Page 68 of Reign of the Talon
The Prisoner
I am not sure if the faint chattering is the sound of the Dalgyal Gwisin’s teeth as it hunts me, or the sound of my own quaking bones as I crouch within the shadows of the Temple of Ruin, clenching my firesword so hard that it hurts. Outside, I hear its faint, hungry murmurings as it searches for me. I rested for too long in the chogajip, lulled into a false sense of security by the soft bed and crackling fire. And now, the monstrosity chasing me has caught up once more. Breathing hard from my sprint up the mindscape’s stairs to this level, I do not turn around…until there’s a soft, almost wry, clearing of a throat from behind me.
Sword up, I whirl on my feet, adrenaline spiking in my blood. The dust coating the dark bamboo floor of the temple swirls into the air like snow. It falls softly down onto the dark-red hair of the woman kneeling in the abandoned room’s center, moonlight streaming in from the one window high above. She wears a crimson hanbok, and her eyes—although warm and brown—are ancient. So very, very ancient.
When my gaze strays to the red thread she holds in her hands, I know exactly who she is.
My stomach bottoms out as Lady Luck smiles at me.
“Hello, Lina,” says Gameunjang softly.
Shock jolting through me like a bolt of lightning, I stagger back toward the door, inhaling sharply at the sight of this goddess. I do not notice how shallowly my breaths are coming until the Temple of Ruin begins to swim before my eyes. Apparently realizing that I can barely even stand, much less walk toward her, Gameunjang rises and pads on slippered feet over to me. When she takes one of my elbows, her grip is gentle. When she lightly tugs me to where she was sitting and presses me down, she sighs.
The red thread of fate connected to my chest appears. Slowly, she runs a finger along it, and I somehow know she is feeling each of my tumultuous emotions. They war inside of me, like two snarling tigers. Joy and awe as I look upon her, a deep gratitude that she has extended a hand to help…yet hurt fury that it was she who pushed me into this terrible destiny in the first place.
“I understand,” says Gameunjang. “Your soul-stitched feels much the same.”
I know I should bow, but the only thing I can manage is a half-hearted slump. Outside, the chattering of teeth grows louder. Gameunjang frowns slightly over my shoulder. “Ah,” she murmurs. “That would be Yego.”
Yego…?I think in bewilderment.Does she mean…
Gameunjang sighs fondly, like one might do to a misbehaving dog. “Yego is one of my children.” At my obvious shock, she raises her brows. “Dalgyal Gwisin are heralds of fate. Do not tell me that you never saw the connection. Although…Yego is admittedly a bit too zealous. How many times do I need to tell him,‘Do not eat people before it’s their time. Only let them see you so they may know what is coming’? I am sorry he’s hunting you. I would have a stern talk with him if I believed it would change anything. But despite my urgings that you must be allowed to return to your body, he is stubborn and rebellious, so the most you can do is make sure he doesn’t eat you. Yego is one of the very few that can…defy my wishes. As I understand Rui told you, you must return to your body. If Yego catches you in here, you will not succeed. And youmustsucceed. You must thwart the Prophecy. It is the wish of fate.”
“Yego” can defy Gameunjang herself? Bile creeps up my throat, and the terror of the Dalgyal Gwisin grows inside of me. This does not bode well. I lick my dry lips and begin to sign questions—how this war ends, why she has sided with us—but Gameunjang holds up a hand of her own.
“I am not here for that,” she tells me, softly yet sternly. “I followed the thread between you and your soul-stitched. I’ve come to give you a gift. Do you know what a dongsimgyeol knot is?”
A dongsimgyeol knot? Yes. It is an elaborate, romantic thing, signifying “one mind” or “the binding of two hearts.” It is so far from what I need from Lady Luck that I briefly consider storming away in frustration. Yet Yego’s chattering has stopped, almost as if he’s reluctant to burst into the temple while his mother is present. And perhaps I could use a few more moments of rest. Swallowing hard, I jerk my head in a nod.
“Good,” says Gameunjang softly, passing me the length of red thread she is holding. “Let me show you how to make one.”
…
My hands ache around the thread as Gameunjang watches me try to replicate her deft movements with no avail. The knot—it is too complex. My fingers are not made for fine art. They were honed for brutal, ugly killing.
“You do not believe in yourself,” says the goddess, unhelpfully. I curse the day I prayed to her. “You do not believe that one such as yourself can create something as beautiful and delicate as a lover’s knot.”
It is unnerving, how easily she can read me. I blame my red thread of fate.
And I have hundreds of scathing retorts at the ready, but unfortunately, my hands are quite literally tied up, so tangled they are in the string. Beads of sweat drip down my face. My eyes sting from the strain. At this point, I would rather face Yego than this tangled snarl of string.
“And you do not believe you’re worthy of his love,” Gameunjang continues, and I jerk back as if she’s physically struck me. Her eyes are almost pitying.
Is that what this horrible level is trying to show me? To convince me that Rui isrightto love me, even after I caused this terrible war? After I failed him? After I failedeveryone? I fling down my snarl of knots and climb to my feet, shaking my head. The goddess rises with me.
“You are soul-stitched,” says Gameunjang. “You are. Yes, he is soul-stitched to the Prophecy in hatred. But he is right that he is bound to you inlove. I myself shall confirm that.”
As my hands tremble, Gameunjang suddenly looks worried. “You will never create the dongsimgyeol at this rate,” she murmurs, and then her hands are on my face, and I am falling…
Falling through threads.
Threads of every color, stretching in every direction, with only darkness beneath them, in between them. Blue and purple and orange. Pink and green and white. As I fall past a string of yellow, I feel the soul-deep bond that is sisterhood—as I tumble by a black thread, I feel murky hatred and despair. Yet there is only one red string.
I gasp as I plummet down toward that one red thread in particular…
And sinkintoit. Into the bond between Rui and I.
And I see…myself. Laughing, on a snowy mountain, fat white flakes shining bright on my dark hair. I remember this day, but this isn’t my memory. I’m staring through someone else’s eyes.
