Page 4

CHAPTER 4

REN

Haebaek Mountains

Gorye Village

REN LAY ATOP her family’s cart, gazing up at the sky. This deep in the mountains, the forest was dense with little sunlight, but she’d managed to spot a break in the canopy where it peeked through, shimmering brightly. If she squinted, she could make out the shape of a cloud high overhead.

The caravan had arrived earlier that morning, and those with goods to trade had already started setting up their stalls in the village. Her family wouldn’t perform until the evening, but Big Uncle always helped with unloading the carts. Before he could volunteer them, Little Uncle and Ren had claimed, loudly, that they needed to rehearse.

Now, her flute lay abandoned beside her, and she was sprawled on her back. She’d been there for the better part of an hour. In Ren’s opinion, there was nothing greater than lazing about, ignoring chores, and today the weather was warm, a rare occurrence this late in the fall.

A shadow swept over the cart, plunging the forest into darkness.

“ Again?” Little Uncle shouted.

Sitting up, Ren peered over the side of the cart to where he perched on the wooden steps. He was bent over the haft of the dagger he was crafting, painstakingly carving a character into the wood.

“You’re not finished with that yet?” Ren drawled, in the voice she knew annoyed him the most.

“I would if those accursed clouds would stop blocking my light!”

A soft bleat interrupted his tirade.

“It’s all right,” Hwi soothed in a gentle voice from where she sat on the ground with the last of the caravan’s ewes. They rested their heads in her lap, gazing lovingly up at her through long, thick eyelashes. “The sun will b-be back soon.”

Hwi, the daughter of the caravan’s herdsman, was Ren and Little Uncle’s best friend—their only friend, really, as there were few young people in the caravan over the age of sixteen. She’d been melancholy as of late, knowing that when the caravan reached Gorye Village, she’d have to part with the remainder of her sheep. They’d begun their journey at the start of summer with a whole flock, which her father had bartered away, one by one.

Hwi’s father claimed his daughter was weak and cared too much. It made Ren despise him. There were other reasons to dislike Hwi’s father—his distrust of her , for one—but his inability to see Hwi’s kindness and empathy as strengths was, in Ren’s opinion, his greatest offense.

“I hope they’ll b-be okay here,” Hwi said, shivering as her gaze swept the surrounding forest. “It’s very dark.”

“They’ll be fine,” Ren said confidently. “And you’ll see them next year, when we return.”

Little Uncle cackled. “Unless the villagers eat them!”

Ren took off her sandal and dropped it onto his head.

He didn’t miss a beat, grabbing it off the ground where it’d tumbled and throwing it into the nearest bushes.

“Hey!” Ren climbed down from the cart, hopping on one foot to retrieve her sandal.

When she returned, Hwi was laughing, and Ren and Little Uncle exchanged a knowing glance, glad to have made their friend smile.

“You’re very good at that,” Hwi said, nodding at Little Uncle’s handiwork.

He sat up straighter. “Some of us are born naturally gifted. It’s unfair, really.”

Hwi giggled. “I always thought it was funny that even though Auntie is your sister, you’re m-more like Big Uncle.”

Ren couldn’t agree more, thinking of her birthday gift. The umbrella was wrapped in a blanket, tucked away with her other belongings.

Ren sidled up to Hwi. “Who am I like?” she asked, batting her eyelashes innocently.

Hwi’s eyes widened. “Like Auntie, of course.”

Ren grinned, pleased with the answer.

“You only asked her that because you knew what she would say,” Little Uncle complained loudly.

Before Ren could come back with a retort, he tossed her the haft of the dagger he’d been working on.

“I finished it,” he said as she caught it. “Take a look.”

Ren hefted the sturdy hilt, which, when attached to the blade, would form a rather elegant dagger. It was light, shaped and filed for a smooth, even grip. She’d teased him, but she felt a swell of pride in her heart. For the past month and a half, as the caravan had moved from village to village, Little Uncle had worked on the dagger, first honing the blade, then whittling the haft from a piece of oak. After performances, he’d hole up alone, still wearing his costume, with a lantern precariously balanced on one knee and Auntie bemoaning that he’d burn their small cart to the ground if he wasn’t careful.

Little Uncle had carved a single character in the wood. She brushed her thumb over the precise strokes, reading it aloud, “Protection.”

“I need to tie the blade to the haft,” Little Uncle said. “Do you think Mokjae has his tools with him?” He didn’t wait for an answer, grabbing the hilt from her hand and springing to his feet in search of the old wood-carver.

“I should go, too,” Hwi said with a sigh. The ewes bleated in protest as she stood. “I’m looking forward to your p-performance tonight.”

Ren wrinkled her nose. “I’m just on the flute.”

“And you’ll p-play it wonderfully!”

After Hwi took her leave, Ren retrieved her flute from the roof of the cart, then ducked through the short doorway. On most nights, her family slept beneath the stars with the rest of the caravan members, but with the weather having gotten colder, they’d been sheltering inside—Auntie and Big Uncle by the entrance, and Little Uncle and Ren in the rear by the drums and chest of costumes. On a low shelf, a candle sputtered in a lantern.

Sitting on the floor in the middle of the cart, she lifted her flute, lining up the blowhole beneath her mouth. She blew, only to wince at the weak, airy sound.

She really should have been practicing earlier that morning, or better yet, the last five days. But she’d held out hope that Auntie would change her mind.

She hadn’t called on the Light since Auntie had bidden her not to. Not that the request had been difficult, as her magic was tied to her emotions, and it wasn’t exactly thrilling on the trail. But even when she felt the faintest flicker of its presence within her, she’d been careful to stifle it completely.

But Auntie had given no acknowledgment that she’d noticed Ren’s efforts. Ren had apologized and swore to never do it again. Why couldn’t Auntie trust her?

She understood Auntie’s fears. She’d shared the same ones for most of her life. But if those whom she’d escaped from ten years ago hadn’t come for her by now, then it was—as Little Uncle and Big Uncle guessed—because they believed she was dead. No one was looking for her, not anymore. She was safe.

Grabbing the flute, she twirled it in one hand. Then tossing it to the other, she spun it around her back. Her heart started to beat faster, as it did whenever she was performing a trick.

She pitched the flute into the air where it hit the ceiling, then dropped to the floor, rolling beneath the chest of costumes.

She sighed. That was what she deserved for throwing her flute around. If it was broken, Auntie would have every right to forbid her from performing in the next several shows.

She moved about on her knees. It was darkest at the back of the cart, and so she picked up the lantern, placing it on the floor near the chest. It was in disarray—likely Little Uncle’s doing—with clothing spilling out from the open lid. Clicking her tongue, she started to tidy up, folding the jackets and skirts and placing them inside.

As she reached for a jacket to fold, her fingers touched something hard. Pushing aside the cloth, she saw that beneath it lay a chest, smaller and flatter than the one that held their costumes.

She’d seen it before, though never without its fish-shaped lock, which now lay in pieces at the bottom of the chest. Ren might have suspected a thief, but the key—which Auntie kept on a ring strung to her belt—lay beside it.

She glanced briefly over her shoulder before lifting the lid of the chest.

Inside was a single garment. A robe.

She felt a tingling sensation in her hands. Could it be for her? A gift for her birthday? Auntie had never given her an item of clothing that wasn’t practical. But perhaps she’d been saving it for when Ren turned seventeen.

Eagerly, she reached in and pulled out the garment.

Fabric spilled like a river over her arms. It was crimson in color, a red so deep it was like fire.

As she held the robe, her breaths turned shallow, but it wasn’t wonder she felt.

Dread curdled in her stomach.

Her body started to tremble violently. She tried to tear her gaze away, but the bright color spread over her vision, like ink dropped in water, until it was all she could see. Then suddenly it shattered, and she was seized by a flurry of fragmented images.

A feather, white as snow, drifting in the air. A boy who gazed at Ren with dark, haunted eyes. And a woman standing at the edge of a cliff, the crimson robe trailing behind her.

Out of a swirling darkness emerged a shadow. It had the body of a man but the face of a demon. It reached a clawed hand toward the woman. Ren screamed; her voice was snatched by the wind. Her mother turned as the ground gave out beneath Ren, and then she was falling, falling—

Ren sat back abruptly, dropping the robe to the floor. Her movement tipped over the lantern, the flame catching on the sleeve of a jacket.

She reached for her magic, sending a rush of air toward a half-filled jug of water, knocking the contents onto the fire and dousing it.

In the aftermath, she shook. Before she could process what had happened, she heard the steps of the cart creak. Quickly, she grabbed the robe, stuffing it back into the chest.

“Ren?” Little Uncle popped his head inside. “Are you all right? What happened? I smell smoke.”

“I tipped over the lantern,” she said, relieved when her voice came out steady. It had been years since she’d had a nightmare of her past, and she didn’t want to explain to him why she’d had one now while she was wide awake.

He grinned. “Don’t let Auntie know about that.”

She nodded, feeling lightheaded. She wouldn’t tell Auntie about any of what just happened.

“I was going to practice for tonight’s performance,” Little Uncle said. “For real this time. You want to join me?”

She nodded, reaching for her flute, which had rolled out from beneath the chest of costumes.

“Let’s head down to the brook. Race you? Whoever loses has to buy the winner rice cakes!”

“Wait—” But he was already gone.

The trembling had left her body. Whether he meant to or not, Little Uncle had banished her fears with a smile, as he had countless times before.

She burst from the cart in pursuit, leaving the robe, and the past, behind her.

THAT EVENING, REN and Little Uncle hurriedly made their way toward the center of the village, Little Uncle heartily devouring a rice cake. Ren could admit she was wrong for calling the villagers of Gorye dour. Lanterns hung from the corners of every house, and the air was redolent with the scents of doughy cakes, both savory and sweet.

Outside the headman’s house, Big Uncle had set up a perimeter with colorful sticks. Children had already gathered, seated around the circle with their guardians and neighbors bickering and laughing around them.

She felt a slight ache in her chest that she wouldn’t perform, but she quickly squashed the feeling. She would gladly play the flute, as long as Auntie never discovered that she’d used her magic again .

“I forgot to ask,” Ren said, catching Little Uncle by the arm before he could head over to Auntie where she stood at the edge of the circle, talking to the village headman, a squat, stern-faced man with caterpillars for eyebrows. “Did you finish your dagger?”

Little Uncle’s eyes danced. “I did. I’ll show you after the performance.”

He winked at her, then raised his hand to slide his mask down over his face.

Hurriedly they each took up their positions, serious now that they were about to perform. Big Uncle nodded approvingly at Ren as she sat cross-legged beside him at the edge of the circle.

Tonight, their little troupe was performing a popular story among the villages, about a rabbit that outwits a hunter.

Big Uncle placed his hourglass drum in his lap, and with the rounded mallets started to beat out a slow and steady rhythm. The crowd gasped as Little Uncle, playing the part of a hunter, jumped into the open space, brandishing a bow and arrow. Then Auntie tumbled into the circle to cries of delight, her mask that of a hare, with long ears and white whiskers. Catching sight of the hare, Little Uncle nocked an arrow. He released it and Auntie twirled out of the way, the arrow lodging in the dirt.

Heat radiated throughout Ren’s chest. Nothing gave her more joy than watching her family perform, besides performing herself. And even if she wasn’t in the circle, she was still a part of the show. Taking a deep breath, Ren lifted the flute and brought it to her lips.

An eerie scream pierced the night.

At first Ren thought it was the wind, coming down from the mountains, but it sounded shrill, almost… human. Big Uncle ceased his drumming. The crowd parted, faces peering down the trail that led into the forest.

A man was running down the path.

It was difficult to see his features; a few of the lanterns had gone out. But as he drew closer, a chill swept through Ren’s body. His gait was unnatural, as if he’d broken several limbs, and yet he was running, sprinting. Then she noticed his teeth, incisors too large for his gaping mouth, his fingers that were claws, and his eyes that were entirely black, without the whites to make them human.

He leaped toward the nearest villager, a young woman, who let out a piercing scream before Mokjae pushed her to the side.

The wood-carver fell beneath claws and teeth, his jugular ripped from his throat, blood spraying like rain across the dirt.