But my attention is pulled, almost by force, to the fourth wall, which is covered with bows, quivers, and arrows hanging on pegs. I eye the smooth wood of one horn bow, so old it should be in a museum. The image of the Blue Dragon, one of the four immortal guardians of Korea, is painted on it. The horn bow is unique to Korea, known for its ability to shoot arrows farther than any other bow. My fingers itch to take it off the wall, string it, and draw back on it to feel its pull.
Without thinking, I grasp it. An electric shock runs through me, and I nearly drop the bow. The bamboo is as smooth as pearl against my hands. My fingers set into the notches on the bow, and a buzz of nerves courses through me because the bow fits my hand perfectly. I drag my fingers along the string, wondering if that hum I’m hearing is my imagination.
I replace the bow and move to the low teak table in the center of the room. On top lies an aged scroll, unrolled and revealing ancient Chinese symbols. I clamp my sweaty hands in my lap and lean forward. Seeing an ancient scroll that isn’t behind glass is beyond cool. The rice paper appears faded, but the swirled texture is still intact.
I slide my finger gingerly over the scroll’s rough surface. I expect grime to gather along my fingertips, but instead my fingers are caked with gold. The particles rise from my hand in a glittery spiral above the scroll and stream toward the mural.
The gold dust fuses into the outline of Princess Yuhwa riding in the dragon-led chariot. Beams of light shoot from the walls. The princess turns to me and stretches out her hand, saying, “Help me!” in Korean.
My head pounds, almost as if the drums from the museum ceremony are beating again.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.
My hand shakes, and before I realize what I’m doing, I reach out and grab hold of her hand.
CHAPTER 6
Gravity chains my feet to the floor, resisting the princess’s pull. My bones can’t take much more pressure. But then I fall head-first through the mural into blinding light. I clamp my eyes shut and fight against the instinct to curl into a ball. I hit a hard, cold surface, and my body smashes against a wall.
When I open my eyes, I expect to see a chariot or perhaps the princess. They’re nowhere in sight. Instead, a heavy mist drifts over toothed rocks at my feet. I manage to lean against the small pagoda behind me, my arm still aching from being pulled to wherever I am.
What is this place? What just happened to me?
I take a deep breath and slowly release it. That’s what Master Park from Tae Kwon Do class tells us to do in overwhelming situations. I can totally handle this. I must have fallen or something. That’s it. Just like I did next to the sweet potato lady. I need to find my way back to wherever I was.
The wind rails against my cheeks, whipping my long hair across my eyes. I cling to the vertical wooden beams running alongside the pagoda to keep myself balanced against the gusts. I’m about to take my first step when the wind shifts, pulling away the mist.
My foot hovers over nothingness.
I scream. My heart plunges to the pit of my stomach. I claw for the pagoda, all the while eying the vertical drop of maybe a freaking thousand feet.
Oh God.
My heart struggles to regain a steady beat. I press my body against the pagoda, fighting the storm that’s desperate to toss me off this pinnacle. Fighting the need to throw up.
I will not panic, I tell myself over and over. But my hands won’t stop shaking, and my legs buckle underneath me.
The wooden walls I’m clinging to, with their Chinese characters engraved on them, become my entire focus. I hardly know any Chinese, but I recognize some of these. I try to focus on them, hoping the sight of something familiar will help me pull myself together. Because I’m totally losing it.
Soo Jin
Young Mi
Hana
Min Sung
Wait. These are names. The entire pagoda’s surface is carved with them. But why? I shuffle along the edge of the pagoda, reading the names I can decipher and hoping to find the door leading inside. If there is one.
As I move, I realize the pagoda is more like a small shrine, with a diameter of about ten feet. It’s built on top of a rock pinnacle, with a small, maybe-two-foot ledge circling it. I have yet to see a ladder, stairwell, door—anything to show how this place was even built.
Farther along, I come to a section where the ledge is so narrow that one misstep will send me flying. My winter coat lashes at my legs. I grip the ledge until my knuckles are white, paralyzed even to attempt this section.
Characters. I just need to focus on them, and that will distract me. That’s when I read something very strange. My vision blurs, and I nearly lose my grip.
The names are all too familiar. My great-aunt’s, Lee Yang Hee, along with another name, Lee Sun, is carved there.
And then.
On top and blazing in gold.
My name.
Lee Jae Hwa.
My pulse throbs against my temples. From the corner of my eye, I spot something on the horizon, moving through the air like a bird. I wait as it grows closer, hoping it’s a rescue of some kind, but soon I realize it’s a dragon-led chariot. Except Princess Yuhwa isn’t driving it. It looks like a man.
I suddenly remember Grandfather’s story and scoot back along the shrine’s edge. The chariot draws closer. I can see the gold-plated scales on the dragons and the gleam of their red eyes.
Then I hear a voice calling my name.
“Jae Hwa!”
I search the area for who is calling me, but I can’t find anyone. “Help!” I yell.
The rock floor is wider in this section, and for a moment I’m relieved until I realize this is where I started. Which means there isn’t a door into the shrine. There’s no escape.
“Over here, Jae Hwa!” The voice sounds like Grandfather’s. With my back pressed against the pagoda, I stare out over the edge where I hear his voice; and there, through a shimmery mirage, I can just make out Grandfather, reaching for me through the clouds.
“Jump, Jae Hwa!” he shouts. “Jump before he finds you!”
He wants me to jump off a pinnacle that’s forever high. Right. That makes a lot of sense. But then, what about this place makes sense?
“You cannot run from me, my princess,” another voice, rich and deep, calls out. “You are mine. We are destined to be together for eternity.”
Careening around the corner, the dragons emerge. Snorting. Their scales reflecting the beams of the sun.
Deep breath.
I leap off the pinnacle, stretching my body toward Grandfather’s outstretched arms. For a heartbeat I’m suspended over nothingness, falling through the mist.
And I wonder if I’ve just leaped to my death.
CHAPTER 7
But I haven’t. My hands meet Grandfather’s, warm and strong. He drags me through the blinding light until I’m tumbling across the cave’s sand-scattered rock floor. He quickly unfurls a huge black tarp, then digs through a chest and procures a roll of duct tape. I gawk at his calm and efficient movements as he starts duct-taping the tarp over the mural.
“Haraboji,” I finally manage, breathless. “That mural—it took me to this place.”
He doesn’t even glance my way. “Help me. This will block off all light from the cave. He will not be able to enter.”
I jump up and grab the other end of the tarp, holding it tight against the wild wind, and together we secure it against the wall. As we do, the wind vanishes.