Rising Phoenix

A heavy darkness fell over the land as if an iron lid slapping down over the skies. The pleasant smell of meat and herbs vanished, and in its place a strange fishy stink seemed to taint the edge of every breath.

A great furor filled the crowd as panicked voices cried out: “The magics of hell!”

Feng Zhiwei was confused. She had heard that Kereyid was related to some cult in a far off mountain, and her people had been watching him to investigate his strange Kung Fu, but this? Was this his final gambit?

If the countless cries and screams were anything to go by, the steppe people were truly terrified of this mysterious cult. Some less hardy figures had already fled into the chaotic night, and even the Patriarchs were panicked, some of them stepping down from the platform as if to hide from the skies.

Helian Zheng rushed to Feng Zhiwei’s side as the queen stared out into the sudden night, her eyes gleaming. She could taste the opportunity in the air, and soon she was gesturing with her sleeves and calling out: “Brother Gu take care, do not pursue a desperate enemy…”

In all the chaos, nobody noticed a silent figure flashing onto the platform, slipping by the sightless Patriarchs as he made for the seated Dama Living Buddha.

A few moments later the darkness disappeared like a curtain torn aside to let in the great rays of the sun; the smell of fish and iron vanished and the heat of meat, herbs, and liquor returned; but in those moments of darkness, many figures had vanished from the high platform.

Narta and Zong Chen were nowhere to be seen, while Helian Zheng clutched Medora and Feng Zhiwei in either hand.

Of the eight Patriarchs only five remained, with the other three surrounded by the King’s Army on the ground below.

In the distance, Gu Nanyi and Kereyid had both disappeared.

“Dama Ala!”

A panicked exclaim stirred the crowd from their astonished daze and necks whipped around. The Dama Living Buddha’s head was hanging limply from a soft neck.

“Ala!”

A golden light flashed from the heavens, soaring above the clouds. Eyes turned to see a great eagle far overhead.

A strangely pleasant smell suddenly filled the air as the Dama Living Buddha shifted in place, his hand slowly lifting and pointing in the same direction that he leaned in.

The crowd fell to its knees with pale faces, all understanding in that moment that the Living Buddha was gasping his final breath.

An extraordinary scene always accompanied the death of a Living Buddha, and sometimes they would prophecy and other times simply gesture into the distance to where they would find the next Living Buddha.

The teachings of the steppes documented two types of Living Buddha inheritance — reincarnation or body possession, but for both there was always a sign before death.

The strange aroma thickened as the Patriarchs smoothly knelt. All the previous Living Buddhas had passed away quietly in the retreat of Hu Yin Temple, and this Dama was the first to die in public. Yet the sacred worship and respect of the moment was peculiarly absent as most of the crowd silently thanked the heavens — with the Living Buddha’s sudden death, the steppes would not have to handle the difficult accusations the Queen had levied against the great religious figure. This timing seemed perfectly appropriate.

No one thought too much of the sudden affair. Everyone had seen that the Dama Ala was a candle guttering in the wind, and no one had expected him to survive until the next spring. With the grievous attacks on his heart and mind today, it seemed perfectly ordinary for his body to pass.

The strange aroma continued to grow and the crowd was soon holding its breath; here in the silent gathering of the steppes, an era was coming to an end.

Various figures kowtowed, touching their foreheads to the ground; the boy lamas began reciting sutras as attendants lit incense, and watching it all through the rising incense mist was Feng Zhiwei, a joyless half-smile on her face.

The Dama’s name had soared above the steppes like that of a god, and today she had shown that even a man whose words were heeded by so many could himself be controlled. His life or death had been at her hands, not his heavens.

As the misty white smoke rose up around him, the Dama struggled one last time to crack open his eyes, focusing his thin slice of vision on the blurred figure of Feng Zhiwei.

A son of Tengri, teacher and leader of the steppes, at the end of a life of peace and tranquility finally felt his soul tinge with hatred and anger.

An uncontrollable fury…

He pressed against his unwilling body to move his finger; he knew that direction was not his next self… not there…

All the gathered people knelt, face to the earth. None dared to profane the last breaths of the holiest man of the steppes, and only the one woman stood, her chin high and her lips curled as she watched him struggle.

She watched as if he were a caged monkey, grabbing here and scratching there, scrabbling around desperately but never able to escape its torment.

Even his death had been turned to her profit…

The Dama pushed and pushed, ever so slowly curling his finger and bit by bit turning it back to King’s Court.

But then a quiet crack sounded at the edge of his hearing.

It was like a joke played by the heavens at his final end.

Or perhaps his god had finally let the last gasps of his servant fade…

There was a collapse, a shattering, a sinking, and with great unwillingness a life turned forever into ash.

Dama’s finger no longer twitched.

His head silently fell to his chest, drooping on limp bones.

The thick aroma slowly faded.

“Ala!”

A single cry called forth a rising wave of a sound as so many souls straightened from their bows and stared in astonishment at the final figure of their Dama, the final gift he had left them. For all the limpness of his head and body, his finger and arm remained firm, pointing for everyone to see.

King’s Court, Back Palace.

Everyone knew that there in the King’s residence, an unborn child gestated. The succession to the Seventeenth Living Buddha would be possession.

The doctrines claimed that the Living Buddha’s should would most likely choose a child’s body, and as soon as the Dama passed, even before the crowd had fully stepped forth to prepare the last rites of the Dama’s Dharma Body, a group was already rushing to Hu Yin Temple to report the news and request the presence of the Dharma Protector Lama to oversee the ceremony and cremation of the Living Buddha.

Hu Yin Temple was not far and a fast horse could make a round trip in half a day. As the anxious crowd shifted, eyes kept turning towards the back palace.

“Find Brother Gu.” Feng Zhiwei commanded Chunyu Meng, some worry in her eyes. “That Kereyid has an eccentric art, bring more people and stay on guard.”

As Chunyu Meng nodded and marched off, Helian Zheng looked Feng Zhiwei over from side to side. The Queen cocked her head, smiling with some amusement as she asked: “What?”