Heavy raindrops begin to hit the rooftop of the pavilion. I raise my voice to be heard.
“Though the woodcutter counted three sets of wings upon the branch, there were only two heavenly maidens in the pond. Then a hint of white in the verdant green caught the woodcutter’s eye. A third maiden was approaching through the woods. She came to the rock pond, but didn’t slip into the water. Instead, she looked up through the trees, to the stars, closing one eye as if to see them clearer. The woodcutter fell in love, then and there. And so, he stole her wings.”
Both Shin and the Sea God frown at this, though neither speaks a word, listening carefully.
“When her sisters returned to the heavens, their strong wings carrying them up into the sky, the youngest heavenly maiden was left alone and wingless. It was then the young woodcutter came to her, offering the jacket from his back. She accepted it, charmed by his humility and love for her. They built a life together. They could not have children, for she was not of his world, but for a long time, they were happy.”
The Sea God turns his face toward the garden, as if distracted.
“But as it is with life, the woodcutter grew older and wiser. He realized that his love of a moment was nothing to the love built over a lifetime. Although it weighed on his soul, he knew what he had to do. For he knew that if he truly loved the heavenly maiden, he would have to let her go.”
As I say these last words, my eyes meet Shin’s. His face holds a heartrending expression. Taking a deep breath, I finish the story.
“In the night, he went into the forest and dug up her wings from where he’d buried them beneath the golden tree. He laid them beside his wife as she slept and went back to the forest to weep.
“The next night, he returned to his house, only to find that the heavenly maiden was no longer there, and the wings were gone. With tears in his eyes, he went outside to peer up at the sky to see that one more star had appeared in the heavens. And although he cried for what he had lost, he was filled with joy. For he knew, then, that the heavenly maiden had returned to where she belonged.”
As I speak the last word, the Sea God lifts his face to look out into the storm. His hand goes to his chest, fingers digging into the fabric. “There’s a tugging at my soul.” Suddenly he leaps from the pavilion, rushing into the rain.
“Wait!” I follow. I hear Shin shout from behind me, but the rain muffles all sound. The fog rises up around me, and soon I lose my way. I try to turn back toward the pavilion, but I can’t tell if I’m going in the right direction. Even the Red String of Fate is barely visible in the heavy mist.
My foot catches on the ground, and I stumble forward, landing on a grand sweep of stairs. I recognize them as those that I climbed when I first arrived in this city. Above are the gates of the Sea God’s palace, the doors now open. How am I here, when I’d been in the garden?
Behind me is the unmistakable clop of hooves on stone. I turn to face the figure approaching from within the mist. The Goddess of Moon and Memory. Like before, her mount is a great horse with flames for hooves. “I warned you what would happen,” she says, “if I were to meet you alone.”
“That I would die because you would kill me.”
She watches me through cool, impassive eyes. “Are you not afraid?”
“I am. But tell me, would it be the same if I wasn’t the Sea God’s bride? If I was a child, like Dai? If I was someone who believed you could help me?”
“You are none of those things.”
“I am the last.”
Her eyes flicker for a brief moment, then look away. “You are mistaken.” From her wide sleeve, she pulls out two paper boats.
I immediately recognize the boat in her left hand, with its red, uneven stiches. It’s my wish. “How do you have that?”
“I am the Goddess of Moon and Memory. In this boat is the memory of a wish you once made.”
“Did you see what the wish was?”
She watches me carefully. “No. I cannot see this memory, because it is one that is tied closely with your soul.” I reach for it, but she holds back. “What would you trade me for this piece of your soul?”
I look up at her and say nothing. If this is a contest of wills, she has won, for I would give anything to have that memory returned to me, to throw it into the fire where it belongs. She tucks the first boat into the sleeve of her dress, instead handing over the second boat, the one I’d momentarily forgotten in the need for my own.
“This belongs to someone you know. Perhaps you can return it to her.”