The Invisible Valley

by Wei, Su; Woerner, Austin;

  When Lu Beiping’s puzzled expression didn’t go away, Kingfisher laughed and said:

  —Don’t tell me you don’t know about her, boy? That’s where she lives—the high valley! It was her that kept us safe during the storm. Why else’d we be spared? You don’t suppose the wind just lost its appetite when it passed through here? No water-demon or wind-devil would dare defy her will!

  Lu Beiping knew that he was back in Kingfisher territory, the land of sins and laws. Certain that he would break some taboo if he said anything more, he picked up his machete and called over to Smudge:

  —Hey, Smudge! Want to come with me up to the high valley to look for your Uncle Autumn?

  —That one can’t go, Kingfisher said immediately. She’ll smell the darkness on him from a mile off.

  Smudge made a face at Lu Beiping behind Kingfisher’s back. Now Jade came hurrying over, carrying a dripping, brownish-yellow rag. This strip of cloth, she explained, had been soaked in sulfur water, and he was to wear it around his waist to ward off evil. Lu Beiping said nothing. Sensing his skepticism, Jade took off her “snakesbane” bracelet and put it on him too.

  —Be careful, she said. She’s not to be messed with, that creature. There’s room in her belly for you and every one of your cattle.

  Stump came over to Lu Beiping and began describing the route he was to take up into the high valley. As he tied the wet rag around his waist, Lu Beiping caught a whiff of its noxious odor and imagined for a moment that he could actually smell the darkness wafting down from the Snakeweird’s lair.

  Skirting the log-soaking pool and following the thin rivulet that trickled down the stone ledges on the far side of the hollow, Lu Beiping climbed upward toward the looming central bowl of Mudkettle Mountain. He knew that the source of this rivulet was a pool high in the valley whose waters fed all the streams of the Mudkettle and which, according to legend, was formed by an underground spring bubbling up from the ocean itself. The Sea’s Eye, the locals called it. He wondered if the tall, dark bluffs ringing this valley had shielded the driftfolk during the storm, creating a natural windbreak. But the wind, he remembered clearly, had been swirling and erratic, never coming from just one direction. Why, then, had their hideout been spared? It was a mystery. He thought again of the legendary serpent, the Snakeweird, and a cold feeling gathered in his chest. He threw back his head and hollered to the cattle. This time he heard a response, faint but clear; he could even tell that the answering low belonged to Alyosha, because of the knocks of the wooden clapper punctuating it. On the slope above him a clump of myrtle burned orange against the sullen gray sky. He wondered: How had these flowers survived the typhoon? Would the spirits of Mudkettle Mountain protect something as insignificant as a flower? If so, this place must be swarming with them!

  Walking and musing, he soon arrived at a small pond, and suddenly Autumn was standing before him, wet from head to toe, as if he’d just emerged from the water. Lu Beiping shuddered in surprise. Outlined against the dark shapes of the trees, Autumn’s long, gaunt face looked unusually pale, and red scratches from bushwhacking crisscrossed his bare torso.

  —Sheesh, Autumn, Lu Beiping said after he’d recovered from the shock of Autumn’s sudden appearance: I thought for a moment you were a ghost. I didn’t hear a thing, you just popped out of nowhere!

  Autumn grimaced at that, then chuckled.

  —I was beginning to think you’d never come, friend. Don’t worry about the cattle just now. I have something to show you.

  —Right now? Can’t it wait a few minutes? I thought you said you’d help me round up the herd.

  —I did, said Autumn, smiling. And I was hoping you’d do me a favor in return. Come along, follow me.

  —No, it has to be later, Lu Beiping said, coming to halt. I need to find the animals now.

  Autumn’s face stiffened.

  —You’re a good cowherd. Alright, fine then. Those critters of yours must have magic powers, wending their way up here in the midst of that roaring storm. Look—Autumn pointed at the scratches on his torso—I couldn’t get in there without the prickly cane nearly tearing me to bits. How they squeezed through with those big, mountainous bodies I can’t guess.

  —Gosh, Lu Beiping said, beginning to feel anxious: What are we going to do, then? You think that even if we find them they won’t be able to get back out through the prickly cane?

  —Don’t fret, Autumn said placidly. Now that their master’s here things’ll be easier. I tried calling them myself but they wouldn’t listen—mercy, that made me mad! Best not to go up there ourselves, you just stand here and holler for them, they’ll recognize your voice and come out to meet you. They found their way in, they can find their way out.

  There was something else Lu Beiping wanted to ask, but he checked himself, afraid that he might hurt Autumn’s feelings again with some thoughtless verbal misstep. Wordlessly he followed Autumn along a freshly cut path through the tall grass, skirting the edge of the pool, crossing a patch of wild forestland, and finally arriving at a thick cluster of bushes out of which rose the twisting, needle-tufted limbs of two horsetail pines.

  —Look at this, Autumn said.

  Lu Beiping stiffened in surprise. Beneath the bushes, half-dug out of the mud but still covered in dry pine needles, lay a large tablet of blue-black stone. The top corner of the tablet, which must have protruded from the soil, was green with moss and severely worn by the elements.

  —What the—? This is what you wanted to show me? Lu Beiping fought back a reflexive rush of fear at the sight of what appeared to be another lost gravestone. What is it? he asked nervously. What’s this doing out here in the wilderness? How’d you find it?

  —Noticed those two horsetails, Autumn said, wiping sweat from his face with one end of his waistcloth, his voice growing more animated as he spoke: Scouting timber’s given me a keen pair of eyes. Pines like that don’t usually grow around here, Mudkettle Mountain has too wet of a climate. Soon as I saw them I knew they’d been planted, and a long time ago, by the look of them. And why would pines be planted in a wild place like this? I knew there must be a story—then I discovered this tablet, and lo and behold, it vindicated my suspicions!

  Lu Beiping noticed that when Autumn grew excited his speech took on an odd formality, his cadence and choice of words becoming much different than normal. As Autumn spoke he leaned down and brushed the pine needles off of the tablet.

  —I’ve studied it long, but this thing—it’s lost on a rude woodsman like me. I’d hoped, if it wasn’t too much trouble . . .

  He looked up at Lu Beiping and laughed awkwardly.

  —Can you . . . read it for me?

  Lu Beiping leaned down and examined the tablet. A pair of coiling dragons writhed across the worn surface; it looked like a genuine relic. Between them was a dense grid of carved characters, now almost illegible on the pockmarked stone. Lu Beiping read off the blocky seal-style heading, then deciphered, haltingly, the inscription that followed in classical script:

  MEMORIAL UPON THE CONQUEST OF THE LOI

  This Record set in Stone by . . . Minister of Taxes and

  Rev . . .

  . . . for though the Isle’s four Prefectures have long fallen under Celestial Rule, the barbarian Loi, who abide in curious Dwellings deep in these hundredfold Vales, nevertheless wheeled free as Vultures in the Sky, and made war upon His Subjects, inflicting great slaughter thereupon, which state of affairs persisted until the first of Eighthmonth in the year Cel. VIII Ter. IV . . .

  . . . did excuse themselves, saying it were vain to exhaust His Legions upon so treacherous and wild a Land; and invoking the doctrine that the Wise Ruler Governeth Not the Distant to justify their own Ease and Indolence, did continually neglect their Duties as Administrators of His Justice and Guardians of His Peace . . .

  . . . whereupon the Son of Heaven did declare, that inasmuch as His Will a
nd the Will of Heaven are one, and desirous that His People be better served, and that His Realm remain forever Unified and Indivisible, as it rightly ought to be, it would please Him to send a Force numbering thirty thousand against the savage Loi who dare defy His Might, that in three years’ time all might bow before Him . . .

  . . . grain ripening in the fields, yet we laid siege to their Strongholds, denying them Nutriment; the Weather favored us, our Soldiers fought valiantly, and the People came to our aid, there being no truer sign that Heaven despiseth the wickedness of the Loi . . . in a mere two months Victory was accomplished, and His Sagaciousness was greatly pleased . . .

  . . . already the Loi of Chopfoot Valley in Man Cheong, of Sevenmill Valley in Tam-chow, and of divers other Vales, submit taxes unto the Realm, render their labor thereunto, study letters, and comprehend the One True Tongue . . .

  . . . of His Grace the Shenwu Emperor, may His Years be fruitful and numberless, who aweth without Force, who humbleth without Threat of Punishment, whose Word is the Will of Heaven; He hath caused to be erected this Stile, on first of Firstmonth in the year Cel. IX Ter. I, that every passing Generation, even unto the end of Time, shall be instructed as to His Greatness.

  As Lu Beiping stammered out the faded inscription, he noticed that Autumn had pulled a small notebook out of the folds of his waistcloth and begun following along, drawing his finger across the page, soft syllables of awe and surprise escaping his lips as Lu Beiping pronounced the glyphs he’d attempted to record. Clearly Autumn had been poring over this tablet for a long time.

  When Lu Beiping had finished laboring through the final, convoluted sentence, he looked up and saw that Autumn’s eyes were brimming with tears. Seeing Lu Beiping’s look of surprise, Autumn turned his head away quickly, wiped the tears from his eyes, and laughed.

  —Autumn, Lu Beiping asked with an uncomfortable chuckle: Are you okay? Does this old tablet mean something special to you?

  —No use weeping for what’s dead and gone, eh? Autumn said with a grim laugh. Then he added: I’m moved that you helped me read that stone. You sure know a lot of figures. If someday I can claim to have half the learning you’ve got, I’ll be a happy man.

  A shadow of regret or unease passed across Autumn’s face. Then he asked Lu Beiping:

  —Can you tell what year it was carved?

  —During the Ming Dynasty, I think. Somewhere in there it mentioned the emperor’s reign-name, didn’t it?

  Lu Beiping searched the tablet again, running his fingers over the worn surface.

  —I always contended that people lived in our hollow back in ancient times, Autumn said. But Kingfisher’d have none of it. That lightning-struck lychee tree looks like it was planted, it’s got a human feel. Kingfisher said I’m too full of shadow, said I’ll call up the shades of the long-ago dead, talking like that.

  Autumn paused, his mouth half open, as if struggling to find the right words. Then he chuckled bitterly and said:

  —“The wise ruler governeth not the distant”—couldn’t be more true, what the tablet said. Mudkettle Mountain was always a place of refuge, it seems. It’s got a good land-lay. Good place to dodge ruin, hide from the magistrates.

  —Not so successfully, Lu Beiping said, fingering the stone. Doesn’t it say that they besieged the natives here for two months, cut off their food supply? I think Kingfisher’s right to worry about calling up the shades of the dead. Hundreds of years ago here, the emperor’s troops were killing people right and left. It was a massacre.

  The two young men stood gazing at the stone for a long time while the wind rustled the pine branches above them. Behind them a string of bubbles rose out of the depths of the pool, as if the water itself were sighing in sympathy.

  Autumn seems like a completely different person right now, Lu Beiping thought. Just as this unprepossessing little pond, with the memorial tablet nearby, seemed vested with a powerful aura of history, so the tablet, the black notebook in Autumn’s hands, the entire adventure of bushwhacking into this remote valley and decoding a record of centuries past, seemed utterly out of place in the world they lived in today, like an episode from some grand old tale. It was all so incongruous, yet it kindled in Lu Beiping a feeling of warmth that he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  —Autumn, Lu Beiping said, I had no idea you were a man of letters.

  —A man of letters? Autumn scoffed. A boor, a crude peasant—deaf and dumb.

  —Oh, come on. I think you’re only pretending to be deaf and dumb, Lu Beiping said, glancing at the little black book. Then, grinning, he asked: Hey, can I see that notebook? I want to read whatever secrets you’ve got hidden in there.

  The question was meant more as friendly banter than as a serious request, and Lu Beiping didn’t really expect Autumn to reveal the contents of the book. In those days private journals were a sensitive subject; they were a liability, they were dangerous goods.

  —You really want to see it? Autumn asked. To Lu Beiping’s surprise he actually seemed to entertain the idea, fanning the notebook’s pages for a moment with a sheepish expression on his face. Then he said: Oh, you city kids are such jokers. Aren’t you in a hurry to find your cattle? Here I’ve gone and distracted you from your real business.

  Lu Beiping sprang to his feet.

  —Yes, you’re right! I almost forgot about them while we were puzzling over that old stone!

  He grabbed his machete and was about to run off into the trees when Autumn laid a hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

  —You’re a hot-blooded savage just like us, he said with a twinkle of laughter in his narrowed eyes. Four Eyes, I wouldn’t . . . wait, I can’t call you that. What’s your real name? I don’t suppose people down there call you “Stinkyfoot.”

  —Oh . . . of course! . . . My name’s Lu Beiping, Lu Beiping said with an awkward grin, conscious of the fact that none of the driftfolk, even Jade, knew his real name.

  —I’ll call you Bei, then. I don’t imagine anyone else calls you that. Ordinarily you go by “Lu” or “Ping,” I’d guess.

  —You’re right, Lu Beiping chuckled. It was true: Except for the diehard junior-high-school comrades with whom he’d raided the locked-up library, nobody had ever called him “Bei” as a nickname.

  —What about you, then? he asked Autumn.

  Autumn curled his lips.

  —Nameless shall the wanderer forever remain. You’ve been calling me Autumn, no?

  Suddenly a loud bovine moan shattered the quiet. Seeing the look of anxiety that flashed across Lu Beiping’s face, Autumn said:

  —Like I said before, no need for you to go blundering around in there and getting all cut up like I did. Just stand here and holler. This bowl is real echoey, your critters’ll hear your calls for sure and find their own paths out of that viney maze. Better than you ferreting around in there and trying to hunt them down one by one.

  —I should just stand right here? And shout?

  —You can sit if you want.

  —What if not all the animals find their way out?

  —Don’t worry, Autumn said, waving the notebook: You helped me fill in the blanks in that inscription, I’ll guarantee your cattle for you. If any are missing, I’ll go in there with you and help you track them down one by one.

  —So . . . alright, then! Lu Beiping turned toward the mountain, squared his shoulders, then glanced at Autumn, feeling a little embarrassed. He drew a deep breath, opened his mouth to shout, then burst into laughter. I can’t do this, he said. This feels like a performance. I’ve never done cattle calls in front of another person.

  Autumn grinned.

  —I won’t watch, then. Just pretend I don’t exist.

  Like a child, he turned his back to Lu Beiping, covering his mouth with his notebook to keep from laughing.

  Then abruptly Lu Beiping, keying his voice as high as it would
go, let out a long, piercing yell, his voice sailing out like a knife blade thrown into the sky.

  —Al-YOOOOOOOOO-sha! PEEEEEEEE-ter! A-LEEEEEEEEE-xei! Come OUT, come OUT, wherever you AAAAAARE!

  Autumn clamped his hands over his ears and grinned, bobbing his head enthusiastically.

  —What a voice! A man who speaks like thunder!

  Lu Beiping ignored him and kept shouting, his cheeks turning bright red, the veins standing out in his neck. Now he imitated one of the Gaffer’s swine calls:

  —LeeleeloolooWAAAAAAHHHH!

  Echoes danced among the peaks. Autumn joined in:

  —LeeleeloolooWAAHHH! LeeleeloolooWAAAAAAHHHHHH!

  They took turns doing cattle calls, one watching while the other yelled, trying to outdo each other like a pair of elementary school boys competing at hoop-and-stick games in some schoolyard long ago. Lu Beiping had heard that shouting at the top of one’s lungs is a powerful way to unlock one’s inner strength; he’d even read somewhere that Japanese samurai-in-training and cadets at West Point received special instruction in yelling technique.

  —Wow! he said, turning to Autumn. It sure feels liberating to shout like this.

  —It’s true. My dad once told me, the ancients had a special art of yelling. They called it . . . what was the word? Yes—“caeloclamation.” “Then did he make a great caeloclamation, and lo, the gods harkened to his voice.” Isn’t that from some poem or other?

  Lu Beiping glanced over at Autumn, whose expression was now exuberant. It felt great to give such free rein to his emotions. He hadn’t done so in a long, long time.

  When he caught sight of the first pair of horns glinting in the green depths of the forest, which soon gathered around it the large, cantering body of a bull—Alexei!—Lu Beiping actually jumped for joy. And when his feet hit the ground, he looked up and saw—

  Autumn still stood facing into the wind, yodeling up at the encircling cliffs. But now his voice sounded stiff and mechanical, and rivers of tears ran down his gaunt, dark cheeks.

  —Autumn . . . are you okay?