As she scurried, randomly looking for the root, a great crack split the air, the tree fell and a ball of magical blue flame billowed hot sparks in chaotic swirls across the cavern. Young-hee kept exploring. If a tree could grow here, surely a pullocho could, too.
“Where’s your lantern, Young-hee?” asked the Samjogo. “When that tree is consumed, it’ll be pretty dark again.” Young-hee, annoyed by the interruption, flicked her hand toward the barn, where Samjogo found it. “Any more candles? This one is about finished,” he said, lighting the remaining candle stump with a burning branch.
Young-hee hunted furiously through the thin dirt covering the rocky cave floor. “Where would I find a pullocho? The dokkaebi said something about the shadow of some tree. This isn’t the Sacred City, but it is a big tree. …or was,” she corrected herself. “But does a tree in darkness even have a shadow?”
Samjogo half-heartedly looked at the ground. “It’s been ages since Agwi Kwisin lived here. Or anyone else. I doubt you will find anything as valuable as a pullocho.”
“You found a sword, strong enough to kill a demon,” she said.
“A dagger. I could never have lifted Agwi Kwisin’s sword.”
“Whatever. The point is, I don’t think anyone ever really checked out this cave.” Young-hee grabbed a flaming branch to help her search.
“Maybe there’s something inside the house,” Samjogo shrugged and walked off. “Besides, I need to clean off these demon guts.”
Young-hee kept searching, but found only bushes and smaller versions of the tree now rapidly becoming coals and ash. Her chest grew tight, as if someone were playing cat’s cradle with her heart.
She moved on to the large barns. She fumbled with one huge wooden door, and this time it opened. Inside was rotting timber, a bit of messy straw, and the vague smell of ancient animal dung. It must have housed livestock, she thought, remembering the farms she visited with her friends outside Toronto. Wait, don’t mushrooms grow in poop? Just to be safe, she combed through the barn, even poking at the petrified poop with a stick. But whatever the building once was, it had been empty for a long time. And the next building was even emptier than the first.
“Now, this is more like it,” said Samjogo, even more jauntily than usual. Young-hee jumped, surprised by his voice as he sauntered into the barn, swinging a long wooden stick tipped with a nasty blade. “This is a really fine hyeopdo, which happens to be my weapon of choice. And the right size for a Samjogo.”
“No pullocho?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said cheerily, “just a cracking hyeopdo.” In between mock cuts, he looked around. “Agwi must have kept one barn for treasure, one for animals, and one for kidnapped maidens. The knight who killed the ogre looted pretty thoroughly. Except for this hyeopdo.”
“Knight? So you think the old story was true?”
“As true as any story ever is. The main house certainly looks like an ogre’s—but with nothing left but huge bones and hide, thicker than any elephant’s. And a stack of big, ugly heads.”
“Ew,” she said. It sounded gross … and cool. “Show me!” If she couldn’t find a pullocho, at least she could check out dead ogre remains.
Proud as a cat with a half-eaten mouse, Samjogo took her to the main house. I don’t know what he’s so pleased about. He didn’t kill the ogre. Scattered around a huge, hard bed, the ogre parts lay flaking and crumbling into dirt and dust. Each head, nearly as big as Young-hee, was frozen into expressions of fury and pain. She wondered if the ogre died once for each head or just once for the body, and almost felt sorry for the immense creature.
“Ogre beds are nearly as hard as stone, but a bit better than the cave floor,” said Samjogo. “How about you get some sleep? Fighting demons is tiring work.”
“I’m not tired,” said Young-hee crabbily. The fire’s pale blue light still shimmered with a creepy glow.
“Well, I need some rest,” said Samjogo. “The ogre’s chair is big enough for me to lie in. You take the bed.”
“Great,” said Young-hee, not sure she could climb up on it—or sleep in the same room as the ogre remains.
“I should be able to get you to the mouth of the cave, past the Cheongyong Mountains, after one day’s good, long hike. It will be good to see the sun again.”
“But I’ll still be just as lost, without a path,” she said climbing a crumbled piece of ogre to the bed.
“Nonsense. Get some sleep, and we’ll figure details in the morning.”
Young-hee was ready to argue some more. Was now day or night? Would they find the path? Could she fall asleep on the creepy, dusty bed? What if the ogre parts came back to life? Would Samjogo abandon her? But before she could to start arguing, she was already asleep.
Young-hee gasped as she woke in blackness so all-encompassing that she feared she had gone blind. She groped for the edge of the bed, before remembering how high it was.
“Samjogo!” she called into the terrible quiet. “As you there?” Had he left her by herself? As she sat in the void, she realized how sore her body was. Her whole right side ached from bouncing off the well wall, and her right wrist was too sensitive to take any weight or pressure. Her eyes still stung from the smoke. The battle with the fire demon had taken a lot out of her.
And where she left her bag? She had brought it to bed, she thought. Carefully she felt about until—success. She ran her hand inside, feeling the carefully wrapped foods, coins, and then a candle. Yes! But her victory was brief. She couldn’t find matches. Perhaps she had given them to Samjogo?
Just then, she heard very faint scuffing noises and hoped it was not an ogre, demon or ghosts. “Samjogo?” she called again, louder. A glimpse of light reached in the window—not much, but definitely a wobbling glow. It had the warm yellow of her lantern.
The scuffing now sounded like footsteps. “Young-hee?” came a distant voice. “I’m coming.” The footsteps fell faster and louder. It was Samjogo.
The light bobbed past the window to the door, where Samjogo entered, looking upset. “Very sorry, Young-hee. I woke earlier and thought I’d look for that pullocho you so need. I lost track of time.”
“I was worried you had left me.”
“I would not do that. I promised to help you,” he said, looking hurt. Then his eyes lit. “Oh, I found this!” he said excitedly, pointing at a bow and a quiver with a single arrow.
“Great. One arrow.”
“It’s not for hunting.”
Young-hee was confused. “Did you find anything else?”
“No, sadly. No pullocho. There’s very little left, just plates and knickknacks. For an ogre, Agwi Kissin was quite cultured. But the bow will let us find the path.”
Young-hee was too tired to ask what he meant. “Great, let’s get going then.”
They had a brief breakfast of some unusual gimbap—kaypal rice filling with marinated dureop, all wrapped in pickled sesame leaves—while sitting on a large rock just outside the ogre’s house. The fire had totally burned out, but smoke still hung heavily. Just past the lantern light lay a lumpy shape that Young-hee realized as Yeonggam’s body. “I wonder what will happen,” said Young-hee between bites. “Can the trees and bushes keep growing in the dark without magic to sustain them?” Samjogo shrugged.
Done eating, they set out again. The going was hard, and at first Samjogo started back the wrong way again, but Young-hee recognized the tunnel and turned him around. The ground was rocky and uneven, but eventually they found what seemed to be the main route. “Ah, yes, I know this,” Samjogo would say every so often, or “Of course, not long now,” inevitably followed by confused muttering as he slowed or halted. After some looking about and mumbling, Samjogo would spring to life, recognizing some stalactite or arch, and pick up his pace.
The whole time, he prattled on for the sheer joy of talking with another person. Young-hee tried to be understanding. He must have been terribly bored, stuck in those chains for so long. But it did get annoying, and she de
cided if he was going to talk and talk, at least the topic could be interesting or useful for her. So she asked about Strange Land, the creatures she had met, and his history.
“Were you born a Samjogo with three legs and feathers?” she asked. “Or was it a title you, uh, earned?”
Vaguely perturbed by her questions, Samjogo, nonetheless remained genial. “As a matter of fact, I was an orphan, adopted by fairies when I was very young. Not your normal fairies—unusually savage ones.”
“Savage fairies?”
“Indeed and indubitably. They loved hunting deer and boar in the wood, and wrestling with mighty fishes in their lakes. They rode wild, one-horned girin like horses, and warred with mountain ogres.”
“Wow. I didn’t know fairies were like that.”
“Most aren’t, not anymore. But mine taught me to track prey through forests and fields, read the winds and stars, and fight bravely.”
At one point another river gushed out of the walls and followed their trail, but this one blasted like a fire hose. The tunnel narrowed and the rocky outcropping they walked on shrank to a skinny ledge above the torrent of white water. Samjogo used his hyeopdo to steady them across the slippery, wet rocks. Young-hee was happy for Samjogo’s lighthearted chattering then, as she surely would have been too scared to walk undistracted, but also happy that the rush of water partially covered the prattle.
Once past the water, Samjogo grew more confident. “Not much longer,” he assured. “The deepest parts of Darang Cave can be confusing, but now I’m certain of the way.” In fact, the tunnel had narrowed to just a few feet wide. There were no options anymore, no side passages or vast caverns. There was only forward.
The cave floor angled upward, little at first, then so steeply that their walk was more of a climb. Up and up and up they went. Young-hee hoped for the path again, but no such luck. Still, she followed Samjogo.
“Yes, it’s a bit of a climb,” he said. “It was even tougher going down, way back when I first entered the cave.”
And then Young-hee saw light—natural sunlight, high above. She redoubled her pace, straining forward. As the light grew brighter and closer, Young-hee grew anxious.
Then, finally, the cave mouth opened onto the top of a green, grassy hill. Young-hee blinked hard, unaccustomed to the sun. It must really hurt Samjogo. He’s been underground for so long. Behind them, the Cheongyong Mountains loomed, all rock and ice. In front was just green—grass and trees and all things natural, but too bright and, well, too big—hills and forests and mountains stretching forever.
“So,” she said, “where to now? There’s still no path.”
“No worries. That’s why I brought this,” said Samjogo happily, unslinging the bow from his shoulder and handing it to Young-hee.
“What do I do with this?”
“Shoot an arrow.”
“Uh, where?”
“Anywhere. It doesn’t matter.”
“I don’t understand.”
“That doesn’t matter either.” He wrapped her left hand around the water buffalo horn that was the bow grip and took the single arrow from the quiver. “Take the arrow and fire it into the air.”
“Anywhere?”
“It’s completely up to you. Just really give it a good shot.”
Examining the bamboo arrow, with its pheasant-feather fletching, bush clover nock, and sharp metal arrowhead, she felt a little ridiculous. She had no idea how to fire an arrow and seeing it in a movie didn’t compare.
Reluctantly she nocked the arrow, but there was nothing resembling a target, only green and rocky hills. She tried pulling back the string, but it was harder than she’d anticipated, and the bow snapped from her hand. The string released with a heavy thwang and the arrow wobbled free, careening by Samjogo’s head. He jerked away, although the slow and ungainly misfire presented no danger. The arrow flopped to the ground. “Sorry,” Young-hee said, embarrassed and shaking out her fingers, which had been stung by the string.
“Maybe we should try again,” said Samjogo. “Don’t think. Just relax, take a deep breath, exhale, and let go.”
This time she was ready for the pull of the string and strain of the bow. As she drew the arrow back, pointing it into the sky, instead of fighting the pressure, she just exhaled and imaged herself expanding. You’re not even aiming. The string dug into her fingers, and her shoulder burned, but she ignored the pain. When the string was drawn as far back as she could manage, she let go. With a sharp ping, the arrow shot out true, into the sky, so impossibly high. And it kept going. “Wow,” said Samjogo, squinting, “that was good.”
Finally the arrow—now just a small speck—slowed, hung in the air, and arched into its fall. Faster and faster, it plummeted, until it slammed into the field, halfway to the forest by a lonely, brown rock. “Okay, then,” said Samjogo. “That’s the way we go.”
With no better options, Young-hee followed Samjogo down the grassy hill toward the barely visible arrow.
“Aha,” he said, reaching the rock and picking up the arrow. “There it is.”
“Yes, the arrow. So?”
“No, not the arrow. There. The path.”
Young-hee gasped. Maybe two meters across was a path of shiny, black, stone blocks extending toward the forest, where it cut between the trees. “Wait, there wasn’t any path here a moment ago,” she said, confused and trying to understand.
“That’s true, there wasn’t,” said Samjogo. “But there is now.”
“But … your arrow formed the path?”
“No, of course not. It’s just an arrow.”
Young-hee scowled. “So what happened?”
“When the mountain spirits of Mount Chungak asked the venerable monk Simgong to build them a temple, he shot an arrow from the mountain top, and the built the temple where it landed. When the three first men emerged from a cave on Mount Halla to divide up the world, they fired three arrows, one each, to determine their lands.”
“Oh, nice trick,” said Young-hee. “I don’t suppose we could just fire an arrow to find out where a pullocho is?”
“No, I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”
“Of course not,” said Young-hee. “It never does.” She sat on the brown rock and looked around. “Wait, wait, wait. ‘First men?’ I thought Bear was the first human.”
“True. Ungnyeo the Bear became human in a cave atop of Mount Baekdu and then married the King Under Heaven and gave birth to Dangun. And three divine men shot three arrows to divide their kingdom. And Mireuk created man and woman from insects he caught on a golden plate, with the help of Frog, Mouse, and Rabbit.”
Samjogo, full of patience and contentment, smiled at Young-hee. She couldn’t stand that. “So which story is right?”
“‘Right’?”
“They can’t all be true.”
“I don’t know which is ‘true.’ But they are all true stories. The same way the path splits into an endless maze of options whenever you try walking back along it.”
“So. Only forward then?”
“Forward. Or off the path altogether.”
“No, I need the path,” she said. “Aish. So annoying. But thank you for helping me find it again.”
“You only lost the path because you saved me. It was the least I could do.”
Very true, she thought, struggling not to snark out loud. “Well, I should probably get going.”
“You know, you did more than just free me from almost certain death from Yeonggam. You distracted him long enough for me to defeat him. And you shared your food. I feel that I owe you more.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I do not worry. But I pay my obligations. Perhaps you would allow me to continue on and help find your pullocho?”
Young-hee was not sure how she felt about that. Samjogo seemed flaky and strange. Plus his constant chatter made quiet travel impossible. But he knew much more about Strange Land than she, and about fighting and weapons. Plus, it would be good to have
company—no telling how long before she found a pullocho. “Let’s get going, then,” she decided. “Thanks.”
The trail wandered down the high hills, through a rolling valley. In the distance, she spied small clusters that looked like villages, and the countryside here was a little less lonely. With leafier and more fern-like trees, the landscape was more arid than the jureum forest.
“Are we traveling south?” she asked. “The climate seems more tropical. But the sun is on our left.”
“What does the sun have to do with south?”
“You know … the sun rises in the east, sets in the west. During the day it is in the south.”
“Does your sun only have one route?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, it changes a bit with the seasons—its angle mostly. And really it’s the Earth that moves, not the sun at all. But every day, it rises in the east and sets in the west.”
“Sounds horribly boring. The sun here has far more options.”
“But, wait. … If the sun shifts, what about seasons? How can you tell directions? I mean …” Young-hee snapped silent. Atop the next hill, looking down on them, she could see it—a ghost. Long, straight black hair, smooth skin, and faceless, just smooth skin like an egg. One of the ghosts from Lake Mey had found her again.
“Do you see it?” asked Young-hee fearfully, tugging on Samjogo’s sleeve. “On top of the hill—a ghost.”
“An Egg Ghost,” he looked worried. “That is not good.”
“There could be others,” she warned, searching frantically.
“Yes, you said even the Ghost Queen herself pursued you. I had better make sure the Egg Ghost does not contact her sisters.” Samjogo drew his hyeopdo and jammed the arrow into the path between two stones. “That should hold the path. Stay out of sight. I’ll return soon.”
As he sprinted across the field, the Egg Ghost retreated into the woods. Young-hee looked for a hiding place, but the hills were mostly open, rocky grasslands, with clumps of trees here and there. Some small villages seemed not too far, but the way there was far too exposed—assuming, of course, that whoever or whatever lived there was friendly. So she headed away from the Egg Ghost, toward a solitary and ancient-looking zelkova tree. In its majestic canopy, a flock of birds looked down on Young-hee with expressions between bemused and inscrutable. Well, not a flock exactly—all the birds all seemed to be from different species. She could lay low in the tall, thick reeds around the tree and keep an eye out for ghosts, and Samjogo.
Young-hee and the Pullocho Page 15