Christina Farley - Gilded

“Just a little farther,” he says.

Haemosu is the buck. And hearing him speak breaks the magic. I step back.

The buck moves toward me. “Do not be afraid,” he says.

His form twists until he’s no longer a buck: Haemosu again stands before me. There’s a gleam in his eyes that I recognize: the look of a victor after he’s won a sparring match.

He reaches out his hand again as he’d done before he healed me, but this time my vision blurs until the once-sharp scents fade and my body twists and contorts back to my human form. My stomach twists. Then my knees buckle, and I fall to the ground and throw up.

“It takes time and experience to adjust to the shift,” Haemosu says. He hands me a silk towel.

“How did that happen?” I ask, my body still shaking. “I was a deer.”

“Metamorphosis,” he says. “Here we have the power to transform into anything we want to be. There is nothing more satisfying than experiencing the magic of my lands.”

“I don’t think your magic likes me very much,” I say.

He takes my elbow and helps me stand. A look of yearning crosses his face as he cups my chin between his hands.

“I have searched and waited a thousand years for you, my princess, and now you are here. Finally we can be together, as is right.”

I stare into his eyes and search for lies. But his voice soothes me, and I want to believe him, to sink into his arms and be his forever. All those worries Grandfather and Komo had seem silly and childish. I let them slide away.

He takes my hand, and I wonder if he said this to all my ancestors or if perhaps I am the one. The one destined to be with him. Our clasped hands begin to shine brighter and brighter, until I can see nothing else except their glow.

Images fill my mind: him carrying me in his arms through his realm, never watching my skin wrinkle or hair whiten. The thought of being his “forever” sends a thrill through me. I never thought that this was what I wanted; but now, holding his hand, I ache to be his. And the magic pulls at me. As if it’s been missing from me my whole life.

The light draws itself into a liquid gold band that curls around my wrist. Five dragons bubble through the surface, contorting until they form a bracelet. I’m transfixed in his grasp as if he’s numbed every muscle.

“Each dragon represents one of our meetings,” he says. “Once all the eyes glow red, you will be mine forever.”

I snap awake. What is wrong with me? Meeting him? Forever?

Komo said the only way to survive this was never to let him touch me. But I let him into my head. I’ve fallen into his freaking trap. So stupid!

“No!” I yell, and yank my arm away. My head clears, and I can see through the glow of his skin: a gray, wrinkled creature with sunken onyx eyes and a snarling mouth full of flicking tongues.

The true Haemosu without his glamour.

A monster of a man.

I scream in horror.

Haemosu disappears. The forest, once beautiful, now hangs low and gnarly; the branches are leafless.

I fell for his trap. I’m no different from any of my ancestors. Komo warned me, but I didn’t listen.

I failed.

I sink to the ground, shaking. I have to pull myself together, but I can’t get Haemosu’s image out of my head. Those eyes. Those claws.

That’s when I hear them.

Cries.

Groans.

The desperate, anguished sounds fill me with dread. I glance over my shoulder and realize the noises are coming through the brambles. I don’t want to know what they are, but I feel compelled to find out.

My breath comes out heavy, cold, and wet against the gray world surrounding me. Once I pass through the brambles, I can see what used to be the palace. Its glory has vanished, replaced with crumbling stone walls, rotting wood pillars tumbled over on their sides, and the dust of maybe a thousand years.

The air reeks. A wooden gate with two doors as tall as a two-story house is still intact, and I see two massive bronze knockers: shimmering gold dragons, their tails twisted as if protecting a treasure.

A pale hand claws out from the top of the gate. Another from a crevice near a fallen guard tower. I catch a glimpse of a full arm along the tower and then a head pops up. I can’t see the face through the strands of greasy black hair. Why are these people in this horrible place? Then I remember the dokkaebi’s words. Souls of the princesses cry, cry, cry. Was he talking about these people? Are these my ancestors?

I jam my fist into my mouth to hide a muffled sob.

And run.

My heartbeat matches the thud of my boots slapping the hard-packed mud. The groans follow me as I search for where this nightmare began. Then I spot the stream. Dead fish scales and bones have replaced the diamonds that once were there, or maybe they were always bones.

I can’t think about that now. All I can focus on is escape. I come to the bamboo grove and see where the light wavers and the trees appear split in half. Is that the door I came through?

A sound like something dragging through the mud reaches my ears.

“Princess! Help us. Don’t leave us, Princess—”

I dive for the twisted light.

I swallow a mouthful of snow as I lie flat, head deep in a snowbank just beyond the ski slope. Even though the air is bitterly cold, it’s fresh, and I suck in deep, chest-filling amounts. The pounding in my head slows, and I look around.

I’m back. From where? I don’t know, but I want to kiss the ground I’m lying on and thank God I’m still alive.

I never believed in God or anything spiritual. When Mom was alive, she’d drag me off to church. I’d daydream. Text my friends. Anything but listen. Now I have so many questions. I’m desperate for answers. But she isn’t here to give them. I’m finally ready to listen, but it’s too late.

The snow I’ve fallen into has soaked through my jeans. I grasp handfuls of it and press it against my hot cheeks. That’s when I realize I’m using my hand. I clasp it into a fist and unclasp it. No pain.

Scrambling to my feet, I jump. My ankle is healed, too. Haemosu really did it.

I cringe at the thought of those clawed hands touching me. Why didn’t Haemosu take me right then? Why am I still alive? What did he mean about courting? Is this his idea of torture?

Nothing makes sense. I want to scream.

Something rustles in the pines. A black form emerges through the trees, and I spin around and sprint in the opposite direction.

He can’t take me. I won’t let him.

“Jae! Jae!” It’s Marc’s voice.

The drumming in my head slows, and I stop. Marc comes around a tree, his forehead creased with worry and his eyes dark emeralds.

“Jae! Thank God, you’re all right.”

I back away, my hands groping for a stray branch with which to protect myself, because I don’t believe this is really Marc and not Haemosu in one of his weird forms.

But he says, “Hey, Fighter Girl. It’s okay. It’s me.”

I fall into him then, shaking uncontrollably. He runs his hands up and down my arms as if to warm me.

“I saw you crash into the forest,” he says. “I thought you might have broken something, but you’re okay.”

I swallow hard and shut my eyes as if to block out the memories. I’d take a broken wrist and ankle any day if it means not ever having to remember that horrible palace and my ancestors’ cries. When I open my eyes again, Marc’s face is close to mine, his breath warm against my forehead. I notice how long his eyelashes are and how sweat beads up on his forehead.

He must have thrown off his skis and run to find me, because the forest is too thick to ski through. I should step away from him, but I am soothed by this closeness.