Page 29

Rui

The Dokkaebi emperor has not seen Dalnim, his ancestor, nor her brother Haemosu for such a very, very long time. Their last visit, before their retreat to Okhwang, fell upon his sixth birthday—the coldest Winter Solstice the continent had ever seen. Rui still remembers how Dalnim gave him a sweet rice cake in the shape of a crescent moon and studded with sesame seeds. With a mischievous smile, she had convinced him it truly was a sliver of her moon, and Rui had laughed in incredulous delight while his parents exchanged fond looks.

A remnant of that same delight curls inside of him at the knowledge of his ancestors’ visit, but it is overshadowed by dark worry. Although the deities may possibly be the only powers in existence able to interfere with a Prophecy, they will kill Lina to do it.

Rui is no fool. He understands how to do so would be seen as—as the greater good. Yet it would destroy him, to see Lina murdered so brutally by the same gods she loves, her reputation forever stained as a monster. Churning emotions war inside of him. He knows that a swift end to this war would be preferable, yet…

And yet something tells him that this is not what fate intended.

That their deaths now would somehow be too… soon .

That there is more to their story than this abrupt end.

It is illogical yes, and perhaps driven by his own selfish desire to die a death of honor with Lina by his side. But he cannot shake the feeling that this is not right.

And, really, he thinks sardonically, he should have a say in his own death. It’s only fair.

The moon goddess stands in his throne room next to her brother, and her silver eyes—the very same as Rui’s own, yet larger, and heavily lashed—widen slightly as he enters. Haemosu’s golden gaze narrows, and Rui tries not to feel so exceptionally small before these deities, and the power that streams from them…the cold bite of stars and moons, the blazing heat of the sun. Proof of their powers surround them. Dalnim is surrounded by an aura of glittering white, Haemosu by an aura of deep gold. Instead, he bows respectfully as Kang closes the doors behind him. The advisor will not enter. This is a private audience, for better or for worse.

“Rui,” Dalnim says, gliding closer to him. Her silver, delicate hanbok ripples as she moves, her long black hair in which hundreds of tiny stars are woven flowing behind her. When she peers at him, he sees that her face is as young as ever. If he did not know better, he would estimate her to be in her mid-twenties. She cups his face in her hands, turning it this way and that, examining it with affection and awe. Her hands are as freezing as the stars themselves. “My, my, have you grown.”

Her brother scoffs, shaking his head of gold-streaked black hair underneath his crow-feather crown. “It’s been centuries,” Haemosu says, deep voice annoyed and amused at once. “Of course he’s grown.” He flicks an invisible speck of dust off his gold-plated lamellar armor and gives Rui a curt nod. “Hello, Rui.”

Dalnim steps away from Rui and smiles a little wryly. The gesture is so human that it takes Rui aback for a moment—but the twins used to be mortals, he reminds himself. In the grand scheme of the pantheon, their godhood is a recent thing. They were forged into deities after climbing high into the sky to escape a hungry tiger. That is always how these forgings go: mortals, subjected to terror and death, which transform them as rough sand does to shining pearls. This is what it takes to become a god.

“Dalnim,” he says, spreading his hands in welcome. “Haemosu. Your presence in my realm is an honor.”

“The moons in your sky are beautiful,” the goddess tells him, eyes twinkling. “You have done a wonderful job.”

Rui allows himself a crooked smile. “You humble me, Ancestor.”

Dalnim laughs. “Oh, you are anything but humble, Rui. Even at six, your ego was so lofty that it stretched into the sky and scraped against the stars.”

The Dokkaebi emperor can’t help but to smirk, but he chooses his next words carefully, although he is loath to steer the currents of the conversation into more dangerous waters. “I…have heard tell that you wish to fight with my armies.”

“We come to lend our aid,” Haemosu says gruffly, crossing his arms. “This war has gone too far. We do not know for sure, but if anything can stop a Prophecy, it is a god.”

“ And a goddess,” Dalnim adds pointedly, and Haemosu grimaces under her glare.

“That is what I meant, sister.”

“Hm.” Dalnim turns back to Rui. “Hwanin, our great emperor, has granted us leave to descend to Iseung and try to protect this mortal realm. Habaek the River God may also come, for he also loved this world, once—”

“You mean he loved the human women,” Haemosu mutters contemptuously. “Went after them like a squirrel goes after nuts—”

Haemosu and Habaek, Rui knows, have a complicated history. Habaek has never quite gotten over Haemosu’s attempt at marrying one of his daughters without first consulting him. The ensuing feud included a battle of shapeshifting and Habaek’s defeat, which the river god did not take in stride.

“—and will fight for it,” Dalnim continues. “Habaek waits, though, to see this kingdom’s fate.” The goddess ignores her brother. “The last war against the Imugi left too many strings loose, and we pay for it now. Perhaps we should not have abandoned Iseung when we did. But we will make up for it now. We have brought with us our Bulgae.”

Rui’s heart nearly stops in his chest. Bulgae . The vicious, mythical fire dogs responsible for lunar eclipses, swallowing the moon and sun as they race against the sky. Yet that is not the only place their talents lie. They are dangerous creatures, capable of hunting down targets using nothing but the smallest fragment of scent, of killing brutally and viciously.

“Where…are they?” he manages to ask. “I see none here, which is perhaps a relief.” He tries for a light, casual tone even as his stomach swims at the suspected answer. “If I remember correctly, they had a tendency to chew up the carpets.”

“Ah,” Haemosu says. “We’ve sent them ahead.”

The world goes quiet. So, so quiet. Rui’s whisper seems to him a scream as he says, “Ahead?”

“The Bulgae may be able to take care of that girl,” Dalnim explains patiently. “The one who leads the Imugi. Shin Lia, is it?”

“ Lina ,” he manages to get out. “But that’s not her—”

Dalnim doesn’t seem to be listening to him. “We hope our Bulgae can stop their route to Sanyeongto. If not, of course, then we will become directly involved in the battles. But let’s see how this goes, first.” She smiles at him, as if he’s a child she’s given some grand present.

“Wait,” Rui breathes shakily. “Wait.” At once, the beautiful hope he felt after visiting Lina begins to crumble and crumble into something darker, sharper. Despair. “This”—Rui summons the red thread, and the twins do not seem at all astonished to see it—“this thread, its power has strengthened. If she dies, I die. If I die, she dies.”

Dalnim and Haemosu exchange looks. There is no surprise there, but there is in Dalnim’s eyes perhaps a glimmer of pity.

“You knew,” Rui rasps. “You knew that.”

Sighing, the goddess nods. “We need a definite way to end this war, Rui. I know you love this girl, but the only sure way to prevent the Prophecy from being fulfilled, and this realm being terrorized by Yong, is to kill her.”

“Why not just kill me ?” snarls Rui. Not, of course, that he would like that. At all. Yet it makes no sense. “We are linked. Why not—”

“You are my descendant,” she replies quietly. “That means something, Rui. I will not raise my own hand to you. Know, though, that your sacrifice will be appreciated—”

“Don’t. Don’t do this,” Rui begs. “Please.”

Dalnim’s eyes are so very silver and so very sad as she replies, “It’s already been done.”

…

It happens between one step and another.

As Rui staggers from the throne room, a hand pressed to his chest as if he can ease the ache lodged in his heart, he suddenly hits… air .

Rui does not even have time to shout in alarm before he is somehow falling through wisps of cloud and blue sky, unable to do anything but flail his arms in a rather un-emperorlike panic until some unseen force apparently takes pity on him. His descent slows, and he flutters like a cherry blossom to the ground…which is not a ground at all.

Or perhaps it is—it’s solid , at least—but it is not the soil and grass that one would expect. Instead it is a writhing mass of…of colorful threads , moving and twisting beneath each other like a living thing, roiling like a sea of rainbow. Rui can barely stand, his knees threatening to buckle as he looks frantically around him. What in the gods’ teeth is this?

His eyes land on a woman, sitting serenely on the churning, threaded earth. She looks familiar, somehow, with her dark red hair flowing down her back and seemingly melding with the thousands of threads below. Rui’s mind struggles to place her as he takes in the crimson of her hanbok and the slight furrow of her brows…

The woman’s eyes open, warm brown settling on him. “Dokkaebi,” she says kindly, so softly that he strains to hear her voice underneath the sound of the threads rasping against each other. “Won’t you come and sit down?” She pats the ground next to her, but Rui is far too confused to do anything but stare in utter bewilderment.

With a small sigh, the woman crooks her finger at him. The red thread of fate embedded in his chest materializes, leading somewhere far off in the distance to his Lina. When the woman gently hooks her finger around part of its length and gives him a gentle tug, the pieces of the puzzle finally fall into place. As Rui is jerked to her side and lowers himself cautiously to sit beside her on the shifting strings, he knows to whom he speaks.

Gameunjang. Lady Luck. The Goddess of Fate.

“That’s better,” sighs Gameunjang, releasing his thread. “The other gods, they say I am too quiet. Yet they never come close enough to hear me.” Her smile, while sweet, is sad. “They are frightened of me, I think. Of the power of fate. Even Emperor Hwanin shuns me.”

Rui blinks. The all-mighty Hwanin, afraid of Gameunjang? If one were to only look upon her, at her small face and her warm gaze, they might laugh. What could this soft-spoken goddess have over a divine emperor? Yet Rui has seen the devastation she has wreaked, and he is not fooled by her small, self-deprecating smiles.

“Even now, Dalnim and Haemosu look at me with terror as they attempt to stop this Prophecy. I do not know if they can—they have never tried before. I am curious, I admit, to see if they can.”

Rui’s hands tremble in his lap. Gameunjang sees.

“You resent fate,” she murmurs, and he cannot tell if the guilt in her voice is real. “You resent me, for you are in agony. You mourn for your soul-stitched even as both of you live.” Gameunjang sighs. “For what it is worth, I am sorry.”

“You are sorry ?” Rui rasps. “Is it not you, Gameunjang, who creates Prophecies? Fate incarnate, who stitches souls together? In hatred, and in love? Tell me,” he begs, and tears gleam in his eyes, “ tell me what I did—what she did—to deserve this.”

“Oh,” Gameunjang whispers. “But I did not mean to do this… I did not mean to do this to you. I meant to do this for…someone else. Someone who…needed my help.” When he stares at her uncomprehendingly, she blinks quickly a few times. “There are many foolish things done for love. Prophecies and wars included. It is not only a mortal affliction, love.”

His sharp mind goes utterly blank. What in Jeoseung does the goddess speak of? Whom does she love? Rui opens his mouth to demand answers, but Gameunjang holds up a slender hand.

“We do not have much time, Dokkaebi. I have not come here to fight with you. So do not try to fight me . The oceans of fate are mine alone to control.” A possessive fire burns suddenly across her face, and it is suddenly clearer than ever why the other deities may fear her. “Do not overstep. For I am here…to help you. This war, this bloodshed… It is my mistake. Do not look so surprised. Even deities make them. Listen closely, Dokkaebi. I am the only deity that is known to be able to stop a Prophecy. Oh, the others will try, but their victory is uncertain. I, though, I hold power over fate and may be able to change the tide. But you will have to do exactly as I say. Can you do that?”

His throat tightens; he knows his eyes are glassy, that his face has leeched of all color, but he cannot find the strength to don his usual pretense of cool, unruffled calculation. The Dokkaebi emperor is glad that he is already kneeling, for if he wasn’t, he is certain that his legs would have given out beneath him. That he would have collapsed, this sudden arrow of hope to the heart simply too much for his exhausted body to bear.

That Gameunjang, the Goddess of Fate, of Luck, has taken pity on him and Lina—it is impossible, surely, yet the proof is before him in the deity’s steady stare. He swallows hard, and when he speaks, his voice is like a shard of glass. Shattered and bright all at once. “Yes,” he whispers. “Y-yes. I can.”

“Good.” Gameunjang seems to breathe a little sigh of relief. She dips a hand into the writhing threads below, like they are an absurd sort of stream. “I know that you have seen the Dalgyal Gwisin, as has your Lina. I can…lend my hand here, too. The Dalgyal Gwisin appeared in tandem with the Prophecy.”

“But if we thwart the Prophecy,” Rui rasps, “we may not…die.”

“You understand. Yes.”

“What must I do?” For the emperor will do anything— anything —to save his lover.

“It is not only you. Shin Lina, too, must play a part in this. She must return to her body, avoiding the Dalgyal Gwisin. And you must purchase her time to do so. But that is not all.” Gameunjang’s gaze is suddenly sharp.

Rui’s throat is suddenly dryer than a desert. “How…?”

Gameunjang sighs softly, as if in pity. “It will be difficult, Dokkaebi. For to thwart this Prophecy, there is no room for error. Everything must happen exactly as I say. Imagine it like this: the Prophecy is a deep and endless wood. There is only one path through. Should you take even the slightest misstep off this trail, you will be swallowed whole by this forest. And there will be nobody to find you. Including me.”

“So show me,” he begs. “Show me the path.”

Her voice is a whisper on the wind. “Your fate thus takes you…to the one place you would not expect. To the defense of an enemy.” Again, Gameunjang reaches out, plucks the thread emerging from his chest. It reverberates through him like the strumming of a gayageum. “Do this, and within this immeasurable darkness, you will find…light.”

Light . Rui’s heart beats faster and faster.

Gameunjang looks at him knowingly. “Do not tell anyone but Lina of my involvement,” she says softly. “Some secrets of fate are best kept hidden, lest they wither in the open.”

And then he is ascending, ascending rapidly from the Goddess of Fate and her many threads, ascending until he is waking gasping on the floor of his corridor with the terrible knowledge of what he must do.