Текст книги "Soundless"

Автор книги: Richelle Mead

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

CHAPTER 4

THAT NIGHT, I DREAM I am in a house with chrysanthemums carved on its walls, just like my stump. It’s beautiful and elaborate but completely impractical. As I admire this fanciful house, I am again unable to shake the feeling that something is beckoning me. It’s as though there’s a line running out of my chest, pulling me to someone else. It’s strange, but at least the dream is quiet, giving me a welcome reprieve from the onslaught of noises that has tormented me all day.

A new set of sounds rouses me from sleep, a succession of short ones that occur simultaneously, over and over, with great frequency. I sit up in my bed, trying to determine what this new source might be. The early morning light coming in through the window is sluggish, and gray skies outside give me my answer. It is the sound of rain hitting the building.

My stomach is in knots as I go about my morning duties. I want to see Zhang Jing, but am afraid to as well. Her absence pains me like a wound that cannot heal, yet I’m afraid to see her in this new role she’s taken on. Whatever they’ve assigned her to do, however, it doesn’t involve crossing my path. I paint and go to breakfast with the others, and then we make the usual journey to the town’s center and our observation posts.

The rain stops by the time I reach the mine’s entrance, which is a small blessing. It’s still damp and miserable, and my heart aches for my sister as I sit on my stump and touch the carved chrysanthemums, thinking back to last night’s dream. My head hurts too, as I’ve had to contend with a barrage of new sounds all morning. I went to the library seeking information on what might bring hearing back, but now I wonder if there’s a way to make it go away again. I can’t see why our ancestors thought hearing was such a great thing, why they mourned its loss so much. It’s jarring and distracting, making it impossible to focus on anything else. What value could all this extra stimulus add to life?

And even more confusing, why is this happening to me? The old stories say that people began to lose hearing in groups. If that sense is coming back to us, wouldn’t it happen to multiple people at a time? Before bed last night, I made sure to check the record in the workroom and even ask some of the other apprentices if anything unusual had happened yesterday or if they’d noted any strange stories. I’d played it off as curiosity about missing my observation, but secretly I’d hoped that maybe others were experiencing what I was and that I could talk about it and get some understanding.

I still don’t know what to do. Should I tell the elders? Will they think I’m crazy? There are times I wonder if maybe I am. It’s true that what I’m experiencing falls in line with what we know about sound and hearing, but maybe I’m just imagining I’m experiencing those things? Is it possible that some old story has lodged itself in the back of my mind and is now manifesting itself this way? That actually seems like a more plausible explanation than suddenly becoming the only miraculous recipient of hearing.

My dark spiral of worries pauses when I hear what I’ve come to recognize as the sound of feet and people moving. I look up, trying to determine its location, and realize it’s coming from the mine’s entrance. I get to my own feet and hurry over in time to see a group of workers emerging, carrying something—no, someone—between them. I back up to give them room and watch in horror as they lay Bao out on the ground. Someone signals for water, but another man shakes his head and signs, It’s too late. Bao’s eyes are closed, and there’s blood on his temple—new blood, different from yesterday’s wound. He isn’t moving.

Sorrow wells up in me, but I push through it, knowing I have a job to do. I tap one of the workers and ask, What happened?

Recognizing me and my status, she bows before answering. A section of wall had become unstable. The foreman put a placard up with a warning to keep us away from that area, but Bao didn’t see it.

Someone pushes his way through the crowd, and I feel my breath catch when I see Li Wei. He pauses to wipe sweat from his brow and peers around avidly, his dark eyes sharp and concerned. When he spies his father, Li Wei hurries over and kneels down by the old man. Whereas yesterday Li Wei was fiery and indignant, today he is all tenderness and compassion. I feel myself choke up as I watch him gently touch Bao’s face, hoping for a response. An overwhelming urge to run over and comfort Li Wei sweeps me, but I stay where I am. Resignation soon fills his features as he realizes what the rest of us already have: Bao is gone. That resignation turns to a mix of rage and grief. Li Wei clenches his fists and opens his mouth.

A sound comes out like none I have heard so far. Really, I’ve heard little in the way of human sounds. There is no need for us to make them. We stopped communicating with our mouths and voices ages ago. But the instinct is still there, especially in times of high emotion. I’ve felt the vibrations myself when I’ve sobbed, when I’ve let out little cries of sorrow, though of course I had no idea what they sounded like.

I do now, and it sends chills through me as I listen to Li Wei. A section of Feng Jie’s words comes back to me:

A scream is a sound we make that is born of intense feeling. A scream of fear, of being startled, is often high-pitched. It may be short or prolonged. A scream may also accompany delight or amusement, though often that is more of a squeal. And a scream of sorrow or rage . . . well, that is an entirely different thing. That comes from a darker place, from the depths of our souls, and when we scream in those times, because we are sad or angry, there is a terrible knowledge that accompanies it, that we are giving voice to our emotions, to what is simply too big for our hearts to contain.

And as Li Wei cries out, I know Feng Jie is right. It is his heart I am hearing, a way of expressing what he feels over his father’s loss that is both primal and far more eloquent than any words can convey. It is terrible and beautiful, and it comes from his soul and reaches something within mine. It is the sound my own heart made when my parents died, only I didn’t know it until now.

Li Wei attempts to pull himself together and peers at those gathered around. This shouldn’t have happened! he tells the crowd. He shouldn’t have been working down there, with his vision failing. Many of you knew it was. The foreman knew. But everyone pretended not to notice. How many more of you are like that? How many more of you are hiding your failing vision so that you can keep working?

No one answers that question, but one man at last bravely says, We have to work, or we can’t eat.

Only because you allow it to be that way! Li Wei protests. You further the system by continuing to be a part of it! So long as you keep sending metals down the mountain without question, nothing will ever change.

A woman responds, As long as we send metals down the mountain, my children continue to have dinner. If there is no food, they will starve. I will work my fingers to the bone to stop that from happening. Several other miners nod in agreement.

But there must be another way, Li Wei tells them. At the very least, if you are losing your sight, don’t go back to work. Don’t go down there to risk your lives and the lives of others. Don’t end up like him. Tears brim in his eyes as he clutches his father’s sleeve.

The other miners shuffle uncomfortably, but no one takes up his rally. One man finally claps Li Wei on the shoulder in sympathy and then simply says, We must get back to work. The priest has been sent for to tend to your father. I’m sorry for your loss.

Others make similar gestures of condolence and then trudge back to the mine’s entrance. Not long after that, the village priest’s acolytes come and deferentially cover Bao’s body before lifting it and taking it away for preparation. They tell Li Wei he will be able to view the body at sunset, and the funeral will follow. Li Wei makes no response as they take his father away.

Soon we are left alone. Li Wei slams his fists against the muddy ground and lets out another cry of frustration. Again, I am awed, overwhelmed by the strength and emotion conveyed in the human voice. For the first time since this phenomenon started happening to me, I begin to understand the power it could have and why our ancestors mourned its loss. Every sound around me—the renewed pattering of rain, the wind in the leaves—all of it suddenly has a new meaning. I can see how these sounds don’t interfere with the world so much as enhance it. The scope and potential are huge. It’s like having a new color to paint with.

Li Wei gets to his feet and notices that I am still here. His dark eyes lock with mine. There is a remarkable contrast in the emotion playing over his face and the imposing figure he makes with his height and build. Sorrow radiates off him, and I know I should say something, offer condolences, at the very least. But I’m still stunned, still awestruck by the effect his cry of grief had on me. His voice was the first human one I have ever heard outside of that first dream, and its impact was staggering. I can only stand there.

Li Wei snorts in disgust and storms away. His abrupt departure snaps me from my daze. I realize I must have come across as rude and cold, and I instantly feel terrible. Abandoning my observation post is a serious offense, but I can’t stand to let him go off like that, not when he thinks I was indifferent to his father’s death. I hesitate only a moment before leaving the mine and running after Li Wei. When I reach him on the path near the cliff’s edge, I tap him on the shoulder, and he spins around with a ferocity that makes me take a few steps back.

What do you want? he asks. I know the anger he wears is an attempt to hide his heartache.

Li Wei, I’m sorry about your father. I’m so sorry, I say. I know how you feel.

He scoffs. I sincerely doubt that.

You know I do, I chastise. You remember when I lost my parents.

Yes. Legitimate compassion flashes in his eyes, but soon that outrage returns. They died in the fever, just as my mother did. But that was different. None of them could’ve stopped that. Not like with my father. He had no business working when his vision was failing! It was agony watching him go into that mine day after day. It was a death trap. I knew it would only be a matter of time, but he refused to stop working and become a beggar.

I understand that too, I tell him. Zhang Jing . . . she is going blind. I pause, hit with the full impact of finally admitting this to someone. Our masters found out, and she can no longer be an apprentice. We had to take other action, make a big decision in order to save her from being a beggar.

Li Wei is very still now, regarding me with new interest. What did you do?

I take a deep breath, still having my own difficulties resigning myself to Zhang Jing’s fate. She is going to become a household servant at the Peacock Court.

He stares at me in confusion and then throws up his arms in disbelief. That is your big decision? To move her to a comfortable, safe job, where she’ll be well fed and face no risks? You actually deliberated about that and think you have anything in common with me or the other miners?

I know his harsh words are born from grief, and I try to respond calmly. I’m saying I know what it’s like to be scared for your loved one in that way. To have your life turned upside down. You aren’t the only one going through this. That earlier urge returns, the one that makes me want to go over and put my arms around him, comforting him as I would have years ago. But I can’t, not when others might see. Not when so much distance has built up between us.

He’s still upset but works to calm himself. Your life has changed, but I wouldn’t say it’s been turned upside down—not yet, he says. And that’s what no one seems to realize, Fei. Everyone knows things are bad, but everyone thinks if we just go forward like we always have, it will all be okay. Instead, we’re just moving toward darkness and ruin. Can’t you see that?

I start to reply, but then a sound I’ve never heard before catches my attention. It’s incredible, and I want desperately to hear it again. Unable to help myself, I immediately turn my head toward its source, and I see a flash of blue. It’s a thrush, just like the one I spotted the other day. It’s perched on the branch of a tree, and it opens its mouth, producing that exquisite sound . . . a song? I long for the bird to sing again, but it takes flight and disappears out of sight.

I stare after it, awestruck, and then quickly turn back to Li Wei in embarrassment. He stares at me, understandably confused, and then shakes his head. Clearly, this isn’t a discussion you care about.

No, wait. I do care, I say. But he’s already turned from me. I reach out to grab his arm, and as my fingertips touch his bare skin, he tenses and glances back at me. Something of my heart must be in my eyes, because his expression softens. My hand still rests on his arm, and I am dizzyingly aware that there are only a few scant inches between us. I’m also suddenly reminded that no matter how often we held hands or dreamed of the future, we’ve never actually kissed. There’d always been a spark between us, one we were both hesitant to acknowledge until the day we realized we were being torn apart.

I quickly snatch my hand away and take a step back, hoping my thoughts aren’t obvious. What is your plan then? I ask him. What do you think we should do to save ourselves from darkness and ruin?

He studies me intently for a few more moments, and I’m breathless as that gaze wraps around me. We start by ending this line system, he says at last. It’s what’s enslaving us, what has put us in this miserable situation.

I can’t hide my shock, and for a moment our history is forgotten. And how would we end the line system?

Li Wei points over the cliff’s edge. By going to the line keeper. By getting to the bottom of everything. Either he is a reasonable man who will understand our plight, or he’s a tyrant who must be overthrown.

He isn’t the first person I’ve met who wants to go talk to the line keeper, but as I stare into Li Wei’s eyes, I realize he might be the first person I’ve met who’s truly serious about doing it. And the thought of that suddenly terrifies me. I may have willingly walked away from him when I joined the apprentices, but at least I knew he was still alive and safe in our village—not attempting some impossibly dangerous stunt.

How would you do that? I demand. By climbing down?

Yes, he says, crossing his arms defiantly.

That’s suicide! The climb is too dangerous by hand. No one has done that in centuries! Not since our ancestors stopped being able to hear the falling rocks—

I cut myself off, my hands dropping to my side. The implications of what I’ve just stated hit me like a slap to the face, sending me reeling. For my entire life, my village has accepted that no one can climb down the mountain. It’s too dangerous, both because of the unstable nature of the cliff face and the difficulties of not being able to hear the rocks. Others have stated this fact over and over. I’ve even said it myself, parroting it as an unfortunate truth. And yet . . . here I stand, suddenly realizing it’s not the truth anymore. Someone can hear the rocks now. Me. But what does that even mean? And is it enough to truly make a difference?

Li Wei, not knowing what I’m thinking, assumes I’m simply too afraid and too shocked at his proposition in general.

And that’s why nothing changes, he states imperiously. Everyone clings to the way things have always been. And those ways are killing us. If we’re going to die one way or another, then I’ll face my death trying to make a difference—trying to save myself and others. Just getting by one more day isn’t good enough anymore. There must be more to life, more to hope for.

I don’t answer, and again he reads that as disapproval and fear. I’m normally so quick with a response, but too much has happened this past couple of days. Even if I could trust Li Wei enough to explain how I’m feeling, I don’t know if I really would be able to articulate it correctly. It’s all so strange and new, so I continue standing there, stunned.

A group of miners appears on the trail, and Li Wei stiffens before giving me a formal bow for their benefit. Thank you for your condolences, apprentice, he states properly, and then he turns away and leaves me.

CHAPTER 5

THE REST OF THE DAY, I move around like someone in a dream. I do all the correct things. I return to my post until the miners’ shift ends, then take my notes back to the school so that I can paint the record. To any outward observer, I look the same as ever. But on the inside, everything about me has changed. My whole world has changed, and I don’t know how to come to terms with it.

My sister is no longer at my side. Until this day, it’s never truly struck me how much I took her presence for granted. Everything I do feels incomplete now. At dinner, another student sits beside me in Zhang Jing’s usual spot. In our room, her bed remains empty and stripped of all its covers. But it’s in the workroom where I feel her loss the most keenly. As I dutifully paint my portion of the record, I find myself constantly looking to the spot where she used to work. Each time I see it vacant, the pain hits me all over again.

It’s a mercy when the elders come in and tell us we are excused early from our evening work—until I realize it’s so that we may attend Bao’s funeral if we wish. I’m torn on whether to go. I respected Bao immensely, but the mystery of my new condition weighs on me. Some students choose to continue working. I leave my work, wanting to get away from this room, with its memories. My hope is to sneak back to the library and try to figure out why these sounds are assaulting me—and no one else. I checked the record again, and so far I remain the only person experiencing this phenomenon.

But when I get to the hallway with the others who have chosen to leave, I spot Zhang Jing, sweeping up the dirt in the hallway. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in her new role, and my heart nearly stops. She wears the dull uniform of a servant, and her face is deferentially lowered as the others pass by her. I tense, waiting to see if anyone will say anything or comment on her new station—but no one says a thing. Really, it’s as if no one sees her at all. In some ways, that’s worse than if someone had made a derogatory comment. She has become invisible to everyone else. Beyond that—she’s become nothing to them.

I stop in front of her when the others have gone, and she quickly signs to me, Please don’t, Fei. You’ll only make things worse.

I flinch at the insinuation, that it’s me who’s brought her to this position. You’re safe, I tell her. That’s what matters. I just wanted you to be okay.

She stares off for a moment and sighs heavily before answering. I will be okay today. Tomorrow and the next day as well. Beyond that? Who can say? But there’s no point worrying that far ahead. I’ll just focus on getting by one day at a time and hope that my vision lasts a little longer.

Another apprentice comes down the hall just then. He nods politely to me and then does a double take, recognizing Zhang Jing. He gapes for a moment, seeing her in the servant’s outfit, then looks embarrassed to be caught staring. He quickly averts his eyes and hurries past. Glancing over at Zhang Jing, I see the mortification in her face.

You should go before anyone else sees you, she says. Don’t call any more attention to either of us. Your position still brings great prestige to our family.

I’m sorry, I tell her, feeling tears spring to my eyes. I didn’t mean for this to happen.

None of us meant for any of this to happen, she says simply. We must make the best of a bad situation. And I know you did the best you could.

She takes her broom and continues working her way down the hall, leaving me feeling terrible. Did I do the best I could? Was there something else I could have done to help her? Her words bring back what Li Wei said to me before he stormed off: Just getting by one more day isn’t good enough anymore. There must be more to life, more to hope for.

A lump forms in my throat as the full impact of what he meant hits me. Zhang Jing has resigned herself to nothing more than hoping for short-term survival, hoping the blindness will stay away one day more, prolonging the time until she joins the beggars. It is a terrible, dreary existence. It’s no kind of existence at all.

As she disappears around a corner, I suddenly find myself walking toward the nearest door. My plans for the library are forgotten, and instead I join the others going down to the heart of the village for Bao’s sunset funeral. I’m not sure what it is that draws me. At first, I think that Zhang Jing’s plight has driven home the tragedy of what happened to Bao. But when I reach the edge of the crowd gathered for the ceremony, I understand what has really drawn me here.

Li Wei.

For the first time in a while, that dazzling childhood memory doesn’t immediately come to mind as I stare at him. That inescapable attraction and the emotional fallout from joining the artists still burns within me, but it too is momentarily subdued. What pulls me to him now is his sense of loss and his rage at the situation our people are locked into. It resonates with the pain I feel over Zhang Jing, and although I don’t know if he’ll want to talk to me, I know have to try.

He stands near the front of the crowd, his back straight and tall and his face proud and almost haughty. As usual, though, it’s his eyes that betray his otherwise tough exterior. I see the emotion brimming in them, and my own heart aches in answer. I know him well enough to understand that he’s using every ounce of self-control to remain calm in front of the others. I wish I could run forward and clasp his hands, let him know it’s okay to grieve and show how he feels.

He wears a white shirt, undoubtedly borrowed from a community source. In the old days, it was written, every villager would come out in white for a funeral. When trade down the mountain became restricted, however, our clothing supply diminished. Now only the immediate family is granted white, from a closely guarded communal supply. Even though the color has sad connotations, I’m moved by how striking Li Wei looks when he’s cleaned up and in something other than those muddy work clothes. It’s not something I’ve seen very much. He looks almost regal once the dirt is washed away, like someone who could lead and command attention, rather than toil away in a dark mine.

The priest bows before the memorial altar, which has already been set with the sacred lamp, two candles, and five cups. His assistants bring forward incense, which he adds to the altar and lights with great ceremony. Soon the scent of sandalwood wafts to where I stand. The priest goes through the familiar signs and dances, and although I watch respectfully, my mind wanders. With the blindness has come an increase in funerals, and we are all too familiar with this ceremony.

I focus again on Li Wei, thinking about his words and his conviction. Did he mean what he said? Is he really going to attempt to leave and go down the mountain? Perhaps he was only speaking in anger . . . yet, as I study him closely, something tells me what he said wasn’t an impulse. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been planning his journey for a long time. He simply needed a strong enough reason to spur him on; his father’s death provided it.

My thoughts are suddenly, jarringly interrupted by a noise that nearly makes me jump out of my own skin. It’s a sign of both my internal struggles and my ability to adapt that in only a couple of days, I’ve learned to tune out many background noises. Noises that initially overwhelmed me. Now, in this short time, I find myself ignoring many common sounds and focusing on those that either directly affect me or are particularly noticeable.

This one sets my teeth on edge, and I search for its source. In the priest’s direction, one of his assistants has just struck a ceremonial gong. My eyes widen as I realize that monstrous noise was caused by a gesture I’d seen countless times at funerals and other rituals. I never realized that noise was the end result. I look around, desperate to see if anyone else reacted. But they’re all respectfully watching the priest—well, everyone except the older woman standing next to me who noticed when I flinched.

Do you know why they hit the gong? I ask.

The woman bows in acknowledgment to my station and then answers: It is to scare evil spirits who might delay the deceased’s journey. She pauses. That is what my grandmother told me, at least. I don’t know why hitting it scares them. Perhaps it is magical.

I thank her and turn back to the ceremony. Despite the grim circumstances, I almost want to smile. I’m not sure I believe in that kind of superstition, but I certainly understand how our ancestors thought the gong could frighten away evil spirits! All this time, I’d had no idea of its true purpose. No one did. For generations, the priests have just continued using the gong out of habit, long after anyone could hear it anymore. I wonder how many other things like this were lost to us when sound disappeared.

And why, I ask myself for the hundredth time, am I the only one who has had this sense restored?

When the funeral ends, Li Wei is surrounded by those wishing to offer condolences. A number of them are girls our age, and while they look legitimately sorry for his loss, part of me questions their motives. I can’t be the only one who goes weak-kneed around him, and I really don’t know how he’s spent his free time since I joined the artists. It’d be reasonable for him to turn his attentions to someone else. The thought troubles me more than it should, considering how Sheng and I were matched. When the last of Li Wei’s sympathizers leaves, I follow him as he walks alone from the village’s center. I pass a cluster of beggars as I do, their sad plight bringing Zhang Jing to mind. My resolve strengthens, and I tap Li Wei’s shoulder when he heads down a path that leads to a group of small houses. He turns, looking surprised to see me—and possibly a little exasperated, considering how we last left things.

What do you want? he asks. His harsh response is almost enough to make me flinch.

Mustering my courage, I bow and give the proper condolences offered in these situations. I am very sorry for the loss of your father. May his spirit live in immortality.

Thank you, Li Wei responds, but he is clearly suspicious that there is more to come.

I make sure no one else is around before dropping the formalities: Are you still planning on leaving?

His face hardens. Yes. Why? Are you going to tell someone? Try to get them to stop me?

No. He regards me expectantly, and I take a deep breath, summoning my strength. I . . . I want to come with you.

The words fly from my hands before I can stop them. The idea has been brewing in the back of my mind all evening, but until I said it, I hadn’t consciously realized that’s what I was going to do. Zhang Jing’s plight has made me realize that things will never change . . . unless someone makes them change.

Li Wei stares incredulously at me and then lets out a laugh with a harsh edge to it.

You? Pampered, prized apprentice? You aren’t that bold little girl anymore. Stop wasting my time. I have things to do. He shakes his head and starts to walk away, but I catch his sleeve. Remembering the effect touching him had on me last time, I’m careful to promptly let go and keep a respectful distance.

What bold little girl? I ask, puzzled.

He hesitates. The one who climbed the rotten shed even though she knew it was dangerous. Just to prove she could. I thought you were so brave back then. Brave and bold and beautiful. I always believed that over the years until . . . well, you’ve changed.

My heart lurches at all the misunderstandings that have arisen between us. I haven’t, I say. Look, I thought about what you said, about how it isn’t enough to just keep getting by day after day as we are. I saw my sister . . . and she’s exactly like that. Not happy with her life but convinced there’s nothing more. I can’t let her go on like that, with nothing else to hope for. I want to help you. I want to talk to the keeper too and see if there’s a way to change things.

It all comes out in a jumble, not nearly as eloquent as I’d hoped. Li Wei studies me for several long moments. The earlier rain clouds have passed. With the sun down and the moon still rising, torches light the paths around the village, casting flickering light and shadows, but I can see well enough to know he’s trying to decide if I’m speaking the truth. Unless I’m mistaken, I even see a flash of hope in his eyes, as though he too wonders if there might be a way to repair our past.

At last, he shakes his head again. No. It’s too dangerous, Fei. You wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’m already going to have my work cut out for me keeping myself alive. I can’t allow myself to worry about you the whole time.

I won’t be a burden! I insist. I can help you.

Now he looks amused. How? Will you win the line keeper over by drawing him a picture?

I sigh in irritation. Clap your hands, I tell him.

He stares in understandable confusion. I gesture impatiently, and with a shrug, he claps three times. The sounds are short and loud.

Now do it again, I say, just before turning around. I wait and hear nothing. After several seconds pass, I look back and glare. You didn’t clap.

He looks a little surprised but shrugs. What’s the point?

Just do it, I insist. I turn my back to him, and this time he claps. I face him once more. You just clapped three times.

His face is understandably puzzled at this exercise, but he doesn’t yet seem to grasp that anything unusual is happening. So? That’s what I did before.