The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea (23 page)

We were so excited when Sung, five years Joon's elder, told us he and Soojin were going to have a baby. Joon and I went out into the mountains so that I could make a prayer to the guardian of the forest while he cut down his favorite tree, the one he'd planted when he was only a boy himself. Out of the heart of the tree, he fashioned a cradle for the baby. He carved beautiful images into the wood of the bed—a crane in flight to guide the baby through her dreams, a rising tiger at the head to protect her from nightmares—and every night I stood over the unfinished
bed and said a prayer to the Goddess of Women and Children, giving a kiss to the wood where the baby would one day rest her head.

When she was born, she took one breath and no more. We burned the bed outside in the garden, so that it might cradle her in another world.

I trace my fingers across the stripes of the tiger and the scratched feathers of the crane's wings.

Behind me, the door slides open, and my ancestors enter the room.

 

First, Mask steps through, then
Dai with Miki, and even though I'm a little surprised, I'm not at all, because of course they're my family—they've been helping me this whole time.

Dai grins. “You cry too much, Mina.”

Mask walks over, her elegant hands moving behind her head to untie the strings holding her mask in place. It falls to the floor. I look into Mask's face, and it's my own face looking back at me, except my face on her is far more beautiful. Or maybe that's just the love I feel for her reflecting back at me. She takes me into her arms.

I choke back a sob. “You're my great-great-grandmother, aren't you?” I can feel her nod against my shoulder. “When I was dying, you sang to me. I thought it was my voice, but it was yours.”

“I sang to you, but it was your will to live that brought you back.”

I turn to Dai. “And you … you're my grandfather.”

Dai smiles.

“And Miki…” And now I'm sobbing. I can hardly get the words out. “Miki is my eldest brother's daughter.”
Th
e little girl who never smiled that beautiful smile in my world but was given a second chance at life in another. Miki giggles from behind Dai's shoulder.

“Joon made a cradle for her,” I say weakly.

“Yes,” Dai says. “It was the boat that carried her. She would have fallen into the River of Souls if it weren't for that cradle. Something crafted with so much love could never sink.”

Mask takes my hand. “Ask us what you need to know, Mina. We couldn't tell you before—spirits are forbidden to directly affect the actions of their descendants—but we can tell you now, in this most sacred of places.”

I nod, brushing back tears. “I need to know how to return Shim Cheong to the world above.”

Mask and Dai exchange a glance. “It's never been done,” Mask says slowly. “But that doesn't mean it
can't
be done.”

“What about going back up the river?” Dai says. “Shim Cheong is whole of body and soul. If she made it all the way up the river, perhaps she could pop back into the world above.”

Mask shakes her head. “
Th
e current is too strong. And her body wouldn't survive the passage.”

Seeing the expression on her face makes me wonder if I look like this when I'm thinking hard about something. I resist the urge to reach out and smooth the crease between her brows.

“In times of great peril,” Mask says, “a wish can be made on the dragon's pearl.”

I feel a strange stirring in my heart. “A wish?”

“
Th
at's right!” Dai shouts excitedly. “Now I remember.
Th
e pearl of a dragon is the source of its great power, and a wish upon one can make even the impossible come true.”

I think back to all the times I've seen the dragon—on the boat and in the garden, as it flew through the sky, and ferocious outside the palace.

“I've never seen the dragon with a pearl,” I say.
Th
en I remember the mural on the wall of the Sea God's hall. In the painting the dragon was drawn chasing a pearl through the sky.

“It's possible the dragon lost its pearl,” Mask says, “which might be tied to the curse.”

“Or it was stolen,” Dai says grimly.

In the Sea God's nightmare, he was wounded. Perhaps that was the moment the pearl was stolen.

“So if I retrieve the pearl and return it to the Sea God, the dragon will grant my wish?”

Dai and Mask exchange a glance.

“If it were so simple,” Dai says, “most everyone would be looking for a chance to make a wish.”

“Only someone the dragon loves very much can make a wish on the pearl,” Mask explains.

“Someone the dragon … loves?”

Mask nods. “
Th
e dragon and the Sea God are one and the same.
Th
e dragon is the Sea God's soul. If the Sea God were to love another, that person would have the power to make a wish on the pearl. In the past, it was always the emperor who was
beloved by the Sea God most of all. In times of great peril, it was said he could make a wish to change the world.”

In the main room, I meet up with Namgi, Kirin, and Shin, and tell them what I learned from my ancestors. Kirin and Shin look unsurprised to find out the real identities of the spirits who've been helping me, but Namgi appears satisfyingly shocked.

“You must make apologies to your great-great-grandmother for me, Mina,” he says sheepishly. “Tell her I didn't mean half the things I said.”

“Namgi, aren't most of the spirits here ancestors to someone or another? Every spirit you flirt with could be a grandparent.”

He groans. “Don't remind me.”

With the knowledge from my ancestors, I know how to save Shim Cheong. Yet what seems simple is not at all, because however much I think the Sea God might honor me, he does not love me.

And Hyeri's questions about the curse have reminded me how I first felt when I entered the Sea God's palace, like I was missing the last part of a tale, the ending just beyond reach.

I flinch as a strange ache shivers through my heart. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Red String of Fate pull taut in the air.

“Mina?” Shin steps forward. “What's wrong?”

Th
e Red String of Fate gives another powerful tug, and I
groan. “It's the … it's the Red String of Fate…” Shin goes completely still. “Something's wrong.”

Th
ere's another tug, and I collapse.

Shin catches me and lowers me to the floor.

“She's becoming a spirit.” I can hear Kirin's voice above me. “It's been exactly a month since she entered the Spirit Realm.”

I fight against the awful tugging pain; it feels as if my soul is being torn from my body.

“What do we do?” Namgi asks. “How can we help her?”

Kirin looks at Shin, who meets his gaze. “She needs to return to the Sea God.”

Shin doesn't hesitate. In one fluid motion, he lifts me up off the floor, and I wrap my arms around his neck. With inhuman speed, he rushes from Spirit House, sprinting down streets and leaping across rooftops.

Th
e pain lessens the closer we get to the palace. By the time we reach the courtyard outside the Sea God's hall, I'm strong enough to stand. Shin sets me down on the ground.

“Wait for me in the garden,” I tell him before rushing into the Sea God's hall.

Like the first night, when the Red String of Fate led me to him, the Sea God is slumped upon the throne with his eyes closed.

Behind him, the setting sun paints the mural of the dragon in colors of orange and yellow, the pearl in burnished gold.

“Mina?”
Th
e Sea God's eyes flutter open.

I move to his side, and he looks up at me.

He's nothing like the Sea God in the last tale I told.
Th
at god was almighty and powerful. After all, in the end, he let Shim Cheong go home.

Looking at the Sea God now, I wonder, how can a god be so fragile? So human?

Th
e pain from before has dulled to a low ache. Close as we are, the length of the ribbon is short, merely an arm's length. I close the distance, pressing my hand to his. His hand is cool and soft, while mine is warm and rough. Nothing startling happens. I'm not pulled into any dreams; there's no burst of light. When I move away, the Red String of Fate has disappeared.

“Mina.”
Th
e Sea God sits up. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I am not your bride,” I say gently. “Not truly. You don't love me, nor I you. We are fated, but not in this way.”

I wonder if the Sea God will protest. His brows knit together and a look of genuine concern falls across his delicate features. “But you'll die, Mina. You'll become a spirit.”

“Not if I can help it.” I smile to reassure him. “You have to be strong, for just a little longer. Can you do that for me?”

“I— Yes. I think I can.”

I turn from him and race out the door behind the throne, down the stone steps, and through the garden.
Th
e pain is gone, yet I know soon I'll become a spirit. And although I am afraid, hope rises within me.

I want to tell Shin everything—that I'm sorry for leaving him, that I felt at the time it was the only choice I could make. But I was wrong.
Th
ere is always a choice.

I want to tell Shin that I choose him, always him.

I sprint through the garden, leaping over the stream and through the trees winking with the orange glow of sunset. I sweep past the meadow, across the bridge, coming out on the hill overlooking the pavilion where Shin stands.

Don't chase fate, Mina. Let fate chase you.

 

Shin is waiting inside the
pavilion beside the Pond of Paper Boats. He turns at my approach up the steps, his eyes finding mine.

“Did you speak with the Sea God?” he asks softly, looking at me in that way that always makes it hard for me to breathe.

“Yes,” I answer. “And I know what I must do.”

Shin's gaze lingers on my hand, then shifts away toward the pond, but not before I see the look of acute pain that crosses his features. Tonight, the paper boats crowd the shore like a flock of ducks. It's as if at any moment they'll spread their wings and take flight.

“I won't ask anything of you,” Shin says. “Whatever decision you make, I will abide by. If you marry the Sea God, I will protect and watch over you both. For all my life.”

My heart fills with love for him. How good he is, how giving and kind.

“But I didn't want to hold back when it mattered … because I know you would never hold back, with your words or your
actions.” He smiles, and my heart flips over. “I may be soulless and haven't a Red String of Fate, but I don't need either to tell me that I love you.”

“Shin,” I say, breathless, “the Red String of Fate is gone.”

He shakes his head. “I don't understand.”

“
Th
e one between the Sea God and myself,” I explain. “I pressed my hand to his, which, if you remember, I did with you when our fate first formed, though you insisted it wouldn't work.

“Well, it did,” I say haughtily. “As I knew it would, because I don't love him. I love you, and I choose my own fate.”

I lean forward, holding his shoulders for balance, and press a kiss to his lips.

Afterward, I take a step back, blushing, though determined to meet his gaze. He said, after all, that I don't hold back. Shin recovers quickly. Reaching out, he takes my hand, pulling me forward until I'm in his arms, and then he's kissing me. His heart beats fast against my own. I throw my arms around his neck, returning each of his kisses with equal fervor.

When finally we break apart, the love I see in his eyes steals my breath away.

“Lord Crane was mistaken,” he says. “He said once the Red String of Fate was formed, you would know how to break the curse.”

As I gaze at Shin, a knowing blooms within me.

“I don't think he was mistaken.”

Shin frowns slightly. “What do you mean?”

“
Th
ere's something I must do, somewhere I must go. Will you wait here? Do you trust me?”

He doesn't answer me at first, watching me with his sea-dark eyes.
Th
en he smiles, a small quirk of the lips. “With my soul.”

I run back through the garden, the hall, and the courtyards—the Sea God nowhere in sight—and down the great steps. My heart beats wildly in my chest. I feel as if all the answers to my questions are within reach.

I turn into the alley where I last saw the Goddess of Moon and Memory, her shrine tucked into the alcove.
Th
e bowl in front of the tablet is empty of offerings, so I place my great-great-grandmother's knife at the center. I then pick up the flint and strike it against the firestone, creating a spark that I catch with a piece of paper, bringing it up to light the incense sticks.

I step back and whisper a prayer. When I open my eyes, the Goddess of Moon and Memory is beside me.

She watches me through her candlelit eyes, though tonight, they appear dimmed. “Are you not afraid of me?” she asks, sounding more curious than angry.

“I am not,” I say, and it's the truth.

“Are you afraid of nothing, then?”

“I'm afraid of forests.”

She arches a brow, clearly thinking me facetious.

“When I was a child, I got lost in a forest,” I explain. “I had been following my older brother when I caught sight of a fox and, chasing after it, lost my way. For the longest time, I couldn't remember how I got out of that forest. All I could remember was how fearful I was, the trees unfamiliar in the darkness.”

Th
e goddess closes her eyes, and I wonder if she's reliving this memory with me.

“I sat crying among the roots of a tree for hours. I was so afraid that no one would find me, that I would be alone in the darkness forever. But then I saw it—a light through the canopy. Moonlight slipped through the branches to light a path through the forest. It was the moonlight that led me home.”

Th
e goddess opens her eyes to watch me, the candles in them bright now.

“My grandmother always said that although the sun brings warmth and light, the symbol of our great emperor, it is the moon that guards women and the night. She is the mother that protects us all.”

I take a steady breath. “We made a bargain, you and I. I shared a piece of my soul with you. It's only fair that you give me something in return.”

“And what would that be?”

“A memory. Show me what happened a hundred years ago on a cliff by the sea. Show me what happened to make the Sea God lose all hope. Show me what happened to the emperor of my people.”

Th
e goddess pulls from her sleeve a very old paper boat, crumbling at the edges. It looks like a gust of wind could blow it apart. She holds it out to me.

I lift my hand and touch its papered wings.

I'm back on the cliffside of the Sea God's dream. But where then he was at the edge of the cliff, now he's nowhere in sight.

It's peaceful here.
Th
e wind sharp, but clear.
Th
e sun overhead shines down on the sparkling sea, where fishing boats are out on the early-morning waters.

I'm stepping closer to the edge, thinking to make out the faces on the boats, when the earth begins to shake beneath me, rocks tumbling from the cliff into the sea. A battalion of warriors on horseback approaches up the hill. At the head of the group—atop a magnificent warhorse—is the Sea God.

Yet, something's amiss. His golden armor is splattered with dirt and streaks of blood.

One man brings his horse alongside the Sea God's. He wears a chest plate with a seal depicting a rising tiger, denoting his rank as the general of the emperor's armies.

“Your Majesty!” the man shouts. “You must flee before it's too late.”

Th
e Sea God lifts the helmet off his head.
Th
e expression I'm familiar with—where he looks lost, hurt—is gone. He looks … fierce, like a leader. With a gaze steadied on the general, he drops his helmet to the ground. “I will not abandon my men. I will stay and fight.”

“Your Majesty,” the general growls, “you must live. You are more than one person. You are the hope of our people!”

Th
e Sea God looks as if he will argue further, but then he curses. Abruptly he turns his horse.

But he's too late.
Th
e small group of men has lingered too long in the open. A greater enemy rides up the cliff, trapping the warriors against the edge.

Th
e battle that ensues is bloody, terrible.
Th
e men form a
circle around the Sea God, but one by one, they fall. Soon it's only the boy and his general.

Realizing that defeat is upon them, the general raps his sword against the flank of the Sea God's horse. It screams, then gallops away from the battle.

Hope swells in my stomach, quickly plummeting when I see an enemy soldier rise from where he was hiding behind a large stone. He nocks an arrow to his bow, drawing the string back.

He releases the arrow. It flies curved through the air.

“Watch out!” I scream, but of course no one hears me. No one can see me.
Th
is is just a memory, of a time long ago.

Th
e arrow pierces the Sea God's chest.

He slides from the horse, landing inches away from the edge of the cliff.
Th
e enemy falls back.
Th
ey've accomplished what they set out to do. It's inevitable. A wound such as this is fatal.

I rush to the Sea God's side, hands hovering in the air above him. Even if I were to reach out, I wouldn't be able to touch him. We are separated by a hundred years.
Th
e arrowhead protrudes from his back, soaked in his blood. He's dying.
Th
e Sea God looks at me, and for a moment, it's as if he sees me. But then he turns his face away, his eyes searching. “Who are you?” he whispers.

I look up. On the other side of him crouches …

“Sh-Shin?” I say. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn't answer. Like the Sea God, he cannot see me.

Th
e Sea God coughs, blood between his teeth. He looks young. Too young to die. “Why won't you answer me?” he cries. “Who are you?”

“Don't speak,” Shin says, and his voice is quiet, soothing. “You've been shot through the lungs.”

“Am I dying?”

“Yes.”

Th
e Sea God closes his eyes, a terrible sadness cloaking his features.

Shin watches the boy, and I watch him. He looks different in this memory. He wears long blue robes, similar to the one he wore at the festival. His hair is longer, held in a topknot. Softly, he murmurs, “You are afraid.”

Th
e boy opens his eyes, a furious, fierce expression taking over his features. But then he groans, the pain rising. His eyes cloud over. “I'm less afraid of dying than I am of leaving them all alone.”

His words remind me of the nightmare. He said,
I've failed them. I've failed them all.

Suddenly, the boy grabs Shin's sleeve. “My people. Who will look after them when I am gone? Who will make sure they are safe?” His words are desperate, his lips bubbling over with blood.

“I will.”

“You…”
Th
e boy seems to deflate. “I know who you are. My father told me about you. He said you protect our people, that if I were ever in desperate need, you would help me. Will you help me now?”

Th
ere's a sound like stars sweeping through the sky. I look up to see the dragon above us, a massive pearl held in its left claw.

It's the dragon like I've never seen it before. Its scales are a vibrant, dazzling blue. Its whiskers are long, white. It even moves
more freely through the air—buoyant, joyous.
Th
e dragon drops the pearl, and it explodes into light, re-forming as a magnificent pair of silver-blue wings, protruding from the back of Shin's shoulders.

Th
e emperor looks at Shin, a look of pure wonder on his face. “Who are you?”

“I am the Sea God.”

On a dragon's pearl, your wish will leap.

“Make a wish.”

“I wish to live.”