The Silence of Bones

by June Hur

  I announced his presence to Hyeyeon, who temporarily covered the corpse with a straw mat, and once alone, I made my way toward the main pavilion, still blushing. There, I swept the vast floor, and the repetitive swishing of the broom allowed my thoughts to drift back to Lady O. So she wasn’t a virgin; she must indeed have had a lover. Perhaps, I thought, a lover with a dagger.

  I stopped sweeping and covered the end of the bamboo handle with both hands, resting my chin there. Fog that hid the morning sun rolled in through the open gates and swam in the courtyard, leaving a sheen of dew on the massive wooden pillars and the cold, gray stones. It was as though the bureau had plunged into the deep and livid sea, a boundless space between myself and the world.

  I wondered if the underworld might look like this. The home now to Lady O, and the home to my father, my mother, my brother …

  “Hurry! Faster!”

  My thoughts scrambled as voices echoed from the distance. I saw shadows, shapeless lumps behind the fog. The shadows grew larger and more distinct. It was two officers, their black robes flapping behind them as they entered the bureau through the main gate. “You there!” one of them called out. “Where is Inspector Han?”

  “In the examination room.”

  They ran past me, disappearing into the southern courtyard.

  A complaint must have arrived. Perhaps another loose woman like Lady O, slashed to death for the sake of family honor, a crime I was coming to learn was quite frequent. Honor was everything here in the capital, more important than life itself to these nobles. I’d heard a bizarre story of a woman who had hacked her shoulder with an ax simply because a male stranger had touched it.

  My thoughts wandered as I swept here and there, though mostly pulling the broom along, leaving large spaces untouched. I rarely put my whole heart into domestic chores, especially when it came to sweeping. There were more important things to do with my life than to chase after dust.

  More important things? I could almost hear the chief maid’s rebuke. Such as what, Damo Seol?

  We damos were prone to avoiding our chores or doing them half-heartedly. Once, the chief maid had sent Damo Aejung to prepare tea, only to find her sleeping in the yard outside the kitchen with a medicine book open on her lap. She had lashed Aejung’s calves as punishment, and did so with every other damo who shirked their duties. But it was the wrath of the police officers that we feared most.

  When the space looked decent enough to keep me out of trouble, I dragged the broom along the courtyard toward the storage room, but I paused, hearing hurried footsteps behind me.

  It was Officer Kyŏn. “What are you doing just standing around?”

  “Sir, I was told to sweep—”

  He tossed me a coil of rope made of five braided strings, used to arrest criminals. “You’re to come with us. A woman is needed.”

  “Where?”

  He replied under his breath, so quietly I barely heard him. “Mount Inwang.”

  I licked my dry lips, my throat suddenly parched. Now I noticed his bow and quiver full of arrows. Mount Inwang was a place I had dreaded since I’d first heard of it as a child, the home of white tigers.

  I tapped my finger against the bamboo broom handle, trying to distance myself from panic. “What is on Mount Inwang?”

  He might have reprimanded me for speaking out of turn. Instead, Kyŏn said, “Maid Soyi has fled.”

  * * *

  The fog thickened by the time we rode out that afternoon, but Inspector Han had a keen sense of direction, easily leading the twenty officers and myself through Hanyang. The five-day mourning period issued by the royal court had ended, so shops were open again, vendors yelling out from their stalls as men and women streamed up and down the street.

  With all this bustling of life, the capital ought to have felt less like a ghost village, but death was still heavy in the air. Everywhere around us were pale and solemn faces, and everyone was clad in pure white, the color of grief. The king had died. It was like the deadly frost of winter had already kissed the capital. Only the urchins seemed free from this spell, running through the crowd without a care.

  We rode out of the fortress through the West Gate, and the road wound through a village of thatched-roof huts, then an overflowing grassland. Mount Inwang was only a half hour’s journey away, but already keeping up was no easy feat. I rode on a pony named Terror, notorious for her many vices: she was a self-willed, quarrelsome, and tough little beast. Seeing her more glorious and quicker brothers charging ahead, she seemed determined to fling me off, the load slowing her down. I clung desperately to her and fixed my eyes on the officers, not wanting to lose them in the fog.

  So focused as I was, I hardly noticed my surroundings. Faraway mountains unfolded, layer upon misty layer. The gentleness of the distant trees lasted only for a few paces, and all of a sudden, the forest grew tall and thick, trapping us in darkness like a cave of cruel and violent dreams. I pinched color into my cheeks, hoping no one would notice my blood-drained face.

  “Search until the gong is struck, then return here,” Inspector Han’s voice resounded from the front. “Now spread out!”

  The torchbearers rode ahead and led us deep into the wooded base of the mountain. We combed slowly through trees and clear streams, thorns and bushes. The mist floated around us, sometimes leaping from craggy rocks. I gasped more than once. And one officer, startled, grabbed for his arrow only to see the mist drop and drag away.

  The longer we spent in the forest, the farther we fanned out, and the more the isolation swallowed me up. My mind conjured growls everywhere—in the murmuring of water, in the very rushing of blood in my ears.

  What had driven Maid Soyi into such a fearful place? What did she have to hide? Or perhaps she was simply more frightened of the inquisition than she was of tigers. Witnesses—innocent people who had the misfortune of knowing a victim or suspect—were often imprisoned for months, beaten sometimes to death to obtain evidence.

  “She’s probably cowering in a cave somewhere,” Officer Kyŏn said.

  I rode closer to him. The first time I’d laid eyes on Officer Kyŏn, he’d reminded me of legendary royal investigators from tales I’d grown up listening to. Young men secretly sent out by the king to faraway villages to solve great injustices. He certainly looked the part: his black hair tied into the perfect topknot, revealing his chiseled face, strong jaw, distinctively edged full lips, and his athletic figure, rippling with lean muscles—all of which seemed to tell a story of bravery and honor.

  I knew better now. If there was one thing Officer Kyŏn had taught me, it was that brute strength was not a measure of a man’s courage. He could have muscles made of steel and yet a backbone made of mother’s milk—the only thing occupying his heart was love for no one other than himself.

  As the swimming mist darkened to blue, reflecting the dimming sky, I felt no safer with Kyŏn close by my side as we ascended the mountain slope. “It’s growing late,” I observed, hoping he would hear my silent question: Should we not head back?

  “Didn’t you hear the inspector’s order? We search until the gong is struck.”

  It looked like we were nearing the Hour of the Rat, though. Any later and we would be stuck outside, the fortress gates slammed shut on us. “But how are we—”

  A twig cracked somewhere too close to us. Fear punched my chest as I stared to the side. “Did you hear that?” I whispered. My mind pictured Maid Soyi in the underbrush, but my heart saw only lurking teeth and claws.

  Officer Kyŏn gripped his bow tighter. “Lead on.”

  We rode toward the sound, through countless trees, then around a large, moss-covered rock. My pounding heart slackened; it was only a deer. The creature watched us from behind the bushes, as still as a stone.

  “Damn it,” Kyŏn hissed, jerking the horse around. “She couldn’t have gone far. Royal guards always make their patrols around this mountain. She has to be nearby.”

  “But why is the inspector so determined t
o find Maid Soyi?”

  “She’s a suspect. Witnesses saw her leaving the mansion around the time Lady O ran out.”

  That surprised me. I could hardly picture meek Soyi holding a kitchen knife, let alone carving the nose from the face of her mistress.

  “I will find that bitch. No doubt I will. I’ve already arrested over fifty scoundrels while serving in the bureau. Almost as many as Inspector Han.”

  I bit my lower lip to keep myself from grimacing.

  “What is your life’s goal?” he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. “Let me tell you. You’ll get married, have babies, and keep on doing what you’re good at doing: serving. Serving your master, your husband, your children.” He tapped his head. “I know these things.”

  “I don’t wish to do any of that, sir.”

  “But you will serve. That is fact, that is your fate.”

  Fate. A shackle as solid as truth—unchangeable, unmovable. On the day of my departure, my sister had told me how long I was bound by the government to serve in the police bureau, away from home, from family. For one generation, she’d whispered.

  My entire life.

  That is, I would be free by the age of forty-one, as old as death itself.

  A thunder of fluttering wings filled the sky in all directions, the birds overhead taken to flight. A shriek in the distance pierced the air; a terrified horse. Officer Kyŏn charged ahead, while it took me a scrambling moment to realize what was happening. I jabbed my heels into Terror’s side and followed him through the thicket, over the protruding roots, branches hitting my face.

  Then we reached a glade and my heart stopped. Across the stream stood Inspector Han, his sleeve blood-soaked, his hand inching toward the sword at his side. A matter of paces away prowled a tiger, a deep growl rumbling from its white-and-black-striped chest. Powerful paws with sharp claws. The beast looked as large as Inspector Han himself.

  “Do not move,” he said, though not to us. Past the thick cluster of leaves was a horse struggling on the ground, shaking its head as blood continued to ooze from its wounded side. And hunkered down behind the creature was Maid Soyi.

  Unable to look away from the scene, I hissed to Kyŏn, “Shoot it!”

  A muscle worked in Officer Kyŏn’s jaw. Clearly he was incensed at an order from a girl, but he drew out an arrow and nocked it to his bow. As he aimed, the iron point trembled. What resolve he had, I watched falter and crumble.

  “I’ll do it.” I snatched the weapon from him and rode out into the glade for a better aim. My motion caught the tiger’s attention. Good. My fear had reached its climax, and another sensation flooded in, a powerful longing that churned within me: the desire to matter.

  Don’t think too much about your target, my sister’s husband had taught me on our hunts for birds and rabbits. Don’t rattle your mind with possibilities. Focus on what you want and shoot it.

  In one smooth motion, I aimed and released.

  The arrow whistled and flew into the tiger’s side with an audible thud. It let out a roar, startling me—and startling Terror even more. The shaggy pony nearly knocked me off as she jolted, then raced into the woods. The tiger charged after us, its snarling roar shaking my bones. Despite the wound, it was fast, quickly closing the distance between us. I could almost feel fangs sinking into my shoulder.

  I dropped the bow and kicked Terror’s side. Faster. Please go faster.

  Suddenly, Terror rose on her front legs, tossing me into the air. Then I was rolling down sloping ground, wrapped in a whirl of green and brown. A sharp edge sliced me. My head struck something hard and pain burst. I fell into darkness.

  * * *

  Shadows swam in my head.

  I was in a boat, floating on black waters under the night sky. My hands scrubbed, my neatly braided hair tied with a yellow cloth strip, I sat across from my brother and sister on a wooden seat.

  “When will we be home?” My questions were endless. My brother’s patience with me always impressed people, the calm way a boy so young would answer, weighing the inquiries of his younger four-year-old sister with solemnity.

  “When we finish crossing the sea.”

  “Why is there so much water?”

  “Because ten thousand rivers are flowing through.”

  “That’s a lot of rivers.” I looked out onto the vastness ahead, and all I saw was a lonely stretch of darkness punctuated by a single moon.

  “Listen.” My brother, my orabeoni, leaned out from the edge of the boat. “Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?” I asked.

  “A heartbeat in the sea.”

  I strained my ear against the lapping waves, and I watched the foam crashing. “What is down there, orabeoni?”

  “Turtles, jellyfish, shrimp. Many creatures.”

  “Are they kind?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  I dipped my fingers into the waves, and gradually, I saw the land so close and yet so far away, illuminated by the moon and the glow of lanterns. Home appeared to me like an unreachable land of fairy maidens. And when I turned to tell my brother this, he was gone.

  * * *

  A breeze woke me. Bits of soil clung to my lashes, falling into my eyes when I blinked up at the sky. It was night, and I was alone and surrounded by ancient trees, hundreds of them. I struggled to my feet and all my bones cried out in protest. Knife-sharp pain sliced my head, and as I waited for it to ease, I glanced around.

  Right, left, front, back. Each direction looked the same—rocks, branches, and rustling leaves.

  I needed to escape this mountain. Low twigs and thorns caught my skirt as I stumbled, and in the wind, the swaying shadows of trees grasped for me. Desperate, I scrambled down the slope like an ant—tiny, insignificant, lost in a world of giants.

  The slope led me to a stream and I pushed through the icy water, climbing over broken granite slabs and trying to keep my skirt from getting soaked. Then my feet slipped. My knees and hands landed on the slimy rocks, sending forth an explosion of icy water. I remained on all fours, too stunned to move, and slowly, as the cold bit into me, a feeling of helplessness pierced deep.

  Was everything I had thought about myself—that I mattered—nothing more than a story in my head?

  There’s no time for sulking. Move on, Seol. I was good at doing that.

  I took off my sandals and stepped barefoot from rock to rock, but the tears burning my eyes made it difficult to see clearly. I jumped too far, my feet slipping off the edge, and I was down again. The river ripped the sandals out from my grasp. “No!” I cried as they rushed away in the black current, sandals woven for me by my sister. The only thing I had to remember her by.

  Move on.

  My teeth were chattering and my lips blue by the time I reached dry land. I pushed into the trees again, twigs and stones pricking my bare feet, and the raw weather rattled my bones. I needed a fire. I pictured how I’d seen other servants spark them with rocks, not a skill I’d ever learned. All the while, thoughts of the tiger stalked through my mind. The wind through the trees was its breath, the crunching forest floor the scrape of its claws. Its growls rolled from streambeds.

  The mountain was a tiger, and it was hungry.

  I went on that way, not knowing the hour or direction. What felt like an eternity later, I saw light—the flicker of torches. I halted, keeping low as the figures moved among the trees, while behind them an ox pulled a wagon laden with crates. The torchbearers were quick-footed, five in all, big, lean men in dusty cotton clothing. In their midst was a gentleman on horseback, in a silk robe and a tall black hat. Beads of nobility were strapped around his chin.

  All the men held clubs and swords. Guards, I considered … or bandits.

  I slowly rose to run, but a twig snapped beneath my step. Holding my breath, I watched one man turn in my direction, then gesture quickly. Without warning, a shadow of another man I hadn’t noticed charged toward me, and his rough hand grabbed my arm, hard fingers digging deep as if to sna
p bone. The man dragged me over to the group. I could barely walk, and when he released me, I fell to the ground, prostrating myself before the gentleman on horseback. “Have mercy, sir!”

  The gentleman slid off his horse, and as my head was lowered, I only saw his leather boots close to my hand.

  “Do get up.”

  The tone made me look up. Under the starlight, I saw a long face, a strong jaw, and high cheekbones. The face of a woman.

  “Now,” she said, “what are you doing out here all alone?”

  I was at a loss for words. What was she doing disguised as a man?

  “You shouldn’t venture onto this mountain alone. Come, we will accompany you to the main road.”

  I followed them, feeling much safer than wandering about alone—a group of people and a woman. A woman.

  “You look at me strangely.” She must have felt my stare on her disguise. “When I go on a long journey, I prefer to dress as a man. It is safer and draws less unwanted attention.”

  My lips formed into a silent, “Oh.”

  When we reached the road, I looked ahead, the capital waiting for me somewhere in the dark distance.

  “Where is your destination?” the lady asked, standing still, waiting for my answer as her servants led the ox away from Hanyang.

  It did not take me long to think of where I wanted to be. Home. The quaint hut I’d come to live in after escaping our first master and his plague-ridden household. The place Older Sister, her husband, and I had lived for nearly a decade afterward as napgong nobi, outside-resident servants. We’d lived in relative freedom, except for when our second master pestered us for our annual tribute payment, so most of my days had been spent in freedom. I remembered those days so vividly, so fondly: the bright blue sky, the mem-mem-mem of the clear-toned cicadas. And sleeping without the fear of being rudely wakened, safe in the shadow of Older Sister’s back turned to me. Sometimes in the winter when snow fell, she would discreetly turn and tuck the straw mat closer around me. But in Hanyang, I felt like a slave, and as dispensable as one. No one cared for me; they had left me for dead on the mountain of tigers.