MAEWOL AND I SAT SHOULDER to shoulder, hunched over a low-legged table illuminated by the flickering of a candlelight. I always carried my small journal with me, and so I’d opened it before us, intending this time to tell my sister everything I knew. Well, almost everything. Paper whispered against my fingertips as I flipped to the page where I’d listed all the names tied to the two cases:
Seohyun
Koh Iseul
Convict Baek
Shaman Nokyung
Village Elder Moon
Magistrate Hong
Boksun
Father
My gaze drifted along the names and fixated upon the shaman’s. “We need to find who poisoned Father,” I said, “and who is hiding behind the mask. I’m almost certain that the culprits are listed here somewhere.”
Maewol, her brows knotted and her nose wrinkled, asked, “Why did you add the shaman’s name?”
“Because,” I said slowly, “she is Seohyun’s mother. And because she foretold the ominous future for all thirteen missing girls. Well, twelve now, since Hyunok is deceased.”
Her expression chilled. “Since when was predicting the future a crime?”
“You said you wanted to know the truth, no matter how awful it might be.” I held her narrow-eyed stare; I wished she could see into the depth of my own truth. Then she’d know I didn’t want to hurt her; I didn’t want to suspect Shaman Nokyung, yet the evidence was pointing to her. “Listen, Maewol-ah. To find the truth, you mustn’t have feelings involved. You must look at each witness and suspect like they’re strangers.”
“That’s easy for you—” Maewol coughed, phlegm rattling in her chest, and I winced at the pain twisting her expression. Her throat sounded swollen, throbbing and sore, but she managed to push the words out. “I can’t see Shaman Nokyung as a stranger because she isn’t one. She’s family; she’s all I have. You need to learn how to have some faith in a person, Older Sister. I’m not saying faith in the shaman, but in me. Believe me when I say: Shaman Nokyung can be trusted.”
Hiding my hand under the table, I clenched my fingers tight. I wanted to tell her everything I knew, but clearly she was too nearsighted. No matter what I told her, she would always side with the shaman.
“I do believe you,” I lied, then cautiously added, “but we often think that those who are good to us are also good people. It isn’t always like that.”
“You mean like Father,” Maewol croaked. “He was always good to you, but not to me.”
Her words were as sharp as blades, because they were true.
“Yes,” I admitted; the word tasted like grime. “Like Father. Sometimes we love someone so much that we fail to notice their dark deeds.” As I had. “But no one is perfect, and when one errs, one must bear the consequence. Father paid the cost for what occurred in the Forest Incident … by losing you.”
Maewol’s lashes lowered and slowly a flush darkened the panes of her cheeks. At length, she whispered, “Are you saying that you think Shaman Nokyung is the killer?”
My mind raced, calculating the outcomes. If I said yes, I’d lose my sister to her loyalty. She’d tell the shaman everything. But I could also hold on to my sister a while longer, in the hopes that the accumulating evidence would convince her of the truth. I knew my sister. She wouldn’t listen to me; she needed to decide for herself.
“No,” I lied again, “I’m only warning you. You must be open to all possibilities when investigating.”
Her tense shoulders eased. “Then who do you think is the killer?”
My eyes, on their own accord, fell on Convict Baek’s name, paused there, then drifted lower. “I think the magistrate is involved,” I said.
Maewol made a face. “Truly? I don’t think he is.”
“He’s suspicious … Someone is secretly sending girls as tribute to China. It has to be someone with the power to do so.”
“Isn’t it obvious—?” Maewol coughed again. “It’s Convict Baek. He was searching for Boksun, and he stalked Hyunok the day before her disappearance.”
“He’s too obvious. I suspected him right away. But if he was the culprit, why didn’t Father arrest him? Maybe someone is trying to make him seem like the culprit, to distract us.”
“Or maybe Convict Baek is like the oreum hill—the visible marker of a gigantic lava tube system below the land.”
If Convict Baek is involved, I thought, tapping my finger against the table, perhaps he is working for Shaman Nokyung? I moved the pieces of the case around in my mind, matching different scenarios. Or maybe Shaman Nokyung is under Convict Baek’s control? Perhaps he has ties to those in power from his past life before exile …
I heaved out a sigh. Something gnawed at me—the feeling that I was missing something crucial.
I clicked my tongue. “We’re wasting our time, creating stories that don’t have supporting evidence…” I flipped through my journal, inspecting every testimony collected, and the longer I observed each, the more my head ached. The dead were trying to tell me something, but all I could see was a confusing jumble of possibilities. It took a few moments of wading through the chaos to notice Maewol’s absolute silence. I glanced up to find her fidgeting with her fingers. “What is it?”
Maewol kept her eyes lowered. “I … I want to tell you something. But before I do, I want you to make me a promise.”
“What?” I asked.
“Promise me that, no matter who you suspect, you’ll tell me. Don’t leave me in the dark.”
I had already lost track of how many times I’d lied to Maewol. “I promise.”
Maewol let out a shaky breath. “I haven’t slept. Each time I close my eyes, I see Father. I didn’t before, but I do now, ever since I began helping you with this investigation. And I get the feeling … his spirit is trying to tell me something.”
He’s warning you, I thought, to watch out for the old woman you call family.
“Everything about this case … it all points back to the Forest Incident.”
I nodded. “Yes. So?”
“You told me a few days ago of what Iseul shared. That on the day before Father’s disappearance, he said he was going somewhere to cleanse his conscience. A place with hostile eyes.
“I became a little delirious yesterday with the fever. And I found myself remembering the last time I saw Father, remembering that he’d used the same phrase with me. Well, he didn’t tell me, but I overheard him tell Shaman Nokyung why he’d come. He said he’d come to Jeju to cleanse his conscience—to fix his sins and mend the rift in our family, between myself and him, between all of us. I didn’t believe him then. I thought it was mere talk, as it has always been before. But I can’t help but wonder now … do you think there’s a connection? Between the place of hostile eyes and where he might have disappeared?”
I stared at the table, yet I also saw something else. Stretching across my vision, the forest yawned awake again, branches unfurling until it filled the cavern of my mind.
The forest watches me.
Hostile and still, with remembering eyes.
Where would the most hostile place in the forest be for Father, the place requiring the cleansing of his conscience?
I thought of the spot near the scene of Seohyun’s death, where Maewol and I had reportedly been found, lying unconscious in the snow, passed out either from fear or from the cold. There was also the place that didn’t exist in my memory, the past Maewol couldn’t escape from—
Realization struck me so hard I couldn’t breathe. I looked up, my gaze locking with Maewol’s.
“Do you think…” Maewol spoke quietly, as though afraid of disturbing the silence. “Do you think he went to the Grandmother Tree?”
The place where Father’s one mistake had resulted in the unraveling of our entire family. Of course that was the place he had written about in his note. The place where he felt watched, the place of hostile eyes.
“But his bloody robe was found in Gotjawal forest,” I said, and now I remembered why the obvious hadn’t seemed so obvious before. “Gotjawal is in the Seonhul district. That is at least … a ten hours’ or more walk away from the Grandmother Tree.”
“Let’s go see anyway,” Maewol said. “You and me.”
Everything in me lurched forward, ready to go, but reality pinned me down. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Aunt Min ordered the soldiers guarding the gate to not let me out. I tried to sneak out, but they recognized me.” My voice deflated. “It’s a dead end.”
“Older Sister,” Maewol said, her tone so matter-of-fact. “Dead ends only exist in your mind. There is always another way out.”
“I need your back,” Maewol said.
I must have heard her wrong. “What?”
“I said, I need your back.”
“You want me to go on my hands and knees.”
“Yes.”
We were standing in the shadows, in the backyard between the Dongheonnae pavilion and the black-tile-capped stone wall—a wall that rose a head higher than me. I knew what Maewol was thinking, but I did not intend to be stepped on. When Maewol continued to gesture hurriedly at me, I said sternly, “No.”
“I’m short, but I’m stronger than you. So I need to get on top of this wall so I can help pull you over!”
I shook my head. “You said there’s always another way out—”
The sound of male voices echoed on the other side of the pavilion.
“She’s not here!”
“But I escorted her to this room earlier—”
“Check the other rooms!”
I dropped onto all fours, the wet dirt scratching my bare palms. “Quick! Get on!”
Maewol lifted her skirt, revealing her muddy straw shoes. She stepped onto me, her weight digging into my lower back, then she pushed herself upward with such force my elbows buckled. Maewol came toppling down.
“Are you trying to kill me?” she demanded.
“Try again.” I locked my elbows this time, and when Maewol pushed her feet off my back again, I heard the satisfying smack of her hand grabbing hold over the tiles. Now I only felt the tip of one sandal grazing my back as she dangled, leveraging herself upward with her other foot.
“Stop!” came a male voice, so loud Maewol gasped and both her feet landed back down on me; her sudden weight nearly sent me sprawling. “I order you to stop!”
“Hurry,” I cried, fear roaring in my ears.
“I’m trying—!”
Then Maewol fell still, so still I glanced forward to see what had petrified her. Two soldiers held their torches high, illuminating a third person. Aunt Min. Her hair was parted perfectly down the middle and tied back into a coiled bun, where a binyeo studded in jewels gleamed angrily. Her silk hanbok rustled as she strode forward, descending upon us like a vengeful queen regent.
“Min Maewol,” Aunt Min snapped, uttering the name she hadn’t spoken in several years. Her voice dripped with revulsion. “Get off your sister. Now.”
Maewol seemed to shrink before our aunt, leaving a sickly girl who gripped her hands together and kept her head lowered. Her entire body flinched when Aunt Min sharply said, “Stop dragging your feet. Walk properly.”
Maewol had flinched in the same way five years ago, and it dawned on me why Maewol appeared so hurt by a woman she hadn’t seen in years: Aunt Min was Father’s sister. They were siblings who mirrored each other in the sting of their wrath.
“I never agreed with your father’s decision,” Aunt Min said as we followed her. “He should have taken Maewol to the mainland, too. Yet he left her here to grow up wild and untethered. What a disgrace to the Yeoheung Min clan.”
Aunt Min spoke on about our family, and as she did, bitterness coiled tight in my chest. She always spoke of our clan with such pride, for we were distantly connected through our ancestors to Queen Dowager Hudeok, the mother of our current king. But her talk about our clan echoed so shallow to my ears. She cared more about our reputation, about honor, than her own nieces.
“Both of you will inherit your father’s estate, split equally among you,” Aunt Min continued.
I’d already known of this, for I had read Kyŏngguk taejŏn, the Grand Code for State Administration. But my sister’s eyes widened a little, though she quickly lowered them again when our aunt glanced her way.
“Min Maewol, you are an heiress now and ought to carry yourself as one. You will be returning with us to Mokpo.”
Maewol stiffened, and I could hear her unspoken protest. I knew Maewol. She would give up an entire estate to stay here with Shaman Nokyung.
“We will have you married off as well. But first, a country bumpkin like you must learn proper conduct…”
Bitterness sharpened into anger, and I had to bite down on my tongue to keep myself composed. Father was dead, poisoned. Twelve girls were still missing, the thirteenth girl dead. And what was my aunt chattering on about? Inheritance? Marriage? Proper conduct?
“I will instruct you soon on how to serve your future husband and his parents, and how to treat your servants well. Otherwise I can assure you, Min Maewol, that you will be beaten for your stupidity—”
“No one is going to beat my sister,” I said heatedly. I caught Maewol’s wrist; she halted next to me, tension cording her arm. “And we are not going with you.”
Aunt Min stopped and didn’t even bother glancing our way. “What did you say?” Her voice sounded perfectly composed—and perfectly cold. At my continued silence, she turned to the soldiers. “Make sure they don’t run. Drag them if you must—”
“You will have to guard us night and day for as long as we live.” I raised my voice a notch, which I had never done before with her. “We will find a way to leave again.” And with that, I gently tugged at Maewol’s wrist, leading her up the stone steps into the pavilion. It would be impossible to run away tonight, not with so many eyes watching us. But tomorrow on our way to the port …
I reached the last stone step when I heard another familiar voice, tired and yet commanding: “You will not return to Jeju again.”
I glanced over my shoulder, and when I saw who it was, my hand dropped from Maewol’s wrist. Magistrate Hong stood in the yard, half his face cloaked in shadow and the other half drenched in orange torchlight. A torch held by Scholar Yu. Why was he here? But with my impending fate of being sent back to the mainland and sold into marriage before me, I didn’t have time to wonder at the bizarreness of Scholar Yu’s presence. I hurried down the steps and pushed past the dumbfounded soldiers and my speechless aunt.
“Magistrate Hong, please. I need to stay,” I pled when I reached him. Aunt Min wouldn’t listen to me, but she would listen to a man of authority. “I need to return to the forest. There is evidence Maewol and I must find.”
“You will not return to Jeju again,” Magistrate Hong repeated. “So finish your task before you leave Jeju for good. If you wish to find the killer, then do so.”
For a split second I stopped breathing. Convincing him couldn’t possibly be so easy …
“But,” he added. Ah, there was always a but. “Know that in choosing the path of your father, you are choosing death. In the real world, that is what happens to those who choose to do what is right—they lose, if not their life, then someone they hold dear.”
“I will not die, and I will not lose,” I said. “I’ll show you.”
“Do so.” He looked at me, examining every corner of my face, and something like grief sank into his eyes. “I should have helped your father when he asked.”
Footsteps crunched, quick steps, and I didn’t need to look back to know who they belonged to. My aunt’s angry voice shot out, “Lord Hong! Do not encourage—”
“You will let her go,” the magistrate said, his voice firm. “Your deceased husband owes me a favor. I will have him repay it now through you.”
As Aunt Min expressed her outrage, I finally took the time to examine Scholar Yu. His robe was no longer dusty, but shone blue like the sea. His black gat was no longer crumpled and tilted to the side, but it sat straight and high on his head, with beads of nobility hanging around his chin. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, uneasy. Thinking back, it ought to have alarmed me a little, the fact that a man who claimed to be a drunk gambler seemed more interested in the collection of information than anything else.
“How can you let me break my promise to my brother, to care for his daughters?” Aunt Min was still protesting. “Are you willing to bear the consequence of their life in your hands?”
“No one is going to die.” Scholar Yu stepped forward. “I will make sure they are accompanied.”
“And who are you?” Aunt Min snapped. She’d stolen the words from my own lips.
Scholar Yu slipped his hand into his sleeve and pulled out a bronze medallion shining in the torchlight, and a gasp escaped my mouth. It was a mapae, a horse requisition tablet. I knew how it looked, for I’d once asked a police clerk to draw it out for me, curious after encountering mentions of it in the detective books I’d read.
Putting the medallion away, the convict—who was not a convict at all—stared Aunt Min down, until she turned as pale as ash. She too knew who he was.
“I am known as the street performer to my brothers, for how well I can take on the mask of another life,” he said, his voice light and melodic. “But to King Sejong I am Scholar Yu Yeong-bae.”
Maewol, at some point, had joined my side, looking as disoriented as I felt.
Yu went on. “I traveled a long distance to come and inspect the reported corruption within this government office. And I have written out a report so extensive detailing the wrongs committed by Magistrate Hong that pine and bamboo would wither by the time one reads it all.”
“So,” Maewol quietly asked me, “who is he?”
The man who had deceived us gazed down at Maewol, overhearing her. His mustache twitched as the corner of his lips rose, a mischievous look gleaming in his eyes. “You may call me Secret Royal Investigator Yu. Or if that is too long, Inspector Yu will do.”
The longest night of my life came to an end when first light struck the hanji-screened door and washed the floor in a pale orange. “Inspector Yu will change everything for us,” I told Maewol as I quickly dressed myself. “I’ve read about amhaengosa, these secret investigators. They’re appointed by the king and have the authority of a highest-ranking local official. That’s why he was able to dismiss Magistrate Hong.”
Hope bubbled in me. Until now, my entire investigation had hinged on the neglectful and corrupt magistrate; at the end of all my investigation, only he’d have the authority to pass judgment. But now we had Inspector Yu.
“The inspector has the power to preside over retrial of cases unjustly judged,” I explained, trying not to sound so wistful. “Magistrate Hong ignored the cases of the missing girls, and Inspector Yu can redress that wrong committed—if we provide him with enough evidence. Maybe he will even be accompanying us to the forest today?”
At Maewol’s silence, I looked to see her moving at the pace of a snail, looking haggard.
“Maewol-ah.” I had been tying the ribbons of my jeogori jacket but now paused. “Perhaps we should visit the forest another time. You’re still not recovered.”
“No,” Maewol replied, her voice so hoarse it was painful to hear. “If I don’t go, I’ll die from curiosity. Do you want me to die?”
I sighed. “Why must you always be so extreme with your exaggeration?”
“I know what you’ll do. You’ll sneak out and investigate on your own.” She’d read my mind. “It is better that you keep me within your line of vision. You don’t know what I’m capable of when left on my own.”
“Maewol-ah … We’re heading to Mount Halla. The journey will be long and the path arduous. Think about it. If you suddenly grow sicker, how am I supposed to find Father while also taking care of you?”
“You don’t even know how to get to the Grandmother Tree.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she was right. “Give me the directions. I’ll ask Scholar Yu—” I stopped and corrected myself. “Inspector Yu to help me find my way there.”
“If you leave without me”—Maewol set her chin at a stubborn angle as she donned a straw cloak—“I will secretly follow and likely end up dead. It’s safer if I go with you.”
Reluctance tugged at me, but I had to say it. “What if I promise you that I won’t go out on my own to investigate? Then will you rest?”
She met my gaze. “You know we don’t have time. Once word gets out that we’re searching for evidence in the forest, maybe the Mask will hurry there and hide whatever might have been waiting for us today.”
After a few more futile attempts to dissuade her, I gave in. I didn’t have the will to argue with her, not when she was right.
“Let’s go,” I whispered when we were both prepared.
I slid open the door and stepped out into the morning cold, the air crisp with dew and the scent of possibility. A shiver ran down my spine. Could today see the end of the investigation? Was today the day we finally brought Father home? The world remained still, such complete silence blanketing the courtyard, offering me not even a hint as to what lay ahead.
Maewol sniffled. “At least it’s not windy today.”
The sound of clopping horses echoed somewhere nearby, beckoning us. Likely the two horses that would carry us into the forest of Mount Halla. There was no more time to waste now. Maewol and I moved forward, but I paused in my steps, the memory of the masked man flashing through my mind. I had to make sure nothing happened to us again. I touched my jeogori jacket, my fingers searching for the norigae tassel I knew I’d been wearing the day before. It wasn’t there.
“Wait here.” I turned and quickly headed back up the stone steps. I slid open the hanji door and searched the quarter until I found the norigae neatly laid out atop a cabinet. The physician must have untied it from my hanbok while I was recovering. Attached to the tassel was a decorative knife, and if she’d unsheathed it, she would have noticed how unusually sharp the blade was. I’d made sure to sharpen it against a whetstone before coming to Jeju.
Snatching it up, I tied the norigae onto my hanbok, then made my way back out. Maewol didn’t seem to notice anything different. We continued on our way from one orange-stained courtyard to the next, past massive tiled-roof pavilions, and through the connecting gates.
Once we arrived at the entrance, we found a stable boy waiting for us, holding two ponies by the reins. One belonged to the government building; the other belonged to Maewol. And there was a third horse, its coat stormy gray, and perched atop was the young female physician who had tended to me last night. I hadn’t observed her too closely yesterday, thinking I would never see her again, but here she was watching us. Her black hair was divided at the middle, then braided into a bun and tied with a red ribbon. She wore a warm cotton-padded apron over her dark blue uniform.
“I am Physician Aera, and I’ll be accompanying you today,” the young woman said. “Inspector Yu would have joined himself if he were not busy sorting out Magistrate Hong’s corruption, so he requested that I keep you two out of trouble.”
Disappointment pinched at me. I had wanted to ask the inspector several questions, such as whether Father had known of his true identity.
Physician Aera’s gaze strayed to Maewol, then returned to me. “Are you sure you want your sister to accompany—”
Before the physician could finish expressing her concern, Maewol climbed onto her saddle and urged her pony forward. Her answer was clear: She would lead the way.
“I’ve tried to dissuade her.” I tucked my foot into the stirrup and mounted the saddle. “But once her mind is set, it never changes.”
Together we set off, and once I was close enough to Maewol, I cast worried glances her way. My little sister thought she was invincible. Her determination was as great as Mount Taebaek, yet her shoulders were so small, her arms so thin, and her face so hazy with exhaustion. Her life might buckle under the heavy weight of her own stubbornness. Thank goodness a physician is accompanying us, I thought, glancing behind me. My gaze met with Aera’s.
“Begging your pardon, but,” Physician Aera called out, “where are we going, agasshi?”
“To the forest around Mount Halla.”
She nodded. “I have been there, agasshi, so perhaps I will be of help to you both. We uinyeos go there often to forage for medical herbs.”
“Like shiromi berries?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Do they only grow on Mount Halla’s peak?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
My heart sank. I would have liked to pick shiromi berries for Maewol; that is what Mother would have done for her. But journeying all the way to the mountain summit was out of the question.
“It will only be a short visit,” I assured Aera, my own guilt pricking at me. “We will go, then return so my sister can rest.”
Once we rode out of the coastal village, the scent of the surrounding sea followed us, the saltiness adrift in the wind. Soon, we were surrounded by waves of grass and oreum hills stained in purple as the sun dawned. It was still rising when we entered the gentle, forested area of Mount Halla. The remnants of last night’s rainfall still clung to the foliage, dropping in a steady beat, tapping audibly against Maewol’s straw cloaks as we rode deeper into the forest. We followed the trail that wound through, steadily climbing, speckled with the morning sunlight breaking through the trees. The trail continued on, running alongside a murmuring stream that vividly reflected the green trees surrounding us, then plunged through crowds of wildflowers, bursting with shades of blue, mauve, and purple.
Maewol had not spoken a word since we’d left Jejumok Village, only coughed, hacking so hard I remarked on how she would likely cough out her intestines before we reached our destination. Her coughing continued until she suddenly fell still, like she was holding her breath.
I dodged under an oncoming branch. “What is it?” I asked.
She glanced over her shoulder to look at us, and the sight of her struck my chest hard: Her face was clammy with sweat and so pale, as though every drop of blood had left her. She shouldn’t have come. I should have tried harder to convince her.
“We’re here,” she whispered, and then she rode forward, disappearing through the thicket.
“Now,” came Physician Aera’s voice behind me, her voice also lowered, “we must all stay together—”
I urged my horse faster, weaving past the trunks and large rocks, following Maewol’s trail, and soon, I saw it. The Grandmother Tree, its ancient bark covered in wartlike mushrooms and the trunk twisted into a crooked line, like the back of an old lady. Maewol had already climbed off her horse and was now before the tree. Her hand wandered, and I could hear the bark chafing under her palm. “It was here,” she whispered. “This is where it happened.”
The place where Father had abandoned her as a punishment. He’d only meant for it to be a moment; he’d meant to come back—but everything had gone wrong.
Maewol froze, her hand still on the bark.
“What is it?” My heart beat loud in my ears. I leaped off my horse and hurried over to the tree where Maewol was, and I too froze at the sight of a sword mark, an X carved into the bark. Below, there was a deep crevice in the trunk, and inside it was a folded piece of hanji.
“Take it out,” I whispered.
Maewol didn’t budge, her eyes glazed. So I reached out, hands tingling, and slipped the folded paper out—stiff from being rained on, then dried by the scorching sun. I cautiously opened it, corner by corner, catching glimpses of brownish ink. Finally, the page unfolded before me. I stared down at the writing, which was not written with a calligraphy brush but rather by a cruder method—a finger, perhaps. And the ink was not ink, but dried blood.
I have loved you both
from the very beginning
before you were even born.
Please, take care of each other.