Soundless by Richelle Mead
And yet my fingers hesitate as I reach for it. Stealing food is a grave crime. Everyone is hungry, and I hate the thought of depriving someone else. I find small comfort in knowing that one of the ration bags I take would have been my own lunch tomorrow. Li Wei and I don’t know what we’ll find at the bottom. Maybe when we get there, we’ll find a land of plenty. Or maybe the township sends us small amounts simply because they too are starving. After much deliberation, I take three more packs, giving Li Wei and me two meals each. We will have to fend for ourselves once these run out.
A long, drawn-out sound catches my attention, and I duck into the shadows, searching for the source of the noise. It is one of the doors from the servants’ wing being opened. The servant I saw in the hall earlier enters the kitchen, heading over toward the chef. They have a conversation I can see only part of, but it appears to be a status check, verifying all is well. While they are speaking, I seize the opportunity to dart out of the kitchen.
I’m about to take the hall that leads to a side exit when I notice another corridor. In searching for the laundry room and the kitchen, I encountered most of the areas that the servants work in, which makes me think this must be their living quarters. I need to be on my way, but I just can’t bring myself to leave without seeing Zhang Jing one last time. In a moment, I’ve made my choice, and I turn down the hall, carefully peeking in each room. Many doors make that same long noise the kitchen door did, and I’m grateful no one else can hear it. If I ever get a chance to read Feng Jie’s book again, I intend to learn what the name for that sound is.
At last, I find where the servant women sleep. The space is smaller than my bedroom but with more beds crammed into it. Zhang Jing is sleeping at the end of the room, her bed up against the wall. I lean over her, feeling my heart ache as I take in the features of her beloved face. With a pang, I suddenly wonder if I’ll ever see her again. Li Wei and I have no idea what we’ll find at the bottom. We don’t even know if we’ll reach the bottom. What will happen if I die? Who will take care of Zhang Jing then—especially if her sight goes?
The fear is almost enough to make me change my mind about the journey. Then I remind myself that while there are risks, there’s also the chance that I might be able to change everything—not just for Zhang Jing but for others in my village. Whatever it is we find—more food, answers about the blindness—it has the possibility of improving the world of those we know and love. Li Wei is making this journey regardless, and he needs every asset he can get. I am one of those assets.
I smooth Zhang Jing’s hair from her face, my touch as light as a feather. She shifts slightly but continues sleeping peacefully, her cheek on her pillow and hand underneath it, just as she has slept since childhood. I look around the room. Along with a bowl of water on a table, there are some scraps of paper and a pot of ink resting on a shelf. I go to it, and in the moonlight I write a brief note: I will be back with help. Trust me.
I take the scrap of paper and tuck it under Zhang Jing’s pillow, near her hand. She will feel it when she awakens and hopefully have faith in what I’m doing. I have no doubt my disappearance will eventually be linked to the theft of the food, and I hate the thought of her believing the worst of me—especially after she told me how my position brings prestige to our family. Knowing I’m risking throwing that all away, I place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
I give my sister one last fond look and make my way out of her room. The patrolling servant is back on his rounds, but I dodge him, winding through the corridors until I reach a side door. Although I don’t expect there to be many people out this time of night, this door is less exposed than the main one, allowing a more discreet exit. Keeping to the shadows, I follow paths and trails until I reach the spot on the outskirts of our village that Li Wei and I had both agreed on: the place where our ancestors used to mount climbs from, farther up the trail from where the supply line is. And it is where I find Li Wei waiting.
You’re late, he signs to me in the moonlight. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind. Or feared the restless spirits that come out at night.
I stopped believing in them when I stopped believing in pixius, I respond haughtily. I had to say goodbye to Zhang Jing.
Shock fills his face. You told her?
No, no. I just checked on her—while she was asleep. No one knows. I pat my knapsack. And I found food, just as I promised. Did you get the things you need?
He gestures to a pile of equipment near his feet. Some of it, like the ropes, look like gear I’d find among the miners. Other items—metal rings, spikes, and hammer-like tools—are beyond me.
Some of this is from the mines, he confirms. The rest is from the magistrate’s supply shed. It has been stored there for centuries, but I was able to find pieces still in good shape. His face darkens. I had to steal all of it.
I know, I tell him. I had to steal the food too.
He shakes off his dismay and forces a smile. None of that will matter when we return with new supplies, right?
Right, I say, trying to smile back. I don’t bother pointing out what he already knows: that there’s no guarantee we’ll make it back, let alone with any bounty. Do you know how to use this stuff?
Much of it works like what we’ve used in the mines, he tells me. I’ve read up on what I don’t know and made some inquiries in the past. He glances up at the sky, where the full moon is descending in the west, still bright. In the east, however, I see a faint purpling of the sky as the sun readies itself for the day. Ready to go?
Ready as I’ll ever be, I reply.
He gives me a quick primer on the basics of the equipment and then shocks me when he uses some of the rope to tie us together. He grins when he sees my astonishment.
Nervous about being so close to me? he asks, giving the rope a slight tug.
I cross my arms, refusing to be baited by that dangerous question—even if there is truth to it. But whatever my feelings for him, I must focus on the larger picture: Zhang Jing and our village’s future.
Don’t get any ideas, I warn.
A small smile tugs at his lips. And what kind of ideas would those be, apprentice?
You know what kind of ideas. Just because we’re going on this journey, it doesn’t mean anything has changed. I meant what I said two years ago: My life has taken a different course. We can’t be together. I cross my arms imperiously, hoping I am convincing and that I’m not letting on that his nearness makes my pulse quicken.
He scrutinizes me, trying to determine if I’m telling the truth. Very well, he says. If that’s the way you feel, far be it from me to interfere. He gives the rope around my waist a test tug. There. It’s an older rope, but it should hold. I can’t risk you slipping and falling, he explains. This way, I can help you.
Or go down with me, I point out.
Then don’t fall, he advises.
The ropes and rings become a confusing web to me, but Li Wei understands them and how they’ll work to keep us safe. He secures our climbing ropes at the top of the cliff and hands me a pair of miner’s gloves. Although we are loosely tied to each other, we each have our own rope to rappel down with, and I grip mine with a tightness born out of fear as much as necessity. Li Wei makes the first leap, launching himself over the edge. A pit opens up in my stomach as I watch him drop, but then the rope goes taut in his grip, and his feet land on the mountain’s stony face, securing his position. Stable and safe, he glances up at me nonchalantly, as though what he just did was perfectly ordinary. Easy, even. I’m sure I look terrified, but there is no coddling from Li Wei. The challenge in his gaze spurs me on, and before I have a chance to second-guess myself, I leap over the edge as well.
I do exactly as he did, hopping only a short distance down, but that first leap feels a hundred miles long. The air rushes past me, and for a few terrifying seconds, I feel as though I’m floating, with nothing to save me. Then my feet strike the mou
Li Wei nods at me in approval, and with that, our journey begins.
I’ve climbed and played on ropes before, especially when I was younger. I have the strength to do it, but it’s been a long time. My hands, more used to the delicate work of painting and drawing, are unaccustomed to this type of labor and soon begin to hurt from the exertion. I refuse to let Li Wei see my pain, however, and keep pace with him as we descend the rocky mountain face in the moonlight.
We’ve only been going a few minutes when I hear rocks crashing and realize holding the rope requires both hands. I can’t signal to Li Wei that we’ve triggered our first avalanche. Panicked, I twist my hips in a way that tugs our adjoining rope. He looks over at me, and I jerk my head to my opposite side. Understanding, he quickly drops and swings off in the other direction, making room for me to take his spot just as a tumble of rocks falls near my original position.
When they are gone and all is quiet, I stay frozen where I am, feet planted on the cliff and hands clinging tightly to the rope. My heart is racing frantically at the close call, and despair starts to hit me as I squeeze my eyes shut. The journey has barely started, and we’ve already faced a rockslide. How can we possibly make it to the bottom?
A tug at the joining rope makes me open my eyes. I look over at Li Wei, and his face is strong and calm as he meets my gaze. Although he can’t speak, the conviction in his expression tells me what he would say: We can do this. I need you. You are still that brave girl who climbed the shed.
I take a deep breath and try to force calm. He does need me. Zhang Jing needs me too. After several more tense seconds, I give a short nod to let him know I’m ready to keep going. He smiles encouragingly—one of those rare, wonderful smiles that transforms his whole face—and we continue with our descent.
It is slow, painstaking work. We have to be careful of every move we make, and more rocks follow those initial ones. Some are avoidable. In some cases, we find it’s best just to freeze and cling to the side, waiting for the rocks to pass. We work out a system of tugs with our adjoining ropes and head gestures to help us determine what to do.
When we take our first true break, I’m unsure how much time has passed. But the moon has gone, and sunrise is now lighting our way. We come across a relatively flat piece of rock jutting out and leading to a shallow cave. Li Wei tests the rock ledge and deems it safe for us to sit on and rest as he gathers up excess line and prepares for the remainder of the climb. I exhale and stretch my legs, surprised at how tense my muscles have grown. The top of the mountain, where we started, looks impossibly far away. Glancing down, though, the bottom is farther still, hidden in mist. For a moment, I am dizzy as I contemplate my position here, suspended between heaven and earth. Li Wei’s hands move in my periphery.
Don’t do that, he says.
Do what?
He gestures around. That. Looking up and down. It will overwhelm you.
You talk like a seasoned climber, I tease. Like you do this all the time.
I’ve done similar things in the mines—nothing on this scale. After a moment, he gives me a grudging smile. You’re doing well.
Better than you expected? I ask.
He looks me over, his gaze lingering a bit longer than it needs to. No. I knew you could do it.
I nod in acknowledgment and glance around, trying to do as he says and not focus on the top or bottom of the climb. Here, on this small perch, I’m struck by how still everything is. Back in the village during the day, there was always an abundance of sound. Here, there is very little, and I enjoy the small respite. Is this silence? No, I decide, thinking back to the writings I read. Silence is no sound—the way I lived before. This is merely quiet, because some noises still come through to me. The sound of my feet shifting on the rock. Faint wind blowing past us.
What is it like? Li Wei asks, his face solemn once more. Being able to hear?
I shake my head. It’s too hard to explain.
Why? he asks.
Even describing it . . . well, it uses words you wouldn’t understand. It’s like another language.
Then use words I do know, he suggests.
I think long and hard before answering. Imagine if everything you saw, your entire life, was always a shade of gray. Then one day you blink, and suddenly you see the world as it is with all its colors. Blue, red, yellow. How would you react? How would you handle literally not having the words to describe what you’re experiencing?
Some things don’t need words, he says after a moment, and I wonder if he’s still talking about sound.
Everything needs a word, I insist. We need to know how to describe the world. Otherwise we’d fall into ignorance.
Spoken like someone who spends her days organizing and cataloging everything. Sometimes it’s enough to just feel. You don’t have to label and articulate all that’s around you.
I roll my eyes. Spoken like a barbarian.
He laughs at that, and there’s a warmth in it that makes me smile. We split one of the lunch packs and then begin climbing down once more. There are a few more close calls as small stones skitter down the cliff. I’m able to warn him with tugs of the rope, but our system is cumbersome and delayed. A couple of times, when he clears his throat or coughs, my attention is immediately drawn to him by those sounds. It gives me new appreciation for how our ancestors used to communicate with their mouths: speech. The concept was always foreign to me when I read about it, but now I see how much simpler it would be if there was a sound I could make to warn Li Wei of the next avalanche.
Morning gives way to noon, and we see a huge plateau jutting out of the mountain, promising another break. Beyond it, I can actually make out the ground at the mountain’s base. Hope surges in me that we might pull this off after all. Then I hear the sound signaling another avalanche. I look up, and it is not a small scattering of stones like we’ve encountered before. Large boulders are tumbling down toward us. They create vibrations in the cliff face that even Li Wei can sense, though he doesn’t immediately ascertain the direction.
I have no time to tug and point. Clinging to my rope, I push off with my feet and swing toward him, knocking him off the cliff face. He loses his footing but keeps hold of the rope. For a terrifying moment, we are both swinging in the air, with only our grip on the ropes to keep us from falling. A cascade of rocks begins tumbling beside us, far too close. The sound created is soft at first, almost like an exhalation of breath, but soon grows into a roar as the stones increase in number. One of them strikes my head, and I wince. The instinct to shield myself with my hands is overwhelming, but letting go means certain death. Both of us scramble for footholds, trying to move out of the way of the growing rock fall.
Li Wei swings hard and almost manages to land on another small outcropping, but the added weight of being tied to me throws him off. A second attempt also fails. He tries yet again, harder this time, and is at last able to land on the edge. With his footing secure, he scuttles back and tugs me toward him with the adjoining rope. My feet make contact with the ledge, and he pulls me forward into his arms, leaving us cowering against the mountain as a full-on avalanche of boulders cascades beside us. The falling rocks keep triggering more avalanches, and it is spectacular and terrifying to watch.
When it finally ends, we are both shaking, shocked by how close we came to being caught in the full force of it. I let him hold me a few moments longer before reluctantly breaking the embrace. He gestures to my cheek.
You’re bleeding, he says.
I vaguely recall the rock that hit me and am now aware of a stinging sensation. I lightly touch the side of my face with my fingertips and see blood when I remove them. I dab again
Here, let me clean it. He pulls his sleeve over his hand and reaches for me. I shrink back.
What are you doing? I ask.
Wiping up the blood, he says.
Not with that filthy shirt! I retort. And I told you, I’m fine. No need to stain your shirt even more.
I’m a barbarian, remember? His grin fades as concern returns to his features. Perhaps we should rest longer.
For me? I ask indignantly. I get to my feet and hope I’m not still shaking. There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m not some delicate flower. I’m ready to go now.
Fei, it’s okay if we take a break, he says. There’s no need to let your pride get the best of you. Again.
Again? I ask, unable to ignore the barb. I gesture imperiously to the rope. Just fix it so that we can keep going.
He gives me a mock bow. Yes, apprentice.
Tension fills the air between us as he readjusts our line to set us on a new trajectory down. My hands hurt badly, even with the gloves, but fear and pride compel me to keep my grip through the discomfort. We continue rappelling down, and though we are still cautious, both of us move a little more quickly. That last avalanche was too close a call, and we’re eager to make it to the plateau I’d noticed earlier and finally get a real rest. Closer and closer it gets, and despite Li Wei’s warnings, I find myself sneaking peeks down. I don’t know what I was expecting in the lands near the mountain’s bottom, but the terrain below us looks similar to what we left behind on the mountain’s top, filled with green, dense forest. The only difference is that from this height, it is all in miniature, almost as though we’re looking down at an incredibly lifelike map.
When we are level with some of the trees growing on the plateau, I hear another boulder above us—in Li Wei’s direction. I tug the joining rope and nod. He scurries to get out of the way, but in his haste, his grip on the rope slips.