Page 35

CHAPTER 35

REN

The Floating World

Bright Moon Temple

IMMEDIATELY THE ASSASSIN released her. Ren rubbed her wrist as she looked up at Jaeil.

“Are you the one responsible for this massacre?” she snarled.

His eyes rested on Doona, and she thought she saw, for a moment, what looked like an expression of grief—he had known Doona as well—but then his face hardened. “I told you to flee when you had the chance.”

“Captain.” A soldier ran up, bowing to Jaeil. Ren frowned, noticing she was garbed in the Sareniyan military uniform, unlike the assassins. Jaeil was similarly attired. Were the assassins part of a different group and not under Jaeil’s command, as she had first thought? “The assassins have torched most of the buildings. What are your orders?”

Ren staggered forward. “This temple is a sanctuary,” she said, not caring that she was pleading. “Most of the people here aren’t even guards, but the elderly and infirm. Please, they need help.”

Jaeil’s gaze flitted over her, briefly, before returning to the soldier. “Have the soldiers already on the ground remain. Consult the temple priestesses for orders. If the assassins resist, kill them. The rest will leave with me. We’ve gotten what we came for.”

“Yes, Captain.”

At Jaeil’s words, the soldier turned to the assassin who’d killed Doona, piercing him in the chest with her sword before he had a chance to react.

Jaeil stepped back, allowing for Ren to pass him. She spared one final glance for Doona, who lay still and serene beneath the pine tree, then turned, boarding the aircraft that awaited her. She wrapped her arms around herself as it ascended into frigid winds. Soon the bright flames of the temple were lost in the fog.

She didn’t have to ask Jaeil where they were going. The general wants her alive.

They stood alone at the bow of the aircraft. His soldiers had left her unbound. Either they didn’t think she was a threat or trusted that their captain would defend himself should she attack him. She’d witnessed Jaeil fight and didn’t doubt his capabilities, but he looked worse off than on the base. Besides the bandage across his neck, his arm was in a sling, and he was favoring his right leg. What happened to him since she last saw him? Ten years ago, she would have asked him, would have reached out to him, with gentleness, with concern. But he wasn’t the same boy as he’d been in her childhood.

“What’s going to happen?” she asked instead.

“I’m bringing you to my father.” There was a long pause where Jaeil’s face remained inscrutable. “He’ll want to make an example of you.”

“Don’t these soldiers obey your orders? You could say that one of the assassins killed me. Leave me one of your aircraft. I promise you’ll never see me again.” She didn’t care that she’d never flown one. She’d figure it out.

Ren realized now that Jaeil’s unit was separate from the assassins his father had sent. She even suspected that the general hadn’t ordered her to be brought to him alive, that Jaeil had once again gone behind his back to save her.

Jaeil turned to her, his expression opaque. “You’re asking me to betray my father.” He sounded more curious than offended.

“You’ve done it before.”

“He won’t let you go,” Jaeil said flatly. “As long as you live, there will be those who support your claim to the throne. He can’t let you go.”

“So you’ll bring me to your father and watch me die? Even after trying to save me? Even after what we meant to each other as children? You were my friend.” He was her only friend.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve changed, and so have you. It’s too late now.”

Ren followed his gaze. They had left the mountains behind. Below was a great valley upon which stood hundreds, thousands of soldiers. In the distance she could see the horizon, though the sun hadn’t yet risen.

Why had Lady Maya and the other nobles thought they could ever have a chance against such a mighty force?

At the center of the army was a massive hole, a crack in the world itself. The Sky Door.

As the airship descended into the valley, Ren was struck with a realization.

“You’re right, I have changed,” she said, and she felt more than saw Jaeil turn toward her. “I used to be afraid.”

“What do you mean?”

“Since that night ten years ago, when I witnessed the general push my mother off the edge of the Floating World, I couldn’t bear the thought of falling from a great height. I’d look down from high places, and I’d feel panic. Terror. There were times I couldn’t breathe.” Ren closed her eyes, remembering that night on the cliff outside Gorye Village. It was because of her fear that Little Uncle had been injured.

“And now?”

“I’m no longer afraid.” Ren met Jaeil’s gaze. “I’m angry.”

“Good,” Jaeil said. The airship reached the ground; dust rose up, enveloping them. “I can’t save you,” he said, and his voice was urgent, his dark eyes intent upon her, “but you can save yourself.”

Before she could ask him what he meant, an older man boarded the airship. He bowed to Jaeil, who returned the gesture.

“Commander,” Jaeil said.

Ren vaguely recognized the man, though she couldn’t recall where she’d seen him before. Jaeil had addressed him as commander, which meant, in the Sareniyan army, he was second only to the general.

“Did you speak to my father?” Jaeil asked.

“He said he’ll address the situation after things are taken care of here.” Ren eyed the older man curiously, noting the strain in his voice.

Jaeil growled, “It’ll be too late then.”

The commander appeared as if he was going to respond, but then he caught sight of Ren. A flurry of emotions passed over his features—shock, confusion, then wariness—before his features smoothed over. “Escort the imposter off the ship,” he ordered the soldiers who’d accompanied him on board. “Have you checked her for weapons?”

Jaeil didn’t spare Ren a glance. “She’s unarmed.”

The commander’s soldiers weren’t gentle as they pushed her down the gangplank and through the crowd.

Ren looked over her shoulder to see that both the commander and Jaeil followed, his expression unreadable as the soldiers jeered and spat at her shoes.

“Imposter!”

“Traitor!”

Ren tried to imagine she was back in the reed fields, the gentle breeze rippling through the stalks. At the end of it would be the cottage, where Sunho would be waiting.

Her vision ended as the crowd parted.

The general stood at the edge of the Sky Door. Behind him, a white banner fluttered over the opening, embroidered not with the double wings of Sareniya but a white horse on a black field.

His head was covered in a great horned helm, and his left arm was entirely encased in a gauntlet with sharp claws for fingers.

It was absurd to think she wasn’t afraid. All her talk of fearlessness evaporated in the face of him , the demon in her memory.

On instinct, she reached for her magic, but felt only a cold emptiness where the Light had been. Panic seized her, and her heart started to race. Where had her magic gone, when she needed it most?

“All these years you were alive.” The general’s voice was surprisingly quiet, calm, his words meant only for her ears. “Did you expect your return to be like this?”

“No,” Ren said truthfully, “I never thought of returning. I was happy.”

In the valley and on the caravan trail with Auntie, Big Uncle, and Little Uncle, she’d been content. With them, she’d been loved unconditionally, her strengths encouraged, her weaknesses embraced. And maybe it was because of who they had raised her to be that she had to return.

Their niece would never back down against a tyrant.

“Then you don’t deserve the throne,” the general said, and he sounded disappointed , “and you were never a worthy opponent. I can see that now. But it doesn’t matter. There will always be those who want to use you because of who you are. Because of that, you will always be a threat. It ends here.”

The general turned to face the seemingly endless crowd of soldiers, raising his voice to be heard. “The girl is an imposter,” he shouted, his voice booming, “sent by the Volmarans to divide us. But we will not be so easily fooled.”

The ground rumbled as the soldiers pounded their feet, many crying out in anger.

“That light,” the general’s voice roared. “How did you do it? Was it a weapon?”

As Ren gazed at him, she realized it didn’t matter that he knew the truth: It wasn’t himself that he needed to convince.

He was a performer. But so was Ren.

She stepped away from the general, hopping onto the thin metal barrier that bordered the Sky Door. She braced herself against the searing wind that blew up from the ominous darkness. One misstep and she would tumble backward into its great depths.

She was still afraid. Unlike with her fear of heights, she would always fear him, she knew that now. But even afraid, she could still fight.

She couldn’t face him as Sareniya, the imposter princess, but she could face him as herself—Ren—Auntie, Big Uncle, and Little Uncle’s niece, a troupe performer.

“You’ve gathered quite a force for an imposter,” she said, pitching her voice so that it carried. “It’s almost as if you believe I might be exactly the person you fear me to be.”

The general seemed taken back, his eyes widening slightly before he scowled. “Even if you were,” he said, “it doesn’t matter. The time of the celestials is over.”

“Is that what you believe? That if I am truly the last descendant of the celestial maiden, the guardian of the Floating World, that I should perish?”

From behind the general’s back, she saw the older man who’d greeted Jaeil upon their arrival—the commander—shift his feet. She couldn’t see Jaeil, but the crowd had quieted. They no longer jeered, standing silent and still.

“Call it forth, then,” the general boomed. “Show us the light.”

Again, she reached for her magic, but it eluded her. She wanted to shout in frustration. Why did the Light come on the cliff and on the bridge, but not now? Both times she’d feared for her life—what was different?

“How pathetic.” The general lowered his voice, so that only she could hear his next words. “You’re weak, just like your mother. She hadn’t any magic, and neither did her mother, or her mother’s mother before her. She was a bird without wings; it’s why she went to the cliff that night.”

Ren felt as if her heart was sinking, his words uncovering the secret fear she’d buried deep inside her.

Because even before the general had appeared, her mother had already been standing at the cliff’s edge.

Ren remembered the desperation she’d felt that night, the white feather gripped in her hand—what she hoped would be the key to unlocking her mother’s heart. She feared that her mother might leave her—she already had, in her mind, with her love—that she might jump .

But she hadn’t. She hadn’t .

The sun spread its wings over the horizon; dawn was breaking. It bathed Ren in its golden light.

“Have you ever heard the story of the Woodcutter and the Celestial Maiden?” she asked, keeping her voice raised for all to hear.

“A child’s tale, nothing more,” the general scoffed.

“Had you listened to the story, you would have known. She belonged in the sky, but she was trapped by human desire. If she was as you said, a bird without wings, then you should have given them back to her, so that she could be free.”

Ren closed her eyes, remembering how she’d felt that night, staring at her mother—the fear, the desperation—and then the brief glimmer of hope, when he had appeared. “When you saw her standing at the edge of the cliff, you could have brought her back. You could have saved her.”

Tears slipped down Ren’s cheeks as she opened her eyes, not just from sorrow and pain, but rage. “You, who were sworn to protect her, betrayed her instead. And for that, I will never forgive you.”

The general gestured to one of his bowmen, shouting, “Shoot her in the shoulder!”

As the soldier released the arrow, Ren bent backward—she felt the breeze of the shaft as it sailed over her—then righted herself, as if she were a tree that had bent with the wind.

“In the leg!” the general bellowed.

This time, she flipped forward over the arrow, landing with one foot in front of the other, teetering over the ledge before regaining her balance.

“This isn’t a game,” the general seethed. “Kill her now!”

Ren didn’t think she could avoid any more arrows; her heart felt heavy, as if it were a weight pressing down in her chest. As she balanced on the edge, she wondered if this was how her mother had felt that night—like she was all alone, the despair so thick and overwhelming she wondered if she could ever see the light through the darkness.

“What is that?” a voice from the crowd interrupted.

Beneath the general’s banner, hands had appeared at the edge of the pit. From within the Sky Door.

Ren watched in astonishment as Sunho pulled himself from the opening. He climbed over the wall and rose shakily to his feet. He tossed aside what appeared to be a hook, its prongs worn and flat. Ren realized he must have used that to climb the mithril mines.

The heaviness in her chest lightened and she was filled with joy, with hope. He’d come back for her .

He swayed on his feet. How long had he been climbing? His clothing was shredded, his hands bloody.

His eyes found hers, and for a brief moment, his hollow-eyed expression changed, and there was that blue spark she first saw on their journey together, that she had thought was the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.

Then the general loomed over him, his great broadsword in hand. He swung it down upon Sunho, who barely managed to dodge the attack, rolling to the side.

He drew his sword as he struggled to his feet. He was exhausted, his strength greatly depleted, yet he continued to fight, raising his sword against the general.

With a roar, the general lunged at him. Sunho blocked his attack, skidding back. He then leaped forward, launching his own assault. He didn’t have the general’s brute strength, but he was more agile. He attacked swiftly, and smartly, his sword striking the most vulnerable parts of the general’s body. When his blade breached his armor, slicing across his abdomen, the general screamed at his soldiers, “What are you waiting for?! Shoot him! ”

An arrow whistled toward Sunho. At the last minute, Sunho jerked back so that it sped past him. But the movement had thrown him off balance.

With his gauntlet, the general grabbed Sunho by the throat, forcing Sunho to drop his sword.

He lifted him over the pit.

“No!” Ren cried.

The general met her eyes as he threw Sunho through the Sky Door.

Light exploded all around them. The general winced, lifting his arm against it as his soldiers cowered. But it wasn’t light from the sun, still rising over the horizon. The Light came from within her .

She could feel it spreading outward from her core, down her legs, and up her arms. A great wind swirled around her, lifting her hair, her jacket, but it didn’t knock her off balance; it steadied her.

She realized her magic didn’t come from fear, or even her will to protect the people she loved, it came from belief in herself, that within her was a power that was hers , one that she could wield to protect or… to destroy.

She knew that within her she held more Light than on the cliff and on the bridge combined. It sparked at her fingertips, poised for release.

She could release it. She could kill the general and avenge her mother, for all that he’d taken from her, for all the pain and suffering and countless lives he’d destroyed, but then…

She’d become no better than he was.

She thought of the night of the storm, cowering inside the hollow of a tree, and the warm hand that had touched her shoulder. Come with me , Auntie had said, I’ll keep you safe.

She thought of Big Uncle’s smile that day by the river, when she’d lifted her mask, as if by showing him her face, she’d given him a precious gift.

And she thought of Little Uncle, who, though his hands trembled and his legs shook, had stepped in front of her, to protect her from the demon. They’d saved her.

And now there was someone waiting for her, someone she wanted to save.

Turning from the general and his army, she faced the hole in the world and jumped.