“Komo!” I yell, my voice echoing against the ancient walls. Is she still here? Grandfather and Marc seem to think she is. I scan the toppled pillars and dead bushes for her. Where might she have gone?
The fountain is corroded and crumbled. The path has sporadic gaping holes in it, and when I peek into one, all I see is endless darkness. A weeping willow stretches its barren branches over the courtyard, as still as stone.
At the other end lie the round-pearl double doors that lead inside another building. It’s the only part of the palace that still shines as if it’s polished daily. Could this be the tomb?
“Yesssss,” a familiar voice that’s half growl, half hiss says. “Open the moon.”
I spin to face the voice. It’s the dokkaebi, stinking like a wild animal. His red chest heaves in and out, and his eyes blaze a fiery red that matches his spiked hair.
“Pierce its belly,” he says. “Pierce its belly, pretty girl.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“Wasting time!” He bangs his wooden club on a stone statue. It crumbles at his clawed feet.
Then as if he summoned them, a skeletal shadow creeps out from behind the stalks of the dead bamboo grove to my right. A hand gropes the edge of the fountain, the skin decayed with bones peeking through.
“Open, open, open!” he says. “Or they tear you apart.”
I swallow hard, my heart thudding in my chest as I ready my bow against these creatures. A bony hand from behind me yanks back on my arm holding my bow. I spin around to stand face-to-face with an empty-eye-socketed face. I scream, kicking it back. Another is at my other side; it too claws at me, tearing at my dress. All the while the dokkaebi’s laugh echoes through the courtyard.
They pull on my hair, grab my crown, fight for the bow. I kick, punch and yet they still swarm me, as if they’re angry I’m alive. I focus on the door, the pearl one as round as the moon at the other end of the courtyard.
The dokkaebi believes it holds a treasure. What if the treasure is actually my ancestors’ souls? Could I pierce it with an arrow?
I break out a roundhouse kick, sending the skeletons staggering back, and jump onto the edge of the fountain. I aim, draw back, and let my arrow fly. It cuts the still air and sinks into the center of the doors.
The doors swing open with a groan, a stale stench seeping out through them, revealing only darkness.
“Yessss!” the dokkaebi says.
The skeletons scuttle away, and I’m left alone with the dokkaebi breathing heavily next to me. A chill drenches my skin. This is the tomb. Not the gates, not the palace. This place of darkness.
A breeze swirls around my feet, scattering the dust and revealing a silver plate. I read the Chinese words:
ALL WHO ENTER WILL SURELY DIE.
Die? My Chinese is so poor, I could be totally wrong. I glance back at the wall, my heart aching for Marc. He would know.
“Hurry, hurry, pretty girl,” the dokkaebi says. “Bring the treasure.”
I step inside, where the air is still except for the padding of my bare feet against the marble floor and the pounding of my pulse against my temples. I hold my bow in place and creep in farther.
I squint into the deep darkness. “Komo,” I say, my voice grating against the quiet. “Komo? Are you here?”
The doors slam shut behind me. I whirl around. “No!”
I stare blankly into complete darkness. I lower my bow. It’s a trap. The dokkaebi tricked me. I’ve willingly entered my own tomb.
But Haechi said if I open the tomb, I could release the souls of our ancestors.
What if the immortals were wrong? My mouth dries up, and my arms ache from holding the bow. All I can think is that I’ve failed. All of this, only to fail!
I close my eyes and try to focus.
That’s when I feel them, my ancestors, like a blanket covering me. It’s as if I can hear them singing lullabies from another time.
The souls of my ancestors surround me. Reminding me that I stand here alive. The first of my line to escape marriage to that monster.
That’s when I notice that my dress is glowing like purple embers from a fire. I strap my bow around my shoulder, reach into a tiny pocket inside my dress, and withdraw the amethyst that the Tiger of Shinshi gave me to guide my way. Its light glows in my hand, coloring my palm purple. A beam of light radiates from the gem, just like it had in the starry sky, and I realize I’m in some type of maze. The light leads me to the right, and I start following its path, weaving right and left and then up a series of marble steps.
I pause at the top to catch my breath. How can one series of stairs make me feel as if I just climbed a mountain?
The amethyst light beams out to the wall on my left. Shelves upon shelves have been built into them. Stacked on them in neat rows are jars of all sizes and designs. When I move closer, I see the jars are etched with names.
A chill drapes over me.
These are urns.
My fingers trace over the smooth pottery, and as I read each name written in Chinese, I remember them from Grandfather’s scrolls and the walls of the pagoda. These are the names of all the girls Haemosu imprisoned here. These are my ancestors.
When I reach the end of the wall, my hand grazes over Sun’s name. Though I’ve never met my other aunt, tears fill my eyes.
A glint on the floor reflects off the amethyst’s light. A broken necklace. Even with the tarnish I can see it’s a silver-linked chain with half a silver plate. The name LEE is written in Hangul. My heart jolts. This looks just like the necklace Dad carries around. Could it be the other half? I drop it into my pocket.
And then the last urn. Komo’s name.
LEE EUN
I slip the amethyst back into my pocket and cup the urn with both hands, tears streaming down my cheeks. There isn’t an opening; every side is smooth. I stare at the rows and rows of urns.
Too many.
There’s no way I’m leaving Komo in this place. I have to take her with me, so I pull her jar off the shelf and nearly drop it. It feels as if it weighs a hundred pounds. I press it against my chest. Sun’s urn screams at me to take it, too, but I can only manage one.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Sun’s jar.
It’s then that I notice that the amethyst in my pocket is glowing brighter, until its light fills the entire hall. The room is empty except at the far end, where there’s a pedestal holding a blue-tinted, egg-shaped object several times larger than a tennis ball.
No doors. No windows. Just stone walls.
But all I can think of is the dokkaebi’s attempt at a deal. He had wanted some orb. Could this be it? And if he wanted me to give it to him, there must be a way out.
Or maybe this is one of the missing Orbs of Life that the Guardians of Shinshi are searching for. Hadn’t Marc said that those orbs brought life or something?
I look down at the urn and back at the egg, wondering if it could bring Komo back.
Whatever it is, there’s something about it that makes me wonder if the egg on top of the pedestal is the key to everything. As if its power is keeping my ancestors’ souls here.
My whole body craves rest. I’m finding it difficult to think straight. Curling up on this stone floor feels pretty enticing right now.
“The orb,” voices whisper.
Okay, so either my ancestors are trying to tell me something or I’m totally losing it.
I take a deep breath and slowly hobble to the pedestal. It’s my only hope. My limbs ache and my knees pop. The urn in my arms is almost too heavy to carry. My breath comes out heavy and raspy, and by the time I reach the pedestal, I have to sit and set down the urn to catch my breath. I try to stand, but my back won’t straighten.
“Take it,” my ancestors’ voices whisper.
I pull out the amethyst and set it next to the egg. It casts a glow on the pale-blue egg. I hesitate. Is this really such a good idea? What if this egg is something bad?
Then I notice in the glow how
my bones press against my skin. How wrinkled my hands are. With shaking fingers I run my hands up my arm, terrified at how paper-thin my skin looks. I feel older than Grandfather. I pull out Princess Yuhwa’s hairpin, allowing my hair to tumble down and fall over my face.
It’s white.
My head whirls. I’m dying! My body will turn to dust, and my spirit will be captured within these halls, never to find peace.
I touch the egg. It pulsates between my palms, and a rush of energy flows through me as if I’m sucking in fresh air.
Odd.
I take my hands off it. The darkness of the tomb seeps back into my core, and I’m weak again.
Is this egg pouring life back into me?
Can it do the same for Komo?
I pick up Komo’s urn and smash it over the egg. The urn shatters, and ashes pour over the egg. Like a sponge, the egg absorbs the dust. Wind rushes through the room, spiraling over me. The dust collects and gathers above the egg into the form of a human.
Komo.
Her body falls to my feet.
I pull Komo into my arms. Her body is warm against my skin, and when I touch her neck, I find a pulse. Her eyes remain closed, but she’s alive!
Then a new fear hits me. How long will she last in this place where death is accelerated at an insane speed?
I manage to stand up, wondering if the egg has any life left in it. I pick it up, but it’s now black and dull on every side. I’m about to set it back into place when I notice that under the groove is a lever with an antique oblong bronze lock fastened to it. Chinese characters are carved into the side. Could this be a way out?
But then I sag against the pedestal. It’s locked. And I have no key.
So tired. So very tired.
I rest my cheek against the pedestal, letting the cold seep into my skin, barely able to stand.
In the pale light, I pick up Princess Yuhwa’s pin and spin it through my fingers. Princess Yuhwa escaped with this same hairpin. I slide it into the lock’s opening, my finger joints stiff, and wiggle it around. Nothing happens. And then—
Click.
The lock releases. I pull on the lever, and instantly two sections of the stone wall in front of me split in half and swing out. Light floods in, blinding me.
The souls of my ancestors tickle my nose, my chin, my ears, like butterflies released from a cage, skimming past me with kisses and blessings.
“Tell your father to not worry. I am okay,” one shadow whispers, and then they’re all gone with the wind.
Sun.
I smile.
I’ve freed them.
I think of Mom. Soon they will be joining her.
Then I think of Michelle. She’d be proud of me if she was here. I think I finally understand what she meant about finding my purpose.
Half blind, I crawl out onto dead grass, dragging Komo’s body with me. I’m back in Haemosu’s world, and it feels like the most wonderful place ever. I laugh at the thought, but my laugh sounds more like a throaty cough.
“Jae Hwa! Jae Hwa!” It’s Marc calling to me, and then his face is hanging over mine. He pushes my white hair from my eyes. “Is that you?”
“Marc.” I reach up and touch his face. “I did it, Marc. I found Komo.”
“Jae. Oh, Jae.” He touches my hair, my face. Then presses his lips to my forehead. “We heard the rumbling and ran over here. What happened to you?”
Grandfather leans in next to Marc. “The tomb. It must have accelerated her life.”
I stare at them both, comparing the glow in their skin to my parched white hands. “You should go,” I say. “Take Komo. It’s too late for me.”
“I am so proud of you, Jae Hwa,” Grandfather says. “You saved Eun and broke the curse. You have brought our family such honor, I cannot possibly give up on you and lose you, too.”
Marc moves to check on Komo, still motionless.
“Why won’t she wake up?” I ask.
“It is not a good sign.” Grandfather rubs his forehead.
Marc frowns and then holds up the black egg, scrutinizing it. It must have rolled out of the tomb with us.
“I used it.” I’m breathless. “To bring Komo back.”
Marc stares at me, his eyes wide. “It’s one of the orbs.”
Grandfather takes in a deep breath. “So he had it all along,” he mutters. “That must have been his source of power to hold the girls’ souls with. It has to be the Blue Dragon’s orb. This heavenly artifact is supposed to have healing powers.”
“This could be our way to save Jae.” Marc stands and hands me the orb.
“All the orbs have different powers?” I ask, inspecting its surface.
“But of course,” Grandfather says. “And this one will be an excellent bargaining chip.”
“No.” An image of the Blue Dragon slices through my mind. He’s been my guardian angel through this entire journey. His artifact should never rest in enemy hands. I lick my dry lips. “We are not giving the orb to the dokkaebi.”
“Grab Komo and follow me,” Marc tells Grandfather, and then scoops me up into his arms and starts off down the path.
I lean against Marc’s chest, too tired to argue. I must have passed out for some time, because when I open my eyes again I’m propped against a pile of hay in the stables.
Marc is moving about, sliding golden rods free from their locks and throwing open wooden doors. Out slither five dragons, tossing their heads as if experiencing freedom for the first time—the legendary dragons of the golden chariot, Oryonggeo.
If I had more energy, I’d have jumped up and bolted, seeing as those five dragons had hunted me down not so long ago. My arrows only temporarily injured these immortal beasts. And now I’m barely strong enough to lift my head.
Marc steps inside the chariot, but the closest dragon blows air from its nostrils. Marc holds his hands up in the air and backs away.
“Hey, Fighter Girl,” Marc says. “Maybe you should give the orders.”
“Palk.” It’s as if the orb is speaking to me and I know what must be done. “We need to return the orb to the Heavenly Chest, and Palk is the keeper. We should find him.”
Grandfather nods in agreement. I study Marc for a moment, standing there so tall with his eyes on fire.
“Prepare the chariot,” I command the dragons.
They cock their heads but surprisingly slither into their places, snapping their bodies into the harnesses.
“I’m impressed,” Marc says. Then he picks me up again and carries me to the basket of the chariot.
“You’re stronger than I thought, lugging me everywhere,” I say as he sets me on the gold-plated bench next to Komo.
He takes the reins. “Don’t count your dragons yet.” His brow furrows as he stares hard at the five dragons and says, “Kaja!”
They don’t move. Marc glances over his shoulder. “Looks like you’re the boss.”
“Kaja!” I say, and the dragons leap to life.
We sweep out of the stable’s double gate and glide toward the sky. I grab ahold of Grandfather to keep my balance. In moments, the pink-edged clouds slide between us like wisps of cotton candy.
“The legends say Oryonggeo can transport its rider anywhere with the speed of the wind,” Marc says.
I lean back, savoring this moment and the rush of flying. We’re finally leaving Haemosu’s lands far below us. Soon the clouds fade and the air grows cooler, the sky darker. Stars sprinkle the skyline. We’re entering the space between worlds.
The wingless dragons soar effortlessly through the air as if swimming through a pool of midnight. The gentle sway lulls me, and my eyelids begin to close. Then the chariot jerks to a halt in the middle of the starry sky.
“What is happening?” I ask, blinking.
Marc says, “It’s him.”
A figure hovers in midair before us, glowing. One glance and I know he’s Palk, the god of light. He looks just like the picture in Mom’s fairy-tale book, with a long beard and bl
ack hair that seems to have gold woven through it. He wears a traditional golden tunic and a crown with gems that radiate light. I duck my head because his glow is blinding.
“Daughter of Korea,” Palk says in a booming voice. “What brings you to the Spirit World, riding in Haemosu’s chariot?”
My bones rattle from the power of his words. I bow my head. “Haemosu kidnapped the souls of my ancestors. I killed him and then released their souls.” Palk nods, but his face is impassive, and I wonder if he already knew all this. I add, “I believe we have something you may want.”
“Indeed you do,” Palk says, smiling.
The orb resting in my lap begins to change. The blackness fades, and it starts to glow a deep blue.
“Where did you find this, Daughter of Korea?” Palk says.
“In the tomb where Haemosu kept my ancestors’ souls,” I say, and then rest my head against the seat, worn-out just from speaking. “Do you believe it really is one of the heavenly artifacts?”
“Indeed,” Palk says. “It is one of the six Orbs of Life that sparked life into the Korean people. The Azure Dragon’s artifact. But you know all this already, do you not?”
“So this is where Haemosu got his power,” Grandfather says.
Palk rubs his beard. “I believe he used it to harness the power of the souls of your ancestors. But he would not have been able to do this alone. He must have been working with someone else. I will speak with the Others about this.”
“Others?” I say.
“The other immortals,” Grandfather whispers into my ear.
“This must go back to the Heavenly Chest, then, for safekeeping.” I move to give him the orb, but my muscles shake from its weight, and I collapse on the golden bench.
“Here,” Marc says, lifting the orb, “let me help.”
Above us a star explodes, showering a cloud of crystal particles over us. They splatter across my weathered cheeks like aloe, and I savor the coolness as it coats my skin. It’s so perfect and so magical that I almost wonder if I’ve already died and I’m on my way to the heavens.
Gilded (The Gilded Series, Book One) Page 25