The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea (22 page)

 

Though the Sea God has
claimed me as his bride, questions still plague me for the next few days as I wander the lonely halls of the palace. Lord Crane said that once the Red String of Fate formed between the Sea God and myself, I would know it was time to break the curse. Was he lying, or was there never a curse to begin with? A year seems too long a time to wait to see if the storms have stopped for good. And something within me feels restless, as if I'm peering at a scroll that remains unfinished.

I also worry for Namgi, wondering if Kirin pulled him from the river in time. Has Dai fully recovered? And Cheong.
Th
ere must be a way to return her to the world above.

I thought Lotus House very large, but the entire grounds of that house could fit into one quadrant of the Sea God's palace. It takes me days to explore the eastern quadrant, where my room is located overlooking the garden. I never see anyone—no servants or guards—and yet the rooms are all swept clean, and the fires in their braziers blaze down every hall. I can't tell if
the invisible beings that run the palace are ghostly servants or something else entirely. At all times of the day, the tables in the kitchen are laid with food, the dumplings steaming as if just cooked, the fruits and vegetables dewy as if picked and washed only a moment before. Elaborate dresses appear in my wardrobe overnight. And if I need anything, I only have to speak the words aloud for the object of my desire to appear—a warm bath or slippers for my feet.

On the morning of my thirtieth day in the Spirit Realm, I find the Sea God in the garden, where he spends most of his time, watching paper boats in the pond. Not for the first time, I peer at the pond to see if the paper boat carrying my wish floats between the reeds, but it's nowhere in sight. I wonder if the Goddess of Moon and Memory realizes that she owes me a debt. After all, though I relinquished my wish freely to her, she never fulfilled her part of the bargain.

“I have a request to make of you,” I say, as I sit beside the Sea God on the grassy bank. “My sister, Cheong, came down during the last storm. I'd like to visit her to see how she's faring, but also speak with our ancestors, to discover if there's a way for her to return to the world above.”

“In the last story you told, it was the Sea God who returned Shim Cheong to the world above. I'm afraid I don't have such power. Otherwise I would send her back, to be reunited with her father.”

“And me? If I asked, would you return me to the world above?”

He says nothing, hunched over by the pond with his back to me. “I grant you permission to leave the palace. But you must return before sundown, at which time we
will
be wed. Otherwise you'll become a spirit and lose your soul.”

I leave the pond, walking at first slowly through the garden, then faster, and faster still, until I'm running, up through the secret door, down the Sea God's hall, and across the many courtyards.
Th
e great doors to the gate—which had been shut upon my entering the palace—are open. I slip through, sprinting down the stairs and heading toward the river. To the south lies Lotus House, and though I long to go there, I know if I do, I might never leave.

Th
e river is calm, peaceful. Still, I keep my eyes away from the water as I cross over the bridge.

Star House is a tiered temple located at the base of the eastern mountains. I arrive at the height of morning, the sun shining brightly over a meadow run wild with royal azaleas.

Black-robed servants greet me in the main courtyard of the mountain temple, men and women with their heads cleanly shaven. One woman bows to me, indicating for me to follow her. She leads me down halls cut deep into the side of the mountain and up a long flight of stairs.
Th
e air becomes thinner the higher we go, and we emerge onto a platform that overlooks the valley from high above. Cheong and another young woman are seated
on woven mats, a small table laid with tea and fruits in delicate porcelain bowls between them.

Th
e young woman turns at our approach. She's lovely, with a wide face, blushing cheeks, and bright eyes.

Hyeri.

She tilts her head to the side, studying me. “I know you.”

“We've met once before,” I say. “A year ago, the night you were to marry the Sea God.”

“I remember now.” She rises to her feet, coming to take my hands. Like Cheong, she's a head taller than me. Her voice is warm and inviting. “You were my handmaiden. You helped me dress and braided my hair. You listened on a night when I needed, more than anything else, for someone to hear me.” She gently tugs me to the square table, pulling up a mat at the north side. “Come, please join us.”

When I've seated myself, Hyeri pours me a cup of steaming tea. I bring it to my nose, inhaling the subtle scent of crushed chrysanthemums.

“I'm glad you're here, Mina,” Cheong says shyly. I reach out and take her hand, squeezing tightly.

“You seem well, Cheong,” I say, grateful to Hyeri. “I came here today not only to visit you, but also because I think there might be a way to return you to the world above.”

Cheong widens her eyes. “Is it possible?”

“I have reason to believe it could be.” I turn toward Hyeri. “What do you know of Spirit House?”

Hyeri sits back on her cushion, a thoughtful expression on
her face. “Out of all the houses, it is the largest. It lies at the bottom of the city, where the river begins. Spirits that manage to swim out of the river are brought to the house first, and then sent along, either to the home of their ancestors who are already living in the city, or to a guild master to seek employment. As it is, the best way to find your ancestors is to go to the house and present yourself to meet them.” Hyeri turns to Cheong. “Have you relatives?
Th
ose who've passed before you?”

“I only have my father, and he is living still.”

Hyeri sighs. “Well, not everything can work out perfectly.”

I smile, amused at this strange perception of things.

“I was thinking,” I say. “Perhaps my ancestors would help. After all, they are Cheong's ancestors, too. By marrying Joon, she's become a part of our family.”

Hyeri sits forward excitedly. “
Th
at's right. Mina, you can go to Spirit House and arrange to meet with them. Ancestors are wise and have lived many years. Any knowledge they might share with you will be useful.”

I nod, then turn to Cheong. “Since I don't know which of our ancestors will be at Spirit House, I think it best if I go alone. I'll speak with them, and then come get you.”

“
Th
ank you for this, Mina,” Cheong says warmly. “Although…” Her smile falters. “What about you? If I'm to return to the world above, I mustn't go alone. You have to come with me. Your brothers are waiting for you, and your grandmother…”

My heart aches painfully at the thought of my family, our family. What I would give to see them all one last time. “I can't.
If I refuse to marry the Sea God and instead return to the world above, it's possible the storms will start again.”

“Will you really marry him?” Cheong frowns. “But what about…” She never finishes her sentence, perhaps seeing the stricken look upon my face.

Hyeri and Cheong exchange a glance.

“I do find it odd,” Hyeri says. “Everyone says the curse is broken, and yet the Sea God remains in his palace. Nothing has truly changed, besides the ending of the storms.”

Hyeri is right, and it's also something I noticed in my time in the palace. Just as he was before he awoke, the Sea God is melancholic, preferring to be alone.

“Why was the Sea God cursed in the first place?” Hyeri continues, her questions stirring up something inside me. “And if he was cursed, who was the one who cursed him?”

Th
ere's a light knocking sound, and all three of us turn toward the entrance of the balcony where Shiki—god of death and Hyeri's husband—stands, dressed all in black like the first time I saw him.

Bowing, he says, “I apologize for the interruption—I know you'd wish to speak longer—but three visitors have arrived to see Lady Mina.”

My heart stumbles in my chest.

I say my farewells to Cheong and Hyeri, and follow Shiki through the temple's halls, coming out to stand on the stairs that overlook the valley.

Th
ree figures stand among the wild azaleas. Namgi. Kirin.

And Shin.

I approach the three of them across the field of pink and purple flowers.

“Mina, the Sea God's bride,” Namgi calls softly.

A rush of relief envelops me. Last I saw him, Kirin was dragging his nearly lost soul from the river. “Just Mina,” I say as Namgi reaches me, pulling me into a fierce embrace. I bask in his warmth. When his soul fled his body, he was so cold.

“Well, Just Mina,” he says after releasing me, “how does it feel to be the chosen bride of the Sea God? Do you think at all of us, your not-so-illustrious friends?”

“It feels no different than before.” I glance at Shin. He's held back from the rest. He doesn't look at me now, though I felt his eyes upon me as I walked through the field of azaleas.

“You look well,” Kirin says, drawing my gaze. “Your clothing is very fine.”

I peer down at myself. I'm wearing a simple pink-and-green dress, one of the many from my wardrobe. “
Th
ank you,” I say, blushing. “How is Dai?”

“He and the rest of your spirit friends left the house this morning after I deemed him fully recovered. Unlike Namgi, who is still too weak to be moving about.”

Namgi grins. “I'm fine. Nothing could stop me from seeing Mina.”

“You should be more careful,” Kirin insists. “Not long ago, you were soulless.”

“Not anymore, thanks to you!” Namgi attacks Kirin in a hug.
Th
ey go off into the flowers, arguing like they did when I first met them in the Sea God's hall—though I can see now how much they love and care for each other, their bickering turning soon to laughter.

I face Shin, my heart beating painfully in my chest. When I first met him, I thought his eyes did more to hide his thoughts than his mask did to hide his face. No longer.

He looks at me with such longing it breaks my heart.

“What are you doing here?” I ask softly.

“I said I would take you to your ancestors.”

I almost fall apart then. Shin—tall, not very frightening, and honorable, who never goes back on his word, who always keeps his promises, even when he's hurting.

I swallow. “
Th
en let's go together.”

Spirit House is just as Hyeri described it, a gigantic building—shaped somewhat like a bathhouse—beside the River of Souls. It's at least five stories high and built in a square design. I can see the shapes of beings through the papered windows, feasting and dancing.

Shin leads us through the grand doors into the main room of the building, bypassing what looks like a huge line of very wet people.

Namgi leans down to whisper in my ear, “Recent arrivals.”

Th
e room is magnificent, a large enclosed courtyard, ranged on all sides with balconies on every level.

A portly man with round eyes and a mustache hurries to greet Shin. “Oh great and powerful lord of Lotus House—”

Kirin interrupts. “We need to arrange an ancestral meeting.”

Th
e man blinks rapidly. “Yes, of course!” He snaps his fingers, and a small, hunched grandmother hobbles over. She wears a mask depicting a youthful girl. Slowly, she hands the man a rolled-up scroll.

Th
e man clears his throat. “Family name?”

“Song,” I say.

“Village of origin.”

“Beside-the-Sea.”

“Are you the Songs of the Lower Mountains, the Farmlands, or the Riverside?”

“Lower Mountains.” I grimace. We don't speak to the Songs of the Farmlands after their grandfather had a falling-out with my grandfather over a game of Go.

“Ah, here we are.”
Th
e man's finger lands on the paper. “It looks like … both your great-great-grandmother and your grandfather are registered as Song ancestors in the city.”

I can't breathe. Tears rush to my eyes.
Grandfather. My great-great-grandmother.

“
Th
ey are?” I whisper, overwhelmed. I turn to Shin. “
Th
ey're here. I'm going to see them.” I didn't know how much I needed to see them until this very moment.

“I'm glad for you, Mina,” Shin says softly.

Th
e grandmother coughs behind her mask. I turn from Shin and the others to follow her. We travel up five flights of stairs and
down a hall with closed doors. She stops at the third door on the left and slides open the panel.

“Wait in here,” she says.

I walk into the room, and she closes the door behind me.
Th
e room is small with low shelves filled with items, some of which I recognize from the ancestral rites my grandmother and I would conduct every year.
Th
ere's the food we left out for my grandfather on his birthday the month before last. It hasn't spoiled.
Th
e bean rice and dried-pollock soup—his favorites—still steam from their bowls. Although I notice the amount in the bowls is less.
Th
ere are the bright fruits my grandmother left for my grandfather, his favorites, and for
her
grandmother, the bouquet of fresh flowers picked from the garden—golden flowers and deep red hibiscus, as bright as the day we picked them.

My gaze falls on a cradle tucked in the corner of the room.

I suck in a harsh breath. It's the boat Joon carved, the one he labored over for weeks.