The Demon and the Light, page 1
part #2 of The Floating World Series
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For my brother, Jason,
who first introduced me to Final Fantasy
Content warning: Violence/death, needles/syringes, child
soldiers, child abuse, and brief mention of suicidal ideation
ACT ONE
THE DEMON
CHAPTER 1
REN
East of the Haebaek Mountains
The Valley
REN TOSSED HER paper fan high into the sky, flipping backward onto her hands and landing just in time to pluck the hilt from the air. All around her the villagers erupted into cheers, and Ren imagined the jubilant sounds spreading like a chorus of wind chimes across the valley. Folding her fan across her arm, she winked at the children, who waved hands sticky from the sweet rice cakes they’d been gobbling up all evening.
The village was aglow with red and blue festival lanterns, and as her gaze swept the familiar sight, she felt a pang in her chest. Tomorrow she was leaving—she’d already informed Commander Su of her decision. Once she set foot onto the imperial barge, she’d no longer be Ren of the Valley, but someone whose destiny was much larger and more frightening.
The thought sent a shiver through her, and she quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. Worrying was for the morning. Tonight was for celebrating the recent harvest, and for honoring the spirits of those loved ones who had recently departed.
With a flick of her wrist, she spread her fan, swaying it side to side for balance as she extended one leg and began to spin. As she turned, her Light kindled to a flame within her. It emanated from her core outward, suffusing her with warmth.
The wind swirled around her. She spun faster. Her magic was still so new to her, raw and untrained. There was much for her to learn about how to control it and what she was capable of. She could manipulate wind, heal minor wounds, and wield silver Light, but what else could she do? Only recently she’d discovered she had wings. They’d manifested the morning of the Festival of Light, when she’d used them to save herself.
To save Sunho.
For a moment, it was as if he was beside her. She could see his handsome face, his eyes that shone brightest when gazing at her. She could feel his hand, warm and strong, gripping her own.
Then, just as the sensations arrived, they shifted, her mind flooding with images of teeth and claws. Her ears rang with the agonized roar of a soul being ripped in two.
Breaking from the spin, she stumbled and fell to the ground. Her heart pounded in her chest. She heard the children calling out to her as if from a great distance. Their cries were confused, fearful. She needed to reassure them, to get to her feet and finish the performance. She lifted her head and met Little Uncle’s gaze in the crowd. A week ago, he’d had difficulty sitting upright; now he stood beside Hwi, his curly hair pulled back from his face in a loose topknot. His brow was furrowed, but he gave her a short, swift nod. Go on, Ren, his expression seemed to convey. It’ll be all right—you only need finish what you started.
She rose to her feet. Then, with a flying leap, she flipped twice in the air before landing, breathless. Bending forward, she bowed to the audience. Immediately she was inundated with children, pouring over her like a school of minnows. She dropped to her knees, gathering as many of them as she could into her arms.
“Ren, you’ll come back to visit, won’t you?” Hwi’s gap-toothed brother asked, his eyes bright with tears.
The headman’s granddaughter tugged at Ren’s sleeve. “You’re not leaving forever, are you?”
“Please don’t go,” Hwi’s little cousin cried, her cheeks red from the cold. “Who will play with us when you’re gone?”
“You’ll have Hwi,” Ren consoled them. “And Little Uncle, of course.”
As it had all week, her heart pinched at the thought of leaving them—especially Little Uncle. But she couldn’t take him with her. Little Uncle was still recovering from the illness that had almost claimed his life. The same illness that had driven Auntie on a journey in search of a cure, from which she hadn’t yet returned.
A few of the children had quivering lips, but they nodded bravely. “We’ll miss you!”
“I’ll miss you more!” Ren promised.
“Cheer up, Ren,” Hwi’s brother said solemnly, his expression serious for someone so young. “Everything will be all right.”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she grabbed him in a fierce hug. “Thank you.”
One by one, the children jumped to their feet. As Ren joined them, picking up her paper fan, she saw Commander Su approach from where he’d been speaking with the village headman, likely discussing tomorrow’s early departure.
She’d only known the commander briefly before he’d pledged his support of her, yet in the past week she’d come to rely on the seasoned warrior, who despite his rough-hewn appearance harbored a soft heart.
As the commander lifted himself from a bow, Ren felt a rush of gratitude. Though likely burdened with an increasing number of responsibilities following the arrest of General Iljin, he’d accompanied her to the valley and had waited with patience and kindness until she was ready to leave. In their short time together, she’d learned that the commander had served the general for years, believing him when he said Ren’s mother had jumped from the edge of the Floating World. In truth, the general had pushed her.
She’d also been surprised to learn that he’d acted as a mentor to the general’s only son, Jaeil, who had remained on the Floating World under guard until the outcome of his father’s trial, which Commander Su reassured her would take place soon after Ren’s return.
She was certain of her feelings about General Iljin—he was hateful, a traitor and a criminal. But Jaeil …
She still didn’t know what to think of the captain. When they’d been children, he’d been her friend. And though perhaps misguided in his methods, he had tried to help her once it was discovered she might be alive, going behind his father’s back to do so.
Commander Su shifted his gaze west, to where the Haebaek Mountains loomed in the distance. “There’s a storm gathering over the mountains,” he said. Though it was evening, gray clouds hovered around the highest peaks. “If we leave before sunrise, we should be able to circumvent the worst of it.”
Ren’s smile was rueful. A month ago, she’d have been terrified of the prospect of boarding an airship that would take her into the sky, her fear of heights seemingly insurmountable. Now she felt only a slight shiver of anticipation.
“Whatever awaits us back on the Floating World,” the commander said, “you’ll have my full support.”
“Thank you, Commander,” she said.
A burst of laughter across the circle drew his attention. “Forgive me,” he said. “You should be celebrating with your friends.”
Ren shook her head. “It’s better that I slip away now,” she said. “I don’t think I have the heart for lengthy goodbyes.”
Commander Su bowed again before taking his leave. Ren stole one more glance around the circle, then ducked into an alley. She came out on the river path that ran beside the village. It was peaceful compared to the lively activity around the village center.
Across the river, the long grass rippled like waves in the ocean. A lone thrush called out to its mate, the clear, flutelike sound melancholy in the twilight.
Halfway up the path, her attention was caught by a dozen golden lanterns drifting toward her on the water. They’d come from the villages upriver. Messages of remembrance were written carefully in brushstrokes on the papered sides.
As she gazed at the lanterns, her eyes filled with tears. She also had loved ones who’d recently departed—her childhood nursemaid, Doona, and Big Uncle. She knew she shouldn’t blame herself for their deaths; the demon that had attacked Gorye Village and the assassins sent to Bright Moon Temple were born of the evil decisions of others. But that didn’t lessen her pain.
She didn’t know for how long she stood by the water’s edge, only that after a while the lanterns had disappeared; instead, fireflies appeared over the river. Her breath caught in surprise. It was winter, much too cold for fireflies, and yet she saw that they covered the area around the riverbank as well as the field beyond, winking in and out like tiny stars. She wiped the tears from her eyes and, with the fireflies for company, walked the long way home.
The wind chimes dangling from the eaves jingled as she pressed open the door to the cottage. For a moment, she stood upon the threshold, taking in the familiar sights. The hearth with the ashes raked neatly to the side. The low wooden table where her family had taken their meals together every morning and evening.
She’d packed a few belongings earlier that morning, so it was only a matter of fetching her pack from the room she shared with Little Uncle. Then she moved across the space to the only other room in the cottage, the one that belonged to Auntie and Big Uncle. Since returning, she hadn’t stepped inside, wishing to respect Auntie’s privacy.
Sliding open the door, she registered first the clutter. Most of the items from the traveling cart had been brought inside and pushed against the wall—the large chest where they kept their costumes, as well as Little Uncle’s woodworking tools and Big Uncle’s great barrel drum. She spotted what she was looking for perched atop a low cabinet—a small garment box.
The key was already inserted into the fish-shaped lock; she only had to wiggle it around before there was a click and the pieces fell apart. Slowly, she opened the lid.
The robe was as she remembered it, crimson in color, a red so dazzling it hurt to gaze upon. As she took it into her arms, she braced for a rush of images, but she remained steadfastly in the present. No awful memories of the night ten years ago arose to torment her.
She heard the door to the cottage open, only for Little Uncle to appear a few seconds later.
“I thought I saw you sneaking off,” he groused. “You could have warned me.” He held a brace of onions wrapped in twine in one hand and a satchel across his shoulder. “The matchmaker cornered me with a list, a list—” He broke off. “What’s that?”
“A robe,” Ren said, holding it up for him to see. “It belonged to my mother. She was wearing it the night she…” She’d rarely spoken of her past—Auntie had forbidden it, for her safety and theirs—but after Little Uncle had woken from his illness, she’d told him everything. Not just what had happened while he’d been asleep but also all that Ren had witnessed that night.
Little Uncle crouched in front of her, squinting as he examined the robe. “Then how did my sister get it?”
“I don’t know…” Her mother had been wearing it when she fell. Later that night, Auntie had discovered Ren hiding in the hollow of a tree. Together they’d fled the Floating World. Had Auntie gone back to retrieve the robe? But when, and why?
“If only I could ask her,” Ren said, gripping the fabric tightly between her fingers. She had hoped that Auntie might return within the week, but she was out of time. Sighing heavily, she released her fingers before placing the robe back into the chest, closing the lid and reattaching the lock.
“If you wanted to leave a message for my sister, I can help with that.” Little Uncle removed the bag he’d been carrying from his shoulder, dropping it into her lap. She lifted the flap to find an inkwell, scroll, and brush tucked inside.
“The matchmaker cornered me by the ink trader’s stall, if you must know,” he grumbled.
Ren dropped the satchel to grab him in a hug. “Thank you! Was she very persistent, the matchmaker? I won’t part with you for just anyone.”
“That’s a lie,” he said loudly. “You’re parting with me tomorrow.” He’d been sulking ever since she’d told him two nights before that she was going on alone.
She studied his downturned face, memorizing his features, his slender eyes and rosy cheeks. She would safeguard this memory of him, for when she might need it most.
She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. As she opened them, she pasted a smile on her face. “Should I not go back, then?” she asked, wrapping her arms around him tighter than before. “We could travel together in our own troupe, just the two of us. What do you think?”
“You don’t mean that,” he said, pushing her away gently and rising to his feet. “Write your letter. I’ll see you off in the morning.”
She waited until he’d left the room before she let her smile fall. It had been difficult the past week to pretend like she was fine. She didn’t want him to know how fearful she truly was.
Reaching for the satchel, she removed the writing instruments, unraveling the scroll and laying it flat with the inkwell. She picked up the brush and dipped the tip into the ink. She’d made a fuss about asking Auntie about the robe, but as she placed the brush to the paper, it wasn’t a question she had for her.
I went on a long journey, and I came home. But it’s not over, she wrote, careful to keep her characters legible despite her shaking hand. Ten years ago, you saved me. I’ve felt safe here, and happy. But in those years the Sareniyans have waged a war that has caused unimaginable suffering.
A war in her name, even if it wasn’t the name she’d claimed for herself.
I can’t run away and hide any longer. There’s a darkness in the world.
She thought of the demon that attacked Gorye Village, leaving Little Uncle gravely wounded. After he’d developed an illness that had turned his blood blue, she’d gone to the Floating World to find a cure for him, a journey that had taken her deep within the mithril mines.
When Ren closed her eyes, she could picture that strange laboratory, the site of horrible experimentation where humans were transformed into monsters, and the scientist she’d met there. He’d taken a vial of her blood in exchange for a supposed antidote—for what purpose, she didn’t know.
And then there was the other darkness … the cruelty and corruption on the Floating World itself.
Ren’s gaze traveled to the chest in the corner. In her mind’s eye, she could see her mother standing at the edge of the cliff, but it wasn’t the crimson robe that seized her attention. It was her mother’s expression, as if all the light had left her eyes.
I’m afraid that going back might change me.
In the valley, she was Ren. A troupe performer. Auntie, Big Uncle, and Little Uncle’s niece. On the Floating World, she’d be someone else entirely.
Princess. Queen. Celestial Maiden.
Those were the roles her mother had held, as had the women before her, all the way back to the original celestial maiden herself.
What does a legacy, a heritage, like that do to a person?
In going back to the Floating World, she was afraid of so many things. But what she was afraid of most was losing herself.
There was enough space on the paper to write a few last lines. If she was writing to Little Uncle, she would have written words of affection, but this was Auntie.
I’m sorry for leaving the first time without telling you, and I’m sorry for leaving now without waiting for you to come home. I’ll try to remember everything you taught me.
Her brush hesitated over the paper. There was a sentiment she’d never expressed to Auntie before, but she was too cowardly to write the words, even now.
Thank you, she finished instead. For everything. Your niece, Ren.
* * *
REN WOKE THE next morning before sunrise. On the pallet beside hers, Little Uncle slept sprawled out with one leg thrown over a pillow. Lifting the blanket to his chin, she pressed her lips to his cheek. Then, grabbing her satchel, she fled the cottage.
He’d be upset that she left without saying goodbye, but she was afraid that if she did, she might never muster the courage to leave.
The Sareniyan aircraft were moored to the western pasture, each with dozens of ropes. As Ren walked over the rise, she lifted her gaze to the massive airships, hovering several feet above the ground. Their levitation capabilities came from the mithril embedded in chambers at their cores, and each was equipped with extendable rotors and sails to harness the wind. Squinting, she could make out a hazy blue glow surrounding all three of the ships. A cool breeze swept back the loose strands of her hair, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
She spotted Yurhee beside the loading dock of the nearest airship, where soldiers were directing wagons of goods up a long, flat ramp into the hold. She waved to the older girl, who jogged over.
Yurhee was dressed in tight-fitting breeches and a loose shirt, with a pair of goggles strapped to her forehead. As she approached, Ren was reminded of the first time she’d met the rebel, who was three years older than her. She’d thought Yurhee was beautiful; Ren could admit now that she’d been quite jealous of her at the time.
“Where’s Tag?” Ren asked, hoping the brisk air would explain away her flushed cheeks.
Yurhee made a vague gesture behind her. “He’s saying his goodbyes.”
