Soundless(32)

Li Wei chews some dried fruit, his brow furrowed in thought. I don’t think that’s the line keeper.

I raise an eyebrow. Who else would it be?

I don’t know, he admits. A servant? But don’t you think he behaved strangely? He’s so . . . unsure of himself. The line keeper always speaks with authority and seems so decisive. This man jumps at his own shadow.

I did think it was weird that he didn’t have paper or writing tools around, I concede. Especially with all the notes he writes us.

Li Wei nods. Exactly. Something doesn’t feel right. He gazes off down the road winding through the trees. Our host is long out of sight. I’m not sure if we should wait for him to come back. This might be a trap.

What kind of trap? I ask in surprise. And to what end?

I don’t know that either. It’s just my gut. But the gift of food aside, he didn’t seem very welcoming. I’m afraid of whom he’s going to bring back.

I point at the crate. But this is what we came for. It’s right in front of us. Food and the potential to feed our people! If we leave after he gifted us with this and told us to stay, what kind of message will that send? Where is the honor in that?

Li Wei is torn, and the irony of our situation isn’t lost on me. Until now, he has been the one so brazen and certain great things would come of this trip, while I worried. Now I am the one who wants to trust it will be fine, while he has doubts. He looks back down the road and makes a decision.

From what we know, that road probably leads to the township. If he’s seeking help or supplies, it makes sense that’s where he’d go. I say we go there ourselves and try to get a better sense of what’s going on—of what these people are like. If I’m wrong, we can apologize later, claim we didn’t understand his directions. If I am right, and there is something sinister going on . . . He doesn’t elaborate, and he doesn’t need to, not with the memory of the ghost village fresh in our minds. Instead, he simply shrugs and adds, Well, that’s what I think, at least. But I’m only the advisor.

I give a faint smile at the joke of referring to himself as xiangqi’s second most powerful piece, but there’s little humor in anything else. Between the line keeper’s strange behavior and what we read in the other village, it’s clear that caution is vital. Okay, I say. Let’s go. And let’s take some of this food with us. He did offer us the crate.

We follow the road away from the mountain, and I try not to think about how much farther I’m getting from the only home I’ve ever known. The road widens as we walk down it, the dirt smooth and hard-packed from many feet and wagons. I have read enough to know that our village is small in comparison to other settlements, that there are people in the world who live in much larger and more populated settlements and cities. The reality of that has never hit me until now, when I try to imagine the number of people who would require such a large road. Soon the road changes from dirt to flat stones, and that too is another surprise. We have nothing even remotely comparable in our small village.

I eventually detect sounds that indicate others are ahead of us, and I put out an arm to stop Li Wei. I motion that we should get off the road and walk where we will have the cover of the trees to keep us from immediate discovery. He agrees. We both want to believe the best of these new people, but we are also too tense from our dangerous journey here to assume anything or anyone is safe. We make the rest of our journey in the woods, keeping the road in sight. When we reach the township at last, however, it isn’t fear that dominates my emotions.

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.