Page 7

CHAPTER 7

REN

Haebaek Mountains

Gorye Village

THE DAY AFTER the attack, Little Uncle came down with a fever that lasted three days and three nights. Ren refused to leave his side as he lay on a pallet at the back of the cart. Not even to bid farewell to Big Uncle, who Auntie and the other caravan members buried with Mokjae in a sunlit clearing. Though a few of the villagers had sustained injuries from fleeing the demon, only they had died, in defense of other lives. Big Uncle wouldn’t have had it any other way, and she knew that, but she still grieved silently in the darkness of the cart.

On the fourth morning after the attack, Little Uncle’s fever broke.

Ren cried out for Auntie, who came rushing inside, braid askew, tendrils of hair falling around her wan face.

“I’ll get the healer,” she said, after taking one look at Little Uncle. Auntie returned with the older woman, both ducking into the cramped space. She was the headman’s mother and the village’s healer, who’d been asleep during the attack and had woken to a nightmare.

“The fever’s gone,” Ren said, anxious as the woman knelt beside Little Uncle, placing the back of her hand against his forehead. “Why isn’t he waking?”

The healer plucked a fat leech from Little Uncle’s arm and dropped it onto a plate, where it writhed grotesquely. With a thin knife, she cut deep into its flesh. Blood spilled from the wound, congealing as it met cool air. The smell of iron filled the small cart, and something else, something sweet. Ren stared at the blood, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.

The healer moved to the side, and the light from the window slanted into the cart, falling onto the plate. Ren learned forward, her heart racing in her chest. Odd shards glittered in the coagulated blood, like a turgid pool with jewels hidden in the silt. The shards were blue . Not the blue of a river or the sky, but an otherworldly blue, like the heart of a flame.

The woman shuddered. “It’s not natural, this illness. There is no cure, at least not on this side of the mountain. I won’t pretend to be an expert on this, but from his current state, I would estimate he has three weeks left to live, maybe a month if he has the strength.”

Auntie bowed her head for several minutes, before lifting it and placing several coins in the healer’s hand. “Thank you for your wisdom.” The woman didn’t linger.

The cart was quiet, a state so unnatural it made Ren’s heart ache. She was accustomed to Big Uncle’s booming laugh and Little Uncle’s teasing chatter. Though it was Auntie who’d brought Ren to the caravan all those years ago, they were the ones who smuggled her into this family like expert thieves, stealing her heart until it was entirely their own.

Beside her, Auntie knelt with her back straight, her rich brown hair streaked with a single silver stripe. When Ren was younger, she wished her hair could be the same as Auntie’s, not the inky mass that would grow to the ground if she let it, as black as a night without stars.

“No cure on this side of the mountain,” Ren said into the silence. “What did she mean?”

Auntie flinched, as if she’d forgotten Ren’s presence, her eyes flicking to her, then away. “Nothing that concerns us.”

Ren picked up her player’s mask. It was her favorite, the one Big Uncle had fashioned for her, painted white with red dots on the cheeks. She traced its features with her fingers, comforted by its familiar grooves, the hooded eyes, the O for a mouth.

Little Uncle had been wounded while protecting her. Big Uncle had lost his life doing the same. Ren would rather Auntie yell and scream, anything but this awful silence. Her brother… her husband… She must be cursing the day she brought Ren into her home, to steal what she loved most. Ren was the thief.

Ren gripped the mask in her hands. Little Uncle coughed, a hoarse, chest-rattling noise. Auntie reached for the water bowl, but it was empty.

“I’ll get more,” Ren said, grabbing the wooden bowl from the floor and ducking outside. Ren was momentarily blinded by the sunlight, raising her hand to block the powerful rays. From around a makeshift firepit voices rose, so she hurried down the steps and quickly weaved her way between carts, swinging her mask around her neck and tying the strings together.

She wasn’t ready to speak to anyone, not yet. She could imagine the questions they might ask.

Who are you?

What are you?

Though most of the people of the caravan embraced her as Auntie’s niece, there were a few who still considered her an outsider. While none but her family knew of her powers, there were those who viewed her uncanny speed and strength with suspicion, Hwi’s father among them. What vile things had he said to her friend while she’d been sequestered in the cart? Hwi hadn’t visited once, when for the entire summer, not a day went by when they didn’t see each other.

The stream lay east of the village. Birds chittered in the trees, oblivious to the horror of only a few nights past. As Ren approached, she noticed woven baskets filled with bright vegetables submerged in the water. They were tied with string to stones on the bank, to keep them from floating away. Villagers had also wedged bamboo traps deep in the mud to catch small fish and freshwater prawns. A wooden boat bobbed like a duck on the unruly stream.

Kneeling by the bank, Ren brought the bowl to the surface, scooping up the crisp water. As she lifted it, her finger caught on a splinter. A sharp pain shot through her, and she dropped the bowl into the stream.

“No!” she shouted, springing after it, but the current was swift. Within seconds, it was gone. She stared after it, heat forming at the back of her eyes. When she went to brush the tears away, her already wet hands only made things worse. Giving up entirely, she sat down in the water. It was all her fault. If only she had jumped, then Little Uncle wouldn’t be fighting for his life. The fear she’d felt that night hadn’t been like anything she’d experienced before; it had been immobilizing.

“Crying in the village stream, how quaint. I’d p-pity you, if I thought it would do you any good.”

Hwi! Ren turned to find her friend standing beside the stream. Hwi appeared as she always did, her hair braided neatly down her back. The only difference were her eyes. They were red, just like Ren’s.

Stepping into the shallows, she reached out a hand. Ren took it, allowing Hwi to help her to her feet.

“It’s all my fault, Hwi,” Ren said quietly when they were both standing on dry land. “Little Uncle was only injured because of me, and Big Uncle…” Ren dropped her head.

Hwi said nothing for a long time. Ren felt her heart sinking, like the rocks in the muddy streambed.

“How is any of what happened your fault?”

Ren looked up to find Hwi’s brow furrowed, her lips quivering. “From what I saw, you were the one who fought b-back against the demon. You and Little Uncle led it away from the village.”

Memories of the night flashed through Ren’s mind—the fight with the demon that was more like a dance, fleeing into the mountains, knowing that it pursued.

“You were the one who killed it.” Their eyes met. She didn’t say how Ren had killed the monster: with your power. “You are not to blame.” Hwi held her gaze, and the belief she saw there warmed her heart.

“Then who is?” Ren asked. “The demon? It didn’t have thoughts, Hwi. It was all rage and hunger and pain.”

“And so you blame yourself for what occurred? Without knowing where the demon came from, why it was in the village at all? I was sad. I am sad. But I’m also angry. Aren’t you?”

Ren felt as if her senses had been dulled, her mind foggy, and Hwi’s words were like a bucket of cold water thrown over her; she felt her wits returning. Hwi was right. Ren had been so lost in the pain of what had occurred, and the part she played in it, that she hadn’t thought of why a demon had even ended up in Gorye Village, from what horrible place had it originated.

Not on this side of the mountain…

She grabbed Hwi’s hand, her legs eager to run now that her friend had shown her the path. “What happened to the demon? I don’t remember anything from after I fainted. I woke up the next morning inside the cart.”

“The caravan leader and a few others went to retrieve you and Little Uncle,” she said. “The villagers took the b-body of the demon. They’re keeping it in a shed b-behind the headman’s house.”

“Hwi, I need to see it. I need to see the body.” Perhaps it could tell her something about where it came from.

She nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

Hwi was right—it was better to be angry. Grieving was for times of peace. If Ren wanted to find answers, if she wanted to save Little Uncle, she needed to act.

They entered the village from the west and made their way toward the center. Ren placed her mask over her face, tying the strings at the back of her head. She didn’t want anyone to recognize and stop her, should they see her. The familiar weight also brought her a sense of comfort, a barrier that guarded not just her identity but also her thoughts.

A stone wall encircled the headman’s house; it was only a matter of climbing over it to reach the inside. Finding footholds in the rocks, Ren scaled it first, then reached back to help Hwi.

The shed was located at the back of the servants’ quarters, beside the cookhouse. Crouching and sprinting from one hiding spot to the next, they managed to make it to the shed without being spotted.

“I’ll keep watch,” Hwi said, as Ren slipped through the door of the shed, closing it behind her.

Sunlight filtered through the slats in the wooden walls, sliding over piles of woven baskets and old farming tools. An awful stench stagnated the air—Ren brought her forearm up to cover her nose, glad for her mask that blocked some of the smell. It had already been four nights, and the body was decaying.

Someone had covered it with a straw mat, stained dark in places where the blood had seeped through.

Ren paused at the sound of footsteps on gravel outside, but Hwi gave no signal, and soon it faded away. Hurriedly she approached the body. Crouching beside it, she peeled back the mat, then flung it aside.

She stumbled backward, grateful for her performer’s quick-witted training, otherwise she might have let out a cry.

The body was… burned, its flesh tar black and peeling. It was hardly recognizable, so different from how it appeared in her memory.

The silver light did this. She did this.

As the shock dissipated, she noticed something odd. When she faced the demon, it had stood high above her, at least twice her height.

The charred body was smaller. One of its arms had been severed at the wrist. The other was tucked beneath its body. Grimacing, she nudged the corpse with her foot, hard, and the arm flopped out. The fingers on the hand were rounded, not claws.

It wasn’t a demon at all, but… human.

Then she noticed what she hadn’t when she’d first entered the shed, hidden by the shadows. Through the charred parts of his body, his blood shone through.

Blue.

AS REN RETURNED to the cart, she heard Auntie’s voice coming from within. Had Little Uncle awakened? She rushed up the steps, only to recognize the rhythmic way Auntie was speaking: She was telling Little Uncle a story. Ren was so used to thinking of Auntie and Little Uncle as her aunt and uncle, she’d forgotten that Little Uncle was Auntie’s younger brother.

Ren watched as Auntie gently shifted a strand of hair from Little Uncle’s brow.

The story Auntie was telling was a popular one, though they never performed it: “The Woodcutter and the Celestial Maiden.”

“A long time ago, there was a woodcutter who lived by a forest.” Auntie’s voice was soft and melancholy. “One morning, while he was out hunting, he caught sight of a deer swiftly running between the trees.

“With his great horn bow, he loosed an arrow, which caught the deer in the leg. However, when he went to kill the deer, it spoke. ‘I know of a pool where celestial maidens take off their wings to bathe. I will lead you there so that you might take one as your bride.’

“He let the deer go, binding up the wound. As promised, it led him to a sparkling pool. Three celestial maidens bathed in the waters, having taken off their robe-like wings. The woodcutter, catching sight of the youngest and most beautiful of the maidens, stole her wings.”

“How cruel,” Ren interrupted.

Auntie didn’t startle, as if she’d known Ren was listening all along. Her eyes met Ren’s. She gazed at her for a long time, her expression inscrutable. At last, she said, “Men fear women who have wings.”

“What happened next?” Ren asked, even though she knew the answer.

“Her sisters fled, but she couldn’t return home. To the Floating World.”

The Floating World. That name stirred up a host of images—meadows of wildflowers, lakes like glass that mirrored the clouds, a moon-white palace…

A place of incredible beauty and of bone-aching despair. The place where she’d come from.

“We’ll not speak of this again,” Auntie said, rising to her feet. “Listen to me. The caravan will leave tonight. Now that Wook’s fever has broken, he can be moved. The light will have been visible over the mountains. They’ll have seen it. They’ll come for you now.”

Ren didn’t have to ask who they were. The people who she’d fled from ten years ago. Sareniyans.

“Tonight,” Ren repeated softly.

Auntie’s gaze dropped to the bowl Ren held in her hands, filled to the brim with water. After inspecting the body of the demon, Ren and Hwi had gone back to the stream to replace the one she’d lost. “I must go,” Auntie said. “The caravan leaders are meeting with the village headman to discuss our departure. I’ll be back soon. Watch over Little Uncle while I’m gone.”

“I will,” Ren promised, watching Auntie grab her walking stick before ducking from the cart. She counted twenty heartbeats before uncrossing her fingers behind her back. Erupting into motion, she removed her short jacket and skirt, the latter still damp from her dunking in the stream.

Rummaging through the costume chest, she pulled out the least colorful one, shimmying into billowy trousers that tied off at her stomach. The jacket was a matching color, a muted moss green. After she finished dressing, she grabbed a thick square cloth. Laying it flat on the floor, she started to pile items in the center of the cloth—underthings, her brush and hair ribbons. When finished, she took the four corners of the square cloth and tied them together tight at the center, then she attached the whole thing to the satchel that held her players’ tools—her flute and paper fan. Lastly, she grabbed her red umbrella, her final gift from Big Uncle.

She leaned over Little Uncle, pressing her fingers to his cheek. She reached for her Light—similar to her influence over wind, she could soothe minor injuries—willing it to heal him, to wake him, but he remained asleep, just as he had the countless times she’d tried before. She couldn’t rely on her magic, not for this. Tears heated the corners of her eyes, but she held them back.

“I’m leaving,” she said, quiet but determined. “I’m going to find out where that demon came from. And whatever illness afflicts you, I will find a cure.”

This was a promise she would keep, no matter what.

Outside, Hwi was waiting. She handed over a wrapped package.

“I gathered as m-much food as I could,” she explained. “It should last you at least a few days, if you also stop to forage.”

Ren accepted her gift, grateful that she had Hwi to see her off on her journey.

“I wish I was b-brave, like you,” Hwi said.

“I don’t feel very brave.” She was leaving to discover where the demon had come from, and to find a cure, but also so that whatever forces were now on their journey toward her wouldn’t endanger the caravan.

“But that’s why you are, don’t you see? Because you still fight when you’re afraid. You choose the path that is darkest, with the most brambles and thorns, because it is the right one.”

“Oh, how I wish I could choose the sunny path,” Ren lamented. “With lots of places to stop and eat and meadows to take naps in.”

Hwi giggled. “I will m-miss you, Ren. But not for long. We will m-meet again soon.”

“Farewell, my friend. Watch over them for me.” Little Uncle. Auntie. “Once I’ve found the cure, I’ll meet you in the valley.” Home.

Ren turned to face the mountain, looming impossibly large before her. The demon had come from the other side. The demon that was once a man. What could make a man a demon? Something unnatural. Something evil. She would have to face that evil in order to save the people she loved.

The immensity of that challenge made it difficult to breathe, let alone take a step forward. But she would, one step at a time. With a final glance at the caravan, she turned and slipped into the trees.