With paintbrush now begrudgingly in hand, the ninth star knew it was pointless to fight his fate. Perhaps, he thought, he could hide from it instead.
He picked a leaf just as his mother had done and drew himself a mask. It was crude and hideous… and the first of many to come.
If his brother the Sun and Heaven were both out of reach, there was yet one more person to whom he could direct his anger. Donning his newly crafted disguise, the star god went in search of the archer who shot him down all those years ago from his place in the sky, his thirst for revenge demanding to be quenched.
17Yue
Hunting Log #381:
She has sad eyes. A trick, surely, to take advantage of my sympathy.
The four of us stepinto the waiting temple situated between the courts in silence. The building appears abandoned, not a soul in sight. The only reason I know others have been through before us is by the faint footprints left behind on the dusty floors, reminders that we aren’t the first to attempt an escape. I wonder how far they got. Did they make it out of Hell in one piece, finally having burnt off their sins to once again step back into the circle of reincarnation?
Paper lanterns float of their own accord, suspending themselves a few feet in the air to illuminate the space in soft, flickering light. It’s a welcome reprieve from the sickening green glow of the Jade Palace. It was starting to give me a headache.
“We should rest before we move on,” Sonam says. His voice is low and hoarse, weighed down by obvious exhaustion.
Normally quick to fight him, I end up nodding along with Wen and Sooah. They seem as eager as I do to move on to the next trial. Which is to say—not at all. While they settle down near the center of the main room, I find a quiet, dark corner to sit down. With myback pressed to the wall and my knees tucked to my chest, I force myself to find calm.
I can’t stop thinking about them. My sisters, dying. Burning. Right before my very eyes, all while the star god laughed.
Curse him. Curse him and all of Hell and these horrible humans who brought me here.
Mihan once told me a story about the star gods, all those years ago. They had always been cruel and uncaring, so much so that a human took it upon himself to end their tyranny. It seems almost fitting, in hindsight, that they should be tasked with running the Courts of Hell. They’re certainly well suited for it.
My stomach grumbles, but I stifle the sound by hugging my knees tighter. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed since we arrived. A few days, perhaps? Though given my growing hunger, it could be closer to a week. This could prove troublesome. Eating Sonam while under a blood oath is out of the question, and killing his guards won’t come without consequence. The more the seconds tick by, the more ravenous I become.
I bite my tongue and ignore my hunger pangs. This is no time to lose my head.
The humans shift out of their armor as they did before, clearly more at ease now that we’ve managed to escape the star god’s torturous illusions. Nobody says a word as Sooah rifles through her pockets, pulling out a small package wrapped tightly in banana leaves. She unfurls them one by one, exposing a handful of rice balls. She’s come prepared, it seems.
They look dry, and might have been sat on once or twice, but the scent of the salted salmon filling within makes my mouth water even at this distance. Sooah shares the three portions she has with Sonam and Wen without hesitation, though she does momentarily glance over her shoulder at me.
“Don’t worry about feeding that thing,” Wen says, already scarfing down his rice.
Sooah signs something with one hand. I don’t understand a word, but I can tell by the tension in her shoulders and the frown she wears that she’s agitated. Maybe she doesn’t agree.
“We need to look out for ourselves,” Wen continues with a huff. His voice is worse than nails screeching over porcelain. “Don’t waste our food on that animal.”
I don’t suffer fools, but the usual anger that fuels me is nowhere to be found. I’m still too shaken, trapped in my own mind as I relive my sisters’ demise again and again. What a cruel thing, to have your most horrifying memories used against you.
A shadow approaches, long and wide. I look up to find the captain a few paces away, hesitation knitting his brows together. We stare at each other distrustfully. Neither of us makes a move.
“Are demons even capable of eating human food?” he asks gruffly. As to the point as ever.
“We are,” I reply, looking him up and down, “though there are certainly more nourishing things.”
He huffs. After a moment, he settles for a simple nod and bends over slowly, portioning his food in half and setting it down on a banana leaf upon the floor. He looks like he’s trying to appease a rabid dog, which I’ll admit isn’t as far from reality as it could be. Sonam backs away without a word, and I suppose it’s better than sticking around awaiting thanks. I’m used to being cursed at, treated like filth.
This kindness is unsettling. No. Not a kindness, but an act of self-preservation. I shouldn’t fool myself into thinking Sonam truly cares. This is but an attempt at pacifying me. It isn’t an entirely foolish ploy. If I’m kept full, I am less likely to turn my teeth on them, though there’s little to stop me from biting just for fun.I momentarily entertain the thought of nipping off Wen’s fingers, but what good is an archer who cannot nock his arrow?
Sonam returns to his little troupe, taking a seat with his back turned to me, and then pulls out that notebook of his and starts to write. Thescritch-scratchof his charcoal against the surface sends a light shiver down my spine. He appears almost meditative, perfectly still save for his studious hand. I want to ask what thoughts he’s committing to paper, but I decide against it. It’s evident that none of us are in a particularly talkative mood.
Once the humans return to ignoring me outright, I reach for the offering of hardened rice and salted fish that Sonam left out for me. I give it a sniff. No poison. Not a trick. Ignoring the way my face heats, I finish it in two measly bites. It’s dry going down, a grain or two stuck to the back of my throat, but at least it quiets my stomach. After I lick my teeth clean, I return to the safety of my corner of the temple and keep a watchful eye on all.
A rough hand claps over my mouth, cold metal biting the front of my throat. I made the mistake of nodding off. Something heavy drives itself into my chest—a pair of knees. Someone is on top of me.
Wen. Dagger in hand. The usual tremor that plagues him is gone.
