MY EYES REMAINED DRY AS I sat straight on my pony, gripping the reins so tight my knuckles ached. Whoever had harmed Father, I was going to make them pay. As my mind circled around this oath, thoughts I had never entertained before crept to the surface, thoughts of the ways in which I could take a life.
Knife.
Rope.
Cliff.
Water.
Poison.
“Did you hear what Boksun said? Father really did come back for me,” came Maewol’s voice, a bewildered whisper. “For me? I couldn’t believe it when the shaman told me.”
I didn’t turn to her. I couldn’t bear to see her face. “Father is likely dead.” My voice sounded so sharp. “And you’re just thinking of yourself?”
Maewol rode closer. Her voice grated at me as she said, “I don’t think he’s dead. Poisoning doesn’t always kill you. And if it had, I would think it odd that no one managed to find him. He would have passed away in the middle of the road, or in his room, or somewhere conspicuous like that. I wonder what happened. What should we do?”
We. “It ends here.”
“Eung? What ends where?”
“You helping me with this investigation.” I kept my eyes fixed ahead at the oreum hills. “I want you to stop.”
“I told you, I need to help you so you can leave Jeju sooner and in one piece—”
“Just stop!” I bellowed. It wasn’t even Maewol I was angry at, but the fire burning in my chest couldn’t be contained, seeping out from the cracks in my voice like molten rock. “You don’t even care about Father, so stop pretending like you do! He wronged you, I’m sorry, but he’s dead! I’m going to investigate on my own now.”
Maewol rode ahead, then steered her pony sharply to block my path, bringing my horse to a prancing halt. Maewol’s eyes narrowed and burned into me as the tips of her ears glowed red. “No, you will not,” she whispered, the obnoxious veneer falling away to reveal a solemn young woman. “This is not just your case.”
I couldn’t stop myself. “It is my case. I began it. I ran away from Aunt Min. I left my old life behind, I crossed an entire sea. I gave up everything to search for Father.” I gritted my teeth, trying to hold back the words, but I couldn’t resist the force of it. “You didn’t even care to search for Father until I came. Why—is it because I’m investigating the case? Does this investigation suddenly look so appealing to you? You take everything from me.”
A stunned silence followed. I hadn’t known such thoughts existed in me, thoughts that made me feel slimy and pathetic.
“I take everything from you?” Maewol said, her voice flat, her stare so pointed I had to look away. “I only saw Father once or twice a year, and even then, he stopped looking at me when I wanted to be seen by him. He stopped speaking to me when I wanted to be spoken to. But you?” She paused as shame prickled my cheeks, like spits of fire landing on my skin. “You had Father’s sole attention for five entire years. You were always the center of his world. I only got a few grains of his affection. Is it that wrong I feel a bit of joy at the thought that Father truly had come to Jeju for me?”
A drop of rain splattered onto my eyelid. I blinked it away, and when I reluctantly looked at my sister again, Maewol’s face sharpened before me, her skin so pale, made paler by the inky blackness of her hair and the grayness of the skylight. Her mismatched eyes, one larger than the other, watched me from above the scattering of freckles. Her face, I realized, was no longer round and glowing like the ten-year-old girl I remembered, but sharp and all angles, as though the fierce gales and sharp rocks of Jeju had carved her bones. This was Father’s other daughter, the one Father loved dearly, the one he had wronged most truly.
And me? I tore my gaze away and gripped the reins tighter. Did Father even think of me when he disappeared? I was the elder, I was supposed to be more generous. But at the thought that, perhaps, Father had secretly loved Maewol more, it sent a crack through my bones.
“I am Father’s daughter too,” Maewol said, a little less forcibly. “And I am your sister, unless you’ve forgotten.”
I wished I had forgotten. We were two starving children scrambling for the few grains of affection left behind by our father. For surely a man only had so much love to give. But Maewol was right, we were sisters; we were bound together like a knot until this investigation ended.
Shoulders slumping forward, I wanted to fall to the earth and curl into a ball, ashamed that I even felt this way. How could I be jealous? Maewol had been abandoned as a child, left parentless for five years. How dare I feel envy? “Do you still want to investigate with me?” My voice sounded drained of all ire and strength.
The knives in her eyes withdrew. “I do.”
“You want to know the truth, no matter how horrible it might be?”
She gave me a firm nod.
“Let’s go, then,” I murmured. A few more raindrops plopped down from the sky. Storm clouds were gathering. “Let’s go before the rain makes it impossible for us to find our way back home.”
We arrived at Shaman Nokyung’s hut and secured our ponies in the stable; by then Maewol looked thoroughly beaten by the merciless lashing of wind and rain. Her robe hung from her slight figure like wet rags, her face looked sickly, and her lips were blue. I felt as thrashed as she appeared.
Without a word, we went our separate ways, staggering to our respective rooms. But as soon as Maewol disappeared behind her door, I paused. She wanted to investigate with me—and I’d agreed that we would—yet I had hidden from her the name that haunted the top of my suspect list: Shaman Nokyung.
I hesitated a moment, then turned and made my way down the veranda over to the shaman’s room. There was a pair of straw sandals before the sliding doors, meaning she was in. I pounded my fist on the wooden frame of her door, loud enough that she’d hear it over the thundering rain. I waited, but not for too long. The door opened, and Shaman Nokyung froze at the sight of me. “You’ve returned. Where is Maewol?”
“In her room,” and then I lied, “I think she’s ill.”
At once, Shaman Nokyung brushed by me and thudded down the veranda. She would likely fuss over my sister, help her change into a dry hanbok, and perhaps even prepare a hot herbal drink for her. That would give me enough time.
Gently, I shut the latticed door behind me, closing myself up in silence. I was dripping rainwater onto the floor, but there was no time to vacillate. My socks squelched as I roamed and sifted through the shaman’s belongings, inspecting every item until I discovered a few tattered books.
I picked the first up and flipped through, skimming down the vertical drip of Chinese characters. It turned out to be the book of saju, used to foretell someone’s future. I picked up another, then another, until I came across a book that turned out to be a ledger, a collection of names and an account of who owed what. My attention came to an abrupt halt before a single brushstroke that sliced through a familiar name:
Hyunok owes 3 mal and 9 dwe of rice
And next to it, she’d scribbled in the word: dead.
I flipped through the rest of the pages, and more crossed-out names appeared. I counted a total of thirteen female crossed-out names, with the word missing scribbled next to twelve of them. All the girls involved in Father’s investigation were in Shaman Nokyung’s ledger. She hadn’t put only Hyunok’s family in debt—but the families of every other missing victim.
And she had likely buried these families in debt without a single note of remorse. Why should she feel guilty for ruining the lives of those who had cast out her daughter, Seohyun-Eunsuk? A mother’s han, her grief-ridden and helpless rage, was the scariest.
I shook my head. There were other names written. Many, in fact. This ledger was so thick it likely contained the names of everyone in Nowon Village. And if that were the case, then it was a mere coincidence that the victims’ families had ended up in this ledger. I needed to find more condemning evidence.
“What else?” I whispered, looking around.
There was a lacquered cabinet a few steps away from me, gleaming in the gray storm light. The one in which Shaman Nokyung had stored her coins. With a few long strides, I arrived before it, opened each drawer, and found them filled with thread and fabric, ribbons and trinkets, and other items I didn’t bother examining twice. But there was a drawer at the center of the cabinet; it was the only one locked, secured by a brass-shaped butterfly. A key was required, but I remembered seeing it hung from a necklace the shaman wore. I glanced around, searching for another method, when I saw a heavy porcelain pot resting on top of another cabinet.
Taking it, I raised the pot high and paused only for a moment before smashing it against the lock. The brute force was visibly damaging the wood; Shaman Nokyung would find out, and likely chase me out of the hut. But it didn’t matter. Father had been poisoned; I didn’t care about anything anymore.
One final time, with all my strength I brought the pot down. Clank. The lock broke open and clattered onto the ground.
My heart pounded against my chest as I opened the drawer and peered inside. There was a bag of coins, and next to it, a small porcelain pot. Inside was a powder of a light purple hue.
Bringing it to my nose, I sniffed. It was scentless. It would be wise to bring this substance to an apothecary to identify it … But what harm could a little lick do? And I wanted to know now. Hesitating a moment, I dipped my finger in, then stared down at the powder that thinly coated my fingertip. I gingerly touched it to the tip of my tongue; a bitter taste crept up my tongue.
Outside, footsteps creaked down the veranda.
I shook a bit of the powder into the pouch tied to my hanbok; the pouch was wet, but it would have to do. I needed to find someone who could tell me what this was—why did Shaman Nokyung feel the need to lock it away?
Suddenly, the bitter taste turned into a tingling numbness. I spat, but it was too late. Now I couldn’t even feel the touch of my fingers pressing against my lips. I ought to have felt concerned, but instead my heart raced with relief. I’d found concrete evidence.
A burst of rain-laced wind filled the quarter, and I turned to see Shaman Nokyung glowering at me from the doorway. She didn’t look like a killer, wrinkled and frail as she was. “What are you doing?” she whispered, her voice cold.
“I’m looking for answers,” I slurred, unable to feel my tongue. “You’ve hidden too much from me.”
“Such as what?”
I couldn’t confront Shaman Nokyung just yet, not until I could confirm her guilt. “Seohyun is Eunsuk, your daughter. Why did you hide that?”
“So you came into my quarter,” Shaman Nokyung said slowly, observing the broken lock, “to look for evidence that Seohyun was my daughter?”
“You were the last person seen with her, the last person fighting with her.” She didn’t look convinced and was staring at the pouch I gripped in my hand. “I thought maybe you would have a journal hidden in here, revealing what you spoke of that day.”
The corner of her lips trembled, her eyes reddening. “And how does that have anything to do with your investigation?”
“Because I couldn’t understand. Why would you hide being Seohyun’s mother?” I rubbed my mouth again, the numbing tingles now spreading from my mouth all across my face. “Were you ashamed that sh-she was a tribute girl? Did she die because of y-you?” Trying to pronounce each word felt like pushing through a mire thick with mud. Sweat broke out on my brows. “And n-n-now, are you blaming the villagers for her d-death by ruining their lives? I saw how much the villagers owe y-you.”
“I do not have time to deal with your overflowing imagination.” She stalked into the room, passed me, and gathered up her blanket. “Your sister is sick and trembling from the cold. Go kindle the ondol furnace—”
“I s-swear,” I whispered, “I’m going to take my sister away f-f-from you.”
Her eyes grew redder along the rim. “Do what you wish. But take her away later if you don’t want to kill her.”
“Maewol is safe with m-m-me.”
“Safe?” Anger burned in her voice, yet there was something else, something like fear that opened like a raw wound. “You should never have returned. You’ll be the death of your little sister, Min Hwani. You nearly got her killed in the forest, and now— If you don’t believe me, go look at her yourself.”
The desperation in her voice slid a note of panic into me. And then I remembered Maewol’s pale lips and her gait swaying with exhaustion. In that moment, I forgot about my dead father, I forgot about the poison in my pouch and in my mouth, I forgot about the suspect staring me in the face.
I rushed out of the room, hurried down the veranda, and arrived at the latticed entrance to Maewol’s room. I opened the door, and my gaze fell onto my little sister, bundled in a blanket. Her body trembled violently, as though she lay bare in the middle of winter, and yet when I crouched next to her and touched her head, the heat emanating from it burned my palm.
“What’s wrong with her?” I managed to slur.
“Your sister was never very strong,” the shaman answered, coming in behind me. “Ever since your family left her, she stopped eating well. People here in Jeju die all the time from starvation, but I always feared Maewol would die from a broken heart.”
“Burning up” was all I could say this time, no longer able to get more than a few words out of me. “Shiromi berries.” That was what Mother would get whenever anyone in the family fell ill.
“You won’t find them in the village.”
Of course, they were difficult to obtain. One had to climb all the way up to the top of Mount Halla to find them.
“I could go g-g-get them,” I said, wiping my forehead with the back of my sleeve. But sweat continued to dribble down my face. I didn’t feel hot, yet I was perspiring as though I had traveled under the scorching sun for hours.
“You’d likely get lost—” Shaman Nokyung peered at me, her brows pressing together. “Are you ill?”
I could no longer move my mouth to say anything, my entire face numb, even though my mind was unaffected—that was still racing. How bad was Maewol’s fever? What could I do?
The sound of muffled voices outside interrupted my thoughts. I waited, wondering if I was imagining the sound. Perhaps the purple substance caused hallucinations as well. Yet I heard it again, a male voice calling out something, but it was unclear. I was about to stand when hot fingers touched my wrist.
I glanced down to see Maewol staring weakly up. “Dusk and fog,” she whispered.
The memory of the nine circles flashed through my mind. Boksun had told us, Seohyun said only two words: Dusk and fog. Holding Maewol’s hand tight, I tried to ask her if she knew what those words meant, but I couldn’t move my mouth.
Maewol read the question in my eyes though. She spoke in a voice so quiet I had to lean forward until I could feel her breath against my cheek. “You know what it means.”
I squeezed her hand, gently. What?
“After the Forest Incident, you were drifting in and out of consciousness—” Maewol paused, gathering the strength to speak on. “You kept saying, ‘Dusk and fog. Dusk and fog.’”
Confusion pounded in my head, sweat dripping faster down my face. Why had I uttered those words? I tried looking back to the Forest Incident, but the blankness of my memory was so glaringly bright that my mind ached.
Outside, a voice rang out, clearer now. “Is anyone in?”
I staggered to my feet, wanting to get away from Maewol’s waiting gaze; she expected me to remember something. I did have the answers, buried so deep in my mind all I could do was skim my fingers along the edges. Thorny frustration filled my chest as I walked over to the door, which we’d left open.
Outside in the yard were two manservants who were carefully lowering a palanquin onto the muddy earth. One of them lifted the wooden door of the vehicle, and in the darkness within, I caught a glimpse of bloodred lips.
“Bring her in,” a frighteningly familiar voice said.
I frowned, taking a retreating step back. But before I could slam the door shut, the two servants hurried up onto the veranda and grabbed me, their fingers digging into my skin. My mouth wouldn’t move as they dragged me to the palanquin, but I managed to let out a hoarse cry as they shoved me into the shadows.
Rain drummed on the rooftop of the palanquin.
I sat cross-legged, staring at a pair of eyes that held all the annoyance of a guardian who’d had to cross a thousand li of seawater to track down her foolish niece. For the longest moment, Aunt Min said nothing, and I could no longer tell whether I was sweating from the purple substance or from the sheer distress of seeing her again. Then, to my horror, I felt the vehicle lift into the air. We were moving.
Aunt. I can’t leave now! I wanted to scream those words at my aunt, but I couldn’t. I turned at my waist, shoving my elbow desperately at the door. But it wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the outside.
“The trouble you have caused me,” Aunt Min whispered, her voice thin and cold. “We will be returning to the peninsula first thing tomorrow. And I’ll make it impossible for you to run away again.”
I shook my head and stared wide-eyed at my aunt. No, no, no, no. Aunt, please! My sister was dying. Father had been poisoned. I was also poisoned and on the brink of finding the truth. I needed to stay on Jeju Island. She couldn’t take me back to the mainland now.
“I’m going to do what your father ought to have done long ago.” Aunt Min raised her jade-ringed fingers and massaged her temple. “As soon as the princess selection ends and the ban against marriage lifts, I will see you find a husband.”
My gaze darted around the palanquin, and never had I felt so trapped. The walls seemed to be closing in around me. Then I felt it, a disturbing crawling sensation—like an ant scuttling across my skin. I couldn’t see a single one, but I could feel them, thousands of ants, their tiny legs moving across my bare legs, my bare arms.
“The young gentleman who asked for your hand has retracted; he learned that you’d run away. Everyone will see you as a loose woman when you return to Mokpo. Still, you are fortunate. Another gentleman has approached me. He is an old lecher, but who else will have you?” She arched a fine, dark brow as she glanced condescendingly my way. “You will marry him, Min Hwani. I promised your father that if anything happened to him, I would see to it that you married—”
I slapped a hand over the back of my neck, then looked at my palm. No ant. Nothing.
Aunt Min’s sharp brows drew together; her eyes gleamed like ice crystals. “What”—her voice dropped into a quiet, frosty tone—“is the matter with you?”
The palanquin swayed from side to side as the servants carried us down the rough road, up and down the rolling hills, and I rocked back and forth with all the movement, the repetitive motion burying me deeper and deeper in nausea. I wanted to claw my skin off; I wanted to vomit.
“Ants,” I finally managed to say, as I pushed myself as far into the corner as I could. “There are a-a-ants in here. Th-thousands.”
Aunt Min slowly shook her head and clucked her tongue. “Clearly, you have lost your mind, Min Hwani.”