mood is conflicted, and I share in that mixed emotion. We are all glad to see the soldiers removed, but there is a deadly edge to the pixius’ beauty. When there are no more soldiers in sight, the pixius make a few more circling flights before turning their attention on us. They land in the center of the clearing in one great, glittering herd and approach us on foot. Li Wei’s arm is around me, and I feel him tense. Fear shines on the faces of my people and Nuan’s, and a few terrified individuals seek the safety of the mine.
I share their anxiety, looking over the approaching pixius and wondering what is to stop them from turning on us. For all I know, they saw the soldiers as the immediate threat and eliminated it before turning to easier prey.
The pixius come to a stop only a few feet away from where I stand. I hold my breath. They are so close that I can see all the multifaceted strands of fur that make up those rippling, metallic coats. Their claws glitter too—some are wet with blood. All of them have blue eyes, something the stories never mentioned. It is a clear, azure blue, like the sky they descended from. It is fitting, I decide. Those beautiful eyes watch us all solemnly now, as though they too are waiting for something.
From their midst, there is a stirring, and one pixiu steps out toward the front of the group. She—somehow, instinctively, I know this one is female—is one of the largest and has a coat of mixed silver and white strands. She shimmers like moonlight as she moves, and her beauty makes me weak in the knees. At the same time, I also experience that sensation again—that tugging in my chest that makes me feel like someone is summoning me over a great distance. It grows stronger and stronger as she approaches, until that sense of connection practically burns within me. Her eyes hold mine, beckoning. Unable to resist, I slip out of Li Wei’s arm and step forward. He signals to me in my periphery.
Fei, be careful. You’ve seen what they’re capable of. They have a taste for blood.
I nod in acknowledgment and move closer to the herd until I’m just a few feet away from the silver female. Both humans and pixius seem to be holding a collective breath, waiting to see how this drama will unfold. The silver one shifts and comes right up to me, and I hear a few gasps, as my people expect her to attack. But she doesn’t.
Instead, she kneels.
I reach out and rest my hand on the side of her face, letting out a gasp of my own as my mind is suddenly bombarded with pictures and scenes. It’s like having another sense. Images—hers, not mine—play out in my head, and I suddenly find myself witnessing memories from a time long, long ago. Pixius and humans—my ancestors—lived in harmony in these mountains. It was before the passes were blocked, and the village had access to fertile valleys and trade routes. The pixius draw strength from precious metals, and our ancestors would mine small amounts of ore as tokens of friendship to the pixius. In return, the pixius protected my ancestors from outside threats and also imparted an aura of energy and healing that prevented the toxins in the mines from causing harm.
But those serving the king of that time developed weapons capable of harming the pixius. Their armies came into the mountains, hunting the pixius both for their coats and to gain access to the rich mines. This last pixiu pride, weak and depleted, managed to elude its hunters and seek refuge in a magical hibernation within the mountain. They needed that sleep to recover their strength, even though it meant abandoning the humans they’d bonded to—humans who then became trapped and enslaved when avalanches closed the passes.
This female, alone of her pride, has sought a human she could share her dreams with—a human whose mind was as visually stimulated as the pixius’. It was she who reached out to me in my sleep, bonding to me, and that connection imparted the pixius’ healing upon me, restoring my hearing. She was the one who showed me what I must do—raise the voices of my people—in order to wake the rest of her pride and remind them of the bonds they once had to our ancestors.
She tells me all this in pictures—her mind to mine—as I stare into her eyes. I read the images as easily as I do characters on paper. It is part of the reason she chose me. Not all humans are capable of communicating the way the pixius do, but I understand her perfectly. Her story is an epic one, with consequences I suspect I’m only beginning to grasp. Much will have to be worked out, but for now, I have only one question.
What is your name?
She doesn’t speak in words as we do, but my query comes through to her. More images flash in my mind by way of answer. A glitter of brilliant silver, dazzling to behold. A gust of wind, stirring branch
es or providing an easy current for a pixiu to ride on.
Yin Feng, I think. That is your name. Silver Wind.
The pixiu bows again, and I remove my hand from her face, finding I am smiling. Li Wei and Zhang Jing are beside me, looking understandably puzzled by this silent exchange, not realizing the vast information I have just learned about our past—and, I suspect, our future.
What is happening? asks Li Wei.
A new beginning, I reply. A new beginning for all of us.
EPILOGUE
I AM AWAKE BEFORE my roommates, as usual, because I hear the servant in the hall. She sets down a pitcher of water and turns the crank that shakes our beds. One by one, the other girls awaken, yawning and stretching as they try to throw off the heaviness of sleep. Many are reluctant to leave their covers, for autumn is upon us and the room is cold.
Zhang Jing pulls the blankets around her like a hood, pouting when she sees my grin. Time to wake up, I tell her. Don’t worry—the sun will warm things soon. It’s not winter yet.
Since the pixius returned to our village two months ago, things have changed considerably. Before, I led a good life as a star apprentice among the artists. Now my life isn’t just good—it’s full of meaning. Until recently, I hadn’t realized there was a difference.
I don my blue robes, and Zhang Jing puts on her green ones. The fabric of hers is new, acquired from recent trade, and I confess I am a little bit jealous. We finish our hair and check each other over as usual and then head off to join the others for breakfast. The dining room is much more crowded these days, but we manage to find two spots together at one of the low tables. The Peacock Court has become not just a residence for artists but for students of agriculture as well, and at last those empty rooms are being put to use.
Breakfast is still fast and efficient. Everyone knows the last nice days of autumn will be ending soon, and the gardeners are anxious to go about their work for the day. They leave before the artists do, Zhang Jing going with them in a flurry of green. I wave, signing that I will see her later.
We artists finish our meals soon thereafter and then go to the workroom to touch up the record we started last night. That part of our lives hasn’t changed, though the content of what we paint certainly has. We no longer diligently record the amounts of metals we mine and send to the township—because we no longer give them anything. Metals are still pulled out as offerings to the pixius and for help in our fledgling trade with those few merchants who’ve been brave enough to come up the mountain passes. After the defeat of the township’s army, King Jianjun declared our village anathema, but the lure of our buried riches was enough to draw some daring souls out against his orders.
The record reflects news of that trade as well as of our preparations for the winter to come. Food is still a concern, especially now that we no longer can rely on regular shipments from the township. Our early attempts at trade have certainly been useful in alleviating the problem, but we still have much to do. Along with a small supply of livestock, we’ve also acquired seeds for some root vegetables that are hearty enough to grow in the autumn. When the passes were blown open, we were again given access to the pockets of fertile valleys that our ancestors cultivated. Wild berry bushes and fruit trees have grown there all these years and were in full fruit when we found them, giving us a jump start on our winter supplies. Our hope is that if we can yield a crop of vegetables and grow our livestock in those valleys, we can make it through until spring offers more possibilities.
Today’s record also documents the activities of the pixius. They live openly on the mountain now, sometimes interacting with us and sometimes keeping to themselves. Those of us who still mine give the pixius offerings of metals, and in return we have enjoyed some of the healing that being in the creatures’ presence offers. There have been no new cases of blindness, and those who were starting to lose their vision have progressed no further. To regain the senses fully, however, requires a pixiu’s bonding. So far, only two humans in our village have been chosen for this. I am one of them.
My task in the record today is the kind of work I’ve always dreamed of: I am painting Yin Feng. I was up late last night working on her, and I still feel as though the work is incomplete. I’ve even been given access to special metallic paints, but no matter how many times I go over that rippling, glimmering coat, it just doesn’t seem good enough.
You will drive yourself crazy, Elder Chen tells me, coming to stand by my canvas. It is time for them to take this to the village’s center. You’ve done excellent work.
I sigh and look at my portrait. It’s not perfect.
He smiles kindly. Perfection is an admirable thing to strive for. But so is knowing when to stop.
I take the hint and set my brush down. Thank you, master.
He nods toward the other apprentices as they gather up the canvases. They will take care of this now. You should go on to your posts, both of you.
This last bit is directed to me and Jin Luan, who is painting nearby. She is the other human who was chosen by a pixiu, the only other human—so far—to have her hearing restored. It is something I’m still coming to terms with. Despite our past rivalry, I am happy that such a great thing has happened to her. And it isn’t lost on me that Elder Chen’s two apprentices are, as far as the pixius are concerned, the most visually minded of us all. It reflects well on him, and I know he is proud, maybe even a little wistful.
But there is a selfish part of me that hopes those I am close to—specifically Zhang Jing and Li Wei—will be chosen by pixius too. I want them to share this journey of hearing with me, to understand what it’s like to have all our senses restored. So far, the rest of the pixius are taking their time in choosing humans—if they ever will. I try not to be impatient, knowing it is a special and honored relationship that not everyone is ready for. And for pixius, who live much longer than humans, there especially seems to be no rush.
Jin Luan and I bow to Elder Chen and then leave the rest of our peers to transport the canvas. She and I step outside into the crisp autumn day, which is still cold but bright with the promise of sunshine. As we walk through the village, we see others out beginning their days as well. Some are gathering and waiting to see the record before going to work. Others, like the gardeners, have already set out on their tasks to make the most of daylight.
One such group we pass makes me frown. It is a small group of villagers working with Xiu Mei’s father. Disgruntled with the king’s rule, Xiu Mei and her father left the Red Myrtle Inn and came here when word spread of our village reconnecting with the world. His limp from the army is no deterrent, and his skills and knowledge are all still sharp. He has found work here training some of our young people how to be warriors, something else I feel conflicted about. After the attack from the township’s army, I can understand the need for self-defense . . . but it saddens me to see my people turning down this path.
Jin Luan and I soon leave them behind as we move on from the village limits and out into one of the fertile valleys opened by the army’s explosives. Gardeners are already at work, moving among the trees and plants in their green robes. I easily spot Zhang Jing kneeling in one of the vegetable gardens. Thanks to the pixius, her vision has not worsened, and she has discovered that her other senses—smell and touch—are strong and make her particularly well suited for this job. Even from this distance I can see her smile as she works, giving her more enjoyment here than she had as an artist.
Xiu Mei is late, Jin Luan remarks, glancing around. Again.
She is probably sleeping in, I say with a smile. With her knowledge of both silent and vocal language, Xiu Mei became an obvious choice to teach Jin Luan and me how to speak. We are not very good at it, and I often dread these lessons. Elder Chen knows of my distaste but reminds me there may come a time when those in our village are going to have to communicate with the outside world. As one of the pixius’ chosen, that responsibility
falls on me.
If you’re lucky, maybe she’ll sleep a little longer, says Jin Luan slyly. At first, I think she’s acknowledging my dislike of the lessons, but then she nods off toward the side of the valley. I think someone would like to talk to you.
I follow where she gestures and feel myself blush. Li Wei is there, an axe in hand, working on one of the garden fences. As though he can feel our gazes, he pauses to wipe sweat from his brow and turns in our direction. Jin Luan nudges me.
Go! she says. Xiu Mei may sleep all morning.
He watches me as I make my way over. Language lessons? he asks when I get close.
I nod. But the teacher is late. What are you doing out here so early?
He points to the wooden fence he is working on. The gardeners got some peas and green beans from a merchant and want to try planting them. If the true cold holds off just a little longer, they think we might get a small crop before winter, so I’m building these for the vines to grow on.
I thought you were going to work on your carving? I ask.
I will. And I do sometimes at night. He shrugs. But the carving can wait. There are so many things to do . . . still so much rebuilding.
He’s right. There’s much uncertainty in our world right now, and our bruised village must use all its resources to survive this coming winter, particularly with King Jianjun’s eye still upon us. This is a hopeful time for my people—but also a fearful one. Li Wei’s brawn is of more value to our people right now than the burgeoning talent within him. I respect that but hope that someday the creativity within him will shine through and attract a pixiu. It is a secret wish I haven’t dared express to him or anyone else.
In his usual way, Li Wei tries to distract me with a cheery thought. Come over here, he says. I want your artistic opinion on something. He beckons me toward a recently built supply shed used to house gardening tools. We walk to the far side of it, putting us out of sight of Jin Luan and the other gardeners. I peer at the shed’s side, trying to figure out what he wants me to look at.