1 ISEUL
July 1506
Never travel beyond Mount Samak.
Halmeoni’s
words echoed in my ears, the memory of her warning tugging at me to
turn back. But I could not; I had come too far. Pine needles scratched
my face as I pressed through the forest, disregarding my blistered feet
and blood-drenched sandals. My legs felt numb, not used to trekking for
days over rocky slopes, steep ravines, and rushing rivers.
Iseul-ah, Grandmother’s voice tugged again. You must stay away.
Wrenching
my cloak from a tangle of branches, I hobbled down the narrow path and
paused before a tower erected like a gravestone at the edge of the
forest glade. Etched into the granite were the words:
TRESPASSERS WILL BE EXECUTED.
The
damned king. The territory beyond had once been home to tens of
thousands of people, until King Yeonsan had evicted them, turning this
half of Gyeonggi Province—from the town of Yongin all the way to Gimpo,
Pocheon, and Yangpyeong—into his personal hunting grounds.
“Heavens curse him,” I snarled, stomping out into the open.
The
sky was heavy with rain clouds, the air thick with humidity. Up ahead
was a road that cut through grassland. And past the veil of mist, lush
green mountains loomed, quiet observers who must have witnessed dozens
of men, women, and children wander into this wilderness—and never escape
it. I might die out here, too, if I let my focus slip even for a
moment.
I ran a finger under my tight, sweat-drenched collar.
If I lost my way out here, there would be no one to give me directions. I couldn’t make a single wrong turn.
Rummaging
through my travel sack, I snatched up my ink-drawn map, studying it for
the hundredth time. The route I was to take wound through abandoned
rice paddies and demolished villages, over small mountains, and through
valleys, then along the Han River, and at last to the fortress gates of
the capital. The journey was a long one, and I was growing impatient.
Suyeon needed me. She was waiting for me there, and I was her only way
home.
“You had better wait for me, Older Sister,” I rasped, continuing down the dusty road. “I am almost there.”
Older
Sister and I had faced horrors before—when royal soldiers killed our
parents, and we’d escaped to Grandmother’s home before we could be
exiled to an island far away. Grief had strained our already waning
bond, rendering us mere strangers living beneath Grandmother’s roof, our
interactions reduced to husks, of mumbled remarks and cutting glares.
How shocked Grandmother must have been when she discovered my note,
declaring that I’d left to find my missing sister.
I was shocked myself.
When
my heart was far from Suyeon, I had seen her as a sister who was
burdened by me and who carried herself with the irritating air of an
afflicted martyr. But my heart had clung close to the memories of her
during the past three frightening days. I no longer saw a sibling I
resented but the girl our parents had adored, the cherished child whom
Mother had conceived after eight long years of waiting. And once born,
Mother and Father had showered her with an abundance of love, treasuring
her as if she were worth more than a dozen sons. I had cherished her,
too, when we were younger. She possessed a natural silliness and would
entertain me until I broke out into squeals of laughter. She would also
assemble scraps of material, fashioning them into whimsical puppets,
performing enchanting tales of folklore to me, her delighted audience. I
had laughed a great deal as a child because of her.
This sister of mine was gone.
Do not die, Older Sister. Stay alive. You must.
I
forbade myself from resting, except to pause briefly by a trickling
stream. I hadn’t eaten since the morning—I’d packed enough for only two
days, not three. Scooping up handfuls of water, I drank until my stomach
felt heavy, the hunger less excruciating. Then I washed the sweat and
grime and tears from my face. Leaning my weight against a rock, I lifted
myself back onto my feet, and I was once more on the road.
I passed by a rag doll, an abandoned sandal, a leafy plant erupting from a crack in the road.
The
eerie quiet chilled my skin as I stood before a town, as hollowed as a
bone. Weeds crawled over shadowy huts, devouring walls and roofs. The
streets that had once bustled with crowds, filled with voices and
merriment, were now deserted. Families, neighbors, friends—they were all
gone. They had either escaped the province in time or remained to guard
their homes, only to be slaughtered by the king and his army.
I wondered if their ghosts were watching me now.
Why are you here? I imagined them asking. This is forbidden territory.
The
truth was too unbearable to face. I tried to beat it aside, but as I
trudged on, my mind sank into the memory of three days ago. I was once
again the heartless and self-centered Iseul, the younger sister who
could not stand to be under the same roof as her older sister.
I had run out of the hut after a dreadful argument with her, and it had been my fault. It was always my fault. I cannot bear her, I had snarled, even as guilt had plagued my conscience. I wish she had died instead of Mother, instead of Father!
I
hadn’t meant it, truly, but as though my thoughts had summoned him,
King Yeonsan had prowled into our village. The treacherous king who
kidnapped women as his pastime—the one who stole the married and the
betrothed, the noble daughters and the untouchables alike. He did not
discriminate. And my sister, who must have followed me out, was as
lovely as an azalea in full bloom.
I had no doubt in my mind that His Majesty had taken her.
“Halmeoni,”
I whispered, the ghost town now behind me. Raindrops spotted the dusty
road, and the mist shrouded the distant mountains in white. “I will find
Suyeon. And I won’t return home until I do.”
* * *
I
trudged through the rain, my head angled against the torrent, and walked
until the night thinned into an early-morning gray. Beyond exhausted, I
wanted to drop to the ground and curl up. By midafternoon, I finally
saw a hamlet in the near distance. No weeds were crawling over the huts.
Instead, the roofs were thick with golden straw thatching, the clay
walls smooth and unblemished. A bell tolled somewhere in the town,
followed by the sound of scurrying footsteps and creaking wagon wheels.
The sounds of life.
I
pulled out my jangot, an overcoat I’d once worn over my head as a veil.
I wore it now, not out of fashionable etiquette, but to conceal my
face. I did not wish to be seen—or remembered. I was a fugitive, and a
village did not always mean safety. I clutched tight to the sides of my
cloak, clamped the travel sack under my arm, and focused on my steps. Put one foot ahead of the next,
I told myself, determined not to collapse. As I entered the hamlet, out
of the corner of my eye, I noticed handbills pasted onto public walls.
The same handbill had been plastered around Grandmother’s village. I’d
read it over so many times I could recite it by memory.
THE KING DULY INSTRUCTS THE PEOPLE A KILLER IS ON THE LOOSE.
PERSUADE ONE ANOTHER TO SEARCH FOR THE CULPRIT—
I
tensed, looking up as a woman and her ox-drawn wagon appeared down the
dirt path, the wooden wheels turning precariously on their axles. She
stopped to hold my stare, and I knew what she saw: a grim-faced girl
with her chin perpetually raised, bearing the haughtiness of a yangban
aristocrat, yet garbed in a dirty silk dress.
“Excuse me,” I rasped, my voice scratched from disuse, “but would you point me to the inn? If there is one here.”
Without a word, the woman pointed vaguely down another path then continued on her way, leading her ox and cart along.
I
followed her direction and soon found myself before a long,
thatched-roof establishment with a spacious yard spotted with travelers.
Clutching my veil tighter, I studied the strange faces. No one can be trusted, the past two years whispered into my mind. No place is safe.
I pulled the jangot higher over my head, to ensure that if anyone were
to look, they would see only a pair of eyes, dark with a warning: Stay away from me.
I
took in a sharp breath, squared my shoulders, then stalked into the
bustling yard where some merchants were unloading their goods. Two
children washed their faces on the veranda that wrapped around the inn.
Weary travelers ate and quietly conversed. Steam billowed from the
kitchen, and I took in the mouthwatering scent of soybean broth.
My
stomach twisted; my head swayed. Suddenly, the exhaustion of the
three-day journey struck me hard. My knees buckled, and I stumbled
backward, the earth tilting beneath me until a strong hand gripped my
arm.
“Careful.” It was a female voice.
My hazy vision
cleared and focused on a young woman who looked to be no older than I.
Adorning her head like a crown was a fashionable gache wig, glossy black
hair braided into thick plaits and arranged in coils atop her head. Her
eyes were just as black, and sparkling, too. A scar ran down from her
right eyebrow.
“A traveler has arrived…” She tilted her head to
the side, as though the heavy wig were as light as a feather. “And it
appears my guest has come from afar.”
“Yes,” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “I am from—” Chuncheon. Instead, I gave her the name of another nearby town.
“Hmm.”
She examined my dress, my bloody sandals, then her gaze locked onto
mine. “You went through the forbidden territory, did you not?”
“Here one comes for a warm meal and shelter from the rain,” I said stiffly, “not for an interrogation.”
“Rest
assured, I shan’t tell anyone,” she whispered, then gazed off into the
distance—perhaps beyond the road, the reed field, to the stone tower.
“All who travel through that half of Gyeonggi Province look as though
they’ve journeyed through the underworld,” she murmured. “I’ve seen the
look in their eyes. In my own father’s eyes.” She let out a little
breath, and a smile reappeared on her lips. “Are you in need of room and
board?”
I needed to rest. Desperately. “I am…”
“Then you have come to the perfect place,” she said, and chivalrously offered me an arm. “My inn will take good care of you.”
“I
can walk on my own, thank you,” I bit out. But when I tried, my knees
wobbled and I unintentionally reached for her. I tried to pull away at
once, but she stubbornly held my arm.
“You look like you’ll faint at any moment.”
Shoulders
tense, I let her help me as I staggered farther into the innyard then
sat down on a raised platform where three other travelers were hunched
over low-legged tables, wolfing down stew. A fourth man, wearing a straw
hat, nursed his bloody fist. I dragged my weight around and settled
before an empty table, holding the edge to keep myself steady against
the growing dizziness.
“Wait here!” the innkeeper chirped. “I shall bring you a most hearty meal.”
I
blinked hard, wishing the light-headedness would go away, hoping I
wouldn’t pass out in the company of strangers—including the innkeeper.
Her kindness was too sweet, too suspicious. I slipped out my map,
flipped it to the back, and stared at the face of my sister, which I’d
drawn in ink. “Stay alive, Older Sister,” I whispered to the drawing,
“and I will, too.” Her delicate eyes stared back at me, her calm and
graceful expression—
The back of my neck prickled. Someone was peering over my shoulder.
I
quickly folded the sketch and glanced up to see the smiling innkeeper.
She proceeded to unload a steaming bowl of boiled herbs. Not a single
chunk of meat to be found. It wasn’t the sort of hearty meal I had grown
up with, but I’d learned these past two years that more than half the
kingdom survived on what could be foraged in the mountains.
“So,” she said, “what brought you here to Hanyang?”
“Why do you wish to know?” I asked, my voice clipped.
“I like to know who my guests are. You are searching for someone?”
“No.”
“You drew that?” she asked, gesturing toward the paper in my hand.
“Yes.”
“The boy in the picture looks too young to be your father.”
“It is a woman,” I snapped.
She let out a most obnoxious laugh. “I jest! Is she your sister, then?”
“Even if she were”—I stuffed the sketch back into my travel sack—“it should be no concern of yours, ajumma.”
“‘Ajumma’?”
The amusement in her eyes brightened. “I am neither a middle-aged woman
nor am I married. In truth, I have no interest in ever marrying, even
though I do have quite the line of suitors, if I do say so myself.” She
paused, as though waiting for me to laugh. When I did not, she
continued. “I am only nineteen. Come, you look at me with daggers in
your eyes. I only wish to help. You’ve come searching for your sister,
and you can’t be more than eighteen.”
I was seventeen.
“Do you not have anyone to accompany you in your search? A father? A mother?”
They
were both dead. And I had no patience for nosiness. I cut her a glare,
preparing to say something biting. But then it occurred to me that while
her curiosity was relentless, it also posed an opportunity. Innkeepers
could be storehouses of information, of gossip. And what I lacked was
knowledge of the capital, of how to get to my sister.
“You
crossed King Yeonsan’s hunting grounds, risked your life by doing so,”
she spoke in a whisper, seemingly unaffected by my reserve, “and you are
here near the capital. Did she run away—?”
“No, madam,” I said coolly, watching her closely. “She was taken from our village three days ago.”
The innkeeper sighed. “You too.”
Here was my chance. “You know of others?”
She
cast a glance around. No one was in hearing distance except a man
across from me, but she seemed to pay him no heed. “Many. The hamlet has
even installed a bell, which is rung when the king is to pass through,
to warn the young women who dwell here. That is, what remains of them. I
have not seen a girl my age in months.”
“The king passes through this village himself?”
She nodded.
We
both fell quiet, and I noticed then that the straw-hatted man across
from me was eavesdropping. He had stilled, no longer dabbing a cloth
against his bloody knuckles. He also wore a straw cloak—though the rain
had long stopped—and the brim of his hat was lowered over his face,
offering me only a glimpse of his bearded and middle-aged complexion.
“How…”
I dug my nails into my palm. This was dangerous, the question I was
about to ask. A question that could lead to my imprisonment and
execution. Trust no one, I had told myself, yet in this moment, I
had no alternative—there was no one else to rely on. “Would there be
some way that I might see my sister?” I dropped my voice as low as
possible, glancing at our eavesdropper. “Just to speak with her, to hold
her hand. Nothing more.”
The innkeeper chewed on her lower lip
as she gazed past me at the man, then a look gleamed under her slender
brows. “Did you know, when the king goes hunting, he takes his
courtesans—”
I bristled. “You mean the girls he’s stolen.”
“—he
takes hundreds of his most favored courtesans to accompany him,” she
continued, ignoring my interjection. “I’m sure His Majesty wouldn’t
notice if one girl went missing. For a moment.” Quickly she added, aware
that this kingdom abounded with spies, “Just to hold your sister’s
hand, as you said. That cannot be treasonous, I should think. The king
forbids husbands from ever meeting their wives, but His Majesty has made
no mention of sisters…”
It took a moment for her words to
register, and the barest flicker of hope drifted through me. “When…” I
swallowed, trying to steady my voice. “When does His Majesty go
hunting?”
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