The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea(63)

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. Though 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. “That 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.

The 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.”

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

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

The goddess backs away, a hand pressed to her chest. “I must go,” she says. The wind picks up in the alley. The goddess’s dress billows out. White and red feathers peel off from the fabric to swirl in a storm around her. The 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. There 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. That 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. This 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. This 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. The 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.

“That 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. There’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. “That’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? The 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.”