The Girl with a Thousand Faces

Chapter 35 The Transmigration of Mercy Chan

THE TRANSMIGRATION OF MERCY CHAN

For the second time in her long existence, Mercy Chan awoke underwater.

Her first sensation was one of confinement. The space she occupied was small, barely enough for her body to cram into, limbs folded tight to her chest. The sides of it were metallic, rusty, and curved; some kind of storage barrel.

The same one that Thousand-Faced Girl had shoved her into.

Panic set in. Mercy twisted in frantic flurries of motion. There was a horrible wet sogginess to her lungs that she didn’t like. She needed to get out of here, to breathe. Her hands shot up, seeking a rim to pull up against, and instead, her palms slammed against a well-fixed lid.

There was no exit. She was sealed in.

Fury and fear blended with her panic. Mercy pounded against the sides of the barrel with closed fists. The lid, she thought. Surely the lid will be the weakest point.

She braced her feet on the floor of the barrel, as much as she could in such a tight space, tucked her chin to her chest, and slammed her shoulders upward. And again, and again.

It should have hurt. The force she was applying was enough to bruise anyone’s shoulders.

Yet she felt nothing except a deep panic to get out, get up to air, get to where she could breathe.

How was she even still alive? It had been minutes without breathing.

A distant part of Mercy was aware of this, but refused to think about it because the alternative was hideous. Instead, she kept trying.

On the seventh slam, the lid gave way, barrel falling over from the force of her motion. Mercy slopped out of the drum on hands and knees amidst a splurge of water.

From darkness, into darkness. The room was small, barely the size of a large closet, and half full of water. The only light came from a small grate in the ceiling.

No, not a “room”; that was the wrong description. The walls were slick with mold and slime, the “water” dank and fetid, with an overpowering scent of rot. There were no doors or windows or any exit except that grate.

Mercy tried to breathe. Instead of easing, her pain intensified. Dry air scraped her skin raw, drowned lungs straining futilely to inhale. A transcendent horror kicked in, feral and spiraling. Mercy attempted to scream, couldn’t manage it. Thrashed like a fish out of water.

Dying is not the end for you.

Shivering, Mercy looked down at herself for the first time.

Her hands were unnaturally elongated, the fingers ending in nails that curved long like claws. Her body, if it could be called that, was a starved and emaciated scrap, skin tinged the color of bile, the edges of herself indistinct and blurred. Gaunt, withered, deadly.

Corporeal … almost. But not quite.

Slowly, anxiously, she turned around.

Her body, or what she had long thought of as her body, lay crammed at the bottom of the barrel, waterlogged and unmoving. It had drowned in there, and she hadn’t even noticed in her panic to get out, or else had mistaken its limbs for her own.

There was no hiding from the truth anymore. She died in that barrel, and her spirit was peeled away.

The fear and panic faded, replaced by a curious calm. Even the crushing pressure in her lungs seemed bearable, all of sudden, like an old auntie whom you found exasperating but had nonetheless gotten used to over the years.

A glimmering reflection caught her eye; something was written on the walls. Mercy took a step forward. Red paint formed sloppy characters; the strokes dripped with moisture. But it was readable, if only just.

From Shore Sister to Sea Sister: may we always be friends forever.

She had seen these words before, written on a scrap of paper. The heart of a lonely girl, offered up freely and stuffed into fragile glass. Once belonging to—

Sung Siu Yin, she whispered.

Lost memories returned in a torrent and cratered through her consciousness with such force that Mercy slumped sideways, held up only by the slime-drenched walls.

Fuck everything, she groaned. I am Sea Sister!

It made sense, now. All of it. She was guilty of so much. First for killing Siu Yin and taking the other woman’s body, then staying too long in a skin that wasn’t hers, until her memories had faded and she had become someone new.

Of course the water ghost hunted her; it sought justice, like the many other spirits Mercy had talked to over the years. When the Girl with a Thousand Faces had killed her for the second time, Mercy’s spirit must have slipped from its stolen skin into that barrel, hiding in the water.

Then the lid had been sealed on top, and the barrel placed … here, wherever this was. The intent was for her to rot in stinking darkness, forgotten and trapped, as she deserved. Mercy could not even complain that it was unfair.

So many were dead, because of her. Along with a slew of other unnamed, countless dozens—hundreds?

More?—whose existences had been snuffed out in Siu Yin’s endless quest for justice and vengeance.

All paying a price that Mercy had evaded for years, against the balance of a debt she could never fulfill.

Nor did she have any hope that things would improve now that she’d been shoved in this hole. The Thousand-Faced Girl was a water ghost unbound, free to wear skins and wreak havoc. All this was surely only the beginning.

A clear voice cut through her despairing thoughts, like a hot knife through pig fat:

“Finally, you got there. Took you long enough.”

Mercy spun. Who said that?

“Some call me the goddess of mercy. I have been your friend for years, though you never pray to me anymore.”

Lady Kwun Yam? she said, stunned. Where … where are you?

“Everywhere. Nowhere. All around. It is easier for us to speak, now that you are dead again. Flesh dulls spiritual senses.” I manifested myself, coalescing from the darkness to hover in front of her, my robes dry and pristine despite the rotting damp of this pit.

“Is that better? Mortals like to look on faces when they speak, I’m told. ”

Her mouth opened and closed, fingers twitching. Trying to process it all.

“You were born special, like Ma Zu was, long ago. As a child, you came to my temple often. You asked me to remember you when you died. I took pity on you, Mei Chi, and I kept your name in my heart,” I said, sadly. “But the memory of a goddess is a dangerous thing.”

Why are you talking to me, here and now?! Mercy exclaimed. Haven’t you had years to speak to me?

“I’ve always been talking, but you don’t listen,” I tell her.

“I sent you dreams, for decades. Dreams so strong they broke into the waking world. I pushed you to remember, to think, to reflect. At every turn you chose to bury yourself and hide from the past. There is a limit, Mercy. Even for a deity.”

… Oh. That was you?

“Who else?”

A clear dream with a clear message would have been far more helpful!

“Would it? Would it, really? And how do you think you would have reacted to a dream that claimed you were a long-dead water ghost accidentally stuck in the body of the niece she murdered? Would you have believed that?”

She glowered.

“Precisely.” I adjusted my golden headdress primly.

Why are you here now? she said. Is it to stop Siu Yin?

“No, that’s your job. I am just here to confront you with the truth.”

What … what truth?

“What is happening today in Hong Kong is your fault, Mercy. Your actions created a monster, and you bear responsibility for every soul she drowns, every life she wrecks.”

Mercy’s shock was visceral. I never intended any such thing! How are you pinning that on me?

“Pinning? You took her life, little one. You made her into a ghost, like yourself. Gave her your curse and your pain, selfishly. Then you took her skin and lived the life she should have had.”

I tried to get back to her, she protested. I would never have chosen—

“Except ultimately, you lived in her body, for years and years. Whatever you meant or didn’t mean, the choices you made still had consequences. Intent does not excuse harm. The pain we carry does not negate the hurt caused. In the end, the path you chose to walk has led us here today.”

She stared at me, stricken. But I haven’t lived a bad life! I became a good person, didn’t I? The kind of good person I never had a chance to be as a child!

“You have been wonderful,” I told her, which was not precisely true, but I wanted to be compassionate. “However, that goodness and that redemption came at the cost of another’s pain. The price of your peace was her death, and that is too high a cost.”

What about her choices? Doesn’t Siu Yin bear any responsibility?

“Yes, she does. But right now, we are talking about you and your mistakes, and how you must move forward to set them right.”

I don’t know how, she said, flinging bony hands into the air. Where do I even start?

“With what’s in front of you,” I said. “Even as we speak, Siu Yin is working her way toward the Murray Building. She will scare off or kill those she encounters, and begin breaking free the surviving ghosts who are trapped, as she was once trapped.”

I mean. Is that part such a bad thing? Mercy asked, doubtfully. It’s not really a fate they deserve, is it?

“Freeing them would be kind. Freeing them as a rabid mob, without precautions or warnings, is dangerous and unhelpful.”

Fair enough, she said. I still don’t know what you want me to do, though. I have nothing. She has a city, months of planning, power, skins—

“You are the water ghost of Shek Ham Chau, who destroyed a village and summoned storms, and kept an entire island haunted!” My exasperation brimmed over. “Isn’t that power? You knew it, once, and wielded it ferociously. Won’t you use that strength for good?”

Are you joking me, goddess? she said, hands on hips. I can’t even get out of this pit!

“Oh, you will get out. Help is coming. That much I can promise. But that is why we must talk, now, while there is time.” I lifted my head, gazing through the grate at the world beyond. “Tell me, child. How do you feel?”

Her mouth opened and closed. What … what do you mean?

“Are you calm? Sane? Thinking straight?”

Of course, she said, then frowned. Ah, I see. You mean I don’t feel ghostly rage. Wait, why don’t I feel ghostly rage?

“Because I am here. I am your goddess, and still have some hold on you, though my restraint cannot save you forever. When I go, your anger will return. Like the cycle of seasons, like the typhoons in summer, deathly fury will descend again. If you are not careful, you will lose yourself.”

I don’t want to lose myself, she said, anguished. I want to be … to stay … as a human. Emotionally, anyway.

“Then fight it,” I told her, simply. “You are capable of doing so.”

You don’t know that, she said. I could not control my rage as a child. You saw what I became!

“That was then, this is now. Thirty-three years you’ve had in this body; thirty-three years of memories, love, sadness, joy, long days and hard nights. As a child, you weren’t able to conquer your ghostly rage. As a woman, though, you must. No excuses, Mercy Chan.”

She jerked like I’d slapped her. You don’t mince words much, for a goddess of compassion.

I chose not to comment on that. It would have been counterproductive to remind her of all the years I’d been patient and enduring. Besides, I was mincing words, and she just didn’t realize that.

Still, you’re not wrong, she added grudgingly, and I repressed a smile.

She always got there in the end, this one. Perhaps it was why I remained so fond of her, despite everything.

This is my to-do list, then. Mercy held up a finger. Get out of here, with help you say is coming.

“It is coming.”

Right. She held up a second finger. Next, conquer my impossible rage through sheer willpower. Third finger. Then save Kowloon from being demolished, and Hong Kong from being overrun. Somehow. Fourth finger. And finally, save my niece from herself, even though she hates me for murdering her.

“A concise yet accurate list.”

All in a day’s work, she muttered. What happens after I succeed?

“In what sense?”

I’m still dead, I’m still a ghost. I have no body to return to; I can’t claim my niece’s body again.

“Walk this path one step at a time.” My voice grew soft, my form fading to mist in front of her eyes; the manifestation was dissipating. “You will know what is right, when you see it in front of you.”

Are you sure about that? she said, alarmed. I think you might have too much faith in me for that one, goddess.

No answer. She would have to do without me, for a little while.

Shit, she said.

Grimly, Mercy looked upward at the grate. She rose from the water, reaching up with cautious fingers. It burned with heat, and she winced, withdrawing her hand to a safe distance.

Corporeality was a double-edged sword for ghosts; Mercy had a form that could touch, hold, push, interact. That also meant she had a form which could be trapped or held, as she had been in the barrel. Or in this room.

Her only exit was the grate, on which a talisman of warding had been thickly painted. The fu talisman was on the inside of the cover, so there was no getting around it. If it were on the top, she could perhaps simply have lifted it away.

Mercy ground her teeth in frustration.

In her human skin, fu talismans did nothing against her.

As a ghost without a shell, it burned if she came too close.

The glyphs were well-formed, large, and painted with a mixture made from blood and sacred ash.

Priest-made, and glazed in protective paint, to keep it safe from the damp and humidity. No amateur job.

Even if she could somehow force this grate open through sheer effort, time, and will, the fu talisman would keep her prisoner.

THUNK.

Mercy jerked back. What in heaven …

THUNK.

Another strike. Someone or something was whacking the manhole cover. Another loud clang and then, impossibly, a pair of red maogui eyes peered at her through the small patch of grating in its center.

Bao! she cried out, and he growled in recognition. His claws found their grip in the grating, and with roaring effort, the ghost cat began to lift the cover.

Mercy burst out laughing. The fu talisman had been painted on the underside of the grate, but nobody had painted it on the topside. The fu talisman could keep her in, but it could not keep Bao out.

Siu Yin, or possibly her minions, hadn’t prepared for another ghost coming to help.

Mercy scooped up the wretched shell of her old body with one arm and held it close. Then she jumped, catching the edge with clawed fingers, and hoisted herself like a greased serpent out of the cesspit.