Soundless (2 page)

That was when our people worked out an arrangement with a township at the mountain's base. Each day, most of our villagers work in the mines up here, hauling out loads of precious metals. Our suppliers send those metals to the township along a zip line that runs down the mountain. In return for the metal, the township sends us shipments of food since we can't produce our own. The arrangement was working well until some of our miners began losing their sight and could no longer work. When the metals going down slowed, so did the food coming back up.

As my group moves closer to the center of the village, I see miners getting ready for the day's work, dressed in their dull clothing with lines of weariness etched on their faces. Even children help out in the mines. They walk beside their parents and, in some cases, grandparents.

In the village's heart, we find those who have lost their sight. Unable to see or hear, they have become beggars, huddled together and waiting for the day's handouts. They sit immobile with their bowls, deprived of the ability to communicate, only able to wait for the feel of vibrations in the ground to let them know that people are approaching and that they might receive some kind of sustenance. I watch as a supplier comes by and puts half a bun in each beggar's bowl. I remember reading about those buns in the record when they arrived a couple of days ago. They were already subpar then, most of them showing mold. But we can't afford to throw away any food. That half bun is all the beggars will get until nightfall unless someone is kind enough to share from their own rations. The scene makes my stomach turn, and I avert my gaze from them as we walk toward the central stage where workers are already removing yesterday's record.

A flash of bright color catches my eye, and I see a blue rock thrush land on the branch of a tree near the clearing. Much like Elder Chen's silk trim, that brilliance draws me in. As I'm admiring the sheen of the bird's azure feathers, he opens his mouth for a few seconds and then looks around expectantly. Not long after that, a duller female flies in and lands near him. I stare in wonder, trying to understand what just took place. How did he draw her to him? What could he have done that conveyed so much, even though she hadn't seen him? I know from reading that something happened when he opened his mouth, that he “sang” to her and somehow brought her, even though she wasn't nearby.

A nudge at my shoulder tells me it's time to stop daydreaming.
Our group has reached the dais in the village's center, and most of the villagers have gathered to see our work. We climb the steps to the platform and hang our paintings. We've done this many times, and everyone knows their roles. What was a series of illustrations and calligraphy in the workshop now fits together as one coherent mural, presenting a thorough depiction of all that happened in the village yesterday to those gathered below. When I've hung my radishes, I shuffle back down with the other apprentices and watch the faces of the rest of the crowd as they read the record. I see furrowed brows and dark glances as they take in the latest reports of blindness and hunger. The radishes are no consolation. The art might be perfect, but it's lost on my people in its bearing of such dreary news.

Some of them make the sign against evil, a gesture meant to chase away bad luck. It seems ineffectual to me, but the miners are extremely superstitious. They believe lost spirits roam the village at midnight, that the mist surrounding our mountain is the breath of the gods. One of their most popular stories is that our ancestors lost their hearing when magical creatures called pixius went into a deep slumber and wanted silence on the mountain. I grew up believing those tales too, but my education in the Peacock Court has given me a more practical view of the world.

Slowly, the miners and suppliers turn from the record and begin the treks to their jobs. Elder Chen signs to us apprentices:
Go to your posts. Remember, observe. Don't interfere.

I start to follow the others, and then I catch sight of Elder Lian taking the steps back up to the dais where the record is
displayed. She seems to be examining the work all over again, painstakingly studying each character. Such scrutiny isn't part of the normal routine. The other apprentices have left, but I can't move, not until I know what she's doing.

She stands there a little longer, and when she finally turns away, her gaze meets mine. A moment later, her eyes fall on something behind me. I turn around and see Zhang Jing is standing there, hands clenched together nervously. Elder Lian descends the stairs.
Go to your posts
, she signs. The silk thread that edges her robe is red, and it flashes in the light as she walks past.

Swallowing, I take Zhang Jing's elbow and steer her away from the village's center, away from the blind beggars. Most of them are old and former miners, I remind myself. She isn't like them. She isn't like them at all. I squeeze her hand as we walk.

She will get better
, I tell myself.
I will not let her become one of them.

I repeat the words over and over in my mind as we move past the beggars, but saying them to myself can't erase the image of those cavernous faces and blank, hopeless stares.

WE SOON NEAR A SMALL PATH
branching from the main track through the village, and I nod at it. Zhang Jing nods back, turning toward the fork.

Before we get very far, a group emerges unexpectedly from a nearby wooded area. It is Sheng with two boys dressed in suppliers' attire. They're dragging someone between them, and I recognize the servant from our school, the one who was caught stealing. New bruises and welts accompany the one the cook gave him, and from the gleeful look on the faces of the others, they have more planned. I can understand their outrage at what he did, but the enjoyment they take in doling out such pain sickens me. Zhang Jing cringes back in fear, not wanting to get involved in any altercation. I know I should do the same, but I can't. I step forward, ready to speak my mind.

Before I can, I am knocked to the side by yet another person rushing past. He wears the dull clothes of a miner and strides right up to Sheng and the others, blocking their way. When I realize who
this newcomer is, my breath catches, and I feel as though the very ground beneath my feet has shifted, knocking me off-balance.

It is Li Wei.

What do you think you're doing?
he demands.

Sheng regards him with a sneer.
Teaching him a lesson.

Look at him
, Li Wei says.
He's learned his lesson. He can barely stand anymore.

That's not good enough
, one of Sheng's supplier friends says.
Are you saying he should be let off easy? You think it's okay for him to steal food?

No
, Li Wei replies.
But I think he's been punished enough. Between your “lesson” and losing his job at the school, he's more than paid for the crime of trying to help his family. All you're doing is hurting his ability to help us in the mines. We can't afford that right now. It's time to let him go.

We'll
say when it's time to let him go
, Sheng says.

Li Wei takes a menacing step forward.
Then say it.

Sheng and the suppliers hesitate. Although the numbers are in their favor, Li Wei is unquestionably one of the biggest and strongest in our village. Muscles gained from long hours of grueling work in the mines cover his arms, and he towers over them by nearly a head. He stands straight and tall, his tough body braced and ready for a fight. He doesn't fear three-to-one odds. He wouldn't fear ten-to-one odds.

After several tense moments, Sheng gives a shrug and smirks as though this is all one big joke.
We have work to do
, he says far too casually.
He deserves worse, but I don't have time for it. Let's go.

The supplier holding the servant releases him, and Sheng and the others begin sauntering away. Seeing me, Sheng asks,
Are you coming?

We're going a different way today
, I say, nodding toward the path.

Suit yourself
, he replies.

When they are gone, Li Wei reaches out a helping hand to the servant, whose face is filled with terror. The boy backs up and then scurries away, fear having given him a burst of energy, despite his pain. Li Wei watches him go and then turns in our direction, looking surprised to see us still there. He bows in deference to our higher station, having noticed our blue robes, and then stiffens slightly when he looks up and sees my face.

It's the only outward indication of his surprise. Everything else about him is perfectly respectful and proper.
Forgive me, apprentices
, he says.
I was in such a hurry to help, I'm afraid I jostled you earlier. I hope you aren't injured.

Although he is addressing both of us, his eyes are locked on me. His gaze is so piercing, I feel as though it will knock me over. Or maybe that's just the earlier dizziness I felt from being near him. Regardless, standing there before him, I find myself unable to move or speak.

Zhang Jing, unaware I am reeling, smiles gently.
It's okay. We're fine.

I'm glad
, he says. He starts to turn from us and then pauses, his expression both curious and hesitant.
I hope you don't think I was wrong to help that boy.

It was very kind of you
, Zhang Jing says politely.

Although she has answered for us, Li Wei's gaze lingers on me as though he hopes I will add something. But I can't. It's been too long since I've seen him, and this sudden, unexpected confrontation has caught me unprepared. After several awkward moments, Li Wei nods.

Well, then. I hope you both have a good day
, he says before walking away from us.

Zhang Jing and I continue on our path, and my heart rate slowly returns to normal.
You didn't say much back there
, she remarks.
Do you disapprove? Do you think he should have let Sheng and his friends take their revenge?

I don't answer right away. Zhang Jing is a year older than me, and we have been nearly inseparable our entire lives, sharing everything. But there is one secret I have kept from her. When I was six, I climbed an old rotting shed our mother had warned us about many times. The roof collapsed while I was on it, trapping me below with no one in sight. I was stuck there for two hours, frightened and certain I would be there forever.

And then he appeared.

Li Wei was only eight but had just begun working full-time in the mines. When he came to me that day, he was returning from his shift covered in fine, golden dust. As he held out his hand to help me, the late afternoon sunlight caught him just right, making him shine and glitter. Even back then, the striking and beautiful always moved my heart, and I was spellbound as he helped me out of the rubble. His easy smile and sense of humor soon helped
me overcome my shyness, beginning a friendship that would span almost ten years and eventually become so much more. . . .

Fei?
asks Zhang Jing, truly puzzled now.
Are you okay?

I push my memories aside, shaking off the dazzling image of that golden boy.
Fine
, I lie.
I just don't like to see that kind of violence.

Me neither
, she agrees.

We divert to a path that is much narrower than the village's main thoroughfare but sees enough foot traffic to be well-worn and packed down. It takes us along one of the cliff's sides, giving us spectacular views of the peaks surrounding us. It's early enough in the morning that mist still hangs in the air, obscuring the depths below.

Zhang Jing and I come to a halt when we reach the cypress tree. It looks greener and fuller than the last time I saw it, now that summer has fully arrived. I feel a pang in my heart for not having been here more recently. The venerable cypress clings doggedly to its rocky perch, its branches spreading wide and high into the sky.
See how it stands proudly, even in such inhospitable conditions?
our father used to say.
This is how we must always be—strong and resilient, no matter what's around us.
Our family used to go on evening walks together, and this path past the tree was one of our favorites. When our parents died, Zhang Jing and I had their ashes spread here.

She and I stand together now, saying nothing, simply gazing out at the vista before us and enjoying a faint breeze that plays among the needled branches of the tree. In my periphery, I notice
her squinting, even here. As much as it hurts, I feel compelled to finally say something. Stepping forward, I turn so that she can better see my hands.

How long has it been going on?

She knows immediately what I'm referring to and answers with a weary face.
I don't know. A while. Months. It wasn't that bad at first—just occasional hazy spells. Now those spells are more frequent and more intense. On some days, I can still see perfectly. On other days, things are so blurred and distorted I can't make any sense of them.

It will get better
, I tell her staunchly.

She shakes her sadly.
What if it doesn't? What if it's only a matter of time before I'm like the others? Before everything goes dark?
Tears glitter in her eyes, and she obstinately blinks them back.
I should tell our masters and give up the apprenticeship now. It's the honorable thing to do.

No!
I tell her.
You can't.

They'll eventually find out
, she insists.
Can you imagine the disgrace then, when they throw me out on the streets?

No
, I repeat, even though a secret, scared part of me fears she is right.
Don't say anything. I'll keep covering for you, and we'll find a way to fix this.

How?
The smile she gives me is sweet but also full of sorrow.
Some things are beyond even you, Fei
.

I look away, fearing my own eyes will fill with tears at the frustration I feel over my sister's fate.

Come on
, she says.
We don't want to be late.

We continue on our way, walking along the cliffside path, and my heart is heavy. I won't admit it to her, but this might indeed be beyond me. I might dream incredible things and have the skills to paint any vision into reality, but even I can't restore sight itself. It's a humbling and depressing thought, one that so consumes me that I don't even notice the crowd of people until we practically walk into them.

This path that traces the village's edge goes past the station where the suppliers receive shipments from the township below. It looks as though the first shipment of the day has arrived up the zip line and is about to be distributed. While that's often a cause for excitement, I rarely see it draw this many people, which makes me think something unusual is happening. Amid the sea of dull brown clothing, I spy a spot of blue and recognize another artist apprentice, Min. This is her observation post.

I tug her sleeve, drawing her attention to me.
What's happening?

They sent a letter to the keeper a few days ago, telling him we need more food, that we cannot survive with the recent cuts
, she explains.
His response has just arrived with this shipment.

My breath catches. The line keeper. Communication with him is rare. He's the one our existence depends on, the one who decides what supplies come up the line to us from the township. Without him, we have nothing. Hope surges in me as I join the others to learn the news. The keeper is a great and powerful man. Surely he'll help us.

I watch with the others as the lead supplier unrolls the letter
that came up with the food. The letter was tied with a tiny green ribbon that he clutches as he reads, and for a moment, I'm transfixed by it. I shift my gaze back to the man's face as his eyes scan the letter. I can tell from his expression that the news isn't going to be good. A flurry of emotions plays over him, both sad and angry. At last, he gives the letter to an assistant and then stands on a crate so that we can all see his hands as he addresses the crowd.

The keeper says: “You receive less food because you send less metal. If you want more food, send more metal. That is balance. That is honor. That is harmony in the universe.”

The lead supplier pauses, but there is a tension in the way he stands, the way he holds his hands up, that tells us there is more to the message. After several seconds, he continues sharing the rest of the letter, though it's obviously with reluctance:
“What you have suggested is an insult to the generosity we have shown you these long years. As punishment, rations will be reduced for the next week. Perhaps then you will better understand balance.”

I feel my jaw drop, and chaos breaks out. Shock and outrage fill everyone's faces, and hands sign so fast that I can only catch snippets of conversation:

Reduced? We can't survive on what we have—

How can we get more metals? Our miners are going blind and—

It's not our fault we can't mine as much! Why should we be punished for—

I can't follow much more than that. The crowd turns on
the lead supplier with angry faces, striding right up to where he stands on his makeshift perch.

This is unacceptable!
one woman signs furiously.
We won't tolerate it!

The lead supplier regards them wearily. There's an air of resignation around him. He doesn't like the way things have turned out either, but how is he supposed to change them?
What do you suggest we do?
he retorts. When no immediate response comes, he adds,
Everyone needs to get back to work. That's the only way we're going to survive. It's like he says: If we want more food, we need more metal. Standing around and complaining won't accomplish that.

This enrages one of the men standing near the podium. He wears a miner's dirty clothes.
I'll go down there!
he insists, face flushed red.
I'll
make
the keeper give us food.

Others in the crowd, caught up in the heat of the moment, nod in agreement. The lead supplier, however, remains calm in the face of rising hostility.
How?
he asks.
How will you go down there? On the line?
He pauses to make a great show of studying the other man from head to toe. Everyone knows the zip line can only hold about thirty kilos.
It will fray and snap under your weight, and then we will have nothing. Your son might be able to make the trip. Perhaps you could send him to negotiate. He's, what, eight years old now?
That earns a glare from the miner, who's very protective of his young son, but the supplier remains unfazed.
Well, if you don't want to risk yourself or your loved ones in the basket, you could always just climb down instead.

The lead supplier takes a rock the size of his hand and throws it off the edge, hurling it toward a bend in the cliff. We all watch as it hits the mountainside and is momentarily followed by a small avalanche of other stones, some of which are significantly larger than the original rock. They kick up dust as they fall down to depths we cannot see. The unstable nature of the cliffside is well-known throughout the village and has been documented in records for years. Some of our ancestors who could hear would attempt the climb, supposedly because their hearing aided them in knowing when avalanches were coming. But even they were wary about the cliffs.