by Zen Cho
Byam let its invisibility fall away. It spread its hands, the better to show off its magnificent sleeves.
It was the human's job that had given Byam the idea. Leslie Han was an academic, which appeared to be a type of monk. Monks were the most relatable kind of human, for like imugi, they desired one thing most in life: to ascend to a higher plane of existence.
"Leslie," crooned Byam in the dulcet tones of a celestial fairy. "How would you like to go to heaven?"
The monk screamed and fell out of her chair.
When nothing else happened, Byam floated over to the desk, peering down at the monk.
"What are you doing down there?" began Byam, but then the text the monk had been studying caught its eye.
"Oh my God, you're – " The monk rubbed her eyes. "I didn't think celestial fairies descended anymore! Did you – were you offering to take me to heaven?"
Byam wasn't listening. The monk had to repeat herself before it looked up from the book.
"This is a text on the Way," said Byam. It looked around the monk's office. There were rows and rows of books. Byam said slowly, "These are all about the Way."
The monk looked puzzled. "No, they're about astrophysics. I'm a researcher. I study the evolution of galaxies."
Maybe Byam had been dumb enough to believe it might some day become a dragon, but it knew an exegesis of the Way when it saw one. There were hundreds of such books here—more commentaries than Byam had seen in one place in its entire lifetime.
It wasn't going to repeat its mistakes. Ascension, transcendence, turning into a dragon—that wasn't happening for Byam. Heaven had made that clear.
But you couldn't study something for 3,000 years without becoming interested in it for its own sake.
"Tell me about your research," said Byam.
"What you said just now," said the monk. "Did you not – "
Byam showed its teeth.
"My research!" said the monk. "Let me tell you about it."
Byam had planned to eat the monk when she was done. But it turned out the evolution of galaxies was an extremely complicated matter. The monk had not explained even half of what Byam wanted to know by the time the moon rose.
The monk took out a glowing box and looked at it. "It's so late!"
"Why did you stop?" said Byam.
"I need to sleep," said the monk. She bent over the desk. Byam wondered if this was a good moment to eat her, but then the monk turned and held out a sheaf of paper.
"What is this?"
"Extra reading," said the monk. "You can come back tomorrow if you've got questions. My office hours are 3 to 4 pm on Wednesdays and Thursdays."
She paused, her eyes full of wonder. She was looking at Byam as though it was special.
"But you can come any time," said the monk.
§
Byam did the reading. It went back again the next day. And the next.
It was easier to make sense of the texts with the monk's help. Byam had never had anyone to talk to about the Way before. Its past visits with monks didn't count—Leslie screamed much less than the others. She answered Byam's questions as though she enjoyed them, whereas the others had always made it clear they couldn't wait for Byam to leave.
"I like teaching," she said, when Byam remarked upon this. "I'm surprised I've got anything to teach you, though. I'd've thought you'd know all this stuff already."
"No," said Byam. It looked down at the diagram Leslie was explaining for the third time. Byam still didn't get it. But if there was one thing Byam was good at, it was trying again and again.
Well. That had been its greatest strength. Now, who knew?
"It's OK," said Leslie. "You know things I don't."
"Hm." Byam wasn't so sure.
Leslie touched its shoulder.
"It's impressive," she said. "That you're so open to learning new things. If I were a celestial fairy, there's no way I'd work so hard. I'd just lie around getting drunk and eating peaches all day."
"You have a skewed image of the life of a celestial fairy," said Byam.
But it did feel better. No one had ever called it hardworking before. It was a new experience, feeling validated. Byam found it liked it.
Studying with Leslie involved many new experiences. Leslie was a great proponent of what she called fresh air. She dragged Byam out of the office regularly so they could inhale as much of it as possible.
"But there's air inside," objected Byam.
"It's not the same," said Leslie. "Don't you get a little stir-crazy when you haven't seen the sun in a while?"
Byam remembered the shock of emerging from its cave for the first time in 800 years.
"Yes," it admitted.
Leslie was particularly fond of hiking, which was like walking, only you did it up a hill. Byam enjoyed this. In the past 3,000 years it had seen more of the insides of mountains than their outsides, and it turned out the outsides were attractive at human eye-level.
The mountains were still polite to Byam, as though there were still a chance it might ever become a dragon. This hurt, but Byam squashed the feeling down. It had made its decision.
It was on one of their hikes that Leslie brought up the first time they met. They weren't far off the peak when she stopped to look into the distance.
Byam hadn't realised at first—things looked so different from human height—but it recognised the place before she spoke. Leslie was staring at the very mountain that had been Byam's home for 800 years.
"It's funny," she said. "The last time I was here…"
Byam braced itself. I saw an imugi trying to ascend, she was going to say. It faceplanted on the side of a mountain, it was hilarious!
"I was standing here wishing I was dead," said Leslie.
"What?"
"Not seriously," said Leslie hastily. "I mean, I wouldn't have done anything. I just wanted it to stop."
"What did you want to stop?"
"Everything," said Leslie. "I don't know. I was young. I was having a hard time. It all felt too much to cope with."
Humans lived for such a short time anyway, it had never occurred to Byam that they might want to hasten the end. "You don't still…"
"Oh no. It was a while ago." Leslie was still looking at Byam's mountain. She smiled. "You know, I got a sign while I was up here."
"A sign," echoed Byam.
"It probably sounds stupid," said Leslie. "But I saw an imugi. It made me think there might be hope. I started going to therapy. Finished my PhD. Things got better."
"Good," said Byam. It met Leslie's eyes. She had never stopped looking at Byam as though it was special.
Leslie pressed her lips to Byam's mouth.
Byam stayed still. It wasn't sure what to do.
"Sorry. I'm sorry!" Leslie stepped back, looking panicked. "I don't know what I was thinking. I thought maybe – of course we're both women, but I thought maybe that didn't matter to you guys. Or maybe you were even into – I was imagining things. This is so embarrassing. Oh God."
Byam had questions. It picked just one to start with. "What were you doing? With the mouths, I mean."
Leslie took a deep breath and blew it out. "Oh boy." But the explanation proved to be straightforward.
"Oh, it was a mating overture," said Byam.
"I – yeah, I guess you could put it that way," said Leslie. "Listen, I'm sorry I even… I don't want to have ruined everything. I care about you a lot, as a friend. Can we move on?"
"Yes," Byam agreed. "Let's try again."
"Phew, I'm really glad you're not – what?"
"I didn't know what you were doing earlier," explained Byam. "You should've said. But I'll be better now I understand it."
Leslie stared. Byam started to feel nervous.
"Do you not want to kiss?" it said.
"No," said Leslie. "I mean, yes?"
She reached out tentatively. Byam squeezed her hand. It seemed to be the right thing to do, because Leslie smiled.
"OK," she sai
d.
§
After a while Byam moved into Leslie's apartment. It had been spending the nights off the coast, but the waters by the city smelled of diesel and the noise from the ships made its sleep fitful. Leslie's bed was a lot more comfortable than the watery deeps.
Living with her meant Byam had to be in celestial fairy form all the time, but it was used to it by now. At Leslie's request, it turned down the heavenly glow.
"You don't mind?" said Leslie. "Humans aren't used to the halo."
"Nah," said Byam. "It's not like I had the glow before." It froze. "I mean… in heaven, everyone is illuminated, so you stop… noticing it?"
Fortunately, Leslie wasn't listening. She had opened an envelope and was staring at the letter in dismay.
"He's raising the rent again! Oh, you're fucking kidding me." She took off her glasses and rubbed her eyes. "I need to get out of this city."
"What is rent?" said Byam.
Which was how Byam ended up getting a job. Leslie tried to discourage it at first. Even once Byam wore her down and she admitted it would be helpful if Byam also paid “rent,” she seemed to think it was a problem that Byam was undocumented.
That was an explanation that took an extra long time. The magic to invent the necessary records was simple in comparison.
"'Byam'," said Leslie, studying its brand-new driver's licence. "That's an interesting choice."
"It's my name," said Byam absently. It was busy magicking up an immunization history.
"That's your name?" said Leslie. She touched the driver's licence with reverent fingers. "Byam."
She seemed unaccountably pleased. After a moment she said, "You never told me your name before."
"Oh," said Byam. Leslie was blushing. "You could have asked!"
Leslie shrugged. "I didn't want to force it. I figured you'd tell me when you were ready."
"It's not because – I would've told you," said Byam. "I just didn't think of it. It's not my real name."
The light in Leslie's face dimmed. "It's not?"
"I mean, it's the name I have," said Byam. It should never have set off down this path. How was it going to explain about dragon-names—the noble, elegant styles, full of meaning and wit, conferred on dragons upon their ascension? Leslie didn't even know Byam was an imugi. She thought Byam had already been admitted to the gates of heaven.
"I'm only a low-level attendant," it said finally. "When I get promoted, I'll be given a real name. One with a good meaning. Like ‘Establish Virtue,’ or ‘Jade Peak,’ or ‘Sunlit Cloud.’"
"Oh," said Leslie. "I didn't know you were working towards a promotion." She hesitated. "When do you think you'll get promoted?"
"In 10,000 years' time," said Byam. "Maybe."
This was a personal joke. Leslie wasn't meant to get it, and she did not. She only gave Byam a thoughtful look. She dropped a kiss on its forehead, just above its left eyebrow.
"I like 'Byam,’" she said. "It suits you."
§
They moved out of the city to the outskirts, where the rent was cheaper and they could have more space. Leslie got a cat, which avoided Byam but eventually stopped hissing at its approach. Leslie went running on the beach in the mornings while Byam swam.
She introduced Byam to those of her family who didn't object to the fact that Byam appeared to be a woman. These did not include Leslie's parents, but there was a sister named Jean, and a niece, Eun-hye, whom Byam taught physics.
Tutoring young humans in physics was Byam's first job, but sometimes it forgot itself and taught students the Way, which was not helpful for exams. After a narrowly averted disaster with the bathroom in their new apartment, Byam took a plumbing course.
It turned out Byam was good at working with pipes—better, perhaps, than it had ever been at understanding the Way.
At night, Byam still dreamt of the past. Or rather, it dreamt of the future—the future as Byam had envisioned it, once upon a time. They were impossible, ecstatic dreams—dreams of scything through the clouds, raindrops clinging to its beard; dreams of chasing the cintamani through the sea, its whiskers floating on a warm current.
When Byam woke up, its face wet with salt-water, Leslie was always there.
§
Byam got home one night and knew something was wrong. It could tell from the shape of Leslie's back. When she realised it was there, she raised her head, wiping her face and trying to smile.
"What happened?" said Byam.
"I've been – " The words got stuck. Leslie cleared her throat. "I didn't get tenure."
Byam had learned enough about Leslie's job by now to understand what this meant. Not getting tenure was worse than falling when you were almost at the gates of heaven. It sat down, appalled.
"Would you like me to eat the committee for you?" it suggested.
Leslie laughed. "No." The syllable came out on a sob. She rubbed her eyes. "Thanks, baby, but that wouldn't help."
"What would help?"
"Nothing," said Leslie. Then, in a wobbly voice, "A hug."
Byam put its arms around Leslie, but it seemed poor comfort for the ruin of all her hopes. It felt Leslie underestimated the consolation she was likely to derive from the wholesale destruction of her enemies. But this was not the time to argue.
Byam remembered the roaring in its ears as it fell, the shock of meeting the ground.
"Sometimes," it said, "you try really hard and it's not enough. You put in all you've got and you still never get where you thought you were meant to be. But at least you tried. Some people never try. They resign themselves to bamboozling monks and devouring maidens for all eternity."
"Doesn't sound like a bad life," said Leslie, with another of those ragged laughs. But she kissed Byam's shoulder, to show that she didn't think the life of a wicked imugi had any real appeal.
After Leslie cried some more, she said, "Is it worth it? The trying, I mean."
Byam had to be honest. The only thing that could have made falling worse was if someone had tried to convince Byam it hadn't sucked.
"I don't know," it said.
It could see the night sky through the windows. Usually the lights and pollution of the city blanked out the sky, but tonight there was a single star shining, like the cintamani did sometimes in Byam's dreams.
"Maybe," said Byam.
Leslie said, "Why aren't you trying to become a dragon?"
Byam froze. "What?"
Leslie wriggled out of its arms and turned to face it. "Tell me you're still working towards it and I'll shut up."
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Byam, terrified. "I'm a celestial fairy. What do dragons have to do with anything? They are far too noble and important to have anything to say to a lowly spirit like me –"
"Byam, I know you're not a celestial fairy."
"No, I am, I – " But Byam swallowed its denials at the look on Leslie's face. "What gave it away?"
"I don't know much about celestial fairies," said Leslie. "But I'm pretty sure they don't talk about eating senior professors."
Byam gave her a look of reproach. "I was trying to be helpful!"
"It wasn't just that…"
"Have you told Jean and Eun-hye?" Byam bethought itself of the other creature that was important in their lives. "Did you tell the cat? Is that why it doesn't like me?"
"I've told you, I can't actually talk to the cat," said Leslie. (Which was a blatant lie, because she did it all the time, though it was true they had strange conversations, generally at cross-purposes.) "I haven't told anyone. But I couldn't live with you for years and not know, Byam. I'm not completely stupid. I was hoping you'd eventually be comfortable enough to tell me yourself."
Byam's palms were damp. "Tell you what? 'Oh yeah, Les, I should've mentioned, I'm not an exquisite fairy descended from heaven like you always thought. Actually I'm one of the eternal losers of the unseen world. Hope that's OK!'"
"Hey, forgive me for trying to be sensitive!" snapped Leslie. "I do
n't care what you are, Byam. I know who you are. That's all that matters to me."
"Who I am?" said Byam. It was like a rock had lodged inside its throat. It was hard to speak past it. "An imugi, you mean. An earthworm with a dream."
"An imugi changed my life," said Leslie. "Don't talk them down."
Though it was incredible, it seemed it was true she didn't mind, and wasn't about to dump Byam for being the embodiment of pathetic failure.
"I just wish you'd trusted me," she said.
Her eyes were tender, and worried, and red. They reminded Byam that it was Leslie who had just come crashing down to earth.
Byam clasped its hands to keep them from shaking. It took a deep breath. "I'm not a very good girlfriend."
Leslie understood what it was trying to say. She put her arm around Byam.
"Sometimes," she said. "Mostly you do OK."
"I wasn't good at being an imugi either," said Byam. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. It wasn't like the name. This, I didn't want you to know."
"Why not?"
"If you're an imugi, everyone knows you've failed," explained Byam. "It's like wearing a sign all the time saying 'I've been denied tenure.'"
This proved a bad comparison to make. Leslie winced.
"Sorry," said Byam. It paused. "It hurts. Knowing it wasn't enough, even when you gave it the best of yourself. But you get over it."
You get used to being a failure. It was too early to tell her that. Maybe Leslie would be lucky. Maybe she'd never have the chance to get used to it.
Leslie looked like she was thinking of saying something, but she changed her mind. She squeezed Byam's knee.
"I'm thinking of going into industry," said Leslie.
Byam had no idea what she meant.
"You would be great at that," it said, meaning it.
§
It turned out Byam was right: Leslie was great at working in industry, and her success meant they could move into a bigger place, near Leslie's sister. This worked out well—after Jean's divorce, they helped out with Eun-hye, who perplexed Byam by declaring it her favourite aunt.
A mere 10 years after Leslie had been denied tenure, she was saying it had been a blessing in disguise: "I would never have known there was a world outside academia."