I Will Find You - Chapter Four

“Jeonha...”

He held her in his arms, so tiny, so fragile. “Don’t speak.”

“I didn’t want to go anywhere,” she said in a small, broken voice.

“Where would you dare go without my permission?” he asked, his voice cracking as he felt her slip away.

She opened her eyes and looked at him one last time. “I love you...jeonha.”

Then she was gone, even though he begged her to open her eyes. To look at him. Not to leave him.

Heon snapped awake, body drenched in sweat, her name lodged in his throat, arms empty.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed—he liked the modern day of sleeping on an elevated platform better than on the ground; it was much softer, albeit dangerous to fall off—and walked to the window.

He stared down at the nightscape of Seoul, lights extending way beyond his vision, and leaned his forehead against the glass.

“Where are you?” he murmured. “Are you even here? How do I find you? How can I keep my promise?” He sighed and closed his eyes. “I miss you,” he whispered.

 

In the morning, after spending the second half of the night reading, searching, and learning—he felt like a schoolboy again, only his curriculum hadn’t been this difficult growing up—he walked into Steve’s living room, sword in hand. “Good morning.”

Steve turned with a grin, but it quickly died on his lips. “What did I do now?”

Heon cocked his head. Why would he have to do anything? Then he noticed what Steve was looking at so warily—the sword—and he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just...” He cleared his throat. He’s never been good at this sort of thing. “You took me in, you and Jae-hyeok are helping me, even though you don’t have to. I don’t have any money, nothing to repay you with, so I want you to sell my sword to cover any costs incurred by me being here.”

“Huh? What?” Steve asked dumbly.

Heon cleared his throat again. “I heard you two talk the other day. About my sword being an antique and probably worth a fortune, so...” He walked to Steve and offered his sword.

“Whoa, whoa.” Steve lifted his hands, scrambling back. “I can’t take your sword, man.”

“Why ever not?”

“Well.” Steve grinned deprecatingly. “You might still need it to kill us if we don’t find your girl.”

“I am being serious,” Heon replied. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Nah, man, we’re cool.” Steve slapped him on the shoulder in the natural camaraderie they’d developed in the past few weeks. “Really. I don’t need the money, and neither does Jae-hyeok. You might need it, though, so let’s leave the option of selling it open, okay, if it doesn’t pan out.”

Heon had no idea what he was talking about. Since it was a daily occurrence, he’d gotten used to it by now. “Listen, Steve,” he tried reasoning again. “Forget the oath, I appreciate it, but you two went beyond it a while ago.”

Steve grinned. “Sure, I might’ve started helping because of the oath, but it’s not that anymore, man. I like you, and, fuck it, I’m a sucker for happy endings. I want you to have yours with your cook.” He slapped him on the shoulder again and squeezed briefly. “We’ll find her, trust me. No matter what it takes, no matter how long, we’ll find her.”

“Yeah,” Jae-hyeok said from behind them. Heon had to admit the man’s stealthy entrances have improved. “We’re invested. We’re friends now.” A pause, a tentative look. “Right?”

Beside Song-jae, he’d never had a real friend, and even with Song-jae, as they grew up, with Heon’s destiny as king and after his crowning, even that friendship had become rather transactional, reverting back to its basic, pure form only in the end, with his friend’s ultimate sacrifice. Steve and Jae-hyeok had no stakes in the game, as far as he could see. Both were well-situated and placed in society with lucrative business deals and wealthy connections. They didn’t need him; it was the other way around—he needed them.

For them to claim him as a friend, someone who, merely a month ago, was a stranger, a historical figure with a tarnished past, resonated deeply.

He swallowed and nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

“No problem.” Jae-hyeok sauntered toward him. “I have something for you.” He offered him a padded envelope. “This was delivered yesterday to my office. The last piece of the puzzle you’ll need going forward.”

Steve rolled slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet. “Don’t tell me it actually worked.”

Jae-hyeok grinned. “It did. They totally believed the cult spiel with his two cousins vouching for his identity.”

Heon looked from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”

Jae-hyeok shrugged. “Remember when we went into that big government building and told everybody you don’t have any documents because you grew up in a cult?”

“Yes.” Luckily he’d only read about cults later that day, or he would’ve refused to participate.

“And Steve and I said we were your cousins and vouched for your identity.” Jae-hyeon grinned. “Well, it worked. Check the envelope.”

Heon reached in and pulled out a small dark blue booklet and a thin piece of plastic—the prevalent material of the future—with his image on it. He’d gotten used to seeing people’s images everywhere: along the streets, on buildings, in books and papers for news, and on his smartphone. Yet seeing his likeness on a small rectangle, the image he was only used to seeing in the mirror, was still disquieting.

The identity card and passport—a document used mainly for travel to other countries, because people couldn’t just go where they wanted without problems in the future—were issued to a Lee Heon, born on November 23, 1995.

“Why this birth date?” he asked.

Steve grinned. “It’s yours. You were born November 23 in 1476.”

“A Scorpio, might I add,” Jae-hyeok added.

Steve nodded. “We made you the same age you were when you disappeared. Twenty-nine.”

He cleared his throat, since there seemed to be a lump the size of a small boulder inside it. “Thank you. But you did not have to.”

“Sure we did.” Jae-hyeok slapped him on the back. “How else can you exist? Get a job...Well, that might take time. Let’s do another. You need ID to open a bank account.”

Heon tightened his grip on the sword. “I have no need for a bank account.”

Steve waved the words away, looking at Jae-hyeok. “Yeah, he wants us to sell his sword to repay us.”

Jae-hyeok shrugged. “There’s still time. See...do you mind if I call you Heon? Korea’s a republic now. Besides, we’re cousins, after all.” He grinned.

Steve mirrored that grin. “And you’re younger than both of us. At least on the IDs.”

“See, Heon,” Jae-hyeok continued. “There’s a part of the family lore we didn’t tell you.”

Steve nodded, eyes alight in expectation. “Apparently there’s a fortune awaiting you somewhere.”

Heon blinked. “What fortune?”

“According to the tale, someone had left funds for you way back and supposedly made sure no one else could get to them. Idle hands, you know.”

Heon looked from one to the other. “Who?”

Jae-hyeok shrugged. “No idea. It was a fairy tale only a month ago, remember. Anyway, my family has this.”

Heon stared at the familiar sight of a square hanji envelope. He took it and pulled an empty piece of hanji out of it. “It’s blank.”

“Aren’t you a genius?” Jae-hyeok muttered, then, at Heon’s glare, muttered a “Sorry.”

Heon turned the hanji, lifted it to the light of the window, and grinned. “I need a candle.”

“Eh?” Steve pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket. “I quit last year, but these keep turning up in my pockets. Will this do?”

Heon carefully held the hanji close to the flame, and suddenly a dark brown hanja script appeared.

DAEHAN CHEON-IL, NO. 1

“What the—” Jae-hyeok pulled his phone out of his pocket and typed. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “Daehan Cheon-il Bank was the first domestic joint-stock bank in Korea, founded in 1899. Renamed Chōsen Commercial Bank in 1911 and Korea Commercial Bank in 1950. Merged with Hanil Bank after the 1997 financial crisis and renamed Hanvit Bank.”

“Never heard of it,” Steve interjected.

“Because it was renamed again in 2002.” Jae-hyeok grinned. “Into Woori Bank.”

Steve chuckled. “Figures. Prescience or sheer dumb luck, they chose a bank that’s still there. I’ll take a wild guess that whatever they left is in a safety deposit box numbered 1.”

“Might we be so lucky,” Jae-hyeok muttered. “How about your message?”

“Right. I swiped this yesterday from Dad’s vault.” Steve opened a sideboard drawer and pulled out a yellowed envelope. “Supposedly, they’re meant to be opened and used together. Here you go.”

Numbly, Heon took it—it was slightly larger and longer than the previous one—and pulled out another piece of hanji. Unlike the smaller one, this message was in hangeul.

I LIE WHERE SKY AND SILENCE MEET,
BEYOND THE PATH, BENEATH YOUR FEET.
NOT CARVED BY HANDS, BUT TIME AND FATE,
A SECRET KEPT BY ROCK AND SLATE.

WHERE HEARTS FIRST STIRRED, THE SILENCE SPLIT—
TWO SOULS MET AT THE EDGE OF IT.
FIND THE TIP WHERE EAGLES DRIFT,
THEN SEEK BELOW THE SHADOWED RIFT.

“I hate riddles,” Steve spat.

Jae-hyeok chortled. “Just because you suck at them.”

Steve glared. “Yeah? Then tell me, oh wise one, what does this one mean?”

“No idea.”

Heon reread the riddle, a smile curling in the corners of his mouth. Not the cleverest of riddles, yet utterly meaningless to someone who wasn’t there that day. The day his life changed forever. “It means we’re going to the Salgoji Forest.”