Soundless

by Richelle Mead

  It is awe.

  Just as I knew there were larger settlements outside of our village, I’ve always known the township is one such place. The road was my first clue, but now, face-to-face with this place, I am truly stunned by just how much it dwarfs my home—and I’m only seeing it from the outside.

  The township is walled and gated. Men with weapons watch from atop wooden towers embedded in the walls, and they interrogate those who come to the gate. There is a backup on the road right now, some sort of delay with a group near the front, leaving about fifty people waiting impatiently to get inside. Fifty people! That’s more than all of the Peacock Court’s residents. Something tells me this is only a small part of what we’ll find inside. If we can get inside.

  The holdup seems to be over a wagon at the front of the line, and the sight of it—or rather, what’s pulling it—leaves both Li Wei and me transfixed: horses. We’ve read about them in books, of course, but neither of us has ever dreamed of seeing them in real life. Back when the mountain passes were open, our ancestors brought a few domesticated animals with them. Those eventually died off, and when avalanches shut off the overland routes, bringing animals up the zip line was simply impossible. I’ve never seen a creature so big, and I’m struck by the horses’ beauty. That itch to paint overcomes me, a burning need to capture the blue-black sheen of the animals’ coats and the way they toss their heads as they wait for their masters to finish.

  I drag my gaze from the horses and try to assess what else is happening. I hear more of those sounds—speech sounds—like I heard the line keeper using, and I’m both perplexed and intrigued. The noises are nonsensical, but some intrinsic part of me understands that they are a means of communication, the sort of vocalization referred to in our ancient records. I wonder how long it takes to learn speech like that. I’m already swimming in more sounds and stimuli than I can keep track of. In fact, the mixture of so many different noises coming from so many different people is starting to make my head hurt again.

  But even if I can’t understand the words, I recognize the signs of quarrel. The man sitting in the lead wagon is even fatter than the line keeper, and it’s clear he’s upset about something. The guards appear equally annoyed, and the sounds coming out of all their mouths grow increasingly louder as the discussion continues. The animosity radiating from all of them unnerves me.

  At one point, the man in the wagon opens a crate and lifts out a bolt of yellow silk. Li Wei and I both gasp. Never have I seen such a thing. Any silk that made its way to our village was already in scraps, at best, used only as adornment for those of high rank. To see a swathe of it like this is mesmerizing. Equally astonishing is its color, a rich, vibrant gold that is far superior to any dye we’ve ever managed to manufacture.

  Perhaps he is the king, suggests Li Wei. How else would he have such luxury? It would also explain how he’s able to eat so much.

  I don’t think so, I reply, observing the argument. I don’t think the guards would be having this kind of dispute with a king.

  The guards eventually insist on checking every crate in the wagon, much to the annoyance of their owner and those in line on the road. Several people, apparently the man’s servants, look weary and wander from the wagon as the guards conduct their search. I continue watching with wide eyes as more and more exquisite bolts of silk are revealed in an unending rainbow of colors. Only in my dreams have I envisioned such radiance.

  How will we get in? asks Li Wei. If they’re this cautious about cloth, they’re probably extra suspicious of outsiders—especially based on the line keeper’s reaction.

  I agree, and an answer suddenly presents itself. The wagon search finishes, and the fat man makes a loud sound that brings the meandering servants scurrying back. I grab Li Wei’s arm and hurry us forward into the crowd. With so many people waiting and mingling about, nobody pays attention to us. The search completed, the guards are eager to wave the silk owner and his retinue through. Li Wei and I fall in behind some of the servants and move quickly as the guards direct us to the gates.

  Just as we are about to step through, a guard suddenly steps out in front of us, holding a long pointed spear to block our way. He utters a series of harsh sounds that leave me staring stupidly. A handful of servants have come to a stop with us, and the guard’s eyes rake over all of us as he repeats those sounds. My heart beats rapidly in my chest, and I feel Li Wei tensing beside me as he braces for confrontation. Somehow, we’ve been spotted as outsiders.

  The guard repeats himself a third time, and it’s obvious he’s getting upset. I wish desperately that I understood what he wants. The temptation to sign is overwhelming, but before I can, I hear a voice answer quietly near us. It is another servant. The guard fixes his eyes on her, and she shrinks back in fear, pointing up at the fat man on the wagon. The guard looks up and issues his challenge once more.

  Standing this close to the fat man, I notice he holds a small flask that he continually drinks from. He sits unsteadily on his perch and regards the guard with a mix of bleariness and disdain. Alcohol is rare in our village, but I’ve seen it and recognize the signs of drunkenness. At the guard’s question, the fat man glances at the crowd of servants around his cart and shrugs, which only seems to make the guard angrier. The guard looks around and begins pointing at each person with his finger. Counting, I realize. He says something to the fat man, and the man shakes his head adamantly. He then begins counting the heads of all the servants and looks mildly surprised when he finishes.

  I hold my breath as I realize what must be happening. The guards are demanding a count of the servants, and Li Wei and I have thrown off the numbers. Taking his hand, I turn him so that we are angled slightly away from the fat man, keeping our faces from him. Drunk or not, surely he’ll recognize we’re not his if he gets a good look. He and the guards have another heated discourse, and I am prepared for the worst, expecting them to require all the servants to line up for inspection.

  We are saved when another guard comes up to the first and whispers something while gesturing at the long line on the road. Apparently the difference in opinion about the number of servants is paling next to the inconvenience of the holdup on the road. After several more tense moments, the guards wave the wagon and servants through, much to the fat man’s delight. He toasts the guards with his flask, earning a scowl from the first one.

  And after a few short steps, Li Wei and I are inside the township.

  My earlier quick thinking grinds to a halt, and my steps slow. Everything around us is so crowded and in motion, we’re in danger of being swept away in it. Li Wei has enough of his senses to realize we can’t just stand around, lest we be trampled, and grabs my hand, leading us forward. We trail in the wake of the silk wagon, gazing around at the sights before us. It’s hard to know where to look. The number of people alone would be enough of a spectacle for me, but there’s so much more than that. The buildings are bigger than anything I’ve ever seen, made of ornate materials as opposed to the simple thatch we use. Many of the structures are decorated and painted, and I wonder what Elder Chen would think of all of it. Our paint is strictly hoarded for communication.

  The clash of sounds I heard outside the gates is nothing compared to the noise level inside, with so many people giving voice to their thoughts. I wonder how they make any sense of it. It’s all meaningless chatter to me, grating in its excess. Even the horses—there are more here, inside the walls—make their own unique noises as their hooves strike the stone roads. Nonetheless, I find I am able to tune out the din somewhat because everywhere I look, I also see written signs using the same characters we use. That familiarity grounds me, giving me the tools to start to make sense of this place. We’ve followed the silk wagon into what I think might be a market, based on the multitude of signs advertising goods: fruit, meat, cloth, jewelry, pottery, and more. It seems you can acquire anything in the world here.

  A horse-drawn wag
on rumbles past us, kicking up mud in its wake. Some of it splatters on the sleeve of my clean shirt, making me cry out in dismay. Li Wei and I, still holding hands, step off the main thoroughfare so that we won’t be run over, and we pause to read what’s around us. Both of us are at a loss. I thought it would be obvious how to find someone in charge who might offer insight on our village’s situation, but as I look around at these busy people, I have the feeling our village means nothing to them.

  Li Wei releases my hand to speak, his face alight with excitement. Did you see that? he signs. Where they’re selling bread? That woman just handed over a small piece of silver and carried off a basket full of rolls! We pull out many times that in silver each day in the mines! If we could trade that in the same way, we’d never be hungry. For the amount of metal we produce each day, we should have a bounty of food!

  It can’t be that simple, I reply, frowning. Otherwise why would the line keeper send us so little to eat? Perhaps there is something special about that woman. But as I watch her carry off her rolls, I can’t see that she’s much different from anyone else around us. The more we watch, the more we see bits of metal exchanged for all kinds of goods, and I begin to share Li Wei’s view. I know the amounts of metal our village produces. It’s my duty to note it for the record every day. I’ve seen just a fraction of that metal change hands here and result in an abundance of supplies that would leave our village reeling. Why doesn’t that kind of exchange apply to us?

  I spy a group of children playing across the road. They are holding hands, moving in a circle, and speaking. But it’s a different kind of speech from what I’ve heard from others. For one thing, each child is saying the same thing at the same time. There’s also a quality to it than I haven’t encountered before. There’s a beauty to the sounds the children are making, almost reminding me of when I first heard the thrush back in our village. With a start, I wonder if I am hearing human singing. Whatever it is, it makes me smile.

  Before I can comment on this, a wizened woman standing at a table notices us. She’s selling fruit and has a lull in her business. We make eye contact, and her face brightens. She holds up some fruit I’ve never seen, opening her mouth and making more unintelligible sounds. I shake my head, knowing she wants metal in exchange for it, and I have none. Misunderstanding me, she holds up a different fruit and speaks again. I shake my head and, out of habit, sign: No, thank you.

  Instantly, the woman’s demeanor changes. She recoils, her smile fading. She turns away from us, trying to solicit someone else—anyone else. When she dares a glance back, noticing we’re still there, she makes a shooing gesture that’s understandable to anyone. We back away, finding another out-of-the-way spot in the shadow of a large building that advertises medicine and herbs.

  What was that all about? Li Wei asks.

  I’m not sure, I say. She reminded me a little of the line keeper: Both of them recognize signing, but neither seems comfortable with it.

  A man emerges from the building just then and catches sight of me finishing my sentence. He recoils and makes an abrupt turn, giving us a wide berth. I glance back at Li Wei to see whether he noticed. He did, and his face darkens.

  I’m getting a bad feeling about this place and these people, he tells me. Something isn’t right. They know about us, or at least about people like us. And it scares them.

  Why would they be scared of us? I ask.

  I don’t think it’s us so much as—

  He drops his hands when a heavily cloaked figure appears beside us. Based on this person’s height and hands, I’m guessing she’s a woman. The hood makes it difficult to see her face, and she is careful to keep her gaze averted and avoid any further identification. She appears to have noticed us signing, and I expect her to behave as the others did. Instead, she makes a gesture of beckoning and leads us toward a narrow space between two buildings.

  I think she wants us to follow her, I say to Li Wei.

  Another passerby notices the signing and does a double take, sharing the same look of alarm as the fruit vendor. The mysterious woman stamps her foot impatiently and beckons again for us to follow. When we don’t move, she gestures broadly to the other townspeople and then makes very deliberate motions with her hands. She is signing, but it’s not exactly the same kind of signing I know. Some of the words and motions are foreign to me, but a few come through—especially when she points to the townspeople again and signs: Dangerous. She indicates once more that we should follow her, and I am able to understand: Me . . . keep you safe.

  Li Wei and I exchange glances again. We don’t know anything about her, he says.

  We don’t know anything about any of these people, I point out. But she is the first to know our language. Kind of.

  The cloaked woman suddenly makes a sharp gesture. I follow where she points and see two guards from the front gate moving purposefully through the crowd, clearly in search of something. Their faces are hard, and they push people out of the way indiscriminately as their gazes dart around. A chill runs through me. I don’t know for sure that they’re looking for us, but we can’t take the chance. Li Wei and I clasp hands and follow this stranger into the unknown.

  CHAPTER 10

  OUR GUIDE LEADS US around and in between buildings, taking a path so convoluted that I soon lose all sense of where the market is. We leave it far behind us along with a lot of the more populated areas—which makes me uneasy. This stranger spoke of saving us from danger, but is it possible we’re simply walking into a trap?

  At last, we reach what appears to be the opposite side of the township. I can see the towering wooden wall in the distance, but it isn’t our final destination. Instead, our guide takes us to a squat two-story building with minimal decoration. Painted characters on the front read: Red Myrtle Travelers’ Inn. With a quick gesture, we are beckoned around the back side of the building, to a nondescript door.

  After glancing around to make sure we’re alone, our guide pushes back her hood, and I am surprised to see she is our age and exceptionally pretty. She opens the door and starts to step through, pausing when she notices we don’t follow. It’s okay, she says. No one will hurt you here.

  Who are you? I ask.

  And what is this place? Li Wei demands.

  My name is Xiu Mei, the girl replies. I work at this inn. I am its . . . The word she signs isn’t one I know. Seeing our confusion, intrigue lights her features. Your language must be different. Come in, and we will get something to write with. Don’t sign until we’re secure.

  Li Wei and I exchange uncertain glances. I honestly don’t know if we can trust anyone in this strange place, but at least Xiu Mei isn’t openly shunning us like the vendors in the market. There is something open and disarming about her face, and the fact that she can use our language—or something like it—goes a long way toward providing a glimpse of order in what’s otherwise a thoroughly chaotic situation. After a moment of hesitation, we follow her.

  We step into a kitchen like no kitchen I’ve ever seen. Steam bellows from pots on a hot stove, making the small space hot and stuffy. I’m assaulted with smells I’ve never encountered before, probably from foods I’ve never encountered before. This isn’t like our kitchen at home, with only a scarce handful of ingredients to carefully parse out. Here, two women and one boy scurry busily around, working with a vast array of vegetables and meats, sprinkling them with powders I’ve never seen. I feel my mouth begin to water and see a similar hunger in Li Wei’s awestruck expression.

  And, of course, there are sounds. So many sounds, most of which I don’t have names for. Pots and pans are tossed heedlessly around, dishes set down without ceremony. Food dropped into hot skillets of oil makes a noise that leaves me staring, one never described by Feng Jie. Mixed with all this is the sound of human conversation, each of the workers chattering away as they go about their tasks. One of them sees us and gives us a polite nod, then says something
directly to Xiu Mei. She smiles and answers back, surprising me. She can hear and is fluent in both spoken and hand communication.

  I have little time to ponder that before she leads us out of the kitchen and into a much larger room. It is filled with tables, some of which sit out in the open and others of which are tucked away in corners, concealed by gauzy curtains. Scattered tapestries and scrolls adorn the walls, along with a few well-displayed pieces of pottery. Most of the people sitting at the tables are men, and their clothing covers a vast range of styles and colors. Some are dressed as humbly as Li Wei and I. Others rival the silk merchant we followed into the township. Aside from one older woman sitting with a large group in the open, the only other female besides Xiu Mei and me appears to work here. She is dressed in silk and has her back to us as she delivers food and drink.

  I’ve read about inns in the archives, but Li Wei and I have no personal experience with any place like this. How could we? Who visits our village? Xiu Mei points us toward one of the private tables. We pass a grizzled man standing by the door with arms crossed over his chest. His face is scarred, and there is a tough, no-nonsense air about him. He watches Xiu Mei closely but makes no other movement toward us.

  We sit down, and Xiu Mei draws the curtain around us. The smoky fabric is wondrous, sheer, and silky. I immediately find myself touching it. From the outside, it makes seeing the table difficult, but from this side, we can make out most of the goings on in the room. Although I am still nervous about what we’ve stumbled into, I nod politely and tell Xiu Mei our names.

  It’s nice to meet you. Wait here, she says. She darts away to a podium across the room, returning with paper and ink. When she addresses us again, her face is eager and curious.

  We can talk in here, behind the curtain—but don’t let anyone else see you sign unless I say so. Why are you different from the others? she asks. Why is your language different?