Soundless (5 page)

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.

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.

Then clap a different number of times, and I'll tell you the amount.
Seeing his baffled look, I add,
Do it
.

He claps four times, and I tell him the number. Then two. Then seven. The last time, he doesn't clap at all, and when I turn around, his eyes are impossibly wide.