Page 60

The Prophecy

Although my wounds—and Haneul’s—have since healed from the battle against the gods, my body still aches as I ride atop Sonagi. Her grief fills the air, yet there is no comfort save for revenge that I can offer her. The Bulgae killed Uloe, and I can still smell his burning body, even miles from the site of his death. Iseul, who had been riding atop him, only narrowly avoided the same fate. Eunwoo snatched her off Uloe’s burning back, and the two of them had futilely attempted to fight off the Bulgae while I met the wrath of the gods.

If not for the trickster deity’s intervention, I may well have been killed. The knowledge tinges the edges of my vision red with bloodlust. Dalnim and Haemosu came close to stopping me from reaching Fulfillment. Gritting my teeth, I can only feel vindicated that Seokga acknowledges the Goddess of Wrath’s rightful place.

“It is a terrible loss, Sonagi,” I say, stroking her scaly head. Uloe was strong, useful.

“It iss not your fault,” she replies, yet her anguish cuts me deep.

“They will pay—”

A small noise behind us has me whipping my head around in irritation. It is that white-haired Dokkaebi, shivering upon Beongae. The cold shock of water and near-drowning has not helped his already drugged and injured state, and Beongae looks annoyed at the way the Dokkaebi is shaking. I watch through narrowed eyes as, behind him, Haneul notes his friend’s suffering with an ashen face.

I’ve not bothered to retie Haneul. We both know that the ropes were a pretense, nothing but my symbolic show of power over him. His Dokkaebi fire seared through them in moments after he was pulled from the water during Habaek’s attack.

Besides, if we are ambushed again, it is better that he is immediately ready to take up arms. Haneul’s duel against Haemosu proved that I can, at least, trust his self-preservation. He does not want to die. He will not strike against me. He will even fight the gods.

What a simple, selfish creature Haneul Rui is. It is almost depressing.

Irate, I urge Sonagi to halt before leaping down onto the muddy ground and stalking toward the two Dokkaebi. Eunwoo and Iseul flank me. “What do I care if he suffers?” I snap. “We keep riding to Bonseyo.” We are nearing the tunnels, and I wish to make haste before another god appears and throws a wrench in my plans.

Sneering, Haneul slides off Beongae’s back, dragging Chan with him. “Fine, then,” he says. “Go. I shall stay here, with Chan. And if the gods come to kill me, your life will end, too.” As Beongae attempts to weave around the two, shepherding them back to the group, two columns of Dokkaebi fire flare up from the ground. With a hiss, Beongae shrinks back. Haneul fixes his eyes upon me. The threat is clear.

I grind my teeth together. It is nearing evening, and we are not in an ideal spot for a rest. We are on a mud-slick, craggy hill with only protruding rocks to shelter us from whatever deity may be watching. There are trees in the distance, undoubtedly Bonseyo’s orchards. “Fine,” I hiss. “We stop for a few hours, nothing more.”

Haneul ignores me, setting Chan down before a crackling blue fire and tearing the water-soaked gag from the Supreme Commander’s mouth. I scowl, seething, and reach into the pocket of my stealth suit for a waterlogged cigarette. There’s no use in trying to light it, and with a growl of frustration, I grind it into a pulp underneath my heel.

“Lina,” Iseul says, “the route we’re taking. You haven’t told me much about it, but it sounds…unusually fast.” She cocks her head. “You expect to be in Bonseyo’s capital much sooner than I would have assumed.”

“There are tunnels,” I mutter absentmindedly, itching for a smoke and unable to find its relief. “Underneath the orchards. We were meant to reach them by nightfall.” Haneul is crouched next to Chan, looking concerned. “From there, it would be an efficient route to Gohtan.” Especially since the opposing army, and its gods, do not seem to know about the Bonseyo Shadowshafts.

“Clever,” says the Gumiho in appreciation.

“I found them,” Eunwoo points out, no doubt attempting to garner another morsel of praise, and Iseul’s smile drops.

“Oh, you did? Then I take it back. How horribly elementary.” Iseul scowls, and Eunwoo’s feathers ruffle. I watch in boredom as Iseul’s scowl turns to a smirk. “How’s your nose?”

The prince’s nose is crooked despite its setting—a task I attended to myself. “It’s fine,” he replies, but his lower lip juts out petulantly. I tilt my head.

It is strange for a captive to kick her rescuer in the face. I’ve thought it so for a while, but was quick to dismiss the strangeness of it out of respect to my most honed weapon. Now, though, I look more closely at Song Iseul. When Eunwoo first explained the spat in Gyeulcheon, I did not think much of it. Iseul is prone to arbitrary violence, and I must agree—Eunwoo’s appearance took even myself aback at first. Yet as my gaze latches on the metal cuff Iseul wears around her wrist, the cuff she has not deigned to remove, I wonder if my Gumiho is as reliable as she seems.

She held back today in the fight against the gods. With everything that has happened, I have not yet dwelled on it, but now it is called to my attention. Iseul danced around the Bulgae rather than targeting Dalnim or Haemosu as I’d expected her to. And now I am wondering where my perfectly honed weapon has gone. That weapon would not have hesitated to sink her teeth into Dalnim’s pale skin. That weapon would have been a streak of fanged rage after Uloe died. Yet I have not seen her shed even a tear for the Imugi that has been her supposed friend for so long now.

Eunwoo did not give me the specifics of what she was chained to. I am wondering, now, if it was a person . A certain healer boy with a tendency to render my best weapon weak. If there is weakness within her now, best to root it out.

The two of them are still arguing like children. Or, rather, Iseul is poking and prodding at Jeon Eunwoo, who is growing increasingly upset. Only when Eunwoo stares fixedly at the ground does Iseul deem her fun over and storm away. Eunwoo watches her go, then looks at me almost beseechingly.

I stare back at him in a way that informs him he is perfectly capable of fighting his own battles. Then, watching the Gumiho retreat, I murmur, “I’d like for you to keep a close eye on Song Iseul. Ensure she’s ours.”