A Crane Among Wolves

5. Iseul

The thorny woodland coiled aroundme until I finally stumbled out into a clearing. The unbearable pain cut me loose from my body, and I was floating somewhere high in the evening sky, looking down at myself still holding the rock as I hobbled through the pale gold reeds, then down a dusty road, and finally into the innyard. Everyone had retired for the night, and I was desperate to lie down—but Madam Yul had not yet given me a room.

At the back of the yard was a kitchen, and steam was rising from a pot of simmering stew; someone had to be nearby. I dragged myself toward it. In the darkness beyond, I heard footsteps. I followed the sound and saw the innkeeper’s silhouette, her face and red lips illuminated by the lantern she held.

“Madam,” I barely managed to whimper.

She did not hear me and disappeared inside a storage hut isolated in shadows. When I followed her in, I froze. Emptiness yawned around me. There were only a low table used for ancestral worship and a folding screen opened against the back wall.

Another wave of pain struck me. I swayed and clutched the doorframe for support, blinking hard in an attempt to make sense of the empty hut. My attention snagged on a smudge on the folding screen. It looked like blood—old blood.

Am I hallucinating?Then I heard metal clanking beyond the screen. I pushed it aside and found a door.

What in heavens…

Ever so quietly, I nudged the door, which opened onto nothing but darkness at first. Then my eyes adjusted; slowly, very slowly, the darkness took shape before my eyes, into the silhouette of Yul, who seemed to be inspecting her inventory. She lifted the lantern light, and my blood chilled. Deadly sharp sickles were secured against the walls. Bundles of arrows filled large onggi pots. Bows hung from the ceiling beam, along with weapon holders. And crates upon crates were stacked on the ground, holding stashes of swords shining in the light.

My heart pounded as I made my way out, careful not to knock anything down. What need could an innkeeper possibly have for such an armory? I hurried across the yard, and when I turned to glance at the storage hut again, I bumped into a broom that went clattering onto the stone steps.

“Damn it!” I hissed.

Yul burst out of the hut. “Who’s there?” She raised her lantern, and the light came sweeping out onto me. Her eyes widened. “You! I wondered where you had gone!”

“I—” My voice wavered, the shock of what I had witnessed still pounding in my chest. My fingers were digging into the rock. I set it down now under Yul’s intense stare. “I am in need of a room.”

“And a physician, too, clearly. You are covered in blood.”

Gently holding my elbow, she led me to the main hut, a long, thatched-roofed establishment with doors marching down the veranda. She stopped at the first door, which opened onto a small and neat room.

“I should notify Wonsik that you are well; he went off looking for you,” she said as she helped me settle in, laying out a sleeping mat and blanket and lighting a candle. “What happened?”

“I had an accident in the forest. But I can take care of myself—”

“I know, your life is none of my affair. Even if you are bleeding to death.”

“I am not bleeding to death—”

“But see here. So long as you dwell in this inn of mine, your affairs are my affairs,” she said. “Every traveler I take in is like family to me. Wait here. I will return shortly.”

I massaged my temples. An innkeeper who smiled too often and who also stored an armory… she was giving me a headache.

When Madam Yul returned, she carried with her binding material and two bowls of what turned out to be salt water and a poultice. “One must learn how to tend to wounds when managing an inn, as there are no physicians or nurses in this hamlet,” she chattered to me as she set everything out. She stepped out again and returned with something for me to drink, which I hesitantly accepted.

“As I said,” she continued, “I treat my paying customers as I would my own family.”

Reminded, I set the drink aside and reached for my travel sack to give my payment, but hesitated when my hand found empty air. Where had I left it?

Madam Yul tugged off my jacket. She applied salt water to the bloody groove of my wound, and I instantly recoiled, a bolt of pain knocking every thought from my skull.

“That hurts,” I snapped, hand hovering over my throbbing shoulder.

“Do you want me to tend to your wound or not?” she asked, her voice sweet yet firm. “If you leave it as it is, you will likely die from an infection. And what good will a dead girl be to her sister?”

Reluctantly, I shuffled back to the young innkeeper, clenching my teeth as she continued to tend to my wound.

“What is your name?”

“My name…” I could not give her my birth name, Hwang Boyeon—the name by which authorities might know me. And I feared that if I gave her the name on my false identification document, I would not answer to it, and pique suspicion. “My name is Iseul.”

Mother had never favored my official name, Boyeon, but she had submitted to her father-in-law’s bidding. Then once I was born, Father had agreed with Mother that I looked nothing like a Boyeon. I, in fact, looked like a dewdrop. And so Iseul, the pet name they had given me, had remained with me for all my life.

My thoughts returned to my missing travel sack. I wiped the cold sweat from my brow. “I lost everything I brought with me,” I confessed, staring fixedly at my clenched hands. “My bag held everything I owned.”

A lull fell between us as she quietly wrapped the binding material around my arm and shoulder. I waited for the innkeeper to throw me out into the street. And of course she would. No one can be trusted. No place is safe.

“I must have some kind of payment.”

My chest constricted. “I have nothing to give…”

Madam Yul helped me back into my short jacket. “Of course you do. So long as you can offer me some kind of service,” she said without a begrudging note to her voice. “Consider this inn your home for as long as it takes to find your sister.”

A tremor moved through me. “Y-you would let me stay then? Truly?”

“In dark times, every mother becomes your mother, every child your child, every sister your sister…” She picked up the coat strings of my jacket and tied them into a ribbon, closing the front. “… and every stranger-in-need a friend.”

Her words played at my heartstrings, and a yearning I’d spent two years burying shuddered awake. I wanted friends. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to trust. But at once I beat those desires down again. Grabbing my drink, I occupied myself by taking sips of it as I reexamined Yul from under my lashes. The boisterous innkeeper offered me friendship, yet the gleam of a hundred sickles flashed through my mind. Surely, Madam Yul’s red-lipped smiles hid something sinister. Surely she was not really a friend, but a liver-feasting gumiho in the guise of a young woman, waiting to sink her teeth into her next traveler.

“What kind of service do you need?” I asked slowly.

“Help me overthrow the king?” she said, grinning.

I nearly choked on the water. “What?”

“I jest!”

And there came her obnoxious laugh again; it grated on my nerves.

“I work at this inn alone,” she continued. “This here”—she pointed at the thick ripple of a scar over her brow—“is what shields me from becoming the king’s next prey. Unfortunately for the servant who used to assist me… the king took her.”

Or did you kill her?I shook my head, trying to ward off the image of that blood on the folding screen.

“So,” she concluded, “in a few days, once you are somewhat recovered, you will assist me around here. Can you cook?”

“No.”

“Do you know how to wash laundry?”

“… No.”

“What do you know how to do?” She grabbed my hand and examined it. “You are no noblewoman, yet possess the hands of one. Clearly, someone pampered you. Your sister?”

I flinched. My sister had labored for two years after our parents’ passing, and I had let her, refusing to ruin my hands. This was not the life I was destined for, I had always said in protest.

“You are one of those little sisters, I see.”

A burning knot formed in my throat. “What do you mean by that?”

“I must imagine your sister felt awfully lonely ever since your parents died,” she continued, not answering my question. “I am guessing they are dead?” Before I could rebuke her for her remarks, she quickly asked, “Can you clean? You do wish to stay at this inn, do you not?”

I did. I gritted my teeth and swallowed down the hurt. “I think so. I will try.”

Madam Yul released my hand. As she returned the bowls and binding material onto a tray, she said lightly, “If you are to stay in this hamlet, there are a few things to heed. When the bell rings, always hide. It is an alarm bell indicating that the king approaches. He plucks girls off our streets as one might pluck flowers off a field.” She dropped her gaze now. “And you may notice strange activities and hear strange discussions about politics, but do not mind them. The travelers here love their game of janggi, so are ever strategizing among themselves, even when they are not playing. Whatever the case, focus on finding your sister. Is that clear?”

The shadows from the secret storage room drifted into my mind. “Of course,” I said.

I woke up that night with a scream in my throat.

I had dreamed of my sister dragged into the darkness, where a shadow with fangs cut into her flesh. Guilt and self-loathing slid into my chest like a long needle. It was all my fault that she was in the palace, enduring unspeakable indignities. I fumbled for my travel sack before I remembered it was not there. I did not have the san-jo-in seeds I had brought with me, the dozen or so remaining from hundreds I had painstakingly collected over the months from dried jujubes.

The seeds were merely herbal medicine, yet to me, they became sacred promises when placed on my tongue. Promises that sleep would come, that I would find a moment of relief from this wretched life. But I had lost them all, along with my travel sack and everything in it. My hands trembled as I washed my face from a bowl of water, then cracked open the hanji-screened window and looked outside. It was still nighttime, and the chirping of crickets filled the hot and humid silence.

The pressure in my chest would not ease. You, you are to blame. It was all your fault.

If only I had obeyed my sister, who had only ever wanted to keep me safe. If I had, we would not have quarreled. If I had, I would never have gone out, leading her straight into the king’s hands…

If only. If only.

I felt a pang in my heart as I tried and failed to recall a single day when Older Sister and I had not fought. How had we so drifted apart, Suyeon and I?

The ache deepened, and realization settled over me like a bone-chilling mist. Despite the cherished moments we once shared, a chasm had quietly widened between us, expanding year by year as our lives unfolded—hers, that of the dutiful eldest, and mine, that of the much-forgiven troublemaker.

I hadn’t fully noticed this chasm until the day I rushed into her chamber, weeping in grief over the news that she was to be betrothed to a young man who lived afar and, after marriage, would be compelled to move to the far end of the kingdom to live with her in-laws. I’d felt truly devastated over this. But Suyeon had refused to even look at my tearful face, as though the sight of me repulsed her, and the whole time she had scrawled furiously into her journal. That night I had sneaked a peek into the book.

I am tired of being the elder sister, were the words within. When I expressed my objection for the first time today, Father gave me such a look of disappointment that I felt my entire world tremble. Why does he only see my disobedience, and not my desperate love for him? To live near home, to be close enough to care for my parents in their old age—I wish I could cry, I wish I could fall apart as little sister often does, and still be loved and understood. But Icannot. My parents do not love me when I am weak, when I fail them, when I err. Who am I, if I am not the perfect daughter?

My sister had written these words when she was fourteen years old, and I now felt her loneliness. Perhaps she had always felt this lonely.

When morning came, I felt beaten, in a sort of trance as I watched myself—a girl with shadows under her eyes and blood dried along her left arm. She struggled into a clean dress Madam Yul had provided, a white cotton jacket with a collar of midnight blue, and a skirt of the same hue. She threw a veil over her head and stepped out into the unwelcoming, early-morning gray. A wooden sign hung under the eaves reading, RED LANTERN INN.

I shuddered, and I was once more in my own body.

Tugging the veil low over my head, I staggered down the road, unsure of how to reach the Royal Academy in the capital. I was determined to look for Suyeon there. But there was no one around to ask. Then I heard a male voice singing and followed the sound to its source.

A small crowd of spectators surrounded a troupe of jesters. They wore masks as they performed a story about a wealthy government official and a lowly peasant. I had grown up watching these plays from over the black tiles of my mansion wall, fascinated by the stories that criticized the wealthy and brought joy to the common folk. I would always view these tales as I might distant mountains—as sheer entertainment, unable to relate to the suffering of others. But now their grief was my own. Hunger, loss, and humiliation. I had drunk from that bitter cup for the past two years.

In time, the performance came to a close, and the spectators dispersed. The jesters packed up, loading their instruments and masks onto a wagon, and I was still standing there, lost in memory.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

I startled at the rough Southern Jeolla dialect and looked to see a tanned and striking face. It was a young man carrying a narrow drum beneath his arm.

“No.” I turned to leave.

“I know you. You’re the new resident at the Red Lantern Inn, are you not?”

I looked at him again, then recognized his face. He was the one who had come running to Madam Yul with news of the murder.

“Where are you heading so early in the day?” he asked cheerfully.

I hesitated. “The capital. Which way is it?”

“We are heading there ourselves,” the young man said, nodding at the group of performers. They were all men, tired but merry. They wore bright red robes and golden sash bands, and they walked with bamboo canes and straw shoes.

“Should we not accompany her?” he asked his fellows.

“She may follow, if she wishes,” came a scratchy voice from the group. It was an elder with his white hair tied into a topknot. “There’s a killer on the loose. A young woman like yourself oughtn’t be wandering alone.”

“Thank you,” I said stiffly. I did not trust myself to find my way to the capital with no map. “I would appreciate that.”

Another conversation hummed farther ahead. “A killer is on the loose, and still, no one knows who he is.”

“Have you been searching for the killer, too?” his companion asked. “I truly believe that the king will give us anything we want if we find this slayer.”

“The king offers a promotion in status. I’m tired of living as a court jester. Tired to the gods-damned bone.”

So these men were all court jesters, which were, in fact, part of the government—serving under the Bureau of Performance. They would be hired for events at mansions and the royal court.

An idea bubbled to mind as my heartbeat quickened.

“What is your name?” I asked the young man, a bit too eagerly.

“Yeongho,” he answered.

“My name is Uijeongg,” I lied. I couldn’t resist asking the question. “You and the others are court jesters?”

“We are a traveling troupe, but we made the king laugh once, and so we have been performing at court whenever the king summons us.”

“Have you ever performed for the king at the Royal Academy?” Could you find a way to sneak me in?

“Once or twice.”

“Are you heading there now?”

“No, we are going to perform for a nobleman’s hwangap celebration tonight.”

Disappointment sank in my gut. I would have to resort to my original method of climbing over the wall. I might not leave the Royal Academy alive tonight. But there was no use looking for the killer, doing anything at all, if my sister was not even in the king’s company.

As we set off down the road, Yeongho told me, “It isn’t too far. The capital is about a half hour’s walk. Do you think you can make it? Your… your sandals are bloody. I could piggyback you—”

“You will certainly not,” I said, a bit too vehemently.

He raised his hands defensively, and the performers chuckled, whispering, “It seems we have taken in a wildcat.”

Their conversations faded to the background as we reached the fortress, towering stone walls that enclosed Hanyang, the capital of Joseon. There was a crowd of people waiting to be permitted inside, and as I stood in line, I fidgeted with my skirt. I was supposed to be a thousand miles away in Jeju, exiled there along with what remained of Father’s relatives. But my parents must have known—possibly since I was born—that the day would come when we would need to flee. They had prepared false identity documents for Older Sister and me, pushing the papers into our hands the day State Tribunal officers had invaded our home. I slipped out the document now from within my dress, the one thing I had not kept in my travel sack.

Once I arrived before the gate, a guard inspected my document, then waved me through. The sense of relief lasted but for a moment, for when I stepped into the city, the place did not match the glorious tales Father had shared with me. Instead, I felt as though I had stepped into a battle-torn wasteland.

Decapitated heads sat impaled on wooden pikes, eyes staring and tongues lolling. Police officers were busy scrubbing the public walls, trying to wash away the words of slander sprawled across in paint: Damn the king! Damn the king! Damn the king! The city was coated in a gloom cast by black smoke.

“You will grow accustomed to the sight of death,” Yeongho murmured as he stepped over a corpse that lay ignored in the street. Then he cast a wry smile my way. “Welcome to the capital.”

“Where is that smoke coming from?” I whispered.

I followed the troupe as they wound through the narrow and filthy roads, and finally Yeongho pointed eastward. In an open yard, books were being burned. Wagonful after wagonful of confiscated books were thrown into a great blazing fire. I watched the pages blacken and curl into ashes, the flames consuming the words like the king’s fury over the land. I had seen this same scene two years ago, with the banning of eonmun—King Sejong’s alphabet system that had so fascinated my sister. His Majesty had carried out this ban to suppress public slander. He had also had every literate man and woman submit four pieces of writing, to ensure that should anyone slander him, he could identify the writer.

“The king has reinforced the ban on eonmun,” Yeongho recited the words he must have memorized. “Do not teach eonmun, and do not learn it. And those who are literate must report to the Hanseongbu Government office. Anyone who knows of neighbors who are literate but does not report it will be punished. And anyone who uses writing will be decapitated, and anyone who witnesses others but does not report it will be beaten a hundred times. Any books written in Hanguel or Gugyeol are to be destroyed.”

I stared at the blazing fire as my throat ached. Tyranny billowed in the plume of black smoke, rising and rising, choking the heavens. Suyeon had stood by me when we had witnessed the first book burning, and she had watched in terror. She loved reading more than I.

“We live in a terrible time,” Yeongho said. “An era when the truth is a crime. And there is nothing we can do about it—”

Suddenly, he gripped my hand and pulled me aside as a group of officers prowled by. Crowds quickly dispersed, and a young woman’s panic-filled scream rang in the air.

“Beware of officers in bloodred robes,” Yeongho whispered, now holding both my hands with urgency in his eyes. “Those are chehongsa officers, in charge of kidnapping girls for the king.” He cast me a quick, timid glance. “I’ve only met you, and yet… I don’t want to see you hurt. You must hide, too.”

His remark blew right past me. “I have no time to hide,” I said, then looked past the severed heads and black smoke. “Which way is it to the Royal Academy?”

Yeongho stared at me. “You might as well ask me the directions to your own grave.”

“I am not frightened of the grave,” I muttered, watching as Yeongho scratched the back of his head with indecision. “But I am frightened of never seeing my sister again.”

“You must love her very dearly.”

My breath caught in my throat. Love my sister?

“You either love her or you don’t. It is quite simple,” Yeongho said after my prolonged silence.

The mere thought of loving anyone sent a dark, winged creature swooping through my soul, and panic rumbled in my bones: Those you love always die.

I shook my head, and while staring at the ground, I murmured, “Whether I love my sister or not, it doesn’t matter. I am going to bring her home. I am going to find Suyeon.”