The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea(57)

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.

The rain continues to lash the earth. The water from the lake rises, soaking my slippers. I step back just as a whoosh of sound sweeps by me. The 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. The 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. The bolt pierces my shoulder. I scream in pain.

I hear a shout from the pavilion. Nari. The 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. The ribbon shimmers, then slowly begins to fade.

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

The 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.





26


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. The 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. The 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?

“There’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. The 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?

There’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.

“The storms have stopped,” he says. “There’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.

The 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. The 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.

“This 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?”