Chapter 34: The Sorcerer’s Demise
The slanting sun rose from the sea, casting its glow upon the scene. The leader of the feathered folk stood in silence, his face grim. The hounds had failed to catch the traitor. This fact alone made his expression darken, as if he had swallowed something foul and bitter.
He had always trusted in the hounds’ tracking speed, which was why he had been so certain that Quanxi would never escape. Yet, to his surprise, Quanxi had indeed fled. Now, how could he answer to the Feathered Priest?
“Commander, what shall we do now?” one of the warriors hesitated before asking, uncertain of the next steps. The leader shot an angry glance at the pack of wolves on the ground. He could sense their agitation, these creatures called hounds but still wolves at heart, restless and uneasy.
Taking a deep breath, he spoke: “Return to the Ancestral Land. Report this to the Feathered Priest—and prepare to accept punishment.”
Merit was rewarded, faults punished. The Ancestral Land had always been governed by the Feathered Priest, who maintained a complete system of rewards and penalties. Compared to the feathered folk, the laws of the Merman Royal Court had been established much later.
The warriors drooped their heads, flying toward the Ancestral Land, dejected and unable to let go of their failure to slay Quanxi. The gray wolves, however, seemed spirited; though they had run all night, they still showed signs of vigor, as if nothing had happened.
News of Quanxi’s escape quickly reached the ears of the Feathered Priest. Upon hearing it, he simply said, “Leave,” showing no further reaction.
A sense of defeat and humiliation spread through every warrior who had participated in the hunt. They could only treat this as a lifelong disgrace, etched deeply into their memories.
After they departed, only the girl noticed that the Feathered Priest, who had appeared vigorous, suddenly seemed much older. The feathers of his wings grew coarse and curled together. For the feathered folk, changes in the feathers at the tips signaled a decline in physical vitality. The Feathered Priest had already surpassed the average age of his people; now, such changes meant that his candle was flickering out.
Seeing this, the girl’s tears slid down her cheeks, sorrow rising in her heart. Memories flashed across her mind—though the Priest was strict, he was also kind.
“Don’t cry, Aqing.”
The Feathered Priest noticed the girl’s tears and turned, forcing a smile as he called her name—Qing. That was her name. Nearly ten years had passed since anyone had spoken it. From the moment the Priest took her away, she lost that name; since then, everyone called her “Little Priest.” Later, even that title faded, as though she had been forgotten by the entire feathered tribe. No one cared about her name, and in time, she herself forgot it.
Yet the Priest remembered.
“No one is immortal,” he said. “All things wither, everything is destroyed; to me, these truths are only natural.”
“From now on, the fate of the feathered tribe rests in your hands.”
His voice was weak, but he straightened, facing her with a smile as best he could. “Some matters, I accomplished. Others must be left to you, to finish.”
“Quanxi will become a great threat to our people. He comes from the depths, a merman… Beware the sea. Warn everyone to stay away from it.”
With those words, the Feathered Priest drifted into slumber.
...
Night fell, and the Priest awoke in pain. In the darkness, a voice whispered in his ear: the time had come.
He breathed heavily, opened his eyes, and saw a dense crowd of feathered folk standing below the platform. He was in the chamber atop the platform, overlooking them all.
“Where is Aqing?” he asked, concerned for the tribe’s future. In that moment of awakening, he understood his situation and what was to come.
“Aqing?” The feathered folk exchanged uncertain glances, unsure to whom the Priest referred.
“I am here!” Suddenly, a gentle hand reached from behind, grasping his own, filling him with warmth.
Through the haze, he seemed to hear the sound of weeping.
“Don’t cry, Aqing. You are the new Priest, the hope of our tribe. Not even blade or flame, life or death, can make you yield!”
Hearing his instruction, Aqing struggled to suppress her sadness. She sobbed twice, then forced herself to stop, choking out, “Priest, I won’t cry. I am a good child. Please don’t leave.”
His sight blurred, but he fought to keep his eyes open. Seeing Aqing, he smiled, his spirit revived, as if his old self had returned.
The feathered folk felt the heaviness of the moment. This was the final radiance before extinction.
“I just had a dream—a long dream. I dreamed of Yun Ning and Yun Che; that was more than a century ago. We soared together in the sky, young and carefree, just as you are now… Later, I dreamed of the Feathered God, who praised me for managing the tribe well, for not disappointing him…”
The always composed Priest became loquacious, but every word left those around him silent, with faint sounds of crying.
After speaking for a while, he suddenly paused. When all eyes turned to him, he said, “You may all leave. Let Aqing stay with me, to keep me company in these last moments.”
“Go and do what must be done. One feathered folk dies, that’s all. Every year, some pass away. I was the first to awaken, but I will not be the last.”
Upon hearing his words, the people withdrew.
All those present held high status in the tribe; they understood that the Priest had secrets to share with the new Priest—secrets only the Priest could know, perhaps even concerning the gods.
Once everyone had left, only the Priest and Aqing remained in the empty chamber. Aqing held his hand tightly, unable to stop her tears.
Though she did not wish to accept it, the matter was settled. Precocious as she was, she forced herself to be strong and asked, “Priest, is there anything else you wish to say?”
“No,” he sighed, seeming uncomfortable. “In the blink of an eye, these ten years have passed. You have grown from a little child into a young woman…”
“In these final moments, stay with me… let us talk awhile.”