The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea (20 page)

 

Shin and I run through
the streets, spirits rushing to duck into buildings or leaping into the canal as Imugi rain fire down upon the city.

Up ahead, a bolt strikes a teashop, burning a hole through the tiered roof. Patrons barrel out of the smoking doorway, tripping over themselves in their panic and fear. I rush over and help a woman to her feet, while Shin carries a boy to the canal, dropping him in the shallow water to douse the flames on his jacket. More screams pierce the night, not too far from us. I watch as Shin tenses, his head instinctively canting toward the sound.

“Go,” I tell him. I motion toward the remaining teashop patrons, huddling and coughing on the ground. “I'll help the rest of them, and then hurry to Lotus House. I know the way.”

Down the street an Imugi roars, followed by more screams. “Lotus House,” Shin repeats. “No more than an hour.” I nod, and he holds my gaze for a searing second before running off in the direction of the screams.

I help the rest of the teahouse patrons to the canal, crowded now with spirits eager to escape the fires.

After the last is safe in the water, I sprint down the streets, retracing the steps I walked earlier with Namgi and Nari.
Th
ough this time, instead of joy, I feel only heartache as I pass over broken lanterns and crushed kites.

I'm almost at the bridge that leads to Lotus House when I hear an awful slithering sound. I dash into an alley and back against the wall just as an Imugi prowls by, failing to notice me in the shadows.

Th
e alley I've stepped into is deserted, with only a small alcove down the way that appears to house a shrine. I recognize the familiar stone tablet and the bowl for offerings. Incense sticks trickle smoke into the air. Most likely it's dedicated to a local god, a place for spirits to gather and ask favors from the deity.

As I draw nearer, the strong scent of incense washes over me, smoky and bitter.
Th
en I notice an object floating in the bowl of offerings. It's a paper boat, ripped in half and stitched back together again.

A chill runs down my spine. Slowly, I lift my eyes to read the characters scratched onto the stone.

Th
is shrine is dedicated to the Goddess of Moon and Memory.

Soft laughter floats down the alley.

I turn to face the goddess.

She wears a simple white gown with a red sash around her waist. Even without her great mount, she's terrifying, twice my height with candles in her eyes. She lifts her chin slightly, eyes
flickering. “Why don't you pick up your wish? Let us discover your deepest desire.”

I swallow my fear. “
Th
e Imugi are your servants, aren't they? Why have you allowed them to wreak such devastation? Don't you think this city and its people have suffered enough?”

She continues as if I hadn't spoken. “Once I see your memory, it will belong to me. I will have that part of you that wishes to be the Sea God's bride.”

Th
e puzzle of her words falls into place, and I think I finally understand what she wants. I turn toward the bowl and pick up the boat. When I look back, I bite my tongue to keep from crying out.
Th
e goddess stands beside me, having moved silently from a distance. She's now close enough that I can see the candles in her eyes, the flames burning brightly. I unfold the paper boat and hold it out to her.

“Do you relinquish it willingly?”

During the storms, she told me that she couldn't see the memory because it was too closely tied to my soul. Only by relinquishing it will she have power over me.

“Will you call away the Imugi if I give you this memory?”

Th
e goddess watches me carefully; the flames in her eyes hold steady. “Yes.”

“
Th
en I give it to you willingly.”

She smiles, triumphant. “
Th
en you are a fool. Because though you might have saved the city tonight, you have thrown away your chance to save it forever.
Th
e memory contained in this
boat belongs to me now, and I will destroy it, along with your desire to be the Sea God's bride.”

She grabs the paper, and the memory rises up, taking hold.

I'm in the garden behind my house, and with me is the goddess. Like the wish I'd found in the Pond of Paper Boats, the memory is clouded, as if seen through a veil of mist.
Th
e goddess appears out of place, standing regally beside my grandfather's pond.

As she stares at the scene before her, the goddess's look of anticipation turns slowly into one of confusion. I brace myself and follow her gaze.

A girl kneels beside a broken shrine. An old woman stands above her, her work-roughened hands trembling over the girl's lowered head.

I close my eyes. After all, I don't have to see this memory to remember it.

“Mina,” my grandmother cries, “what have you done?”

All around me are the shattered remains of the shrine.
Th
e food, the little I'd sacrificed from my own meals and dedicated to the Goddess of Women and Children, smashed upon the floor.
Th
e worn rush mat, the one I knelt upon every day for hours, my forehead pressed against the earth, torn to pieces.

I look at my grandmother, wincing at the sharp pain of tears in my eyes. “Were my offerings too little for the goddess? My prayers too weak?
Perhaps I should forsake her altogether. A goddess who is forsaken will die the same as those
she's
forgotten.”

My grandmother gasps in horror. “Be angry at the goddess, Mina. But never”—she grabs my trembling shoulders—“never lose your faith in her.”

Behind us, there's a keening sound, followed by a crash. My grandmother picks up her skirt and flees, pulled by the agonized cries of my sister-in-law, driven mad with grief. Guilt overwhelms me. What is my pain compared to hers?

I reach out and slowly trail my fingers over the offerings laid out upon the shrine—the star-and-moon chime to bring luck and happiness, the bowls of rice and broth to bring health and a long life, and the paper boat to guide my niece safely home.
Th
ough every year at the paper boat festival I make the same wishes—a good harvest, health for my family and loved ones—this year I brought the boat home to place on the shrine because I wanted nothing between the goddess and my prayer.

Snatching the paper boat from the shrine, I tear it in half.

Like the boat, the goddess and I are ripped from the memory. Back in the alley, we stumble away from the shrine.

“You tricked me!” the goddess shouts. “
Th
at was not your wish to be the Sea God's bride!”

I should feel triumphant. She assumed wrong. She thought by stealing the memory of when I wished to be the Sea God's bride, she could steal that desire from me. But I never made a wish to be his bride, or even that I should be the one to save him.

Th
e goddess and I can agree on one thing. It is true that a wish is a piece of your soul. Because a true wish is something that if it never came true, it might break your heart.

Even though it's quiet in the alley, I can hear the goddess's servants slithering above us.

“Your sister,” the goddess says quietly. “She lost her child.”

Th
ere's something odd about her voice. And then I realize what it is—she sounds mournful. Tears slip down her cheeks.
Th
e candles in her eyes have gone out.

“My sister by marriage, my eldest brother's wife. She lost a daughter.”

Th
e goddess backs away, a hand pressed to her chest. “I must go,” she says.
Th
e wind picks up in the alley.
Th
e goddess's dress billows out. White and red feathers peel off from the fabric to swirl in a storm around her.
Th
e wind whips out, and I raise my hand against the rush of feathers and dust.

When the wind dies down, I'm alone once more.

Even with the retreat of the goddess, the Imugi still rage throughout the city. From my position in the alley, I can hear their screams, the tremor of large bodies moving through the streets. My heart aches every time a quieter cry haunts the night.
Th
ere were so many children at the festival. I think of the boy asking shyly for a kiss, the girl joyous on the swing, the people of this city celebrating the ending of the storms.
Th
at must have been why the goddess attacked in the first place. But why did she leave? An image flashes through my mind of her face after she saw the memory, the dimmed flames of her candlelit eyes.

Was it pity I saw in her eyes?

No matter the reason, she left without calling away the Imugi, therefore breaking our bargain.
Th
is city that but a few days ago was flooded from the storm now burns with fire.

I think of the Sea God's nightmare, the burning city in his eyes.
Th
is city now mirrors that of his memory, smoke billowing up to choke the clouds. When does it end?

Above, a figure leaps across the rooftops, his shadow falling over me.

Kirin.

I sprint down the alley to where it opens up onto a wide street. A large sea snake thrashes down the length of it, knocking against buildings that crumble upon impact.

Kirin gathers speed and jumps off the edge of a roof. In one quick motion, he unsheathes his sword and plunges the blade into the snake's neck.
Th
e beast lets out a terrible scream. Kirin leaps out of the way as the snake's body begins to writhe in its death throes, spewing blood and venom. I duck behind a stand of barrels as blood splatters across the wall, burning quickly through the wood.

Kirin drops to the ground beside me. “Mina! What are you doing here? Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I was on my way to meet Shin at Lotus House.”

“We'll go together.” He turns north, only to stop, his eyes narrowing. “Is that—”

I follow his gaze. Namgi in his Imugi form dips erratically through the sky. Following on his tail is a whole swarm of snakes.

“
Th
at fool!” Kirin shouts. “He's luring them out of the city. But he won't make it that way.” Kirin races off in Namgi's
direction, and I hurry to follow. We're almost by the river when Namgi goes under, disappearing beneath the swarm.
Th
ere's a terrible crack, and the swarm breaks apart. Namgi, transformed back into his human body, drops from the sky.

“Namgi!” Kirin cries out. We race down the street, turning the corner to see Namgi battered and broken on the ground. Kirin rushes forward, dropping beside Namgi's limp form. He takes a knife from his waist, raising the blade to his palm. But before he can make the cut, Namgi's hand jerks upward, grabbing his wrist.

“Don't, Kirin,” he says, blood thick in his throat. “My wounds can't be healed so easily. Not this time.”

He's not wrong, but that doesn't stop Kirin from growling in frustration. “Why do you have to be so reckless?” he shouts. “I thought you desired more than anything to become a dragon. Did you forget? An Imugi can only become a dragon after
living
one thousand years.”

Namgi coughs. Even with blood slipping from between his teeth, he smiles. “
Th
at's right. One thousand years. I couldn't believe those fools who thought they could become dragons by fighting in endless battles. Don't they understand what a dragon truly
is
?
Th
e Imugi live for death and destruction, but a dragon is the manifestation of peace.” Namgi coughs again, and this time it takes longer for the tremors to subside. Kirin grabs his hand and Namgi looks up at him with young, fearful eyes. “I wanted—I wanted to be a dragon, Kirin. More than anything. I wanted to be wise and good. I wanted to be whole.”

Kirin's grip tightens. “You are, Namgi.”

Before our eyes, Namgi's body begins to fade.

I look desperately from Namgi to Kirin. “What's happening?”

“He's losing his soul,” Kirin chokes. “Hurry, we need to get him to the river. Help me, Mina.”

Together we manage to get Namgi onto Kirin's back. I take the lead, checking around corners to see if there are any snakes in our path.

Around and above us, the battle rages on. I catch sight of the death god Shiki jumping from rooftop to rooftop, leading a band of warriors with bows slung low across their backs. I look for Shin in the group, disappointed not to find him among their number.

We reach the river. Unlike the night of the storm, it's calm. Few bodies float on the surface. Kirin and I gently lift Namgi from Kirin's back and lay him by the shore.

“Look for Namgi,” Kirin says, unbuttoning his jacket. “He should be coming down the river.”

Th
e thought terrifies me. Only the recently deceased float down the River of Souls. Is Namgi … dead? He's lying so still. A curl of hair falls over his pale face. Without his vibrant soul to light him up, he looks empty …

“Mina!” Kirin shouts.

I snap my head from Namgi's body to the river. I need to concentrate. He isn't gone. Not yet.

At first all I see are strangers, older men and women, ghostly shadows in the water. But then …

“
Th
ere!” I point to a familiar lanky body. Namgi floats facedown on the surface. I look over to Kirin to find him approaching the river.

“Kirin,” I say, suddenly realizing what he plans to do, “Shin said only the dead can enter the river.
Th
e current will sweep your soul away.”

“I'm not going into the river.”

Kirin steps to the very edge, the water lapping at his feet. His body begins to tremble, and his skin emits a beautiful silver light.
Th
e human shape of him morphs, changing.
Th
ere's a burst of illumination, like a star exploding. A beast of myth emerges from the light, its hooves clopping on the stone. Where once Kirin stood, there now stands a magnificent four-legged beast with two horns and a mane of white fire. It has the shape, body, and legs of a deer, but the height and strength of a horse.