Martin Limon - The Iron Sickle

I began to range around the cavern.

The Army survival manual tells you that when you’re in a tight spot, even when time is running short, it pays to plan. I knew I needed food, water, and warmth-not necessarily in that order. I found my clothes wadded up and left in the dirt near the signal truck in a soggy lump. I started with the underwear, holding the briefs and the T-shirt up as close as I could get them to the fire, letting them dry. When they were a little less damp, I slipped them on, hoping my body heat would continue the drying process. I stood up, tested my aching ankles, and managed to hobble my way toward the light. Beneath a rock shelf, I stared out into a grey, overcast morning. Everything sloped downhill, into snow-covered trees and then into impenetrable fog. No sign of Madame Hoh or the man with the iron sickle, only frost-crusted footprints leading away from the cave and downhill. Moving quickly, I managed to gather twigs and dried branches near the rocks surrounding the cave entrance. By the time I returned to the little fire, I was shaking so badly, I could barely control my hands. Still, I fed the fire until it blazed brighter than ever. I warmed myself.

I spent the next hours tending the fire and drying my clothes. But I had another chore here in this rock-hewn mausoleum. One I’d been putting off.

I had to inspect the interior of the signal truck of the company known as the Lost Echo.

I wandered down Daeam Mountain for two days. I was completely lost and only followed the contours of the mountain as they led me downhill. On the second night, I collapsed. I had replaced my first walking stick with a better one that gave me more support. Even though my feet hurt like hell, they were functioning now, and I had high hopes the pain was a sign they were healing. Still, I was hungry and thirsty and desperately cold, and the inner linings of my sinuses bothered me, still raw from the Little Demon.

I needed shelter. Before I’d left the cave, I’d commandeered an old canvas tent flap and, using a rock, sawed a hole in the middle. I slipped it over my head and used it as a poncho. Even though it was heavy, it helped keep me warm and as dry as possible in this wintry world I was trudging through. I’d also found a box of flares. It figured the men of the Lost Echo wouldn’t have used them because they were busy hiding from the Chinese, not trying to draw attention to themselves. There were also some old dried up candles. Most of them crumbled beneath my touch but a few were still serviceable.

I found a fir tree with a branch broken from the weight of the snow. Using my walking stick, I pelted it until most of the snow was gone. Then I gathered some more twigs and made a thick bedding beneath the overhanging branch. I crawled in. Shoveling together a pile of earth, I stuck one of the candles atop it. Then, striking one of the three flares I’d brought with me, I lit the wick. Now I had a shelter. One that wasn’t too cozy but at least it would keep me from freezing to death. I dropped a handful of snow into a canteen cup I’d salvaged from the signal truck and held it over the flare. When the snow melted, I drank it all down and then melted some more. Finally, I lay on my side, curled around the flickering candle.

I wondered what had become of Ernie and Captain Prevault and if they’d started a search for me, but before these thoughts could formulate coherently, I passed out.

I felt the footsteps before I heard them. They were soft paddings in the night. And then there was something warm above me, hovering. I lay completely still, afraid to move or even to breathe. Something snuffled and then I felt the warmth lowering, the warmth of a very large body. Something touched the lobe of my ear, something like an exquisitely thin wire. And then another. The breath was hot now. Meaty, with a vague wheezing underlying it. A cat. I was sure of it. An enormous cat. So close its whiskers were poking into the side of my head. I refused to move. I would not move. The feline breathed into my ear, deciding, I believed, whether I should live or die. It took a long time in its deliberations, an eternity. And then, like a living dream, it stepped away, ever so quietly, like a fleeting thought. For another long time, I continued to lie perfectly still and then, for some unfathomable reason, I was asleep again.

When I awoke, my candle was out. I peered through hanging branches. A few feet away from my little shelter, a man squatted on his haunches, studying me. He wore a tunic and loose pantaloons tied at the ankles; both appeared to be made of buckskin. His headgear was a woven straw conical hat with a low brim that shadowed his eyes. Large calloused hands hung loosely over his knees.

“Don’t move,” he said.

I studied him. He wasn’t armed as far as I could see and his facial expression was benign, not threatening.

“Why not?” I asked.

“You’ll crush them.”

“Crush what?”

“The family.” He pointed with a thick-knuckled finger. “The grandfather is right next to you, the younger generation between your feet.”

Carefully, I lifted my head. Then I realized what he meant. Directly in front of me, poking up from between loose branches, was a sprightly looking plant, about six inches high, with sturdy green stems and bright green leaves. At its base was a thick gnarled root of a reddish hue. Between my feet were more green shoots, smaller, younger than the venerable fellow right in front of my eyes.

“ Insam ,” I said. Ginseng. Literally, the people plant.

The man nodded.

Carefully, being sure not to damage any of the plants, I sat up and shoved the hanging branch out of the way. I studied the man’s rough visage. He was slightly amused with me, obviously at home squatting in the middle of this vast forest.

“You’re Huk Sanyang-gun,” I said, playing a hunch. The black hunter.

He didn’t nod but stared right at me. “That’s what they call me.”

“Is that your real name?”

“Now it is.” With his open palm, he motioned at the plants surrounding me. There were more of them, of all sizes and apparent ages, like a clan of little green people. “They like you,” he said.

“Like me?”

“Yes. That’s why they’ve allowed you to find them.”

“But I didn’t find them. I was exhausted last night and there was this broken branch here so I used it for shelter.”

“Yes,” he said. “You must be worthy.”

“Worthy of what?”

“Of finding the royal ginseng.”

“ I’m worthy?” I said, pointing to the center of my chest.

Amused, Hunter Huk nodded.

“How about you? You found them, too.”

“I found you,” he corrected me. “You’ve been tromping through these woods for almost two days. I figured you weren’t going to get out alive if I didn’t help you.”

“Couldn’t you have come earlier?”

He shrugged. “I was busy.”

“With what?”

His eyes widened. “You’re not the only one who has things to do.” I leaned forward and rubbed my swollen ankles.

“You need to get to a hospital,” he said.

“Won’t this insam cure all my ailments?”

“Don’t make fun,” he said, frowning.

I figured he was right about that. I was depending on him to save my life.

“There was a tiger here last night.”

He smiled. “There are no tigers in these mountains. Once they roamed freely and protected the ginseng but now they are gone.”

“I saw one,” I said.

“You saw it?”

“Well, I didn’t open my eyes.”

He smiled again, more broadly this time.

“Can you get me out of here?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said, “but you’ll have to walk.”

“I can do that,” I said, grabbing my walking stick.