The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea (17 page)

 

I wake to thunder rumbling
in the distance and a
knowing
in my heart of what I must do.

“Shin,” I say, turning to face him. I hesitate. He's asleep. Unlike the restlessness of last night, he looks at peace, his brow smooth, his lips slightly parted. I'd give anything to make his slumber last a little longer. But I can't do this alone.

“Shin,” I say again.

“Mina?” He blinks sleepily. “What's wrong?”

“I need to go somewhere.”

He frowns, watching me closely. “Where?”

“To the Sea God's palace.”

His eyes darken, but he nods. “All right.”

He stands, grabs a fresh set of robes from the cabinet, and leaves the room. Hurriedly I dress in a coral skirt and white jacket, rushing down the stairs. Shin waits with Namgi and Kirin outside, the air coated in a heavy mist. In the east, dark clouds gather over the mountains.

“Something's not right,” Kirin says. “
Th
at storm appears unnatural.”

“If it's traveling over the eastern mountains,” Namgi says, “it's from the world of humans.”
Th
ey exchange an inscrutable glance.

“Let's go,” Shin says.

Th
e heavy mist extends across the whole city, seeming to roll along the ground like swirls of clouds.
Th
e doors to the Sea God's palace are closed, so Namgi scales the wall and throws down a rope for Shin and Kirin to climb, with me clinging to Shin's back. Over the wall, the Sea God's garden is eerily quiet, the blanketing fog like ghostly tendrils reaching out as if to beckon us into the mist.

Shin leads the way with Namgi, as always, beside me. It's Kirin I'm surprised to find walking to my left.

“You've decided, then,” Kirin says, a chill in his voice. “What you want.”

His animosity is palpable. “What are you trying to say?” I ask.

“Last night, Lord Crane was eager to divulge to us the knowledge he shared with you, that the Red String of Fate between yourself and Shin can be unmade, should you form a connection with the Sea God.”

So Shin
does
know. I look to him where he walks a few paces ahead.
Th
e fog is so thick it's unlikely he can hear our words.

“It's not just my decision to make,” I say. “Shin can also form a connection with someone else.”

“Modesty doesn't suit you.
Th
e one who will make the choice will be you.”

“My feelings are not so simple,” I whisper.

“Neither does indecisiveness.”

I flinch, though I don't blame Kirin. I see now how loyal he is to Shin.

“
Th
at's unfair to Mina,” Namgi protests. “It's not so easy for her to follow her heart. She has a duty to her family, her people.”

Kirin growls. “
Th
en I should praise Mina for her sense of loyalty, and condemn you for your lack of it.”

Namgi tenses. “I have loyalty.”

“Is that why you abandoned your brothers, your family, your
blood
? Leaving them doesn't make you less of a monster, Namgi.” Kirin's voice is cold, ruthless. “It just makes you a traitor.”

Namgi holds himself very still; then his shoulders sag, the fight seeming to leave him. He says, in a defeated voice so unlike his own, “Sometimes you don't find family in your own blood, but elsewhere.”

And though Kirin was the one with the harsh words, it's he who turns away, as if pained.

Namgi separates from us, and the fog swallows him whole. When he doesn't return after a few minutes, I ask worriedly, “Should we go after him? He might get lost in this fog.”

From the murky depths comes a muffled shout.

“Namgi!” Kirin cries out, his hand reaching to his sword belt.

“Go to him,” I say. “I'll follow the Red String of Fate to Shin.”

He meets my gaze, then nods, disappearing into the mist.

Rain begins to fall, and soon my dress is soaked through. Perhaps it was a mistake to go in search of the Sea God instead of waiting out the storm, but deep down inside I knew when I woke
this morning that if I didn't look for him now, I might not look for him ever. I might step off the path I chose for myself when I jumped into the sea and instead follow my heart.

Th
e rain lightens to a low drizzle. I follow the Red String of Fate as it parts the mist, flitting along the dewy air to the pavilion by the Pond of Paper Boats.
Th
is is where I find Shin, standing at the center of the elegant wooden structure. With him is the Sea God.

If Shin is surprised to find the Sea God awake, he's careful not to show it, perhaps wary like I am that the god might flee, taking with him the chance to solve the mystery of his enchantment.

“Have you come to tell me another story?” the boy-god asks. He's dressed in the same grand robes he wore when I first laid eyes on him, an emblem of the dragon embroidered in silver on his chest. Once more, I'm struck by how like a child he is, wanting to hear a story rather than face the truth.

I immediately chide myself. My grandmother would scold me for such a thought. Sometimes, only through a story can a truth be heard.

“If that is what would please you most,” I say.
Th
ough I'm unsure of what story to tell.

I meet Shin's gaze over the boy-god's shoulder. I settle on Joon's favorite, a love story.

“A long time ago, there lived a woodcutter at the edge of a great forest. He was young, strong, and kind. He was also very lonely. One night, as he was traveling back home, he heard laughter through the woods. Curious, he followed the lovely sounds.
Beneath a magnificent golden tree, he found two heavenly maidens swimming in a small rock pond, their beautiful white dresses streaming out behind them.
Th
e heavenly maidens had taken off their wings and had hung them over a low branch of the golden tree.”

Heavy raindrops begin to hit the rooftop of the pavilion. I raise my voice to be heard.

“
Th
ough the woodcutter counted three sets of wings upon the branch, there were only two heavenly maidens in the pond.
Th
en a hint of white in the verdant green caught the woodcutter's eye. A third maiden was approaching through the woods. She came to the rock pond, but didn't slip into the water. Instead, she looked up through the trees, to the stars, closing one eye as if to see them clearer.
Th
e woodcutter fell in love, then and there. And so, he stole her wings.”

Both Shin and the Sea God frown at this, though neither speaks a word, listening carefully.

“When her sisters returned to the heavens, their strong wings carrying them up into the sky, the youngest heavenly maiden was left alone and wingless. It was then the young woodcutter came to her, offering the jacket from his back. She accepted it, charmed by his humility and love for her.
Th
ey built a life together.
Th
ey could not have children, for she was not of his world, but for a long time, they were happy.”

Th
e Sea God turns his face toward the garden, as if distracted.

“But as it is with life, the woodcutter grew older and wiser. He realized that his love of a moment was nothing to the love built over a lifetime. Although it weighed on his soul, he knew
what he had to do. For he knew that if he truly loved the heavenly maiden, he would have to let her go.”

As I say these last words, my eyes meet Shin's. His face holds a heartrending expression. Taking a deep breath, I finish the story.

“In the night, he went into the forest and dug up her wings from where he'd buried them beneath the golden tree. He laid them beside his wife as she slept and went back to the forest to weep.

“
Th
e next night, he returned to his house, only to find that the heavenly maiden was no longer there, and the wings were gone. With tears in his eyes, he went outside to peer up at the sky to see that one more star had appeared in the heavens. And although he cried for what he had lost, he was filled with joy. For he knew, then, that the heavenly maiden had returned to where she belonged.”

As I speak the last word, the Sea God lifts his face to look out into the storm. His hand goes to his chest, fingers digging into the fabric. “
Th
ere's a tugging at my soul.” Suddenly he leaps from the pavilion, rushing into the rain.

“Wait!” I follow. I hear Shin shout from behind me, but the rain muffles all sound.
Th
e fog rises up around me, and soon I lose my way. I try to turn back toward the pavilion, but I can't tell if I'm going in the right direction. Even the Red String of Fate is barely visible in the heavy mist.

My foot catches on the ground, and I stumble forward, landing on a grand sweep of stairs. I recognize them as those that I climbed when I first arrived in this city. Above are the gates of the Sea God's palace, the doors now open. How am I here, when I'd been in the garden?

Behind me is the unmistakable clop of hooves on stone. I turn to face the figure approaching from within the mist.
Th
e Goddess of Moon and Memory. Like before, her mount is a great horse with flames for hooves. “I warned you what would happen,” she says, “if I were to meet you alone.”

“
Th
at I would die because you would kill me.”

She watches me through cool, impassive eyes. “Are you not afraid?”

“I am. But tell me, would it be the same if I wasn't the Sea God's bride? If I was a child, like Dai? If I was someone who believed you could help me?”

“You are none of those things.”

“I am the last.”

Her eyes flicker for a brief moment, then look away. “You are mistaken.” From her wide sleeve, she pulls out two paper boats.

I immediately recognize the boat in her left hand, with its red, uneven stiches. It's my wish. “How do you have that?”

“I am the Goddess of Moon and Memory. In this boat is the memory of a wish you once made.”

“Did you see what the wish was?”

She watches me carefully. “No. I cannot see this memory, because it is one that is tied closely with your soul.” I reach for it, but she holds back. “What would you trade me for this piece of your soul?”

I look up at her and say nothing. If this is a contest of wills, she has won, for I would give anything to have that memory returned to me, to throw it into the fire where it belongs. She tucks the first boat into the sleeve of her dress, instead handing
over the second boat, the one I'd momentarily forgotten in the need for my own.

“
Th
is belongs to someone you know. Perhaps you can return it to her.”

Th
e goddess looks over my shoulder, and I follow her gaze.
Th
e rain is so thick that for a moment I don't recognize the young woman walking through the downpour.

Shim Cheong.

 

Shim Cheong is dressed in
an elaborate bridal gown. Her long sleeves drag on the ground, and red circles are painted onto her pale cheeks. Her black hair is swept back and knotted beneath a headpiece of jade and gold.
Why is she here?
A bride is only sent down once a year. Until the storms begin again next summer, there should be no need for another bride, let alone
Shim Cheong
, who I hoped to spare with my own sacrifice.

I turn, but the goddess is no longer beside me to answer my questions.
Th
ere's a sharp cry of pain as Cheong stumbles on her long gown.

“Cheong!” I rush over to where she's fallen.

She gasps. “Mina?”

I help her stand, tucking the paper boat into the jacket of my dress and hauling her up by the arms. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

She stares at me through dark, luminous eyes that shimmer with tears. “Oh, Mina, I'm so glad to see you. Joon was devastated when you jumped into the sea.”

“Cheong, why are you here?”

A ghostly pallor steals over her face. “I was sacrificed.”

For a moment, I just stare at her, unable to form words. “But … but why?”

“We had thought they had ended…” Her beautiful eyes glaze over, terror-stricken. “But then the storms began anew, more terrible than before. Whole villages have been swept away into the sea. Husbands separated from their wives, children from their mothers.
Th
e council of village elders met and determined that we angered the Sea God when you went in place of me.
Th
ey ordered soldiers to storm our home. Your family fought bravely to protect me. Brother-in-law. Sister-in-law. Your grandmother, who was the fiercest of them all. And Joon.”

Cheong chokes on his name, and I don't think she'll be able to go on, but then she takes a steadying breath and continues. “But I was taken away, dressed as you see, and thrown into the water.
Th
ough even as I was caught and pulled beneath the waves, I knew it was a mistake. A wrath such as this cannot be appeased with just one life.
Th
e Sea God's anger is too great, too powerful. I fear, this time, the storm will destroy us all.”

I stare at her, wanting only to deny her words, but know she wouldn't speak such terrible forebodings if she didn't believe them. I think of Namgi and Kirin, who, earlier this morning, said the storm appeared otherworldly, arriving over the eastern mountains where the human world ends and the river begins.

I'm struck with a terrible thought.

“Mina?” Cheong says.

“Wait here,” I say. I don't want to leave her, but I have to know for sure. Picking up my skirts, I sprint toward the river.

Soon, I hear the roar of raging rapids. Out of the mist, the river looms loud and furious. Shiki stands at the water's edge, his eyes hollow with grief. I see whole families caught in the rapids—mothers, fathers, and children. Unlike the girl from the night before, none of the dead struggle against the current.
Th
ey lie still, as if they've given up all hope. Why is this happening? Why have the storms returned?

Th
e Sea God.
Fury sweeps through my body.

I head back in the direction of the palace, sprinting up the steps to the open gate. Cheong cries out my name, but I don't stop. I run past one courtyard after another.
Th
e rain is less here, but still it falls. I feel it sliding down my face in droplets that burn across my lips. It tastes of the sea. I reach the last courtyard and enter the hall.

Rain falls through cracks in the ceiling, battering against the cold stone.
Th
e Sea God is on the floor beside the throne, his hand gripping his chest. It's the same motion he made when he left the pavilion in a hurry.
Th
ere's a tugging at my soul.
Was it the pull of the Red String of Fate? But his wrist is bare, as was Shim Cheong's. Had they shared a true fate, it would have been visible to her and strange enough that she would have remarked upon it.

Th
e Sea God lets out an agonized cry. I rush over to him, hesitating as I reach out. Last I touched him, I was pulled into his memories. I take a deep breath and grab his shoulder. A blinding light rises up to swallow me whole.

Th
ere's a wall of sound, like a forest of trees in the wind, and then I'm released abruptly.

I stand on the edge of a cliff facing the sea at dusk.
Th
e setting sun casts a golden pathway of light across the darkening water.

I turn slowly, taking in my surroundings.
Th
e air smells of fresh honeysuckle. A warm breeze brushes against my skin, blowing the hair from my cheek.

Back home we have our own sea cliffs.
Th
ey lie a mile outside our small village. Joon and I would often race each other up to the top, breathless and laughing.

On our way down, we'd sometimes catch sight of Shim Cheong making her way up, her hand grasped tightly in her father's. It would take them hours to reach the small meadow at the top of the cliff, but still they would make the climb. Patient, beautiful Shim Cheong and her father, whose murky eyes could never see the sunset, but who loved those daily walks beside his daughter, smiling as she described the world to him, tinged by the light of her love.

I blink, dissolving the memory.

And then I see him crumpled at the edge of the cliff.
Th
e Sea God. I rush forward, falling to my knees. His robes are shredded and muddied with dirt. I move my hand across the silk, and my fingers slide against something warm and wet.

Blood.
Th
e whole back of his robes is covered with it.

I cry out. “What happened? Who has done this to you?”

Th
e Sea God, who's been staring out at the sea, turns his face to look up at me. His eyes are glassy, his lovely face contorted with pain.

“
Th
e pain is nothing,” he whispers, his voice less that of a god's and more that of a boy's, small and breaking. “
Th
e pain is nothing compared with what I've done. I've failed them all.”

“No,” I say, smoothing wet strands of hair from his eyes. “You can make it right again. I'll help you.
Th
ere must be a way—”

Abruptly the Sea God reaches up, grabbing hold of my wrist. His eyes meet mine, and I gasp. I can see flames, a whole city burning inside his eyes. He releases me, and I'm flung backward, knocking my head against the ground. When I come to, I'm back in the Sea God's hall.

I stare upward at the painting of the dragon on the wall.
Th
en I remember.
Th
e rain.
Th
e storm.

Getting off the floor, I stumble to the Sea God. Quickly I examine his robes for blood, but they're smooth, only damp from the rain.

Th
e Sea God groans, sitting up. I move forward to help him, but he raises a hand to stop me. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to speak with you. Where were we just then?
Th
e cliff by the sea … Was it the human world? Why were you bleeding?”

“Stop! I'm the one who asks the questions. Why do you tell such sorrowful stories?” he cries. “Do you mean to break my heart? You should know, it was broken a long time ago.”

“Whatever happened on that cliff, is that the reason why the storms began? Was it a human who did that to you? Is that why you stopped protecting us? Is that why you abandoned us?”

He curls inward, as if to shield himself from my words. His voice is small, tired. “You say you are the Sea God's bride, but
how can you be when yours words fill me with such shame?
Th
e one who hurts me … is you.”

Outside, thunder rumbles over the palace.
Th
e rain continues to pour through cracks in the ceiling, rattling against the wooden floorboards. A part of me wants to leave, abandon the Sea God to his sorrow and fate. But another part of me wishes to stay, because even in my anger and frustration, my heart aches for him. In many ways, he reminds me of Joon when he was younger—a warrior now, but bullied by the other village children as a boy. He was bighearted and too kind. I used to scream at the older girls and boys who would tease and call him names. How dare they hurt my brother, who I loved most in the world.

Gently, I reach out and wrap my arms around the Sea God.

“What are you—” he protests.

I hold tight, lending him my warmth and my strength. “When I was little, I used to pray to you. When the storms raged and the waves broke against the shores, I was afraid, yet I believed in you. When the seas were calm and my brother and I played safely in the tide, I was happy, and I believed in you.”

“But no longer,” the boy-god mumbles.

“I believe in you still. Sometimes it's hard, and I doubt myself, but I never doubt you. How can I doubt the sea, the wind, the waves? I wish I could bear some of your burden for you. Holding you now, I can feel how heavy it is.”

He starts to sob, and I wrap my arms around his neck, as if I could hold him together with just my strength. “I wish you could know, even after everything, even after the storms and the sorrow, how much your people miss you, and how we love you,” I
say. “We will always love you, because you are ours. You are our sea, and our storms, and our sunlight breaking out over a new day. You are our hope. We've been waiting for you for such a long time. Come back to us. Please come back.”

My dress was already soaked from the rain, but now the Sea God's warm tears seep into my shoulder.
Th
rough the ceiling, the rain falls around us, an endless symphony cradling us in our grief.