Текст книги "Soundless"

Автор книги: Richelle Mead

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

CHAPTER 7

THE SCREAM DIES FROM MY LIPS, and for a heartbeat, I hang there, stunned at what has just happened. I take in the awful sight of Li Wei’s body lying inert on the plateau below. A million things go through my mind, all that I should have said to him . . . and never did. A moment later, I spur myself to action. Moving quickly—maybe too quickly—I rappel the rest of the way down, knowing I’m being reckless but too anxious to get to his side. A few rocks skitter after me but nothing else significant. When I hit the ground, I run over to his side, afraid of what I will find.

He can’t be dead, he can’t be dead, I keep telling myself.

He can’t be.

The first thing I see is that he is breathing, and I nearly collapse in relief. I gently tilt his face toward mine, and his eyes flutter open. He looks a bit addled, but his pupils are normal size, and it’s clear he recognizes me. My heart nearly bursts. He starts to lift his hands to speak, but I shake my head.

Don’t, I sign to him. We need to assess the extent of your injuries.

Carefully, I help him sit up. I make him test the functionality of each limb, and amazingly, nothing appears to be broken. There is some tenderness in the foot he landed on, but he’s still able to put weight on it. Rather than falling straight down, he slid a fair amount of the way on the rocky wall. It saved him from the brunt of the impact but tore up his exposed skin and his clothes. If he’d come down at a different angle or if we’d been just a little higher in elevation, I know this story wouldn’t have had a happy ending. As it is, it’s clear Li Wei is still in a lot of pain, though, as usual, he’s trying to appear tough.

An outcropping of rock provides a protective roof, and I decide this area will be our camp. Although the afternoon skies are clear, there’s a psychological safety to being under some cover—especially if any more rocks come falling. I leave Li Wei resting there and venture out into some of the scraggly trees nearby in search of wood, so that we can make a fire when night comes. I have to break a few larger limbs in half, but for the most part, there is an ample supply of fallen branches. When I have an armful of firewood, I decide to search for a water source to refill our canteens.

I haven’t gone very far when I hear the snapping of a branch behind me. I spin around in alarm, relaxing when I see Li Wei. Surprised, he asks, How did you know I was here?

I heard you, I tell him, briefly setting my firewood down. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.

I’m no delicate flower, he teases. I raise an eyebrow at that, and he explains, more seriously, I was worried. You were gone awhile.

I wanted to find some water.

Our supply will last a little longer, he says. Wait until I can come look with you.

I nearly snap back that he’s coddling me again, but after his near-death experience, I find it difficult to chastise him. It’s still hard for me to shake the pall cast by those terrifying moments, when I saw his body lying motionless on the rocks below. Looking him over now, I see that his concern isn’t because he thinks I’m incapable but simply because he cares about me. That realization stirs up the already conflicting emotions within me, and I avert my eyes.

Okay, I say. Let’s go back to camp.

Back by the shelter of the cliff, we each eat one of the lunch packs and try not to think about how little food there is left. The terrain on this plateau seems as inhospitable to growing food as our own village, so it’s unlikely we’re going to find anything in the wild. We’ll just have to wait until we get to the bottom of the mountain. Surely the township must have a reliable way of sustaining its food supply.

This is good, Li Wei says, gesturing to the food in front of him. Almost worth going on this crazy climb and getting myself killed.

You shouldn’t joke about that, I say. But it’s hard not to smile. You know . . . that’s why I climbed the shed that day. For food.

He tilts his head curiously. What do you mean?

His gaze holds mine, and I try not to blush as I explain. There was this story going around about how there was a stash of food being hidden on the roof. I think it was just something the older kids made up to tease us, but I believed it. Zhang Jing was sick at the time, and I thought she’d feel better if she had more to eat. So I climbed up to see if the story was true.

And you found out that the only true thing was that the shed really was in bad shape, he finishes. I nod, expecting him to laugh at me. But he only asks, Why didn’t you ever tell me this before? I always thought you did it for the thrill of it.

I know, I say. And I’ve always known. . . . I’ve always known you thought I was brave because of it, even back then. I guess I liked you thinking of me that way. I was afraid of you knowing the truth.

That you did it to help your sister? You don’t think that’s brave too?

It doesn’t sound as exciting, I say. Certainly not when you’re six.

You care about her a lot, he remarks.

I lift my head so I can squarely meet his eyes. You know I do.

That’s why you’re here. And why you joined the artists—to give her a better life.

It’s more than that, I tell him. Painting is part of me. It’s more than a job. It gives me meaning and makes me feel complete.

I can see he doesn’t understand, and I don’t blame him. Mining is the only vocation he’s ever had available to him, and there’s no love in it. As he said before, it’s obligation. If he doesn’t mine, others starve.

He stifles a yawn, and I urge him to sleep while I keep watch. He doesn’t argue and stretches out on his side of the fire, soon falling asleep with ease. I watch him for a long time, studying the lines of his face and noting how strands of dark hair have come loose from their bindings. They rest gently on his cheek, and I have an overwhelming desire to brush them aside.

No good can come of that, so I try to distract myself by taking in the other sights and sounds around me. The observer in me is still doing her job, still wanting to make note of every detail so that I can paint them into the record. Already I can imagine how I’d depict what’s happened to us so far, which scenes I’d draw and how I’d annotate with calligraphy. My fingers itch for paint and brush, but there’s nothing but rock and barren trees. Looking down at my hands—bloodied and scraped from the rope, even with gloves on—I wonder if I’d be able to do much even if I had the right tools.

When Li Wei wakes, he claims to be feeling better, but we both agree to spend the night here. He says it’ll be better for us to go when the light returns, but I’m still worried about his foot and ankle. The climb is treacherous enough without injury. He assures me he’ll be fine and encourages me to sleep while he takes a turn at keeping watch.

I’m exhausted but have difficulties falling asleep. I didn’t think much about our situation when he was sleeping, but now I’m overwhelmed with the realization of how taboo it is for us to be out here alone together. It has nothing to do with rank either, though that simply increases the forbidden nature of it all. Elder Lian has lectured us many times on proper behavior between boys and girls, darkly warning of how “dangerous feelings” can arise. I’m not that worried about any feelings arising, though. They’re already here, no matter how I try to suppress them.

At last, I shift so that my back is to him, giving me a faint sense of privacy. Despite the uncomfortable ground, I finally fall asleep. Strange dreams fill my sleep, more puzzling than frightening. I keep hearing that noise that startled me so much that first night, when hearing returned to me, the sound I recognize now as many voices crying out. It’s paired with that sense of someone trying to reach me, but I’m still unable to determine who or why.

When I wake, the sun is setting. Li Wei has started a fire, and to my surprise, I see he has a knife out and is carving a piece of wood. A memory of the chrysanthemums he made for me returns, and I scoot over to watch him work. Beside him is a pile of small, round discs. I pick one up and smile when I see the character for soldier carved on it.

You’re making a xiangqi set? Sifting through the discs, I recognize other pieces from the game: general, advisor, and elephant.

Li Wei shrugs and sets his work down. I needed something to do. Maybe you can draw us a board, apprentice.

I set the pieces down and begin smoothing out the dirt in a flat area near the fire. I use a narrow, pointed branch as a stylus, and even with my injured hands, I find I can still draw a steady line. There is comfort in this kind of work, something familiar in an otherwise strange place. I draw all the lines with as much diligence as I would in painting the daily record. When I finish, I discover Li Wei watching me work. He seems embarrassed when I notice.

You really are good at that, he says. It is almost grudging.

Drawing in the dirt?

You know what I mean. Those lines are perfect. I can’t draw anything that straight.

I couldn’t do that, I say, nodding to the neat rows of game pieces he’s crafted. You’ve improved over the years.

It’s just a hobby, he says modestly. His face darkens a little. Something my father and I used to do to pass the time when we weren’t working.

You have a lot of skill, I say honestly. You should do something with it. . . .

I trail off, unable to finish the thought. There is no real need for artistic woodworking in our village. All construction is simply done with brute labor. The focus is on practicality, not aesthetics. My skills with brush and pen are coveted by the elders, but the record has no need for a carver. The sculptures that have survived in our village come from a different era. I think back to what I told Li Wei earlier, about how painting gives me meaning. I wonder if he’d feel the same way if he could make woodworking his vocation.

I’m of more use to our village hacking metals from the earth than coaxing beautiful things from wood, he says, guessing my thoughts.

I know, I reply. And it’s a shame.

A lull falls between us, marked only by the shifting of wood in the fire. I’ve made and watched countless fires burn throughout my life but never had any idea of the sounds they made. They’re fascinating, and I long to know the words to describe them. Li Wei gestures at the chess pieces. Shall we play before all the light is gone?

We don’t have a lot of time for recreation at the Peacock Court, just occasional holidays. Xiangqi boards are rare. Like carvings and sculpture, no one has the time or means to make them anymore. Li Wei beats me in our first game, and I insist upon a second—which I also lose.

I sign to my defeated army in exasperation: What are you doing to me? You lost us the game!

A sound draws my attention, and I look up sharply to see that Li Wei is laughing. Just as his cry of mourning conveyed grief so perfectly, his laughter is full of a joy that soon makes me start laughing too.

My little general, he says. Although he is teasing, there is something warm in his eyes that suddenly makes me acutely aware of how close we’ve drawn to each other. It was out of necessity, needing to be near the light as we played, but our arms practically touch as we lean over the board. Our fingertips are only a few inches away from each other. A rush of heat goes through me, and it has nothing to do with the fire.

We should get some more rest, I say, pulling away. I’ll take the first watch.

I’m pretty sure I can see a flush in his cheeks. He nods in agreement and soon curls up and sleeps. Once again, I have to fight the urge to watch him and find other things to distract myself. We switch halfway through the night, and I fall asleep easily, with no dreams this time.

When morning comes, I wake to find Li Wei gone. Panic hits me, and then I hear footfalls and see him approach through the lingering fog. Sorry, he says, seeing my expression. I just wanted to look around. You won’t believe what I found farther around the mountain.

What? I ask.

A mine entrance—an old one. It doesn’t look like it’s been used in a while.

There must have been people here then, I say, searching around as though I expect them too to appear through the mist.

At some point, he agrees. I didn’t go in, but the mine doesn’t look nearly as big as ours. Do you want to look around before we go?

I hesitate. We’re down to one meal pack, and lingering puts us farther away from getting to more food. And yet the mystery of the mine is too alluring. Who would have worked in it? Certainly no one from our village. Did workers come up from the township? Or is there some settlement here on this forested plateau?

We need more water as well, so we agree to make finding it part of our exploration. We split the last meal, and as that food disappears, I find myself thinking of the village we left behind. A full day has gone by now, and our absence will have long been discovered. What will people think of us? What will Zhang Jing think? Will my note be enough to maintain her faith in me?

A sound I’ve learned to recognize by now soon alerts me to a water source. I steer Li Wei toward it, and we find a small trickling tributary that runs through the plateau. He looks impressed, and I can’t help but feel a little pride as I fill our canteens.

I wouldn’t have found that nearly so quickly, he admits.

I hand him his canteen and tuck my own away. I guess I’m of some use after all.

He smiles at that. General, you’ve long since proved your use.

Don’t call me— My hands drop as my eye catches something in the trees beyond him. Seeing my change of expression, he turns, searching for what I noticed. Soon he sees it too: the large, looming shape of a building on the other side of the trees. Turning back to me, he meets my eyes, and I give a quick nod of agreement. We head in that direction . . .

. . . and find not one but many buildings.

We have stumbled onto a small village—much smaller than our own but clearly meant to have some permanency. The implications of this are staggering, and we both stare around wide-eyed. No one in our village has had any contact with the outside world, short of the line keeper’s notes. Entering this settlement is akin to having fallen into one of the magical lands in the old stories.

No one’s been here for a while, Li Wei says, pointing at some of the disrepair on the buildings. I see instantly what he’s referring to. The wood is worn, even rotted in some places, and the elements have long won out. We split up and walk around, and I feel a mix of both excitement and apprehension. Once again, I find myself thinking in terms of the record, how I would report on this amazing discovery. For the most part, the little houses are built similarly to ours, but I spy minute architectural differences that fascinate me. I wish I’d brought ink and paper for notes. I’ll have to rely on my own memory to share this when I get back home.

I find a house with a door hanging ajar, having rotted out of its holdings. I push it all the way open and again hear that sound doors make that I have no word for.

Inside, the house reminds me of the modest home Zhang Jing and I grew up in. It is built with three bays, and a deteriorating screen blocks the rest of the house from my view. There is a large clay stove that has been cold for some time and looks as though its most recent use was by nesting birds. A small shrine marks where the household gods sat with burned-out clumps of candle wax.

I pick up a statue nestled in the shrine. It’s mostly made of ordinary clay, but the detail in the carving is exceptional. It is a pixiu, its leonine head held proudly up as its mouth opens in a roar. Rubbing off some of the dirt on it, I see that the horns and wings are tipped with gold. Li Wei will want to see this, if only to admire the craftsmanship. Taking it feels a little like stealing, but it is clear no one has been here for a while and the statue has been abandoned.

Holding it in one hand, I walk over to the screen that separates this living space from the sleeping area. The screen is worn and rotting, with no design or ornamentation. When I touch it to move it away, part of the screen crumbles, and the whole thing collapses, kicking up dust. I step back, coughing and covering my face. When the dust finally settles again, I blink a few times and at last get a glimpse beyond the screen—

–and find myself face-to-face with a family of human skeletons grinning at me with sightless faces.

CHAPTER 8

A SCREAM CATCHES IN MY THROAT, and I back up as quickly as I can. The little pixiu statue slips from my fingers and hits the floor with a thud. I barely notice. I want nothing to do with this place. I need to get out.

I run through the living area and out the door—and straight into Li Wei. For a moment, I’m so panicked that I don’t even realize it’s him. I start to struggle against him and finally still when a glimmer of familiarity—the feel of his strong arms around me—is able to penetrate my fear. For a moment, I allow myself to relax in his embrace and then step back, still trembling.

Are you okay? he demands. What’s wrong?

I have no words. I simply shake my head and point at the door. Li Wei gives me a once-over and proceeds toward the house to investigate. By the time he returns, I have calmed down a little. I’m embarrassed to show such weakness, but the memory of those grinning skulls is haunting. Li Wei wears a tight expression, and I see he’s carrying the statue I dropped.

What are you doing? I ask. We shouldn’t take anything. This place is cursed.

Li Wei tucks the little pixiu into his pocket. That house, perhaps, but not this statue. The carving is incredible. I’ve heard about statues like these. People used to keep them in their homes for prosperity and good fortune.

It didn’t help these people, I point out.

Li Wei’s face turns grimmer. I don’t know what happened in there, but I think it has little to do with the supernatural and more to do with man. Let’s check out the rest of these buildings and figure it out.

Maybe he’s right. This village is too similar to our own. We have to find out what happened here to ensure that our village doesn’t share this one’s fate. How do you suggest we search? I ask.

Wait here, he says. He hurries off into the largest building in the settlement, one that looks less like a house and more like some sort of administrative or educational facility. It’s eerie being left alone in this ghostly village, but I refuse to let superstition get the best of me. When Li Wei comes back out, there is excitement on his face.

It’s just as I was hoping. There are records in there, almost like what we keep. It looks like this was where their elders resided. Can you get started going through those writings? They might be able to tell us what happened here, and you’re better at understanding that sort of thing than I am.

What are you going to do? I ask.

He gestures around. Continue searching the rest of the houses. I think those records will have most of our answers, but we need to rule everything out.

Be careful, I say.

He nods, heading off toward one of the houses.

I watch him a few moments and then turn toward the administrative building. It’s smaller than the art school at home or our magistrate’s center, but then, this village is also much smaller. The building is in a similar state as the house I was just in, smelling of dust and decay. But thankfully there are no skeletons or other signs of the dead to keep me company.

The room Li Wei referred to is similar to our library at the Peacock Court, and it has kept out the worst of the moisture and other damaging elements. Wall racks hold a neat collection of scrolls, and the rest of the room is dedicated to storing what looks like this village’s equivalent of daily records. They’re smaller than ours and not nearly as elaborate as the murals we create, nor do they show the artistic flair and precision that we are encouraged to put into our work. But they are factual and orderly and contain the information I need to unravel what has happened in this village. I make myself comfortable and begin reading scrolls by the dusty light filtering in from a high window.

What I discover is shocking. Numbing, even. I lose track of time and am only startled out of my study when I hear Li Wei’s steps in the adjacent hall. Did you find anything? I ask when he enters. I manage to appear calm, but inside, I’m reeling.

More than I wanted, he tells me. Most of the homes are empty, but others have bones as well. I don’t know what killed them.

I do, I say, setting down one of the records. Starvation and sickness. My attempts at control begin to falter. My hands are shaking, and I clasp them in my lap. It’s not fear that has unsettled me so much as shock.

Do you want to go outside to talk? Li Wei asks. It’s getting warmer.

I nod. I feel chilled in this place full of memories and ghosts. I need to be back out in the sun, back among living and growing things. We travel toward last night’s camp, but just as we are at the edge of the village, we encounter another gruesome sight: skeletons shackled to a stone block. My stomach turns at the thought of the terrible fate they must have endured there. Characters etched into the stone condemn them for their crime: food thieves.

With a shudder, I avert my gaze and see Li Wei scowling. I’m not surprised he’s upset, considering the way he protected the thief in our village. This is savage, he states. At least our people have never taken punishment to such an extreme.

They might, I say, thinking of what I learned. If our village ever has to face what this one did.

What do you mean? he asks.

We reach our camp, now enjoying the full force of morning sunlight. It helps chase away the gloom of what I uncovered in the library—but only a little. Li Wei looks at me expectantly once we are there.

They were like us, I tell him finally. Exactly like us. A mining town. They lost their hearing and became trapped up here, with no easy way to climb down, but they established a deal with the township. They had their own line and sent metals down the mountain in exchange for food. And just like us, they began to go blind.

Those similarities are still too shocking, too unbelievable, and that’s what makes it hard to keep going. This village’s history was so much like our own: Had I just taken a walk in my own future? Is this what’s in store for us in ten years? Five years? One year? Fear makes me lose track of my story—not for myself, but for those we left behind. What fate is waiting for Zhang Jing? For the masters and other students?

What happened? How did they die? Li Wei asks, his expression urgent. Fei, you said starvation?

I swallow and try to regain my composure. With blindness, their mining output depleted, and just like with us, the township started limiting their food. They weren’t exactly like us—they stopped feeding their beggars altogether. The blindness also resulted in more accidents, so some died that way too. Near the end, their water supply got contaminated. The record keepers believed some of the bodies weren’t disposed of properly and fouled the water. People grew sick and died before they discovered the problem. It was a couple of years ago, so it eventually cleared, I add, seeing him shoot a concerned look at our canteens. By then, there was hardly anyone left. The township stopped food shipments completely, and chaos broke out. Those that didn’t die of starvation attempted to climb down, but it’s unknown how many made it. The elevation is lower, but from what I’ve read, the stone on the cliffs below is softer—more prone to avalanches, less likely to hold ropes and body weight. Some may have escaped. Some didn’t. Some may have thrown themselves over purposefully.

I sink to the ground, unable to shake the thought of this happening to our village. Li Wei paces in front of me, his expression dark. He bravely investigated the ghost village, with all its horrors, but now I can tell his resolve is wavering. Or maybe he’s just losing hope.

Is this what it comes to then? he asks. Is this what our village can expect? Food disappearing altogether? Despair and hopelessness?

We can’t know that, I say. We can’t know anything until we speak to the line keeper. And our village isn’t like theirs . . . not yet.

Isn’t it? he asks angrily. It’s already happening! The blindness has started. The metals have decreased. The food has decreased. Just the other day, the township said they were sending less as “punishment.” How much longer until they stop the food? How long until our own people turn on each other in desperation? Is this what my father died for? How many other villages has the township done this to?

I don’t know. We must talk to the line keeper.

We need to do something, he snaps. But I don’t know if talking is enough.

Li Wei is understandably worked up, and I know it’s from more than just the gruesome discoveries in this village. The pain of his father’s death is still fresh, making everything that much worse . . . and desperate.

He sighs. Perhaps there was some misunderstanding with this village. Perhaps they asked for too much.

Perhaps, I agree.

I can tell we’re both trying to put on good faces for each other. In reality, I know we are both filled with doubts. We want to believe the best, that the line keeper can help us, but we’ve seen and suffered too much. And if the line keeper can’t help, then what? It’s that uncertainty that casts the real pall over us.

I summon an image of Zhang Jing and muster my courage as I follow Li Wei to a spot he deems suitable for continuing our descent down the cliffs. The warnings of the writings stick with us, and he is extra cautious as he begins planting the ropes into the rock face. Some of the stone is softer in this area, and he won’t let us descend until he’s certain each stake and rope will hold.

Even though we have less distance to cover than we did the previous day, it’s still a long way down to the base of the mountain. Every inch we travel is filled with fear that the rock is going to crumble and loosen our stakes, sending us plummeting. More avalanches tumble after us, and again, my hearing only just saves us on more than one occasion. Sometimes I’m not quick enough, and we both earn new bruises and cuts to go with yesterday’s injuries. Adding to all this is the knowledge that we are out of food. Hunger gnaws at the edges of my stomach.

And yet a strange exhilaration is filling me as we get lower and lower and see the ground at the base of the mountain. A lush valley filled with trees spreads out before us, drawing nearer, and beyond it I can see a haze of green land that looks as though it has no trees at all. Is it possible that’s farmland? The library has books about cultivation and growing, but after the avalanches cut off the passes to our village’s fertile lands, farming has become as fantastic a concept as flying—or hearing. Dreams of what may be waiting for us spur me on in the last stretch of our climb.

Then, incredibly, we set foot on the ground. I look up and am stunned to see my own mountain and its neighbors towering off into the sky. I can’t even see the tops, as early evening clouds have moved in. It’s an entirely different perspective from the view I’ve seen my whole life: peaks surrounding us and mist-covered depths below. I realize I’m standing in the place where my ancestors first migrated from, and that’s a heady thought too.

Ready to see what this place has to offer? Li Wei asks.

He walks over to me to undo the ropes that have bound us together. His hands work deftly on the knots around my waist, and I hope it’s not obvious that I’m holding my breath. Again I am amazed at how delicate his touch is for someone so large. When he finishes, his hands linger on my waist a fraction longer than they need to, and then he steps back.

Do you know where to go? I ask.

He puts a hand up to his eyes and scans around, taking in the sun’s position over our mountain. We spent a lot of time in the empty village, and it will be evening soon. After a little scrutiny, he points to the north.

That is where our zip line descends. We’ve gotten a bit off course climbing down. We’ll need to go over there to find its end—to find the line keeper.

I glance down at my dirty clothes and scraped hands, then make note of the late hour. Maybe we should rest and clean up tonight, I say. We aren’t in any condition to parlay with a man like him.

Li Wei nods in agreement and adds, It might very well be dark by the time we make it to his station. Let’s explore a little and see if there’s a good place for a camp. He gestures around the expanse of woods. Any preference?

I shake my head. You choose.

He hesitates and then pulls out the little pixiu statue. He flips it once in the air and then skillfully catches it one-handed. The pixiu is facing east. Li Wei puts it back in his pack and says, East it is.

We walk off into the eastern copse of woods, and I am particularly vigilant. I’ve learned that humans make a lot of noise in overgrown forest like this, so I’m mindful of sounds that might indicate we aren’t alone. We run into nothing and no one troublesome, however, and soon find a small glen where a bubbling brook pools slightly before running off through the woods. It’s a good spot to rest and clean, though we are nervous about lighting a fire when we might be close to civilized lands. Fortunately it’s warmer at this lower elevation, and we decide we can endure the night without a blaze.

You brought extra clothes to meet the line keeper? Li Wei asks when he sees me getting out the other set I took from the school.

I shrug. It just seemed practical. I wasn’t thinking about him at the time, but now I’m glad. I want to represent our village honorably.

I guess I’ll represent ours the only way I can, he says, giving a wry glance to his own shirt. It’s one of the dingy miners’ garments, now torn and dappled with blood from the journey down. He left the white mourning shirt back in the village. But then, I’m a barbarian, so it’s to be expected.