When the Sea Turned to Silver
Page 3
“Amah,” Pinmei said, “how do you know this?”
“Oh,” Amah said, “a friend told me.”
She lifted the cover from the pot of rice, and steam rose like a thick smoke, veiling her face.
“Amah, these stories aren’t real, are they?” Pinmei asked. “Was there really a tortoise or a Nuwa?”
Amah spooned the rice from the pot. She handed Pinmei her plain bowl, the cooked grains shining like a mound of pearls against the dark pottery.
“They say when you see a rainbow in the sky, you are seeing Nuwa and the colored stones she put there,” Amah said. She gave Pinmei a smile, her face wrinkling like the pit of a peach. “Whether you believe that or any of the things I tell you is up to you.”
CHAPTER 3
“Wake up, Pinmei! Wake up!”
Pinmei’s eyes opened more from the urgency in Amah’s voice than the shaking of her shoulders. In the blackness of the room, Amah’s face was a thin sliver above her, like the moon on its last night. “Come quickly!”
“Amah?” Pinmei said. “What…”
“Shhh!” Amah said. The softness of her voice was unable to hide its intensity, and she was already pushing Pinmei into the darkness. “Not a word! Hurry!”
Pinmei looked at Amah’s face for answers but could see only its bare outline in the shadows. In the unlit rooms, the night was as solid as lacquered wood. Pinmei wondered why Amah did not light a lantern. She silently stumbled as Amah dragged her to the hut’s storage room, the freezing drafts biting her feet.
But those bare feet that knew the feel of the mountain also felt something else. There was a slight rhythmic trembling—as if the ground itself were scared. Suddenly, Pinmei knew why Amah had not brought out a lantern. Someone was coming.
“In here!” Amah said, pushing Pinmei toward a huge vat.
“In the old gang?” Pinmei said. The giant clay container had once held wine, but now it was empty and cracking. It sat in the storage room only because it was too big for Amah to get rid of.
“It now has a use,” Amah said as she hoisted Pinmei up. “As does your quietness. Now is the time to use your gift of silence, Pinmei.”
“Amah,” Pinmei protested, “what—”
“The mountain is not stopping them from coming,” Amah said, more to herself than to Pinmei. “Perhaps there are too many or it does not dare, for it might injure those who are blameless. But Yishan will watch out for you.”
“Yishan?” Pinmei asked. “Why—”
“Remember,” Amah said, shushing her, “you can always trust Yishan.” Ignoring the rest of Pinmei’s protests, she gently but firmly pushed Pinmei down inside the gang.
Pinmei clutched her knees, grimacing as the grime of decades rubbed against her. She twisted in the vat, the rough pottery scratching her cheek, but she was rewarded by a good-sized crack at eye level. She saw Amah swiftly shuffling baskets and boxes to further hide the gang.
“Amah,” Pinmei whispered, “where will you hide?”
Instead of answering, Amah came to the gang and rested her hand on Pinmei’s head. Through the crack, Pinmei saw the worn knot of Amah’s sash. The frayed threads, like delicate hairs of a newborn child, caught the dim light from the doorway.
“My quiet girl,” Amah said softly. And then, silently, Amah took a large platter, placed it over the gang’s opening, and left.
CHAPTER 4
They came like thunder.
The wind and sky were eerily quiet, so, even with the muffling snow, the thumping echoed. The baskets and pots Amah had placed on the floor near the gang trembled as the beating came closer. When they finally arrived, they seemed to crash into the house, for the front door clattered to the floor like a fallen tree. Even though Pinmei couldn’t see much from the gang, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Then there were men’s voices, rough, harsh, commanding. When Pinmei finally dared to open her eyes, the crack in the gang let her see the angry fires of the soldiers’ torches. The orange flames made the men and horses glow like demons.
Then Pinmei gasped, for there was Amah. She stood in the open doorway, as if waiting.
“Good evening,” Amah said, her low voice spilling into the crowd, like a stream of water. “I hope you did not abuse your horses just to reach this old body.”
“That’s her!” a rough voice roared through the cold night. “She’s the one we want! Take her!”
His soldiers come to the villages late at night, taking away all the men, the villagers had said. Were the soldiers here for Amah? Why? She wasn’t a young man!
“Shall we go, then?” Amah said, as if asking Pinmei to gather firewood. Amah’s silhouette was still and calm against the flickering light of the flames. The ocean of shadows swayed in a mad dance around her.
In response, the soldiers growled in unison, the sound swelling into a snarl.
And then, in a swift, brutal motion, like a monstrous snake swallowing its prey, the men swept Amah into the blackness of the night.
CHAPTER 5
Pinmei could do nothing. As she stared, her arms, her legs, her body froze into the cold stone of the gang. She could not even whisper the desperate, wailing cry that throbbed in her chest.
Soldiers began to bang into the hut. They lit the lanterns, and Pinmei could see everything as if it were a stage. Once, when she was younger, Amah had taken her down to the village to see some traveling entertainers, and Pinmei felt as if she were watching a performance again. But this show was a nightmare. The soldiers overturned the tables and chairs, and Amah’s carefully organized box of threads and sewing tools were strewn on the floor, red silk lying on the ground like a pool of blood.
“There’s not enough room in this hovel for more than two of us!” said one man, his elaborate armor and demeanor marking him as the commander. “You, stay,” he barked, motioning to a soldier in green. “Everyone else, out!”
When all the others had left, the commander turned to the remaining soldier with a transformed manner.
“Your Exalted Majesty,” the commander said, bowing his head. “We have the Storyteller. Was there another purpose for your honorable presence on this excursion?”
“Oh,” Amah said, “a friend told me.”
She lifted the cover from the pot of rice, and steam rose like a thick smoke, veiling her face.
“Amah, these stories aren’t real, are they?” Pinmei asked. “Was there really a tortoise or a Nuwa?”
Amah spooned the rice from the pot. She handed Pinmei her plain bowl, the cooked grains shining like a mound of pearls against the dark pottery.
“They say when you see a rainbow in the sky, you are seeing Nuwa and the colored stones she put there,” Amah said. She gave Pinmei a smile, her face wrinkling like the pit of a peach. “Whether you believe that or any of the things I tell you is up to you.”
CHAPTER 3
“Wake up, Pinmei! Wake up!”
Pinmei’s eyes opened more from the urgency in Amah’s voice than the shaking of her shoulders. In the blackness of the room, Amah’s face was a thin sliver above her, like the moon on its last night. “Come quickly!”
“Amah?” Pinmei said. “What…”
“Shhh!” Amah said. The softness of her voice was unable to hide its intensity, and she was already pushing Pinmei into the darkness. “Not a word! Hurry!”
Pinmei looked at Amah’s face for answers but could see only its bare outline in the shadows. In the unlit rooms, the night was as solid as lacquered wood. Pinmei wondered why Amah did not light a lantern. She silently stumbled as Amah dragged her to the hut’s storage room, the freezing drafts biting her feet.
But those bare feet that knew the feel of the mountain also felt something else. There was a slight rhythmic trembling—as if the ground itself were scared. Suddenly, Pinmei knew why Amah had not brought out a lantern. Someone was coming.
“In here!” Amah said, pushing Pinmei toward a huge vat.
“In the old gang?” Pinmei said. The giant clay container had once held wine, but now it was empty and cracking. It sat in the storage room only because it was too big for Amah to get rid of.
“It now has a use,” Amah said as she hoisted Pinmei up. “As does your quietness. Now is the time to use your gift of silence, Pinmei.”
“Amah,” Pinmei protested, “what—”
“The mountain is not stopping them from coming,” Amah said, more to herself than to Pinmei. “Perhaps there are too many or it does not dare, for it might injure those who are blameless. But Yishan will watch out for you.”
“Yishan?” Pinmei asked. “Why—”
“Remember,” Amah said, shushing her, “you can always trust Yishan.” Ignoring the rest of Pinmei’s protests, she gently but firmly pushed Pinmei down inside the gang.
Pinmei clutched her knees, grimacing as the grime of decades rubbed against her. She twisted in the vat, the rough pottery scratching her cheek, but she was rewarded by a good-sized crack at eye level. She saw Amah swiftly shuffling baskets and boxes to further hide the gang.
“Amah,” Pinmei whispered, “where will you hide?”
Instead of answering, Amah came to the gang and rested her hand on Pinmei’s head. Through the crack, Pinmei saw the worn knot of Amah’s sash. The frayed threads, like delicate hairs of a newborn child, caught the dim light from the doorway.
“My quiet girl,” Amah said softly. And then, silently, Amah took a large platter, placed it over the gang’s opening, and left.
CHAPTER 4
They came like thunder.
The wind and sky were eerily quiet, so, even with the muffling snow, the thumping echoed. The baskets and pots Amah had placed on the floor near the gang trembled as the beating came closer. When they finally arrived, they seemed to crash into the house, for the front door clattered to the floor like a fallen tree. Even though Pinmei couldn’t see much from the gang, she squeezed her eyes shut.
Then there were men’s voices, rough, harsh, commanding. When Pinmei finally dared to open her eyes, the crack in the gang let her see the angry fires of the soldiers’ torches. The orange flames made the men and horses glow like demons.
Then Pinmei gasped, for there was Amah. She stood in the open doorway, as if waiting.
“Good evening,” Amah said, her low voice spilling into the crowd, like a stream of water. “I hope you did not abuse your horses just to reach this old body.”
“That’s her!” a rough voice roared through the cold night. “She’s the one we want! Take her!”
His soldiers come to the villages late at night, taking away all the men, the villagers had said. Were the soldiers here for Amah? Why? She wasn’t a young man!
“Shall we go, then?” Amah said, as if asking Pinmei to gather firewood. Amah’s silhouette was still and calm against the flickering light of the flames. The ocean of shadows swayed in a mad dance around her.
In response, the soldiers growled in unison, the sound swelling into a snarl.
And then, in a swift, brutal motion, like a monstrous snake swallowing its prey, the men swept Amah into the blackness of the night.
CHAPTER 5
Pinmei could do nothing. As she stared, her arms, her legs, her body froze into the cold stone of the gang. She could not even whisper the desperate, wailing cry that throbbed in her chest.
Soldiers began to bang into the hut. They lit the lanterns, and Pinmei could see everything as if it were a stage. Once, when she was younger, Amah had taken her down to the village to see some traveling entertainers, and Pinmei felt as if she were watching a performance again. But this show was a nightmare. The soldiers overturned the tables and chairs, and Amah’s carefully organized box of threads and sewing tools were strewn on the floor, red silk lying on the ground like a pool of blood.
“There’s not enough room in this hovel for more than two of us!” said one man, his elaborate armor and demeanor marking him as the commander. “You, stay,” he barked, motioning to a soldier in green. “Everyone else, out!”
When all the others had left, the commander turned to the remaining soldier with a transformed manner.
“Your Exalted Majesty,” the commander said, bowing his head. “We have the Storyteller. Was there another purpose for your honorable presence on this excursion?”
