My eldest brother, Sung, says trust is earned, that to give someone your trust is to give them the knife to wound you. But Joon would counter that trust is faith, that to trust someone is to believe in the goodness of people and in the world that shapes them.
I’m too raw to believe in anyone right now, but I do believe in myself, in my heart that tells me they are good, in my mind that tells me they are the help I need to find the magpie and take back my soul.
“Are you coming?” Dai shouts from over his shoulder. I hurry to catch up, following Mask, Dai, and Miki out of the alley and into the heart of the Sea God’s city.
6
We emerge from the alley onto a wide boulevard. Immediately I’m overwhelmed. I’ve never been outside my small village, where at most twenty or thirty villagers will gather on market days—perhaps as many as fifty during a festival. Here in the Sea God’s city there are hundreds, thousands of people dressed in vibrant jewel-tone colors, as if the city were a great reef and the people its coral.
Magnificent buildings with tiered roofs line the streets, stacked up almost on top of one another, as far as the eye can see. Shining lanterns hang from the buildings’ many eaves, illuminating the shadows of figures moving behind papered windows. Gigantic, ghostly carp drift serenely over the rooftops, while luminous golden fish dart in and around the lanterns.
A door slides open up the street, spilling light and laughter. A young woman expertly balancing a tea tray above her head disappears into the crowd.
There’s a whistle and crack of sound. I look up. A firework explodes, illuminating the night and scattering a school of minnows.
“Watch where you’re going!”
Mask pulls me back in time to avoid being trampled by a young boy pushing a cart of anemone.
“You watch where you’re going!” Dai shouts back, raising a fist. “She’s a Sea God’s bride, you know.”
“Sure she is,” the boy throws over his shoulder. “And I’m the Sea God!”
This earns a smattering of snickers from those within hearing distance.
The cobblestoned streets are paved in mosaics of sea creatures. We follow a chain of blue and gray dolphins down one street to an avenue of red crabs, and finally to a great central square depicting a large jade turtle.
The square is filled with people. Groups of girls crouch in circles tossing and catching stones. Old men sit at low tables arguing loudly over board games.
They all must be spirits, yet they appear as Miki and Dai do—healthy, alive.
Mask turns from the square, leading us down a cramped side street lined with food carts.
We pass carts stacked high with rice cakes and others with salted fish strung up by their tails. More carts are spread with roasted chestnuts and sweet potatoes dipped in sugar. Dai dodges out of the way of an oncoming cart, pressing his back against another packed with dumplings in bamboo steamers. As he steps away, Miki reaches out and grabs a dumpling off the cart.
“Ay, Miki!” Dai yelps. “Leave the thieving to the thieves!”
Reaching into his pocket, he produces a short rope strung with metal coins of tin and copper. He unknots a small tin coin and flicks it to the cart’s owner, who catches it neatly from the air. “We’ll take four, please!”
He accepts the dumplings and presents one to each of us in turn. Curious, I watch Mask out of the corner of my eye to see if she’ll remove her mask to eat, but she hands hers to Miki. The little girl devours the dumpling in an impressive three mouthfuls.
Delicious steam escapes from my own dumpling. I follow Miki’s example and practically inhale it. The combination of the soft, fluffy outside and the salty leek and pork inside is exquisite. After we’ve licked our fingers clean, Miki and I band together to fling beseeching looks at Dai. He sighs loudly, unstringing another coin from his money rope.
I take my time with the second dumpling, savoring each delectable bite.
The food cart alley opens up onto another bustling street, at the end of which lies a grand-looking bridge situated over a smooth-flowing river. Lanterns float lazily on its current in red, green, and white. There are boats moored to the riverbank, while others travel downstream, oared by ferrymen in feathered hats.
The bridge must be a major crossing point. It’s overflowing with people, carts, mules, and even an ox, a garland of flowers strung between its horns. Children around Dai’s age climb on top of the railings, making their way across the thin beams. Mask’s hand shoots out, grabbing Dai’s shoulder before he can join them.
Halfway across the bridge, the rumble of drums beats the air. A procession moves slowly through the packed crowd. Along with everyone else, we’re pushed to the edge to make room.