Soundless

by Richelle Mead

  I mean it, Fei, she says. Let me come with you. Whatever it is, I’m not afraid.

  We can use her help, Li Wei notes. I can tell he is anxious about the delay. Plus, we won’t diminish our numbers this way.

  I am part of this village, Zhang Jing adds fiercely. This is my fight too.

  I can’t stand against both of them, and reluctantly, I agree. There’s at least a small comfort in having her within my sight.

  We backtrack toward the village, still moving covertly. Li Wei scouts ahead, searching for roaming bands of soldiers. We want them to catch us, but walking right up to them is out of the question. Our capture has to look as “natural” as possible, raising little suspicion.

  Li Wei comes hurrying back, his face a mix of nerves and excitement. Up ahead, he says. There are three soldiers patrolling.

  We move in on the soldiers’ position, walking clumsily through the trees so as to make a lot of noise. The ruse works, and moments later we find ourselves surrounded by the three soldiers, who unwittingly think they’ve captured a group of hapless villagers trying to flee. We act appropriately frightened as they raise their swords—really, there’s not much acting required for that—and Li Wei makes it look as though he is about to run. This earns him a blow to the head that makes me wince, but it convinces the soldiers there is nothing special about our particular group. With swords still drawn, they surround us and march us back in the direction of the mines. I exchange a glance with Li Wei as we walk, and although he is careful to keep his expression appropriately cowed, I see a fierceness in his eyes as our plan begins to unfold.

  Back at the mine, the number of captured villagers has swelled, and the chained prisoners who came up the mountain have joined the group. It looks as though there are still some people hiding within the mines, but the soldiers are busy keeping the gathered prisoners in line and seem to be engaged in some type of sorting. One of the soldiers in our group shouts something, attracting the attention of a man who seems to be in charge. He glances over at us, looking surprised. My guess is that they probably thought they’d captured everyone by now. A party our size is unexpected.

  He strolls over and assesses us, making some quick decisions. With a few gestures, he splits us into two groups. One is me, Zhang Jing, the boy whose clothes I took, and another young girl. Li Wei is with the others in the second group. I realize immediately that we’ve been sorted by size and strength, and the soldier indicates that Li Wei’s group should join another similarly sized group. Zhang Jing and I are sent to a cluster of prisoners consisting mostly of smaller-sized women and young children. I catch Li Wei’s eye as we move in different directions, and the message is clear: The plan must proceed.

  Beyond him, I see the soldier in charge speaking with one of the prisoners from the plateau. The soldier makes those unintelligible sounds, and the prisoner follows his face avidly. I realize this must be the man who can read lips. Moments later, he turns and speaks to Li Wei’s group, using the same sign language Nuan did: They are going to send you into the mines to work. They say if you are diligent and do as you’re told, your lives will be spared. Although his signs say one thing, his expression conveys something entirely different. The other prisoners notice this.

  Is that really true? Li Wei asks.

  The man hesitates only a moment before answering: Probably not. But what choice do we have?

  I turn to look at the group clustered near me. There are soldiers surrounding us, but we are not under as heavy a guard as Li Wei’s group. We are not chained. Because we are smaller, they probably see us as less of a threat. Knowing that this is the moment we’ve been waiting for, I signal to a group of women on the other side of Zhang Jing. I keep my motions small, so as not to attract much attention from the guards. I think few of them can understand us, but I don’t want to take the chance.

  Pay attention, I say. There is a way to save us all, but it requires everyone participating. When I give the signal, you must all cry out.

  One woman looks at me as if I am crazy. Cry out? she questions.

  I can’t blame her. Although we make involuntary cries and screams all the time—in fact, there is a great deal of sorrowful sound around me even now—it is not something my people deliberately do. After all, none of us can hear the sounds when others make them. Instead, it is a residual instinct, something we acknowledge we do in times of great emotion. There is nothing more to it—until now.

  Yes, I say. Cry out. Scream. Give voice to your pain. You must all do it at the same time, and you must do it . . . I pause, remembering to put it in terms they’ll understand. You must do it with great intensity. You know the vibrations you feel in your throat? You must make sure they are very intense. Make your throat . . . shake as much as you can. Do you understand?

  They stare at me in confusion, but one little girl bravely steps forward. I understand.

  Her mother draws her back and asks, To what end? What can this possibly do? We are lost.

  No, I say adamantly. We are not. I can’t explain what this will do, but you must trust me that it will work. It is our best shot at salvation—but it is imperative we all work together.

  I work my way through the group, passing on the message. Looking across the clearing, I see Li Wei doing the same thing, discreetly signing so as not to attract the guards’ attention. It looks like he’s met with the same reaction. Most of the people are scared and skeptical that this bizarre request can accomplish anything. Yet, at the same time, they are desperate and see no hope around them and so are willing to take any chance offered to them, no matter how farfetched.

  Trust me, I say for what feels like the hundredth time. This will work if we do it together. Put all your emotion into it—all your hope and fear, all your doubt and faith.

  That particular word choice seems to resonate with the woman I’m currently speaking to. She nods, blinking back tears. Probably all she has left at this point are her emotions; giving voice to them, even if she can’t hear it, is all she can do. As I turn from her to see if there’s anyone I missed in this group, a flurry of hands draws attention in my periphery. An older woman wearing the clothes of a supplier is signing furiously.

  It’s her! Fei! The one who started all this, she says. A few people near her do double takes, looking me over and starting with recognition.

  Did she? asks another woman flatly. It seems to me it’s the township that started all this long ago.

  Only if you believe her lies! exclaims the first woman. Someone call the guards over here! No doubt they are looking for her. If we turn her over, they will let the rest of us go!

  Have you lost your wits along with everything else? I demand. They aren’t letting any of us go! They are going to work us all to death in order to deplete the mines. They’re starting with the strongest over there. When they’re wiped out, they’ll make us labor in their place. This plan—crying out as one—is our only hope.

  But the woman who first recognized me is no longer paying attention. Unable to rally an immediate supporter, she has gone seeking a soldier herself. She finds one and tugs his sleeve, making signs he doesn’t understand. Irritated, he pushes her away, but she is insistent and resorts to simplified gestures, pointing at me through the crowd. The soldier regards me with a puzzled look. He doesn’t understand why she’s singling me out, but I am no longer beneath the soldiers’ notice. I wanted to stay incognito, but that moment has passed. The soldier enters the throng of women and begins working his way toward me.

  Looking across the grounds outside the mines, I search for Li Wei over in his group. They are being herded toward the mine’s entrance, and I see Li Wei looking for me as well. It must be now, he signs to me, holding his hands high.

  I nod in agreement and turn to Zhang Jing. The soldier has almost reached us. Now, I say, making my signs big and high. Now! Everyone cry out!

  At first, the only voice I hear is my ow
n. I put all my emotion into it, everything I’ve been carrying around for so long. I include my love for Zhang Jing and Li Wei in it, my grief for my parents, my fear for my village. The sound vibrates not just in my throat but through my whole body, sending waves of emotion radiating through me. I feel it on every level, with all my senses, and then I hear another cry echoing my own. It is Zhang Jing, raising a voice she cannot hear and filling it with the same emotional intensity that is burning within me. Beside her, another woman joins in. Then another. And another.

  The soldier comes to a halt, looking around in bewilderment. He loses his interest in me and instead tries to figure out what is happening. The other soldiers on the grounds are equally perplexed. The sound has spread from person to person, in both my group and Li Wei’s. For those of us with hearing, it is both spectacular and heart-wrenching. My people have no idea how much grief they are conveying.

  In my chest, I feel that faint fluttering of connection, and my excitement grows. It is working! We are being heard! I lift my hands and signal to those around me: More! More! Make it more intense—more vibrations! Tell others! They spread the message, and it ripples through the crowd. Looking over the heads of those near me, I can make out Li Wei urging on those around him as well. The voices grow louder, and I raise mine, calling out to the pixiu who has chosen me to help us. I feel another hard tug in my chest—but see no other immediate signs that this is working.

  The guards, however, are starting to react. They don’t understand what’s happening, but they don’t like it. They begin saying things to us, the same command repeated, and my guess is they are demanding silence. The prisoners defy them—at least at first—and continue the cry. This angers some of the soldiers, and they start to resort to violence. The soldier near me cuffs a woman so hard, she falls to her knees. That startles a few others nearby into silence.

  I raise my voice louder to compensate, urging others to do so, and the connection within me burns more brightly. The intensity is so great that it almost seems impossible for me to contain. It grows and grows—and then, abruptly, it seems to vanish. It’s almost like the sensation of a bubble growing bigger and bigger before bursting. I’m unsure what has happened, but I only let my voice falter a moment before continuing on more loudly than before.

  Around me, others are losing faith, both because of a lack of any results and also because of the brutality of the soldiers. They are silencing prisoners by any means necessary, striking and felling indiscriminately. Not far from me, an old man cries out as a soldier knocks him to the ground and follows up with a sharp kick. It’s enough to scare a few others into silence, but I ignore it all, refusing to be cowed. I have no fear for what they might do to me.

  Zhang Jing stands beside me proudly, voice uplifted, but when a soldier comes and knocks her down, she momentarily falls silent. I drop to the ground beside her and stop my own cry, too concerned about her. Are you okay? I ask.

  She shakes her head, shrugging me off and opening her mouth to continue the cry. The same soldier who struck her before now backhands the side of her head to quiet her. I leap to my feet, thrusting myself between the man and my sister, ready to take whatever he is dealing out. But before either of us can act, the woman who recognized me earlier comes hurrying forward, pointing and gesturing frantically at me. This soldier can’t understand her, but another comes striding up, a hard look in his gaze as his eyes fix on me. He’s no one I know, but it’s clear he has realized who I am.

  He says something harsh to the soldier who struck Zhang Jing and then grabs me by the arm, dragging me toward the man who seems to be in charge near the mine. The crowds shrink back from us, and as we move, I notice that the cries around us have died down. A few people are still halfheartedly trying to carry on, but most either have been forcibly silenced or are in fear of what might happen to them.

  And nothing has happened.

  Only a need to appear undaunted in front of the soldiers prevents tears of frustration from springing to my eyes. I wanted to believe Elder Chen’s story about the pixius. I wanted there to be an explanation for all that has been going on. I wanted a magical creature to come save us all.

  But as the united cry disintegrates into frightened whimpers, it’s clear there is no one out here in this desolate place but us humans. The realization nearly breaks my heart, and I must summon all my courage when I’m shoved to my knees in front of the lead soldier. He looks down on me with a sneer and speaks, but I shake my head, showing I don’t understand.

  He doesn’t seem to care, though. I am the girl who started all this by climbing down the mountain and stirring up the king’s fears about the pixius. And it’s clear this soldier plans on putting an end to my mischief—and to me.

  He gives an order, and the soldier who brought me drags me away. My heart is so heavy, my grief so great at our failure that at first I don’t even realize where we’re going. I’m too devastated that this has all been for nothing and that the township is going to win after all. A cry from the crowd—Zhang Jing’s voice—snaps me out of my despair. I must be strong for her, I tell myself. I look up and realize the soldier is taking me to the cliff’s side. He halts there, pushing me to my knees again, so that I’m facing the edge. The world reels as I see that fathomless drop off the mountain in front of me, with only the soldier’s hand on my shoulder standing between a push or a pull. Swallowing my fear, I am just barely able to twist around back to the gaping crowd. There are tears on Zhang Jing’s face, and the soldiers have to restrain Li Wei to keep him from coming to me.

  The army’s leader says something to the prisoner who can read lips, and cringing, the man holds up his hands so that all can see. Watch now and see what happens when you defy the great king! The soldier’s hand tenses on my shoulder. I know he is only seconds away from pushing me off the edge to my death. All he’s waiting for is his leader’s command. The prisoner continues as directed: Those who attempt to stir discord will be punished accordingly. Those who are obedient will—

  The prisoner trails off as a shadow passes over his face.

  Then another.

  And another.

  Eyes wide, he looks up to the sky . . . and that’s when we see the impossible.

  CHAPTER 19

  A DOZEN GLITTERING FORMS circle above us, dazzling in the late afternoon sunlight, powered by strong wings. The soldier lets go of me, backing up and abandoning me on my precarious perch. I’m caught off guard by the sudden movement and find myself wavering on the cliff’s edge. Using both hands and feet, I scramble to move backward, far from the dangerous precipice and onto more solid ground. All the while, I keep my eyes fixed above.

  Those glittering beings circle lower and lower, and I feel tears prick my eyes as I see the same wondrous forms from Elder Chen’s scroll: the regal bearing, dragon-like head, lion’s mane, and full-feathered wings. Dream has become reality. Myth has been made flesh.

  The pixius are here.

  They are so beautiful, even with the ferocity of their sharp teeth and claws, that it makes my heart ache. That instinct I so often feel, to capture the world in my art, rears up within me, a thousand times stronger than ever before. I want to draw that exquisite profile, the way the pixius command such incredible power yet seem so graceful as they glide on currents of air. I want to convey the sense of the breeze rustling their thick manes. I want to recreate the glimmering metallic color of their coats, varying from shades of deep bronze to brightest silver, even though I have no idea how to begin. The color ripples on their fur almost like water. Capturing the full majesty of these creatures would probably be an impossible task, but in this moment, I could happily spend a lifetime trying.

  When I can finally drag my gaze from their beauty, I see that chaos has returned below. The horses are rearing, and the soldiers try to calm them, splitting their attention between the animals, the villagers, and the majestic creatures in the sky. The reactions of my own
people are mixed. Some are simply stunned, unable to move. Others, terrified, attempt to flee. Still others make the connection between our cries and the appearance of the pixius. Many of these people are older, familiar with the myths, and see this as our salvation. They fall to their knees, holding their hands up and raising their voices, though this time there is a note of joy to the cries.

  One such supplicant is an older woman not far from me. I know her as someone who has lost much of her sight, but it’s clear she can still make out the glittering of the pixius as they continue to circle above us. She lifts her hands in thanksgiving, crying out in happiness. A young soldier stands nearby, nervously watching the sky. When he hears the old woman, he strikes her in the head with the hilt of his sword.

  In the blink of an eye, one of the pixius—a golden one—breaks formation and dives down, straight for the soldier. With talons glittering as brightly as that metallic fur, the pixiu snatches the soldier up and tosses him over the cliff in one smooth motion. His screams as he goes over raise the hair on the back of my neck.

  That action is like a spark to tinder. The soldiers mobilize, seeing a clear and immediate threat in the pixius. The soldiers’ leader begins shouting orders. Swords are raised, and a handful of men with bows and arrows come hurrying forward. Even though I can’t understand the leader’s words, his actions and expression convey his orders clearly: Bring down the pixius!

  Arrows fly into the sky. Most are dodged easily by the swiftly moving pixius. Those arrows that do make contact bounce harmlessly off the pixius’ hides. Their fur looks luxuriously soft but apparently has the impenetrability of the hardest rock. These direct attacks drive the pixius to action. They break out of their circling formation now, diving and striking with incredible speed as they pick off their enemies one by one. From my vantage, I notice the pixius easily distinguish soldier from captive and spare both my people and the plateau miners. As for the soldiers . . . they meet a different fate. Some are thrown over the cliffs. Others are simply torn apart.