Then I’m flung across the sky, far from the city. The wind rushes around me, screaming in my ears and tearing at my clothes as I plummet. The ground looms closer with every second. I know I’m about to die, but all I can think about is Dad, Grandfather, and Marc. What will happen to them?
A golden light envelopes me along with the sound of tinkling bells. I black out.
CHAPTER 37
My bones ache and my head feels like a hand grenade exploded in my brain. Slowly, I lift my eyes and wait for my vision to clear. After seeing the golden light and hearing the tinkling of bells, I’m expecting to be in Haemosu’s world.
I’m so wrong.
The sky hovers above, smoky blue, and little block houses, some modern concrete style and others with the traditional tiled roofs, rise up toward it. Cars rush by, spraying slush on the sidewalk, splattering my face. My clothes are soaked, and my hair is slimy from whatever I’d been lying in. Probably vomit from the smell of it.
I’m not in Haemosu’s lands. He saved me so he could torture me. My hands start shaking. I punch the ground, and mud and sludge splatter all over me.
Three people I care about have been taken because they believed in me. I failed them. My stomach churns, thinking about what Haemosu might have done to them. I stumble into an alley and throw up.
I check my watch for the time, but my vision is still fuzzy, and it takes a few moments for me to read it—eight a.m. I reach up gingerly and find a golf ball–sized bump on the left side of my head. How did this happen? I should be splattered across the pavement.
I do a quick inventory check, hoping I somehow managed to take more with me than the huge bump. Sure enough, my bow is still strapped to my shoulder, miraculously undamaged, and my backpack is still on my back. I spy Grandfather’s pack at my feet. I pick it up and stumble down the side of the road, avoiding the mud and puddles. Shop lights flick on, and the roadside sellers make their way to their carts, tossing off the thick brown tarps in preparation for the day.
It’s a normal morning for them. Unlike me. My latest grand plan has gone wrong.
I touch Princess Yuhwa’s hairpin, still tucked in my slimy ponytail. I sense a connection with her just by having it on. She found a way to escape. Maybe her good fortune will rub off on me. This calms me somehow.
I need to call Dad. Without a guardian I can’t leave the country. Oddly, the thought of staying in Korea is comforting. The truth of it all sets in. I don’t want to leave anymore. I can’t leave my friends or my family. This is where I belong. This is home.
But I can’t call Dad. Haemosu is just waiting for me to lead him to Dad, so I can watch Dad get kidnapped. Haemosu will only do it if I’m there. Keeping Dad as far from me as possible is the only way I can ensure he’s safe.
I search my backpack for food and finding none; I dig through Grandfather’s. My hand brushes against a silk drawstring pouch. Curious, I pull back the golden strings and dump the object into my palm. It’s cool to the touch, and the gold catches in the early light.
Oh. My. God.
The amulet.
Grandfather had it the whole time! I think back to when I was talking to the police chief and I thought I’d seen someone slip out. Had that been him? He’d probably planned to get me out of the country and then secretly come back to defeat Haemosu himself.
The three-legged crow looks at me as if it’s itching to tell its secret. I run my finger around the circular edge, remembering how Grandfather said that each of the ancient Koguryo tombs was a gateway into the Spirit World.
If I can find one of those tombs, I can enter the Spirit World just like I’d originally planned. Because now I have the key. I can rescue Marc, Grandfather, and Komo.
Haemosu thinks he’s got it all under control, but I’ll show him. I clench the amulet in my fist and head over to a shopkeeper rolling back her tarp to reveal piles of socks loaded on her cart. I smile just at the sight. If I could take a picture of it and e-mail it to my friends back in L.A., they would die laughing.
But those times are gone. Life has become way more complicated than taking pictures and hanging out with friends. I swallow back tears.
“Excuse me,” I manage to say to the sock lady in Korean. “Do you know where the closest Korean king’s tomb is?”
She glances up, and her weathered face grins. I suppose my L.A.–accented Korean is laughable, but she points to the bus stop across the street.
“The closest tomb is King Munmu’s,” she says. “Bonggil Beach is a one-hour drive away.”
Only one hour away? Yes! “Kamsahamnida,” I say, and skirt around her cart to a public bathroom next to the bus stop.
There I wash the grossness out of my hair in the sink, brush my teeth, and splash water over my tear-streaked face. It wasn’t a hot bath, but it would have to do. Feeling a world better, I head back outside to the bus stop.
The map hanging on the bulletin board shows that I’m not in Busan anymore. I’m actually farther east up the coast between Busan and Kyongju. Interesting. I suppose the dragons were trying to throw me as far from the port as possible.
An hour later I stumble off the bus and onto a sand-streaked brick road. Every muscle aches, and my head hurts even worse. Wandering down the street, I breathe in the salty air and listen to the low rush of the waves as I search for someone to show me the way to the tomb. Even through my pounding headache, I notice there’s something strange about this town.
Empty tarp-covered stalls fill the beach side of the road, and even the concrete lean-to restaurants that line the other side look forlorn. The only signs of civilization are the telephone wires strung along the road like sagging tightropes. The restaurants have fish tanks out in front and large signs tacked onto their roofs to lure visitors.
Where is everyone?
I’m so weak right now, it’s hard even to think straight. A peak-roofed restaurant with the words KING MUNMU painted on a wooden sign across the front catches my eye.
Inside, smells of cooked rice and sesame oil send my stomach growling. The restaurant’s walls are slabs of unfinished wood, with old-fashioned sconces holding candles and the far end is lined with windows that overlook the sea.
Scenic paintings of Korea fill the walls. My shoulders relax as I collapse onto one of the low table’s floor cushions.
A lady with long dark flowing hair glides to my table and hands me a menu.
“Hello there, young one,” she says in a lilting voice that reminds me of crashing waves. “You look weary and hungry.”
“Yeah, I’m starved.” I give the menu a quick scan and order noodles.
I don’t wait long before she drifts back with a huge bowl of thick rice noodles, steam coiling up.
“You have no idea how wonderful this looks,” I tell her, and slurp up a spoonful. “I noticed your restaurant was named after King Munmu. Do you know where his tomb is?”
“Indeed.” She flicks her manicured hand toward a painting of a rocky island. “One of my favorites of the king’s final resting place.”
She sighs and takes a moment to study each of the paintings in the room. I slowly lower my spoon as I follow her gaze. Every painting in the restaurant is of that same island. It’s kind of creepy.
I say, “The tomb is on an island?” Why does everything have to be so impossible?
“Down the path just outside my restaurant. Not far.” She pats my hand and pushes my bowl closer to me. “Now eat up, my dear. You look like a few pounds would do you good.”
The noodles warm my body so that by the time I drain the last of the broth, I’m so tired I could curl up in one of the restaurant’s corners and sleep for a decade.