IGMS Issue 32 (8 page)

By the time Ori made it to the edge of the bamboo, he realized that he could feel the dew between his toes. This world was becoming more solid to him. How much longer until he lost his way back? The tension in his muscles was taut, but thin.

"Jwi!" he called. "I too lost a sibling. I don't deserve your trust, but I need it now. I followed you all the way into death. I may never have another chance to bring you back."

Ori stopped so that Jwi could follow his voice if she chose. Either she didn't understand the situation, or she was not near. It was unlike her to simply give up.

"You must come to my voice, though, I cannot hear you." And Ori began to hum a melody that his sister used to sing when she thought herself alone.

But Jwi didn't come. The more he hummed, the more certain he became that she
was
here, but ignoring him. He turned round and round, the bamboo's shadows cutting black slashes against the white moonlight, but never a glimpse of Jwi. Not dancing around stalks of bamboo or distracted by a spirit. She never did need Ori, did she? She knew how to navigate this world, whereas Ori floundered. She was full of life, whereas Ori was merely playing out his role until he found his family again in the kingdom of the dead. He needed someone like her. Not like her -- he needed Jwi.

She was here. There wasn't much he knew about her with certainty, but she would have gone to the bamboo. It was where she'd wanted to die, when she almost succumbed to the spirit sickness; where she used to hum and tap out music for the spirits by her home.

Did the spirits ever hear her? All of those hours spent humming to them in the bamboo. Perhaps they loved her too much, and in loving her pulled her through the veil. But Ori was just another spirit now, wasn't he? Could he hear her? No, of course not. Not even the gods heard them. No one listened to their prayers.

Unless.

Ori's ears perked up. A sound he had dismissed as the call of a spirit percolated through the bamboo. Tapping, he thought. It sounded like tapping. Tapping on the bamboo. But didn't the bamboo, like the herb that killed him, like the temple's ancient walls, exist on either side of the veil? Now Ori realized what he would find:

Jwi cried as she tapped on the bamboo, her tears seeming to melt her colorless cheeks. She glanced at Ori, disinterested in what he might do. Jwi was so spirit-like, he'd forgotten she had the capacity to grieve.

Ori stepped through her, overlaying her. Still she tapped on the bamboo, her hands seeming to emerge from out his chest.

"I'm not sure," he whispered, "maybe it's already too late. Either way, I'm sorry."

How long it took to find his way back through the veil was impossible to tell. How many times Jwi played through her simple tribute to the gods. It felt endless at the time, while all he could do was reach for his living body and encourage the breath to fill his lungs once more. But like the morning following a restless night, Ori awoke feeling as if it had all passed in an instant.

But he didn't awake well.

Sunlight stabbed Ori's eyes and burned his skin. His sleeping mat was damp with sweat. He blinked, and the light gradually resolved into a familiar face.

"Jwi."

"Drink," Jwi insisted with surprising authority. "Open your mouth. Wider." She squeezed a wet rag and a few drops of water singed Ori's parched tongue. He immediately turned his head and retched a thin trickle down his cheek.

That was all the time he spent alive before the spirit world claimed him again.

He didn't black out, although the room was dark as the moon was yet shy of the horizon. Once again he could see Jwi, but only faintly as before. She looked both frustrated and concerned, fretting over his body, which touched him more deeply than he expected.

Ori wasn't alone in the spirit world. The same two ghosts watched over him just as Jwi did on her side of the veil. The young boy squatted next to him with curious eyes.

Ori asked him, "Can you see the girl feeding me?"

The boy's face lit up at being addressed, but he vigorously shook his head no.

Ori woke fitfully, often forgetting where he was. Sometimes he panicked, convinced he was back with his family during the war. But his sister squeezing his hand would reassure him. Dimly he was aware that it was actually Jwi who was beside him.

As time went on, darkness stopped coming at all. The sun and the moon shone equally brightly for Ori. People and spirits populated the same space. A gold-striped badger brushed past Jwi and she bent down to scratch her ankle. A sparrow with an eagle's wingspan perched on the mistress's shoulder, causing her to hunch ever so slightly. The spirits were all around them, but nobody saw! Many of them, Ori knew, were too intelligent by far. Their mischief was dangerous, and their curiosity doubly so.

Jwi knelt beside Ori to replace the damp cloth on his forehead with a cooler one. His fever haze receded slightly. But then he noticed a butterfly on her shoulder -- just like the butterflies that stole her from him at the betrothal ceremony! He reached out to brush it away.

"No, please," muttered Jwi, "don't move. The mistress said you mustn't move."

"Let me talk to her." Ori needed the mistress to promise that she would take care of Jwi if he died. This was the worst possible outcome. He was only supposed to die if he failed, and then Jwi would still see spirits and be useful to the
mudang
.

Ori rolled his head to find both
mudang
in the room, but his gaze took in the two ghosts, as well. The boy ghost lay on his stomach, watching Kyung-mi intently, while the elder ghost had his eye on the mistress across the room.

Ori rolled onto his elbows, pushing against the fever haze, smothering in it. "Watch out!" he croaked. "Stay away from them!" These ghosts were no better than the rest of the spirits, lingering where they didn't belong instead of moving on to the kingdom of the dead. They eyed the
mudang
like predators, he thought. "They'll pull you through, too."

He crawled toward them while Jwi pleaded with him to stop. The long sleeves of his ceremonial gown dragged on the floor -- the same gown that he was betrothed in, only days ago. He'd met Jwi for the very first time. "Stay away from them. Please, don't pull them through, too."

"Hold him," instructed the mistress. Little did she know.

Jwi held his shoulders, clearly reluctant to force her betrothed, but Ori was weak as a babe in her arms. The sun and the moon shining together were so bright he had to squint. Everyone's eyes were on him now,
mudang
and ghosts alike. For a moment Ori forgot what the urgency was, distracted by a spirit flying like a living ribbon through the temple. His head was hot, but his core was cold as the winter god's fist. Then he remembered what he was about: "Stay away from them."

"Pardon," Kyung-mi said as she forced a cup of tea into his mouth, rubbing his neck like a dog to make him swallow. "To help you sleep," was the last thing he heard.

Sleep he did, long and deep. When next he woke, it was dark again. His head was clear. The sun glowed like burnished copper, and Ori stood firmly on his two feet.

That was it, then. His body had relinquished him for good. No more struggling.

He looked instinctively for Jwi and was relieved when he found her, once again appearing dim and insubstantial to his eyes. Only her, he could see nothing else from the other side. He walked over, put his hand through hers. Felt nothing. They were more separated now than ever before, but at least he could see her.

Jwi bowed deeply and spoke words that Ori couldn't hear. Bowing to the mistress, he imagined. Was the
mudang
instructing Jwi to leave, now that she was no longer useful to them? What would happen to her? Once betrothed, a woman could not do so again, even though Ori was dead.

A thought occurred to him. "Why am I still here?" he muttered aloud. Then he thought to look for the two ever-present ghosts. "Why am I still here?" he asked them. He had no more ties to this world, so why hadn't he awakened in the kingdom of the dead?

It was the oldest ghost who finally answered him, in a voice both ancient and unused. "I am not surprised. Your company is welcome, of course."

Ori was relieved to hear another's voice. "Forgive me," he said, "I wasn't in my right mind when I accused you of attacking the
mudang
." Now, though, his mind was unfogged. His thoughts were unrushed, which felt like a natural consequence of no longer needing to breathe. And he realized that the way the ghosts had looked at the
mudang
back then was anything but malicious.

These ghosts could see the
mudang
just as Ori could see Jwi, couldn't they? They must have been very close in life to form such a connection. A
mudang
was a woman who lost a loved one, and somewhere on the other side of grief found herself inextricably linked to the spirit world. Might these be those very loved ones, watching over the
mudang
from this side of the veil? As soon as Ori thought of it, he knew it to be true.

But why could Ori see Jwi? "She doesn't love me," he said, picking up the thread of his thoughts when his own guesses no longer sufficed.

"The girl you were looking for?" The old ghost shrugged, as if to suggest that the evidence spoke for itself.

"We barely know each other. And I betrayed her trust."

"I think it fair to conclude that
you
love
her
. Perhaps that is enough."

Thinking of Jwi, Ori checked again to discover that she was leaving the room. He started toward her, but then hesitated and looked back at the ghost. "This means that she is a
mudang
now, is that true? Her connection to me makes her so? And she'll know this?"

The ghost nodded.

"Then she is useful again. The mistress will no doubt want to teach her." Ori nodded, then nodded again. That was it, then. This was how it was meant to be.

Seasons passed. Jwi stayed in the temple to learn the art of the
mudang
, and Ori watched over her. First she took over the bell from the Kyung-mi, kneeling straight-backed and attentive. Ori felt the wood floor vibrate under the soles of his feet whenever the mistress beat her drums, and although he could not actually hear Jwi's bell, the air felt crisper every time it tolled.