The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea (18 page)

 

Shin, Namgi, and Kirin wait
for me on the steps of the palace. I'm reminded of the first night when they stood before me in the Sea God's hall. Enemies. Strangers. Shin appeared so distant from me then, just as he appears now.

“Where is Shim Cheong?” I shout to be heard over the lashing rain.

“Shiki offered her shelter at Star House,” Namgi answers. “She'll be safe there.”

“We have to get out of this storm,” Kirin says.

Shin turns and moves down the stairs. I meet Namgi's gaze, but he just shakes his head. Is Shin angry with me for rushing out into the fog?

Th
e streets are flooded.
Th
e four of us make our way around overturned carts and lantern boats snuffed of their candles. Shin and Kirin lead the way, clearing the path of debris, while Namgi and I follow behind.
Th
e water is up to our knees; any higher and we might be in danger of being swept away. Luckily, the current
isn't as strong as it is in the river. I gasp as a body floats by, a woman with her eyes closed, her hands on her stomach as if in slumber. Namgi grasps my shoulders, urging me onward.

Back at Lotus House, Shin leads us to the main pavilion.
Th
e first floor is already flooded, so we climb the stairs to the second floor. Everyone is here, all the people who call Lotus House their home. I see my handmaidens, as well as the washerwomen, cooks, and guards. Mask sits on a cushion beside Dai, who holds Miki. Nari is escorting a few older spirits to a corner, plying them with hot tea to warm their bodies. I head over to the balcony.
Th
e waters from the lake have risen to lap over the bridges.
Th
e only light for miles is from the torches that blaze all around the perimeter. To someone standing in the distance, the pavilion must appear like a candle in a vast sea.

As I press my hand to the railing, something crinkles in my sleeve. I reach inside and remove a paper boat—the one the Goddess of Moon and Memory gave me.
Th
e one with Shim Cheong's wish.

Th
e paper boat feels light in my hands.
Th
e folds are neat, the paper smooth. Slowly, I unfold the creases, waiting for the familiar fogginess, the feeling of being pulled into a memory. Nothing happens.

Th
e boat is open.
Th
ere is only one short sentence written on the paper.

I expect the words to say
Let me not marry the Sea God
or
Let me stay with Joon
or
End the storms forever
, but all that's written on the paper—in Shim Cheong's elegant writing—is:

Please let my father live a long and happy life.

I carefully fold the paper boat and place it back into the sleeve of my jacket.

“
Th
is storm is unnatural,” Kirin says, addressing everyone in the pavilion. “
Th
e river has flooded, and the dead are floating in the streets. Something must be done, and soon.”

“We must send out boats to collect the dead,” Nari insists, “and set them back on their course down the river.”

“Meanwhile,” Namgi adds, “the river must be stopped from flowing into our world. If we can dam the source, we can block the dead from entering.”

“
Th
at will mean ghosts in the human world,” Mask says vehemently. “Without vessels to contain them, the restless spirits will haunt the living, spreading dread and panic. More deaths will follow.”

Kirin shakes his head. “It can't be helped.”

“No,” I say, and everyone turns their attention to me. “All of these solutions are only temporary.
Th
e real source of the dead are the storms that steal their lives.
Th
ey are the cause of everything.
Th
ey are what we need to stop.”

Namgi looks around the room, then back at me. “I don't deny the truth of your words, Mina,” he says gently. “But if the Sea God hasn't ended the storms in a hundred years, what makes you think he'll end them now?”

A painful throb begins at the base of my skull, making it difficult to shape the thoughts in my head. “At Crane House the other night, Lord Yu shared some knowledge with me.” I'm careful not to look at Shin. “In order to lift the curse upon the Sea God, the bride must form a true fate with him.”

“A true fate?” Namgi frowns. “What do you mean?” I forgot he hadn't been with Shin and Kirin when they questioned Lord Crane.

“One between soul mates,” I say.

“And you believe you are that bride,” Kirin says.
Th
e room is quiet, expectant. I wait for the whispers and looks of derision. Who am I to believe I am the Sea God's true bride? I am not a great beauty, nor am I particularly skilled in anything.

“It's possible you are,” Kirin continues, and I startle in surprise. Of all people, I would think him the most doubtful. “Before you, no bride has ever spoken to the Sea God. And though this storm is terrible, it's a change in a routine that has remained unchanged for a hundred years.”

“
Th
e bride who just arrived,” Namgi adds, “Shim Cheong. She didn't have a Red String of Fate.”

Now the whispers begin, but not like I expected. Spirits turn to one another in excitement, awed by the possibility that the myth of the Sea God's bride might be fulfilled at last.

“It doesn't matter,” Shin says, his first words since entering the pavilion, “because you don't love him.”

Th
e throbbing at the back of my skull intensifies.

“And you'd be a fool to think he could ever love you.”

Th
e room goes silent. I know he's speaking out of his own hurt, but a painful warmth gathers behind my eyes. And maybe it's childish of me to flee, but I can't help it. I rush from the room, spirits moving out of the way to let me pass. I sprint down the flight of stairs to the first floor.
Th
e rain lashes my face as I step
from the shelter of the pavilion.
Th
e water from the lake has climbed halfway up the rise of the hill. I don't cross the bridge but slip down the grassy bank until my feet touch the water.

I think I understand finally what it means to be the Sea God's bride. It's not a burden or an honor. To be the Sea God's bride is not to be the most beautiful girl in the village, nor is it to be the one to break the curse. To be the Sea God's bride, she must do one thing: She must love him.

I am not the Sea God's bride.

I've failed my people. I've failed my family. My grandmother. My brothers. My sister-in-law. Cheong. I've failed them all.

And there is no hope, because love can't be bought or earned or even prayed for. It must be freely given. And I have given my heart to someone, but he is not the Sea God.

Th
e rain continues to lash the earth.
Th
e water from the lake rises, soaking my slippers. I step back just as a whoosh of sound sweeps by me.
Th
e bolt of a crossbow lodges at my feet. A branch snaps beneath the bridge. My hand instinctively reaches for my knife.

From out of the darkness steps a familiar figure.
Th
e weasel-like assassin. I pull out my knife, but it's too late. He loads another bolt, aims, and releases.

I twist to the side, but I'm not fast enough.
Th
e bolt pierces my shoulder. I scream in pain.

I hear a shout from the pavilion.
Nari.
Th
e assassin must hear it, too, because he flees, scuttling back into the dark.

I collapse onto the ground, my cheek pressed against the
damp earth. My limp arm stretches out beside me. Blood pools beneath me, spreading like a warm blanket.
Th
e ribbon shimmers, then slowly begins to fade.

“No,” I whisper.
Th
e Red String of Fate ties my soul to Shin's. If I should die, so will he …

Th
e rain blends with the tears on my face. My breaths turn ragged, and I can feel my vision blackening at the edges.

My last thoughts are a jumble of images—my brother, moving away from me across the bridge; the Sea God weeping on a cliff by the sea; and Shin, as he was only this morning, sunlight like water streaming over his face.

 

All my life, I've believed
in the myth of the Sea God's bride, passed down from grandmother to grandmother since the storms first appeared, when the kingdom was destroyed by conquerors from the West and the emperor thrown from the cliffs into the sea.
Th
e Sea God, who loved the emperor like a brother, sent the storms to punish the usurpers—the lashing rains were said to be his tears, the thunder his cries.
Th
e droughts were those years he'd felt the emptiness in his heart.

But how much of myth is truth? And what do you do when your belief in it is breaking?

“
Th
ere's nothing more I can do for her.” Kirin's voice is muffled, seeming to come from far away. “I've closed her wound, but she's lost much blood and her pulse is weak.”

“What of the assassin?” Namgi asks. His voice is hoarse, as if he's been shouting.

“He fled when she screamed. Lord Yu must have sent him as a last attempt in killing Shin.”

I'm in Shin's room, looking down at my body from above. I
wonder if this is how the magpie views the world. I wonder if I
am
the magpie, fluttering about. I don't think so, though. No one seems to notice me hovering above their heads.

Namgi and Kirin stand beside me where I lie on a pallet of silk blankets. But Shin isn't with them. Is he all right? Namgi and Kirin would be more upset if he were hurt, wouldn't they?

I look to my body to see the Red String of Fate is no longer tied to my hand. I remember the way the string flickered into nothing.
Th
e fox goddess said that it could only be severed if either Shin or I should die.

Did I … die, as I lay bleeding by the lake? But if I'm dead, my spirit should be in the river, not here floating beside my body …

I drift out the window. A beautiful rainbow arcs through the sky. Distracted, my soul flies upward. I wonder, if I soared high enough, could I breach the heavens?

Th
ere's a tickle in my ear, and then Dai's voice. “Don't go so far away, Mina. If you go too far, you won't be able to come back.”

I turn and float back to the small room.

Namgi and Kirin are no longer with me. Dai now sits beside my body, Miki in his lap.

“
Th
e storms have stopped,” he says. “
Th
ere's a feeling in the air, as if they've stopped forever.”

I float to Dai's side, gazing down at his face. His wounds from the Imugi attack are mostly healed; the bruises are not as dark as they were before, and his face has regained its color. Miki whimpers as she watches my sleeping form, her little fist against her mouth.

“Don't worry, Miki,” Dai says. “Mina will be all right. She'll wake up when she's ready.”

I glance out the window to see it's now dusk. Time seems to work strangely in this in-between state. When I look back, Dai and Miki are gone.

Th
e door slides open. Namgi steps into the room. He pauses by the door and I float to stand beside him, peering at the room. Besides the cabinet and the paper screen, there are several more pieces of furniture in the room: a chest for my clothes, a small table and mirror for my hair ornaments.
Th
e low shelf beneath the window is cluttered with items I've scavenged from the gardens—dried flowers, pebbles, and acorns. On the shelf beneath the window the paper boat floats in a shallow bowl of water.

“
Th
is room was empty before,” Namgi says. “And then you filled it with all these things. Is that a good metaphor for how you've filled all our lives?”

Slowly, he moves across the room. “If you were awake, you would tease me.
Namgi
, you would say,
how clever you are.
” He pauses at my bedside, peering at my still face. “I really thought you'd wake for that one.”

Taking the blankets, he raises them to my chin, then leans down to kiss me on the brow. “Sleep well, my friend, though not for too long. Some of us are not as strong as you are.”

I frown. What does he mean? But then my mind fogs, and time seems to slip away from me. Morning sunlight pierces the room the next time I become aware of my surroundings.

I'm surprised to find Kirin at my bedside. He holds a cool
cloth to my forehead, a furrow between his brows. Even when I'm asleep, he's displeased with me. I sigh, wishing to fly away from his disappointment. But then he puts aside the cloth and stands, moving to the other side of the pallet. He hesitates, then steps into the direct path of sunlight that is shining brightly onto my face.

I float over to the side of my body to see what he was frowning at.
Th
ere's sweat on my brow.

I don't know how long Kirin stands there, watching over me without a word, his body blocking the sunlight.

He doesn't move until there's a knock on the door; his head turns toward the sound.

Th
e fog from before rises up again, darker, more menacing, and I drift into a void. It's an inescapable nothingness. A place without time or meaning, just an aching in my heart that I'm dying, and there's nothing I can do to save myself.

Th
e next time I come back, it's full night, and Shin is beside me.
Th
e room is dark, the moon hidden beneath clouds.

“I killed the assassin,” he says, his eyes in shadow. I frown at the way his voice sounds, flat, empty. “I dragged him through the streets. He was begging for me to spare his life. He was in terrible agony. Yet he hurt you, and for that, I knew no pain would be too great.”

He stops speaking. I move closer, needing to see his eyes through the shadows.

“But when I arrived at the river, I realized none of it mattered. It was raining, and you were dying…” Slowly, he reaches out and takes my limp wrist in his hand, lowering his head until his forehead
rests against it. “
Th
e fox goddess said the Red String of Fate would break if one of us should die. Like a fool, I took her words plainly.” He sucks in a harsh breath. “I should rejoice that it's gone and I'm still alive. But strange, Mina, why do I feel like this? I don't need a Red String of Fate to tell me that if you should die, so will I.”

No! I want to tell him that the goddess must have been mistaken, but the dark fog comes for me again, a place of unconsciousness so deep it feels like the end of despair. A part of me knows this isn't a place I should be—that if I drift too deep within it, I will be lost forever. But I don't know how to find my way back.
Th
ere is no Red String of Fate to guide me.

I drift deeper into the nothingness, my legs drawn to my chest and my head bowed over my knees. I've never felt so alone. Is this how the Sea God has felt for a hundred years?

Out of the darkness, I hear a voice. Strange, but it sounds like
my
voice, singing.

Beneath the sea, the dragon sleeps

What is he dreaming of?

Beneath the sea, the dragon sleeps

When will he wake?

On a dragon's pearl,

your wish will leap.

On a dragon's pearl,

your wish will leap.

Only my grandmother knew that song. Her grandmother taught it to her when she was a girl, a long time ago.

My grandmother.

A soft hand takes my own, squeezing. “Mina. You need to wake up. How can you save the Sea God, yet not save yourself?” Her voice is clear. It's as if she's right beside me, whispering into my ear.

It's different
, I want to say.
I was badly wounded. I lost a lot of blood.

She clicks her tongue. “No excuses, Mina. Wake up. Wake up, now!”

I open my eyes.

“Mina!” A half dozen voices cry out my name. I look up to see that I'm surrounded. On one side of my pallet are Mask, Dai, and Miki. On the other side are Namgi, Nari, and Kirin.

Dai moves first, toppling over to grab me around the waist. “You scared us!” he says.

“Be careful,” Kirin scolds, pulling Dai up by the sleeve. “I closed the wound, but it'll take time to fully heal.”

“Are you hungry?” Nari asks. “Do you want me to get you anything to eat?”

“What about a drink?” Namgi suggests. “Liquor helps with the pain.” Now it's Namgi's turn to get pulled away from the bed as Nari grabs him by the ear.

“I'm glad you've returned to us,” Mask says from where she sits beside me, Miki in her lap. Reaching out a hand, she gently brushes a few strands from my face.

I look around the room, then find my voice. “Where is Shin?”

Th
e room goes silent as each person looks at the other.

“He was here up until a few minutes ago,” Namgi says finally. “He's hardly left your side.”

I don't understand.
Th
en where is he now?

“Don't concern yourself with him,” Mask says. “He'll be back soon. Meanwhile, get some rest.” She turns and begins to give orders for food to be brought up and a bath prepared. Everyone scrambles to obey, each careful not to meet my eyes.

I curl my hands in my lap. Where once the Red String of Fate sparkled, my palm is now bare, as if the tie between Shin and myself never existed at all.