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Shaman Kim began her dance before Jihoon could ask more. She sang a low, guttural chant. Her body swayed. She held up a white paper and set it aflame. Jihoon remembered his halmeoni talking about this part of the kut, the dances shamans use to commune with the spirits and their powers. White was for the purity needed to connect to the gods.

Ice clutched him. It started at his toes, freezing them so he couldn’t feel his feet. Then rose up his legs, turning his veins to shoots of ice.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, so cold it burned. His fingers and limbs bent in wretched agony. He dropped to his knees and the ground rose up to meet him as his body seized.

75

MIYOUNG WOKE TOchants and pain. She wondered if she’d died and lay at one of the twelve gates to the afterlife.

“Miyoung-ah.”

Yena stood a meter away, her voice a harsh whisper of concern.

“Where’s Jihoon?” Miyoung coughed out. Her chest felt like it was on fire. And she searched for the red thread, hoping it would lead her to Jihoon.

“Miyoung-ah, get yourself together. You have to get out of here.”

She finally remembered where she was and what she’d been doing. She lifted shaking fingers to the back of her throbbing head. She hissed with pain, and her hand came away wet with blood from a wound where Detective Hae had hit her.

When Yena saw Miyoung’s stained fingers, her eyes flashed. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Not if I do first,” Miyoung growled, pushing to her hands and knees.

She could just make out two figures standing across the field. She squinted to see them clearly and saw Detective Hae. Then, with a start, the dancing form of Shaman Kim came into focus.

For a second she didn’t see Jihoon. Then his body jerked, sprawled on the ground between the detective and Nara’s halmeoni.

With a shout of rage, she stood. But the very act of standing made her head spin, as if she’d spent all of her energy on the simple physical task.

“Steady,” Yena said, reaching out to hold her daughter.

Miyoung gasped in ragged breaths as she watched Jihoon’s body jerk in tormented angles.

“Stop!” Miyoung called out before turning to Yena. “Mother, do something.”

“I can’t.”

“If he dies, then so will I. My bead is still inside him.”

“I can’t,” Yena repeated, and Miyoung finally realized her mother was planted in place, like her legs had sprouted roots that reached into the ground.

Miyoung’s eyes moved to Detective Hae as she remembered the end of her mother’s story. She’d traded her bead for Miyoung’s life. The irony of it wasn’t lost on her. Like mother, like daughter, to sacrifice for the ones they loved.

Jihoon let out a cry of pain. And his agony echoed in Mi-young’s chest, so sharp and hot that she almost dropped to her knees again. But Yena held her upright.

The moon’s glow was a spotlight for their shared torture. Then the pain abated, leaving Miyoung’s head spinning as it receded. And she saw that Jihoon was still as well.

Shaman Kim knelt, holding her hands over Jihoon’s chest, making figure eights with her palms. Then she pushed her hands down on his belly. He jerked up like a puppet whose strings were yanked forward. The yeowu guseul shot from his lips before he fell back into an unconscious heap.

Shaman Kim picked up the bead reverently, like she was picking up the moon itself.

“Jihoon-ah!” Miyoung shouted. Her cries went unanswered. She glared at Shaman Kim. “Are you happy? To see the pain you’ve caused?”

“I’ll be happy when it’s done,” the shaman said.

“Why are you involving my daughter in your ridiculous vendetta?” Yena asked.

“Because you killed mine!” Shaman Kim screamed. Her shrill rage sent a shiver down Miyoung’s spine. “You took my daughter from me, so I wanted to take yours from you, but this time I’ve found a way to take your life as well. Who’s to know if you even have a heart to mourn her passing. It’d be better to kill you both.”