Silvern (The Gilded Series)

by Farley, Christina

  “Jae is right. Why seek trouble?” Marc’s dad asks. “We should wait until we must take action. Let’s not rush into anything.”

  “Besides,” Marc says. “We have no idea where this orb might be.”

  “That is not completely accurate. We have an inkling of its location.” Mr. Han nods to a heavier-set Council member. “Ms. Byun, it is time to show them our plan.”

  Ms. Byun never sat down with the rest of us, I realize, but has been standing off in the shadows holding a long tube in her hands. At Mr. Han’s nod, she steps into the light and slips out a sheet of rice paper. As she unfurls the paper on the table, I realize it’s an ancient painting. The paper is yellowed and its colors are muted, with the ends shredded along the sides.

  Ms. Byun leans back after securing the ends to the table beneath the projector. The painting’s image is cast onto the screen behind Mr. Han. It’s a mural of endless mountains.

  “I don’t understand,” Marc says. “What is this painting’s significance?”

  “I know this mountain range,” Kang-dae says. “It’s Kumgangsan.”

  Marc’s face blanches. “North Korea.”

  “Now you understand,” Grandfather mutters.

  “And this”—Ms. Byun points to an egg-like shape, tucked inside the mountains with lines shooting out from it like a starburst—“we believe is an orb.”

  I take a deep breath, trying to process what these Council members are saying. “You want me to go to North Korea?”

  The room remains silent.

  Mr. Han draws back his hood, revealing his full features. His hairline has receded but is still black, probably dyed. His cheeks are sunken from age, but he has a strong jawline and his shrewd eyes stare back, challenging me. “We cannot let fear dissuade us. The time is now.”

  His eyes turn and focus on the hourglass. The sand trills down in a steady stream. I’m not sure what the hourglass means, but the top half has decidedly less sand than the bottom half. There’s something about the hourglass that sends a trickle of fear through me, and the ache of loss.

  “I am still against sending teenagers into that forsaken land,” Ms. Byun says, leaning closer to the map. “It is irresponsible.”

  “You dare speak to me of responsibility?” Mr. Han’s voice vibrates through the cavern. “The safety of Korea, perhaps of our entire world, rests on obtaining this orb before Kud does. To ignore this would be irresponsible.”

  “Kumgangsan is a very large area.” Ms. Byun waves her hands over the map. “How can we even know where to begin? Besides, if we know this information, then Kud must, too.”

  “But he hasn’t found it,” Marc’s dad says. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be asking for Jae Hwa’s help. You give him too much credit.”

  “True,” Grandfather says. “We must not forget that like all immortals, Kud’s powers are limited in our world. This inhibits him and has been our one advantage thus far.”

  “And yet you do not give Jae Hwa and Marc Grayson enough credit.” Mr. Han strolls the perimeter of the group. “She has fought immortals and walked away victorious. Marc has time and again proven his ability to protect her with his unusual sight. Do not let their age deceive you.”

  I can’t help feeling inspired by this strange, thin Councilman. He doesn’t snub me for my age or look at it as a handicap. Instead, he is assessing me by my ability.

  The argument continues, round and round. I watch them go from a perfectly calm group to a heated one. Some wanting the orb to be found, others willing to leave it be and hope Kud doesn’t find it first. I don’t know what the best way is, but if Kud can’t get me to find the orb for him, he’ll kill my family and then find someone else to do it. I am just one human of many.

  But Komo lingers in the back of my mind, her limp hand in mine, her spirit lost, wandering aimlessly. I press my fingers over my eyelids to shut out the visions. I’ve already lost Mom. If it’s in my power to save Komo, I need to try.

  I stand, decided. “I will go.” As I utter the words, the Council falls into silence. “I can’t guarantee I can find anything, but if you can send me to this Kumgangsan area, I’ll do my best to help however I can. All I ask is that I don’t go alone.”

  The group stares at me, as if considering my offer. I shift uncomfortably in the utter silence. Why doesn’t anyone say anything?

  “I offer my services as well,” Kang-dae says, stepping forward. “This is a mission that must not fail. I have more experience than Marc and can be an asset to the team.”

  “There’s no way she’s going without me,” Marc says, bristling and glaring at Kang-dae as he comes to stand at my side.

  I flash him a grateful smile. His obsession with protecting me can get annoying sometimes, but I can’t deny I kind of like it, too.

  Finally, Grandfather says, “I cannot approve of this, Jae Hwa.” His face looks pained as he speaks. “I nearly lost you last time. But if you will go into the heart of the enemy’s territory, I will be at your side.”

  “You know I hate to send your granddaughter into the face of danger again,” Mr. Han says. “But she is our best option. Not only is she a strong fighter, she has the advantage of having fought and defeated immortals before.”

  As if on cue, Jung strides back to the front of the room and clicks his remote, showing us the border station of North and South Korea: the DMZ line. My stomach sinks as he doles out our instructions. “You will travel in a group. In the past, we’ve worked in solitude to maintain secrecy, but the risk is too great to do so. Your mission must look like anything but a mission. It must appear normal. Ordinary. This will be your greatest challenge.”

  “Kud may be powerful, but he is hardly omniscient,” Mr. Han says.

  Grandfather scoffs. “So what is your plan?”

  “North Korean authorities are known to give out tourist visas to humanitarian groups. Jae Hwa and the three of you as representative Guardians will go into North Korea under the guise of a medical relief team. We propose you get the National Honors Society to organize a medical volunteer trip to North Korea. We will make sure you have all the necessary documents.”

  “Kud will be suspicious,” I say.

  “Then make sure he is not.” Mr. Han leans down and raises his thin eyebrows at me. “It will be your job to give the world the idea that this is a school-funded humanitarian trip.”

  The Council starts talking again as if a decision has been made. I’m going. Now they must decide how it will unfold. I rub my hands up and down my jeans, wondering what kind of insanity I’ve gotten myself into.

  The next day as I ride in the car with Dad driving down the highway toward his favorite golf course, Sky 72, I know I’m not much company. My mind can’t stop trying to dissect everything that happened at the meeting last night.

  Dad is explaining his latest work with Netlife in providing food and supplies to impoverished areas. I try to focus on what he’s saying, but I keep thinking about the Council and how Marc is a full-fledged Guardian. I bite my lip, trying to decide if Marc’s involvement is a good thing or not.

  Tomorrow at our NHS meeting, Marc and I will invent a reason for us as NHS students to visit North Korea. Meanwhile, the Council will work on procuring our visas to enter the country.

  “How is school going?” Dad asks as he pulls into the parking lot. He’s dressed in khakis and a navy collared polo shirt. He appears relaxed today without his usual shirt and tie, and the navy brings out the color in his skin. “Are you keeping up with your grades? I don’t want you slipping behind again.”

  “That was only because of the whole Haemosu fiasco,” I say.

  He turns the key, shutting off the ignition. His lips press together, and he leans back in his seat. “I thought we’d agreed that was over.”

  It irks me that he won’t look at me. He doesn’t ever look at me when we’re talking about what ha
ppened with Haemosu, or, according to him, what didn’t happen. The silence eats the space between us.

  He sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “I’m sorry I missed your black belt test. I should’ve been there. It was for your second degree, wasn’t it?”

  Nodding, I finger the edge of my bag, wondering if I should tell him I was attacked.

  “I know you did great,” he says, and reaches out, patting me on the shoulder. “You always do.”

  “I didn’t pass,” I blurt out. I know he can’t read my thoughts and he can’t possibly understand what I’m going through, but isn’t that partly his fault? If he would only be more open to believing me, he might understand me better.

  “Well.” Dad’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s okay. I’m still proud of you. And I’m sure Master Park will give you another chance.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I mumble. I know he means well, but I hate how my secrets widen the gap between us. I just want to tell him about the Spirit World and everything I’m going through and for him to believe me.

  “I have something for you.” Dad fumbles with his pocket and pulls out a blue piece of paper. “There’s a lady at work who says origami creation helps relieve stress. I thought I’d give it a go.” He laughs and hands me a paper fish. “It’s kind of trivial, I guess, thinking about it now. The fish is supposed to represent happiness, determination, and strength. All of these are needed for the fish to swim upstream.”

  I hold the fish in my hand, tracing the rice paper swirls with my finger. “It’s perfect.”

  “Good. Well.” Dad taps the steering wheel and gets out of the car, signaling the end of our awkward conversation. And yet this awkwardness is our way of slowly finding each other. A beginning.

  My steps are light as we stroll up to the clubhouse. The front is all glass; it looks like a swanky modern hotel. We step into the clean, sparse lobby, and I breathe in its sandalwood scent. Flat-screen TVs line the walls, tuned to golf channels. I’m tempted by the leather couches scattered throughout the area. For a moment, I imagine coming here on a date with Marc, just the two of us. No crazy mythological creatures. No choices or destinies or hunts for orbs.

  I push that treacherous thought aside as I trail after Dad across the slate floor toward the onyx-colored marble reception counter. After Dad checks us in, the receptionist gives Dad a starting time, and we head to the lockers.

  As soon as I step through the door, an attendant rushes to assist me.

  “I’m fine,” I tell her, and strip off my jeans and gray T-shirt, replacing them with the golf shorts and matching shirt that Dad bought me, insistent that I wear these particular brands. Here in Korea, it really doesn’t matter if I’m a good golfer, just as long as I look the part. But I’ve gotten good at that, I realize. Playing the part.

  After I slip on my spikes and a disgusting pink visor, I deposit my street clothes in a wooden locker and head outside to meet Dad. He’s waiting for me at the starter desk downstairs. His dark hair is perfectly styled, and the pleats in his pants still look crisp and pressed despite our drive here. We find our golf bags, and I pull a nine iron while Dad gets his driver.

  Of course, he has to get the biggest club in his bag. I smile. The mood and the atmosphere are finally seeping into my pores, and my muscles are just starting to relax when Dad has to go ruin it all.

  “Had any more of those hallucinations lately?” He swings a practice shot.

  I frown. “Why?”

  “It’s not something you should be ashamed of. Your grandfather used to get them after Sun, your aunt, was killed,” Dad says. “You should keep me informed if you experience anything unusual.”

  “And then what happens? You medicate me like you wanted Grandfather to be medicated?”

  The starter interrupts us, calling Dad’s name. I stomp toward our cart. Meanwhile, Dad’s face is resolute. We are both stubborn as mules.

  “I’m trying to help.” Dad’s brow furrows with worry. “I know I’m not the expert at this, but you have to know I have good intentions.”

  I sigh and touch his arm. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have lost it there. Let’s just have fun today and forget about anything related to crazy.”

  Dad laughs at that. “Sounds like a plan. It’s about time I get a day off to enjoy being with my daughter.”

  He’s right. We rarely get these moments. We deposit our bags in the back and clamber into the cart. Dad pushes the gas pedal, and the cart automatically drives down the path, following the GPS, toward the first tee box.

  We wait in the cart as the group in front of us finishes. They stand perfectly still. Their entire focus is set on the current player.

  “They look as if they really know what they’re doing.” I point to the golfers in front of us. “They won’t kick me off the course for being an idiot, will they?”

  “Sometimes it’s not how well you golf, but how well you look the part.” Dad chuckles. “If only that were the way of things in real life. Looking good won’t get you anywhere. It’s what you do that counts.”

  I think about the pressure the Council is putting on me to find this orb before Kud does. They are so desperate that they’re willing to send us to North Korea. I don’t even want to think about how Dad will react to the news. I want to do things that count and make our world a better place. Why does it have to be so freaking hard?

  When it’s our turn, Dad goes first, hitting a straight shot down the green. He twirls his club lightly in his hand, grinning. “Not bad, huh?”

  “Good one, Dad.” I position the ball on the ground, moving it slightly to the right, then slightly to the left. No matter where I put the ball, it seems out of place. As if it doesn’t have a right place.

  Kind of like me.

  “Don’t forget to bend your knees,” Dad says. “And your feet should be shoulder width apart.”

  I shift, trying to follow all of Dad’s directions.

  “Pull back more,” he adds. “Your grip is slightly off.”

  “It’s too much, Dad!” I blow out a long breath, my shoulders knotted and tense. “Just let me hit it!”

  Thankfully, Dad steps back. I swing and bam! The ball sails through the air. Right into the woods. My mouth gapes open.

  “Nice hit, except you hit it in the OB area,” Dad says with a snort. At my questioning look, he explains. “‘Out-of-bounds’ markers.”

  “So I’ll just hit another ball.” I move to grab another ball from our basket.

  Muttering under his breath, Dad stalks to the cart. “Get in,” he says. “We’ll go get it.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “That’s one of my lucky balls,” he explains, “and I don’t want to lose it.”

  “Why are we even golfing with those balls? They should be on a shelf somewhere.”

  I groan as Dad turns off the GPS and veers the cart toward the wooded area. Once we get out of the cart, I hesitate at the white wooden block stuck in the ground, marking the area we aren’t allowed to pass.

  “Won’t we get into trouble?” I scrutinize the greens for any security carts that might see us.

  But Dad marches across the marker, jaw tight and eyes scanning the ground for my white ball. Sure enough, it doesn’t take long for security to show up.

  “We need you to vacate this area,” the security officer says into his megaphone. “This is a restricted space.”

  Dad purposely ignores the man and tromps deeper into the forest. I push past the security guard to follow Dad.

  We are so going to get kicked out of here.

  “Where do you think you hit it?” Dad asks me.

  “This is ridiculous, Dad!” I stumble over a log trying to catch up to him. “Forget about the ball. It’s just a ball. Who cares?”

  “Your mother gave that set of balls to me,” he says. “I wanted our day to h
ave a little of her in it.”

  I let out a long breath, everything becoming clear. This is the first big thing other than moving to Korea that Dad and I’ve done, just the two of us. Without Mom. It’s been four years since she passed away, and yet we’ve stuck strictly to our routine. School—work. School—work. No vacations where it was just us. No special trips. No fun outings.

  Dad stops to bend over and dig through the dirt. Carefully, he lifts out a white ball buried beneath a pile of leaves. “I can’t lose them. Not now.”

  I stare at him, catching that desperate look in his eyes. He moves toward me, and taking my hand, he presses the smooth sphere into my palm. I study the ball. It has the initials “J&H” on it. My parents’ initials.

  “I know you think I’ve lost my mind,” he says, his jaw tight. “But I won’t lose you either. You can call me crazy, ridiculous even, but I’ll do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  There’s something scary about his expression because I know that look.

  I see it in my own face whenever I stare into the mirror.

  The next day at school, I blow my hair out of my eyes as I stare at my locker. No matter what I do, I have to prepare myself every time I open it. Sure, it was three months ago, but seriously, after getting sucked into the Spirit World through this same locker and nearly being ripped to shreds, I can’t stop the major anxiety attacks every time I open it.

  You can do this, I tell myself as I spin the combination. Five, four, three, two, one.

  It has become my tradition. I count down and then open it. It’s cheesy, but I have to open it on one or I’m not sure if I’ll ever open it. If I don’t, it means I’m scared. It means I’m weak. And that’s something I can’t handle either.

  Because I must stay strong. If I’m strong, I can survive.

  I pop open the door.

  “Hey, girl!” Michelle bops up to stand next to my locker. She’s wearing a sparkly pink shirt, jeans, and a cropped black jacket. Her hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and her lip gloss even matches her shirt. “You coming to NHS?”