The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea(10)

Kirin bows, followed closely by Namgi. They turn to leave. The magpie shrills a warning.

“Wait!” I shout, but as before, I make no sound.

They sprint from the hall, taking with them the magpie, my soul. Soon, they’re gone.

“Tell them to come back!” I rush up the steps and grab on to Shin’s arm. Through the thin fabric of his shirt, I can feel the warmth of his body, the jump of his muscle flexing in response. He turns, the glint of a blade in his right hand. I stumble back and lift my arm. When no attack follows, I look up. He watches me with one brow raised, proffering my knife out to me, handle first.

“After the trouble I went through to take your soul,” he says mockingly, “you think I’d kill you now?”

His sardonic tone makes me bristle with anger. “I didn’t think it would matter. To someone like you, what is a body without a soul?”

His eyes immediately move downward, and I grit my teeth to keep from blushing. After a few excruciating seconds, they move back to my face, apparently having found nothing of interest.

Once more, he extends the knife, and this time I grab it and step to the edge of the small dais, putting as much distance between us as possible.

“Keep that with you,” he says. “A weapon forged in the human realm cuts sharp in the realm of the gods.”

His advice is unnecessary. I would have kept the knife regardless, the only item I have left from my own world other than the dress I wear. The only connection I have to my family and loved ones.

Shin claims to have stolen my soul, but why then do I feel like this—a sharp ache deep inside at thoughts of my family? Where does the pain come from, if not my soul?

“My grandmother gave me this knife.” I slide my thumb against the rough etching of a moon carved into the bone handle. “It belonged to her own grandmother, whom she said I reminded her of.” I roll the knife to the side, revealing the scar underneath, where I bled to make an oath to the Sea God.

“The song from earlier … was it your grandmother who taught you the words?”

I slip the knife back into my short jacket. “She taught me many songs, as well as folktales and myths. She said that through songs and stories I could learn about the world, and about the people who live in it.”

And about my own heart, but I don’t tell him this.

Then a thought occurs. How are we having this conversation? As I’ve been speaking, I’ve made no sound. I narrow my eyes. Can he read my mind? I wait. His face remains decidedly blank.

“You can read lips.”

“Yes.”

“Why did you cut the Red String of Fate?”

“To protect the Sea God.”

“From me?” I ask incredulously.

Shin’s gaze moves to the boy-god on his throne, where throughout the commotion he’s remained asleep. “The Spirit Realm cannot sustain a human bride. Your kind are weak, your bodies more susceptible to the dangers of this world. Anything could effectively kill you, if it so wanted. The Red String of Fate binds your soul to the Sea God. If you were to die, the Sea God might also suffer the same fate. To protect him, I severed your ties.”

I try to make sense of his words. “Before, what did Kirin mean when he said I could retrieve my soul at the end of the month?” Shin doesn’t respond, and I realize he doesn’t know I’ve spoken, his gaze still upon the Sea God. I tug at his sleeve, and when he looks at me, I repeat my question.

“In a month’s time, you’ll have spent thirty days in the Spirit Realm. You will become a spirit then. As I said, human bodies are weak: Without a stronger tie to keep them grounded in this world, they—”

“You mean I’ll die?”

“You’d have died anyway,” he says, “in time.”

“I’m sixteen years old. I’m supposed to have all the time in the world!”

He scowls. “Then you should have stayed where you belong.”

“My world, the place where I belong, is being destroyed because of your world. If you won’t be bothered to fix it, then I will!”

“How?”

“The Sea God—”

His eyes flash. “What about him? Oh right, your precious myth. You believe only a human bride can save him, that he will fall in love with her. That he will save her people because of his love for her.”

“No.” I grit my teeth. “I wouldn’t be so naive.”

“It’s what your people believe. It’s what every bride before you has believed.”

“You can’t possibly know that—every bride has her reasons. Maybe some are not as grand as you’d like them to be. To know because of their sacrifice, their family will be taken care of when they’re gone, fed and clothed. To know they’ve done everything in their power to protect those whom they love most. To know that they tried when no one else could or even would!”

Shin’s brow furrows; he’s clearly frustrated. “Slow down. I can’t catch everything you’re saying.”

“Who are you to judge their hopes? At least they have them. What do you have? A sword that cuts. Words filled with hate.”

We’re both breathing heavily. His gaze moves upward, from my mouth to my eyes. “For someone who can’t speak,” he says slowly, “you have a lot to say.” There’s a hint of something in his voice—respect? He looks as if he means to say more, but he turns away. “But it doesn’t matter. In another life, you might have found a more welcome shore than this. As it is, the sea is dark and the Sea God sleeps, and the shore is too far to reach.”