Текст книги "Soundless"

Автор книги: Richelle Mead

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

Someone at the base of the mountain is winding the line back down.

CHAPTER 14

FOR A FEW TERRIFYING SECONDS, I don’t know what to do. Then, seeing all the precious ground I’ve made slipping away from me, I frantically begin climbing up the line again, desperate to outpace whoever is pulling down below. It’s too late at night for the line keeper to be back at his post. I wonder whether the soldiers finally deduced what happened to me. Or is it possible that they forced Li Wei to talk and interpreted with the help of one of Nuan’s people?

That last thought—of what they might have had to do to get Li Wei to reveal my location—is too horrible to endure. I push it out of my mind as I fight to regain my position and move faster than the line is being lowered. I barely manage it, but I know I can’t sustain it. It was already excruciating going up when I didn’t have someone working against me. Now I can already feel myself losing the battle. My hands—bloody and raw through the now-tattered gloves—slip a number of times, delaying me as the strained ropes catch me and force me to get a new and increasingly painful hold. My distance gained shrinks, and soon I’m almost at a standstill. In moments, I will be descending again.

I glance down, desperate for a way out. In the moonlight, I see a wide, rocky ledge jutting out from the cliff’s side below me. It won’t be a comfortable drop, but I can make it and survive. What I’ll do from there remains to be seen, but it’s either that or let all my progress vanish as my unseen opponent pulls me back down.

In a second, my decision is made.

I wiggle my way out of the loose safety ropes, an action that costs me some elevation as I’m jerked back down the line. I suppose now I don’t have to worry about whether the ropes will hold my weight anymore. Once free, I grit my teeth and summon more of that desperate strength to climb forward against the pull, enough to get myself in a safe position over the ledge. It is grueling work, made more terrifying by the knowledge that I have no security and will plummet to the depths below if my hands fail me.

I manage, barely getting situated above the outcropping before my strength gives out and I let go of the zip line, dropping down to the ledge, making sure to pull the security rope along with me. It and I land in an ungraceful, jarring heap, and it’s a relief not to be fighting anymore. That relief is short-lived, however, as the force of swinging into the cliff triggers a cascade of rocks from above. I cringe against the mountain’s side until the avalanche passes, praying the ledge I’m standing on won’t crumble beneath me as well.

When the avalanche finally ceases, I’m almost too afraid to move for fear of what might happen next. The muscles in my arms and legs are weak and shaking from their exertion, and as I gaze down across the vast blackness of the mountain slope, I’m a bit in awe of the distance I’ve managed to cover. I can only just make out a tiny point of light at what I think is the zip line’s terminus; presumably it’s held by whoever pulled me back. I shudder to think of what would have happened if I hadn’t been able to jump to safety.

Of course, now I have a whole new set of problems.

In the phantom lighting, I can see the face of the mountain leading up to my village. It is jagged and irregular, filled with places to get a hand– or foothold or even use the rope for support. The distance is also a fraction of what I’ve already covered, but it’s still going to be painstaking work. I can’t do it just yet, no matter the press of time. I sit down to catch my breath, rummaging through the pack for some water and a bite to eat. As I search, I find one of the game pieces—the general—and I smile. Just before we parted, Li Wei had considered giving me the pixiu for luck. It ended up staying with him because of weight issues, but apparently he still wanted me to have some token of fortune. I squeeze the wooden disc tight in my hand, willing myself to be worthy of his regard. Then I say a prayer to all the gods I know, hoping that we all come out of this safely.

When I feel as rested as I think I’m going to get, given the conditions, I steel myself for the next part of this journey: getting back to my village. Li Wei told me a little about how we’d ascend the mountain again, and I know some of the basic principles. My destination is within my sight; it’s just a matter of getting to it. I have the rope I salvaged from the zip line, and I use it to begin the first part of the climb. I am able to throw it high and hook it around a jagged rock outcropping, locking it securely so that I can scale the cliff face.

But when I reach the rope’s end, there is no other place to secure a rope. The zip line’s start is still far out of reach. I must climb with my hands now, praying I make the right choices and that my holds won’t crumble to dust in my fingers and send me plummeting back below. Amazingly, everything holds, but just as I’m almost finally near the end, I hear the rumblings of a small rock fall from above. Unlike before, there is nowhere to seek shelter, no rope to swing out of danger on. All I can do is cling to the mountain and hide my face, hoping this avalanche will miss me.

Several sharp rocks strike my arms and face, causing me to flinch, and I must summon all my resolve simply to hold on and maintain my hand– and footholds. When silence returns again, I slowly lift my head, listening for further signs of trouble. None come, and I make my move, scrambling up as quickly as I dare, needing to reach the top. When I see the zip line station, I nearly cry in relief. With trembling arms, I pull myself up and grip an outcropping of rock that will let me pull myself over onto solid ground. Almost immediately, I feel the rock crumble in my hands. There’s nothing else to grasp, and I scream as I fall backward, back down the cliff into the blackness below.

I land back-first on the ledge I was on earlier, hitting with an impact so great that it momentarily knocks the wind out of me. I lay there, gasping, staring up at all the distance I just lost. Tears spring to my eyes, and the urge to give up threatens to engulf me. I feel despair not only for myself but for Li Wei. Out on the line, I couldn’t allow myself to worry too much about him, not with my survival in the balance. Now all those fears come tumbling back. What has happened to him? Is he even alive? Worse still is the guilt of knowing that if I’d simply run away with him, I could have saved him from his fate. That would have meant abandoning Zhang Jing . . . but what does it matter? I’ve failed everyone now.

Stop that, Fei, I tell myself sternly. All is not lost. Make Li Wei proud. You climbed down the mountain. You want to go back up it. You can see your goal—don’t give up now.

Sniffling, hurting everywhere, I manage to make my way to my feet. I have bruises and aches in parts of my body I didn’t even know existed, but I refuse to let them master me. Gritting my teeth, I retrace this last, painstaking climb up to the top. My hands are bloodied by the time I make it up, and without the outcropping from earlier, pulling myself up at the end is much more difficult. I must rely on the strength of the rest of my body—a body pushed past its limits. For a brief moment, as I try to haul myself up and onto the mountain’s top, my muscles can’t quite do it. I am stuck there, clinging to the cliff, knowing it will take only the briefest of slips to send me plummeting back to the ledge below—or worse.

Do it for Zhang Jing. Do it for Li Wei.

The feel of their names in my mind gives me courage. I cry out, pulling myself over the edge, touching the rocky—but solid—ground with gratitude. It’s now the middle of the night, but against all odds, I have made it to the zip line station. I have made it home.

I rise to my feet, my legs still weak and shaking, knowing I have no time to rest—despite how much my body is screaming to. I need to alert the others to what is happening. I press forward and nearly trip over several dark bundles on the ground near the zip line station. I can’t tell what they are in the darkness, so I kneel down to unwrap one and am astonished to find it full of glittering gold ore. Another bag reveals silver. These are mined metals, a day’s work, waiting to go down. Why are they still here, just sitting out? These would provide the day’s food.

I know I won’t find out by sticking around. I make my way back to the heart of the village, more relieved than I can say to be in my homeland after the adventures of these last couple of days. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to fix things or alert people, but my feet take me, almost of their own volition, back to the one place I feel safest: the Peacock Court.

Getting inside presents a new challenge. I’m not yet ready to announce my return to the others, so I don’t want to use any of the doors that might alert one of the servants on watch. Instead, I go to an out-of-the-way window in the back of the building, one that opens near a storage room where we keep art supplies. A latticework of narrow wooden slats covers the paper windowpane, and with a grimace, I begin breaking and prying out the wooden guards. It makes a terrible amount of noise—as does the paper windowpane, when I’m finally able to rip it out—but I at least have the reassurance of knowing I’m the only one who can hear it.

When I’ve created a big enough opening, I climb through and land just outside the supply room, as expected. From there, it’s just a matter of making my way through the school to the servants’ wing. Along the way, I dodge more servants on patrol than I recall seeing last time, which seems odd. Fortunately, their sounds alert me, and no one is on guard in the servants’ actual sleeping wing. I sneak into the women’s room, and there, just as I last saw her, is Zhang Jing sleeping in her bed.

Although it’s only been a matter of days, I feel like years have passed since I saw my sister. My whole world has opened up on my journey. I don’t even feel like the same person. Zhang Jing is the same, though. Still sweet and beautiful, her face peaceful in sleep. I watch her for several moments, overwhelmed by my love for her, and then wipe tears back from my eyes. Trying to be as gentle but as firm as I can, I shake her awake. She stirs, blinking in confusion, and then manages to focus on me in the dimness. She gasps, her eyes widening.

I throw my arms around her, and she buries her face in my shoulder. I have tears in my eyes again and can feel them on her face as well. When she finally pulls back to look at me, her pretty face is a mixture of emotions: confusion, relief, suspicion.

Fei, she signs, where have you been? What’s happened? I’ve been so worried about you.

It’s a long story, I say. But I’m okay—for now. The truth is that we’re all in danger. That’s why I’ve come back.

What did you do? she asks. What did you do to make them stop the food?

Now I am the confused one. What do you mean?

Yesterday morning, she explains. The suppliers sent their first shipment of metals down the zip line. No food came up. Instead, a note came from the line keeper about betrayal and spies. No one really understood what it meant, but they kept sending metals, hoping food would come. It didn’t. The line keeper started sending the metals back.

I think back to the glittering bundles sitting out on the ground. I saw them, I say.

People are saying it’s your fault—yours and Li Wei’s. That you did something to anger the line keeper and—

There is no line keeper, I interrupt. Only a group of workers who take turns pulling the line. We’ve been lied to, Zhang Jing. The notes and food come from a larger regime that’s keeping us up here to mine metals for them—metals that are toxic. That’s why we lost the ability to hear, why you and some of the others are going blind. We need to change something—to get away from this place.

That’s impossible, she says. It’s not clear to me which of the many things I’ve just told her is causing her the most disbelief. All of them are a shock to the world she has always known.

It’s not, I say simply. You know me. Would I lie to you?

She meets my gaze for a very long time. No, she says at last. But maybe you’re confused. People say Li Wei is a rebel, that his grief has deluded him and that he’s corrupted you into doing something that’s angered the line keeper. If you just go to Elder Chen, I’m sure you can explain things and get your place back. Maybe we can fix things before people get too hungry.

I don’t even bother correcting her about the line keeper. Zhang Jing, if we don’t take action, there won’t be a place for me. There won’t be anything for any of us except death and despair. We have to explain this to the others.

But inside my heart is sinking a little as Li Wei’s warning rings true. If my own sister won’t believe what I’ve learned, how will the others? And how am I going to convey the full scope of what I’ve seen? Will anyone even listen to me? The township overlords have already done a neat job of turning my people against me, attacking in the most powerful way they can: by withholding food. Zhang Jing’s words about people getting too hungry aren’t lost on me. They are already hungry. In our village, we have at most one extra day’s supply of food at any given time. If no food came up today, the villagers would have had to use that tiny reserve and would have rationed it out pretty strictly. That’s why there were extra servants on watch tonight. No wonder people have been quick to believe the worst of Li Wei and me. They are starving and desperate, just as the township wants. Who will believe our story now? How will I even get them to pay attention?

An idea suddenly hits me. It isn’t ideal, but it’s the best one I’ve got. It’s the only one I’ve got. I think back to when I was standing outside the school, breaking the window. Based on the moon’s descent in the sky, I probably have about three more hours until the first people in the village start waking up. It’s not a lot of time, and I’m so exhausted from the feat of climbing, but what choice do I have? Everything is riding on what I do next.

I rise from where I’m sitting on Zhang Jing’s bed, beckoning her forward. Come on, I say. I’m going to need your help.

With what? she asks, startled.

It’s time to make the record.

CHAPTER 15

ZHANG JING FOLLOWS ME as we head to the school’s work studio. Along the way, we encounter two servants patrolling the halls. I hear them before they see us and am able to dodge them each time, keeping us concealed. Zhang Jing observes all of this without comment until we’re safely behind the closed door of the workroom. I begin lighting lanterns for us to work by.

Fei, she says at last. How are you able to do that? What’s happened to you? Did you receive some kind of enchantment while you were down the mountain?

I smile, imagining how what I’ve been able to do would seem like magic. And really, for all I know, maybe there is some sort of magic involved, since I have yet to understand why this is happening to me. I’ve regained my hearing, I tell her. It surprises me how easily I am able to say those words. I guess after everything I’ve gone through and learned, my hearing is just one more incredible thing. And seeing as how Zhang Jing is having enough trouble believing the rest, I figure I have nothing to lose by sharing this too.

That’s impossible, she says. It’s becoming her standard line.

Believe me, I know, I say. I’ll tell you more about it later, when there’s time. Right now, we need to get to work.

And so, as usual, Zhang Jing follows my lead. The room is set up the way it always is, with the previous day’s record still in progress on assorted pieces of canvas. A glance at what my fellow apprentices have been working on confirms Zhang Jing’s earlier story. It is an accounting of yesterday, covering the rejection of the metals and refusal of food. Even Li Wei and I are mentioned—probably the first time we’ve been included in the record since our birth announcements. There are also recaps of emergency meetings and arguments that have already broken out since the food shortage began. Elder Chen’s other apprentice, Jin Luan, has done a commendable job of painting a scene of some disgruntled miners gathering for a meeting in the village’s center. She’s probably the only person glad for my disappearance.

I direct Zhang Jing to help set up new canvases for me to paint. I visualize the layout of the various pieces of the record and how I want to create my message. It is going to be a daunting task, and there is no time for any of the skill and fine detail I’ve been so painstakingly trained to use. I must get my message out, and the only thing that really matters is its truth.

I start with the words, drawing characters in big, bold calligraphy to tell my story. Zhang Jing stays nearby, watching as I work, ready to mix fresh ink when she sees I am running low. First, I tell how Li Wei and I climbed down the mountain. I gloss over the details, for time’s sake, emphasizing that it was dangerous but possible. If there’s a chance our village may be leaving this place, I want them to know it can be done without scaring them too badly—at least not about this. There are plenty of other things for them to be scared of.

When I reach the part about Nuan’s village, I include more detail, about the dead bodies and the records of a village in chaos—a village just like ours. It is a grim memory, one I don’t like repeating, but it too must be told. When I get to the point where Li Wei and I make it to the bottom and see the township for the first time, I pause. The artist in me, the one who sees the world and wants to capture it, wishes I could spare the time to truly describe the township. For all its evils, it is still a remarkable place, the closest thing to a real city any of us will ever get to. I want to paint pictures of those embellished buildings, list all the things for sale, convey the singing children . . . but there is no time. I simply describe it as a busy, vivid place—emphasizing that it has plenty of food—and then go on to Nuan’s tale.

This is the part I elaborate on in the greatest detail, pointing out the similarities between our peoples and how the mines destroyed them—and how the township gave up on them. I tell of their encampment and treatment by the others, how many have given up hope and are just as hungry as they were when they still lived on the plateau. Finally, I close my account with a brief recap of how the soldiers chased us, and how Li Wei and I split up. Although it is certainly a thrilling part of the tale, I again use brevity. My own hardships don’t matter at this point. It is Li Wei’s sacrifice and the township’s ruthlessness I want my village to know about.

When I step back, I am amazed at the amount of calligraphy I’ve painted. This much text normally would be the work of at least half a dozen apprentices. It would also have been painted with much more precision, each brushstroke placed with care and beauty. My work, though not entirely neat, is thorough and legible. I used big, broad strokes, ensuring it can be read from a distance.

Zhang Jing now supplies me with colored paints as I start the illustrations. My pictures are even more hurried than my text, but I’m a strong enough artist that my skills still shine through. For one picture, I depict the house in Nuan’s village, showing the room in disrepair and the bodies of the family that starved to death. It is a gruesome creation, but the shock in Zhang Jing’s face tells me it’s effective. For my second image, I paint where Nuan’s people live now: the dilapidated village of tents, its people thin and dirty. It is something else my people need to see.

I don’t know where I find the energy to do all this painting. The earlier harrowing climb has left me in a state far past exhaustion. It is Zhang Jing’s future—hers and others like her, I decide—that gives me the added rush of adrenaline and inspiration to complete this frantic, ominous masterpiece. And Li Wei, of course. Always, always he is in the back of my mind, urging me on. My sister keeps me supplied with paint, so I have no delays, save for pausing and dipping my brush or switching colors.

It is almost a shock when, at long last, I realize I’ve accomplished all I can possibly do in this time. Standing still after such frenetic work feels almost unnatural, but I force myself to take in all the pieces of canvas, my greatest and most terrible work.

We must take this to the village’s center, I tell Zhang Jing.

Her eyes are wide as she takes in the extent of my work. She has been watching the entire time, making no comment until now. It really is true, isn’t it? she asks at last. All of this. What happened to those people. What will happen to us.

Yes, I say.

You say nothing about your hearing, she points out. Isn’t that important?

I hesitate before answering. Not to our village’s fate. There will be time later to figure out what’s happening to me. For now, we must help the others.

Zhang Jing nods in acceptance. Tell me what you need me to do.

For a moment, the love and faith in her eyes overwhelms me so much that I fear I’ll break down and start crying. I hide my discomfort with a hug so that she is unable to see me blinking back tears. When I step away, I hope I look more confident than I feel about what is to come. Okay, I tell her. Now we need to carry these out to the center of the village.

The task is a bit more complicated than it might appear. Although most of the patrolling servants are staying near the kitchen to guard the food, there is still the chance one might wander into the wing where the workroom is. That requires extra caution as we smuggle the canvases outside. Equally challenging is handling the canvases themselves. Even when the apprentices do touch-ups to the record in the morning, most of the work has had time to dry overnight. Now Zhang Jing and I must manage still-wet paint, taking care not to ruin the words and images I have just labored over.

It also requires many trips. I never thought of that daily morning trek as particularly long or difficult, but now, doing it multiple times in my current state, my mind starts to think it’s almost as taxing as the climb down the mountain. Many beggars sleep in the town’s center, their bodies huddled together in piles for warmth. We are careful to step around and not disturb them, but the sight of them makes my insides twist when I think how it’s a very real possibility that others—including Zhang Jing—may share their fate if we don’t take action.

Zhang Jing and I finish assembling my record just as the eastern sky turns purple. Soon the villagers will be waking. Soon they will see what I’ve created.

You must go back before anyone realizes you’ve been a part of this, I tell her. Go wake with the others, have breakfast as normal. Then we will see what happens.

My sister gives me a sweet, sad smile. I would rather stand with you. Besides, there is no food for breakfast.

The words hit me hard. I kneel down on the dais and open up my pack, pulling out some of the rations I brought back with me to show the others. Zhang Jing gasps at the sight of it, her hunger obvious in her eyes. I give her some fruit and the last bun.

Take these and go back, I insist. I know you support me, but I’ll feel better if you’re back at the school. I don’t know how people are going to react to this—to me. Especially if they think I’ve cost them their food.

Zhang Jing places her hand over mine as I begin repacking my bag, giving me a brief squeeze. If you need me, tell me.

I will. The best way you can help at this point is to stay safe.

What is that? she asks, pointing at a flash of red in my bag.

I clench some of the red silk dress in my hand, my heart swelling as I think of Li Wei. It’s a gamble that paid off. Pray ours does as well. Now go.

After another fierce, quick hug, Zhang Jing obeys and hurries off down the main village track, back to the school. I know I should probably eat as well, but for once I have no appetite. I’m too keyed up, my nerves frayed and on edge. I settle for water and then sit cross-legged, watching as the sky grows lighter and lighter, waiting for my village to waken.

The first person I see, aside from the sleeping beggars, is the lamplighter. He trudges down the main track with his torch, stifling a yawn. He’s usually the first person up in our village, lighting the various lamps that will illuminate our paths until the sun is up. When he reaches the village’s center, he comes to a complete standstill, frozen as he recognizes me and undoubtedly thinks of all that I’ve been accused of. Then, slowly, his eyes shift to the record beside me. Although it is still early, the stark black-on-white calligraphy is easy to discern. He reads, his jaw dropping as he goes further and further.

When he finishes, he says nothing to me, but his astonishment is obvious. The torch slips from his hand, burning harmlessly in the packed dirt. He turns around and goes running as fast as he can, back toward the residential part of town.

It isn’t long before others begin filing in to the center. Some appear to be people out on their normal morning errands. Others arrive in haste, and I suspect they have heard the lamplighter’s story. Word is spreading quickly, and when I see the elders and artist apprentices hurrying in ahead of their normal time, I know that my presence and unexpected creation have completely thrown the village off its schedule. Zhang Jing stands with the other servants behind the apprentices, and much to my relief, no one seems to be paying her any special attention.

The crowd swells, and soon I’m fairly certain the entire village is here. This isn’t the first time I’ve stood on the dais, facing them all beside a completed record. But this is the first time that I’m as much of the draw as what’s on the canvas. I meet their gazes as impassively as I can, proud of what I’ve done—both in ink and in my recent journey. I stand by my actions and what I must do to help these people.

For a long time, the gathering crowd simply takes me and my story in. A few brief signed conversations flutter, but for the most part, everyone seems to be coming to terms with what I’m telling them. This emboldens me enough to step forward and address the crowd. I’d originally thought I would let my work speak for me. But now I realize I must add my own plea to it. Facing all these people is terrifying, but I remind myself I can be no less brave than Li Wei, trapped somewhere in the township. I don’t know what happened after the soldiers seized him, but I refuse to believe he’s in some horrible prison—or dead. It strengthens me to think he’s just waiting in one of those tents with Nuan, waiting for me to come join them with our people. Or maybe he’s escaped, run far away, already planning a new life free of all this. It is the memory of his face, of the strength in his eyes, that pushes me as I speak.

Everything you see here is true, I sign to the crowd. This is what Li Wei and I have learned over the last few days, what we have risked our lives for. The township is deceiving you. We need to come together and think of a way to save ourselves and our future. I know it is difficult to hear. I know how overwhelming it must seem. We can’t let fear—or the township—rule us any longer. It may seem impossible, but it’s not—not if we unite and work together.

My hands slowly return to my side, and my heart aches as I recall Li Wei’s brave, handsome face telling me: We’re pretty good at the impossible. I have to force myself to remain calm and serious as I regard my people.

No one responds right away. Mostly they seem to again be processing what I’ve told them. Hope rises in me, and I dare to believe that my people are taking heed and will believe me so that we can all find a reasonable course to save ourselves.

As it turns out, I am wrong.