Page 20

The Prophecy

Destroying villages is delightful. It rather soothes my ego after our narrower-than-usual victory at the Battle of Seocheonkkotbat.

We raze through the poorly-built chogajips with glee. The squadrons stationed at this particular village are fine fighters, it’s true, but they only have a few Dokkaebi among them. I let one female escape, to bring news of my whereabouts to the rest, but the others I dispose of after a few hours of battle. Once, it would have taken only an hour to destroy this meager village and small outpost of troops. But now, they have their fireswords.

As the soldiers lay on the ground, death-still or in the throes of death, I address the frightened villagers. I stand next to Sonagi, my head held high and smattered with blood, both golden and red.

“Bow,” I say with a smile, spreading my arms, “to your empress.”

Weak-kneed and shaken, they do. All save for one man. He is old, perhaps approaching eighty. His eyes are cloudy with age, but they are cold as they meet my own.

“No,” he bites out. As the others lower themselves to the packed-dirt ground, he alone remains standing.

Why, oh why, is there always that one old man who refuses to bow?

My lips thin. He reminds me of that insolent little rat, Gwan Doyun. He possesses the same impudence . The same inane belief that he can stop a Prophecy from coming to fruition despite his utter, and pathetic, weakness. I do not tolerate these sorts of people.

“No?” I croon, cocking my head. I shrug and examine my blood-crusted nails. “And why, pray tell , is that?”

He tries to explain it to me. Oh, he tries so hard. Even though I smell his sharp fear, he goes on a rather grand and long speech about how I am a monstrous tyrant who will destroy the world. Spittle flies from his lips as he points a shaking finger at me and urges me to retreat, for evil never wins in the face of true goodness. This is all extremely boring, and no matter how many self-righteous words he spews, the result will be the same. As the old man prattles on and on, growing more and more red-faced by the second, I flick a finger toward Beongae, whose appetite is nearly impossible to be satiated. A few moments later, the man is gone, and his infernal racket has ceased.

Beongae licks his bloody orifice with a satisfied expression.

“Right,” I say boredly as the villagers cower, “now that’s done, here is what you will do. You will build me a temple. You will worship me, your empress, the Goddess of Wrath, the Yeouiju. I am… nice to my worshippers.” I bare my teeth in my best approximation of a smile. “I am not as nice to dissenters. As you can see.”

The mortals whimper. I roll my eyes.

“Oh, come now. You can rebuild your homes. Why the fuss?” I mount Sonagi once more. “After I leave, burn these bodies.” I gesture to the corpses with disdain. “Let the smoke be seen for miles. It’s in your best interest to do it,” I add sharply, as Sonagi begins to turn away. “As I said, those who disobey me are liable to explore the inside of an Imugi’s stomach.”

As my forces retreat, wails rise into the air.

But minutes later, so does smoke.

And I smile.

…

As we continue on our path toward the capital, I close my eyes and seek out Haneul. Whatever ploy he utilized to hide from me last night is not in effect now, a development that is both pleasing and confusing. I do not know where he was last night, but it was somewhere I could not follow.

Now, though, he is deep in conversation with his advisor. Jeong Kang. I sneer.

They are in what I assume is a room in the Wyusan Palace, standing before a long wooden table groaning under the weight of dozens of books, scrolls, jars of ink, and herbs. Kang is grinding herbs with a pestle, his lips a thin line as that boy, Seojin, heats silver medical tools over the fire crackling in the corner.

“Chan is gone,” Kang is panting as Haneul drags a hand over his face. “I cannot find him anywhere.”

“Gyeulcheon?” the emperor asks, but Kang shakes his head as he pours a dark liquid into the mortar and combines it with the herbs to create a thick paste.

“He is not in Gyeulcheon, and he is not here. Seojin, take these”—he hands the concoction to the boy—“and make sure they’re applied straight to the festering wounds.” As Seojin nods and runs out, Kang turns back to Haneul. “There is a soldier we can’t relocate to Gyeulcheon yet. He’s too weak.”

“Do you,” Haneul grits out, “have any idea where the Supreme Commander has gone?”

“I have a very good idea,” Kang says quietly, “and I think that you do, too.”

I have an inkling, as well. I narrow my eyes as Haneul mutters a curse and whirls around.

“Where are you going?” Kang asks.

“To stop him—”

“Rui.” His advisor’s voice is firm. “You are needed here, and in Gyeulcheon. Let Chan go. He is capable.”

Slowly, the emperor turns around. His eyes sear with that horrible Dokkaebi fire. “I have not forgotten what—or who—caused this war,” he breathes. “Do not try to stop me, Kang.”

The advisor flinches but presses on. “Rui, she is gone . You know that we need her destroyed. The troops heard you call for her to be taken alive during the Battle of Seocheonkkotbat, and they are confused. We can’t have opposition in our ranks. Chan was pushed by your inaction.”

“I just need tim—” Something crosses Haneul’s face, and he abruptly snaps his mouth shut.

His eyes somehow stray to mine, where I stand before their scene in the darkness. Only for a moment, yet it is enough for me to wonder if the Dokkaebi somehow senses me. I watch, intently, as Haneul swallows hard. Something like… realization …shoots down the red thread of fate.

“You need time?” Kang asks quietly. “Time for what?”

“Chan is going to get himself killed,” Haneul grits out. “He cannot go rogue like this.”

“I am sure that the Supreme Commander understands the risk.”

“Our troops need him.”

“They need you more.”

“He is my best warrior—”

“Then let him do this,” Kang says, but he sounds uncertain, as if he is no longer sure he possesses the right to advise his emperor. “Let him go.”

Haneul closes his eyes. “I understand that we cannot hold back from this war, but there are things you do not comprehend.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t,” the emperor whispers. “She could be watching, Kang. She’s always watching …”

My eyes flare open.

What is this secret Haneul is keeping from me? What is so clandestine that he fears to utter it, for the possibility I am monitoring him? What strategy, what plot , is this Dokkaebi forming? My mood darkens as I stroke Sonagi’s scales, staring out at small specks of villages in the distance.

“Sonagi,” I say, “it seems as if we will soon be joined by an unexpected guest.”