A Single Shard (11 page)

"
Two things a man never grows tired of watching,
" he heard Crane-man say in his mind. "
Fire and falling water. Always the same, yet always changing.
"

As the darkness grew, the fire began throwing odd shadows on the tree trunks around him. A sudden snap from the fire startled him, and he felt the uneasiness returning.
Time for sleep,
he told himself stoutly.

He closed his eyes, but only for a moment. The darkness around him felt too big. Watching the fire for a while longer would lull him, he decided. It worked; between the warmth and the steady flickering of the flames, his eyelids grew heavy.

Tree-ear suddenly jerked wide awake; he had heard a noise that was not the noise of the fire. It was so slight that it almost wasn't a noise—a whisper of movement, a disturbance in the still night air. He raised himself up on one elbow, listening, searching in the dim light of the newly risen half-moon. Perhaps it was nothing.

Then he heard it again. This time there was no doubt. Something was moving through the forest not far from him. Something light-footed—an animal slipping weightlessly over the leaves...

Slowly, slowly, he picked up the
jiggeh.
He meant to squeeze it into the hollow between the two boulders but could not do so silently. The branches of the
jiggeh
scraped against the granite. Tree-ear froze, holding his breath.

This would never do. He had to work quickly, or the creature, whatever it was, would be upon him before he knew it. He shoved the
jiggeh
into the opening, put his back to it, and wiggled in himself. There was not enough room; he crouched, hunched over with his chin on his knees, and waited, his heart nearly bursting through his chest.

Would the beast stay away from the fire? It was dying now, not much more than a bed of coals. Tree-ear cursed himself for not having put more wood nearby.

The sound was coming closer; he could hear the rustle of leaves clearly off to his left. On the ground before him was a stick. It was only a twig, but Tree-ear reached for it anyway. He stripped the leaves from it and gripped it tightly. Perhaps, he thought wildly, he could blind the beast as it clawed at him, trying to drag him from between the rocks...

How long would he have to wait? The moments crawled by. Then without further warning, the creature came into view.

It was a fox!

Tree-ear felt his pulse pounding in his throat. His thoughts seemed to be running a desperate race with each other. Against a fox he was defenseless. The fox would stare at him, looking deep into his eyes, bewitching him until he rose to follow it to its lair. He would never see Crane-man or Ajima again. The vases would remain hidden between the rocks for eternity. There would be nothing left of him but a pile of gnawed bones...

The fox turned its head. For an instant the firelight gleamed in its eyes.
Don't look!
Tree-ear shouted to himself.
Don't look at its eyes—it's your only chance!
And he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the fox's evil stare.

How long he waited he did not know. He opened his eyes after what seemed a lifetime. Had he been bewitched despite his efforts? Was he in the fox's lair, conscious for one last moment before a painful, bloody death?

Tree-ear blinked to clear his vision. The fox was gone. He was still wedged into the opening between the rocks, his muscles aching with cramp. He dared not move; it was probably just another of the fox's tricks. If he were to emerge from shelter, the fox would be there, waiting for him. No, he would have to remain there, alert for any trap the devilish creature might spring...

 

The sound of crying birds awoke him. For a moment Tree-ear did not know where he was. He shifted slightly and a corner of the
jiggeh's
frame jabbed him rudely in the back.

Sunlight streamed gloriously through the trees. It was morning.

Could it be? He had fallen asleep! He had slept for who knew how long, with a fox nearby—and he had survived!

Tree-ear laughed out loud, and the sound of his laughter reminded him of his friend.
We are afraid of the things we do not know—just because we do not know them,
Tree-ear thought, pleased with himself. He must remember the idea; Crane-man would be interested in discussing it. And he wiggled out of the crevice, grimacing ruefully at the tight knots in what seemed like every one of his muscles.

 

A day's walk beyond the next village lay the city of Puyo. Although Tree-ear was determined to go straight to Songdo without delay, Crane-man had counseled him to make one stop—at a place called the "Rock of the Falling Flowers" in Puyo.

"It is an old, old story," Crane-man had said. And Tree-ear had settled down on his sleeping mat, wriggling around for the most comfortable position.

"You know that our little land has suffered many invasions," Crane-man began. "The powers that surround us—China, Japan, the Mongols—have never left us in peace for long. This is the story of one such invasion.

"It was the T'ang Chinese this time, all of five hundred years ago. Puyo was then the capital of the Paekche kingdom—one of the Three Kingdoms that shared the land. The T'ang, allied with the Silla kingdom, swept down from the north and pushed their way into Puyo. Most of the King's army having been called away to fight the war, there were only a handful of personal guards to defend him. The King received warning, but it was too late.

"As he and all his courtiers fled the palace, the T'ang were snapping at their heels. The King and his party were forced to retreat to the very highest point of Puyo—a cliff overlooking the Kum River. There was no escape. Bravely, the King's guards placed themselves a little way down the path between the enemy and their sovereign. They were overrun in moments.

"All of the King's concubines and ladies-in-waiting crowded around him, determined to protect him to the last. The women knew well that the T'ang would not kill them; no, they would be taken prisoner, probably to be tortured. Their terror can hardly be imagined."

Crane-man paused and sipped at his tea. Tree-ear was no longer lying down; he had risen to his knees in the excitement of the story. "Is that all?" he demanded.

"Patience, monkey. The best is yet to come." Crane-man stared into the fire for a moment. "The T'ang army charged up the hill. All at once, as if all their minds had become one, the women began jumping off the cliff. Every one of them preferred death to becoming a prisoner.

"Can you see it, my friend? The women jumping one after another from the cliff, their beautiful silk dresses billowing in the air—pink, red, green, blue ... indeed, like flowers falling."

Tree-ear gasped, his eyes round. What courage it must have taken!

"The T'ang were victorious that day, but the women's efforts were not in vain, for they have since been an inspiration to all who have need of courage. Their memory will live for a thousand years, I am sure of it."

Crane-man reached out with his crutch and poked the dying embers of the fire. Tree-ear saw sparks flare up and fall again ... like tiny flowers.

"Go climb the Rock of the Falling Flowers when you reach Puyo, my friend," Crane-man had said. "But remember that leaping into death is not the only way to show true courage."

Now Puyo lay just ahead. Tree-ear strode eagerly down the road. He would visit the rock, and when he returned home, he would tell Crane-man everything he had seen.

 

The villages along Tree-ear's route thus far were much like Ch'ulp'o. They were not seaside villages, and they were inhabited by farmers rather than potters, but they had the same feel as Ch'ulp'o: small thatched houses gathered in clusters along a single main road, the grand home of a government official set apart from the rest, a temple somewhere nearby, people working hard for a meager living. Everyone had been kind and respectful, going about their business as he went about his.

But Puyo! Tree-ear entered the city gates and stopped in midstep. How crowded it was! People, oxen, and carts jostled one another in the narrow streets; the houses were so close together that Tree-ear wondered how their residents could breathe. Behind him he heard shouts of impatience, as people tried to push past him. He moved on, swept along by the river of traffic.

On both sides of the street shop stalls were open. Their owners shouted, plying their wares; the customers shouted, bargaining for the best prices. Never had Tree-ear seen so many goods displayed—or heard so much noise! How could the people of Puyo possibly hear themselves think?

There were stalls that sold food and drink already prepared, and stalls that sold vegetables and fish for cooking at home. One stall sold nothing but sweets. There were bolts of fine silk, trays of gemstones, wooden toys. All manner of household goods could be had, baskets and straw sleeping mats and wooden chests.

And pottery. Tree-ear stopped abruptly in front of one stall. It was stacked with small mountains of pottery—not celadon work, but the very dark brown stoneware known as
onggi,
for storing food.

The
onggi
seller's stall displayed every size of vessel—from tiny sauce dishes to
kimchee
jars big enough for a man to stand hidden within. The wares were stacked in tall towers that seemed to tilt precariously. But Tree-ear smiled, knowing they were steadier than they looked. He had learned well how to stack similar-sized vessels into a tower that could touch the sky if need be and never topple.

Tree-ear was just about to move on when he spotted a shelf at the back of the stall. His mouth dropped open in amazement.

Just three objects stood on this shelf, three identical celadon wine bowls—
inlaid with chrysanthemums.

The owner noticed Tree-ear's interest. "Boy, tell your master—the latest style, those bowls are. The design is a favorite of the King himself! I dare not tell you what I paid for them ... only a customer of impeccable taste could afford such an item. Is your master such a one?"

Tree-ear did not mean to be rude, but he could not speak. He merely bowed his head to the man and stepped away from the stall, feeling a little dizzy.

Kang's designs—already seen and admired and replicated for sale on the streets of Puyo.

Tree-ear began to walk faster, shouldering his way through the crowds. The sooner the better for Min's work to reach Songdo.

The path to the Rock of the Falling Flowers was steep, and Tree-ear leaned forward, sometimes on all fours, as he climbed. Just before he reached the top, he stopped by the side of the path and took the
jiggeh
off his back. He drank from the gourd and poured a little water on his hands to splash on his sweaty face.

Thus refreshed, he felt ready to give his full attention to the sight of the rock. He walked the last incline holding the
jiggeh
awkwardly in front of him and set it down once he reached the broad plateau at the top.

It was as if he stood alone on top of the world. He gazed around, this way and that, hardly knowing where to look first. Before him to the north the cliff fell away sharply to the Kum River, a broad stroke of silver ribboning its way through the hills and plains. Behind him was the path he had climbed, with the city of Puyo below. How small it looked now! Tree-ear shaded his eyes from the sun as it began to set, wondering if that smudge on the horizon might be the sea. Surely this cliff was high enough to see all the way there.

Crane-man's words came to life—the King standing where Tree-ear stood now, surrounded by the palace women ... the enemy scrambling up the path he had just followed ... the cries of the women—their terror and then their sudden act of bravery, their colored dresses like the petals of thousands of flowers.

"You know the story, eh?" The voice at his side startled Tree-ear; he felt his heart leap and run. He had not heard the man come up the path, but there he stood, poorly dressed and oddly pale, as if he had been ill for a long time or never went outdoors when the sun shone.

Tree-ear cleared his throat. "Greetings, sir. Have you eaten well today?"

"Not today, not for a few days now," came the impolite answer. The man smiled, but Tree-ear did not like his smile. There was something unpleasant behind it. Although he would have preferred to stay at the rock a while longer, he decided to descend rather than remain in unwanted company.

Tree-ear turned and picked up his
jiggeh,
preparing to hoist it to his back.

"Let me help you with that," the man said, moving forward. "A fine load of rice indeed!"

Tree-ear stepped back, trying to quell his alarm. His cargo was far more precious than rice. "Your offer is kind, good sir, but I have no need of help."

The man's smile turned into a leer. "Now, there's a rude boy—my help is no good to you?" And he reached out with one arm to grab the
jiggeh.

Tree-ear jerked it away from him. He stumbled, coming dangerously near the edge of the cliff. The man snarled, menacing and ugly, and advanced a few steps. He seized the sides of the straw container with both hands and pulled.

In the last moments everything had come together in Tree-ear's mind. The man's pallor ... his rudeness ... his coming upon Tree-ear in such a deserted place. He was one of the dreaded
toduk-non,
the bandits who hid throughout the countryside and on the outskirts of cities, emerging only to rob weary travelers. Tree-ear held on to the wooden frame of the
jiggeh
with all his might.

The robber pulled and jerked; Crane-man's solid straw work held. At one point the man released one hand, cursing—the straw had cut into his palm. Tree-ear's hands were toughened by calluses from ax and spade, his arms strengthened by endless work; he gave not a single step of ground to the robber.

Be careful!
A scream of warning sounded in Tree-ear's head.
You are pulling so hard. If he lets go suddenly, you will fall! Move, move now, so your back is not to the cliff edge!

Tree-ear shifted his feet and began edging sideways. Still the robber pulled, now shouting curses and threats with every breath. Soon Tree-ear's back was to the path. His hands and arms felt like iron—they would never break, he would never let go. The robber was weakening, he could feel it...