Soundless

  He loses his foothold, and all I can do is gasp as he starts to fall. The rope around me snaps tight, pulled taut around my torso by his added weight, cutting off my ability to get air. I jerk forward, struggling to keep my grip firmly on the rope. Gravity wants to take me down with him, and the rope begins to slip through my fingers.

  I fight for breath, watching the terror on Li Wei’s face as he is suspended in the air, hanging only by the rope connecting him to me. Panicked, he kicks wildly, reaching out with his hands and feet to make contact with something—anything. He is too far from his original rope or the cliff face to truly touch them, and his frantic flailing only makes it more difficult for me to cling to my rope. It’s slipping through my hands, bit by bit. Soon I will be at its end, and there will be nothing to stop us both from falling to our deaths.

  Gritting my teeth, I squeeze my fingers tightly around the rope, refusing to give another inch. More wild maneuvering from Li Wei throws me off balance, causing me to lose my foothold on the cliff. I cling to the rope for dear life now, but I can see it is a losing battle. Li Wei’s weight is too great, his pull on the adjoining line too strong. Pain sears my stomach as the rope digs into me, stretched as taut as it can possibly get. My hands slip again down the rope, and I struggle to draw breath until—

  —in seconds, it’s all gone.

  The pressure is gone. There is no more pull, no impossible weight for me to fight against. I can breathe again.

  Because the rope has snapped, and Li Wei is falling.

  There is nothing to save him, and I can only watch in horror as he falls the rest of the way down, his eyes wide with terror. I hear my second human scream in as many days. This time, it’s my own.

  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 p
aint 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—