Chương 35: The Word Protection

The carriage was uncomfortable. Kichan admitted that fact less than thirty minutes after departure. The wheels faithfully delivered every bump in the stone road, the seat was hard, and the animal that resembled a horse gave off a strange smell every time it stopped. Old leather odor clung to the inside wall of the carriage, and the wind through the small window pushed dirt in with it. No matter how fine his body was, he still got motion sick.

"This is really unfair." When he muttered, the knight sitting across from him smiled slightly. It was not mockery. Contrary to the reports, the foreigner in front of him was pale and holding on to the carriage wall, and that seemed to reassure him a little. The forest gradually lowered, and the fields and roads widened. From time to time, stone markers and small guard posts appeared.

Some of the words Kichan had learned in the village came from the mouths of passersby, but once they spoke faster, he still could not catch them. At every checkpoint, the carriage slowed. People did not simply pass through. They showed small plaques hanging at their necks, opened sacks on carts, and placed their hands on a cloudy stone the gatekeeper held out. A faint blue light came from some people's hands, while others whose light was weak were sent to a side line. Kichan watched the procedure for a long time.

When the measuring stone showed no light, the soldier at the gate changed his posture first. The clerk looked again at Kichan's palm with his pen still in his hand. Kichan looked down at his own palm. A hand that could not produce any light. He touched the salt pouch. The cloth under his fingertips was rough and thin. Every time he touched the pouch, he remembered the child's face. The face that smiled while still biting her lip from unease. Kichan tied the pouch string a little tighter.

The small cloth pouch crumpled inside his palm.

"I'll look for one day and leave." He said it in Korean. Dust flicked its legs on his shoulder.

The estate's central city was much larger than the village. Carts lined up in front of the gate, and the guards poked roughly under the wheels with spear tips as they let people through. Old flags hung limply over a wall built of brick and stone, and under the shade of the gate, the smell of filth and baked bread pooled together. There were walls, gates, and a different number of people. In the market, voices, animal cries, hammering metal, and the smell of baking bread mixed together.

The temple stood higher than the small shrine in the village, and the line in front of the tax office was long. As the number of people grew, Kichan became quieter. A crowd was exhausting in a place where he could not understand the words. The lord's manor stood on higher ground inside the city. The stone building looked solid, and the door had many metal ornaments. By habit, Kichan read the hinges, locks, window bars, and the positions of nails inside the wall. There was another measurement at the door.

No reaction from the measuring stone. No confirmed identity. Poor language. But reports remained: he had brought down a forest beast and saved injured people. The clerk stopped twice while writing those four lines. The knight beside him looked longer at the board than at Kichan's face. The healer bit the inside of his lip when he saw there was no light in the measuring stone. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The empty space beside Kichan's name on the clerk's board grew longer and longer. Kichan looked at the manor door, the path behind it, the wall height, and the window positions all at once. The city was like the forest. First, he had to see the paths. While the clerk wrote, Kichan was led to a waiting room. White bread, roasted meat, soup, and fruit were brought out. It was much better than the food in the village. Kichan hesitated briefly, then ate. Food was food. Meanwhile, Dust came down from his shoulder.

Kichan had no time to stop it. The small wire body slid under a chair leg and disappeared into the dark gap beneath the door.

"Hey." Kichan froze with bread in his hand. The soldier at the door did not react. Kichan could not tell whether he had not seen Dust pass, or had seen it and thought it was a bug. After a while, Dust came back. Dust, wax crumbs, and a very fine piece of red thread clung to the end of its leg. Dust set them down on the table and pointed toward the corridor three times with its leg.

"What." Dust flicked its legs again.

"Danger?" Tap. Dust struck the edge of the table once.

"Does that mean yes, or did you just hit it?" This time Dust struck twice. Tap. Tap. Kichan became more frustrated.

"No, you're frustrated too, right? So am I." Dust pushed the red thread forward with its front legs, then pointed at the door again. Kichan looked between the thread, the door, the soldier, and the corridor.

"So... there is something outside. But you can't say what." Dust flicked its legs. For the first time, Kichan thought that flick looked a little annoyed.

"Fine. Let's find a way." He muttered low.

"A way to talk to you." Even while eating, he kept reading the metal in the room. Door handle, knife, dishes, window pins, nails inside the wall. Even the silver plating on the edge of the plate. It was definitely good food. But the soldier at the door did not move, the window was high, and footsteps passed at even intervals in the corridor outside. Kichan took another spoonful of soup and thought. The food is good. But it might be prison food. One knight saw him and asked something. Kichan lifted the bread.

"It's tasty." An exhausted silence passed between them.

The lord was a man who smiled. A thick carpet covered the floor of the wide room, and beast horns and swords hung on the walls like decoration. The windows were high and long, but the sunlight did not reach the center of the room. The lord sat in that half-shadow. Kichan delayed his answer a little from the first impression. The lord was middle-aged. His belly was a little round, his hands were soft, and his clothes were too clean.

Whenever he smiled, the flesh of his cheeks rose softly, but the area under his eyes barely moved. Beside him stood a clerk, a healer, and an official who repeated the words a little more simply. The lord thanked Kichan. Thank you for saving the village. Thank you for treating the injured subjects. The territory does not forget kindness. With a few words and expressions, Kichan understood that much. What came next was the problem. How much medicine could he make? How many beasts could he kill?

Could he treat wounded soldiers? Kichan saw the answer in the order of the questions. This man was measuring how far he could use Kichan before asking where Kichan had come from. The lord kept smiling as he softly repeated words like protection, safety, and gratitude. Kichan remembered the taste of the soup. It was good food. And it could be good prison food. Near the end of the meeting, the lord spoke very gently. The clerk repeated it in easier words.

It would be safer for you to stay inside the castle for the time being. Kichan lifted his eyes.

"Return." He put together the words he had learned.

"I. Village. Return." The lord smiled. His words became even softer. Outside the door, a lock clicked into place. Click. Kichan put down his soup spoon.

"Ah." He said quietly.

"I knew this would happen." Then Dust came down from his shoulder. Kichan looked at it.

"So. How do I talk to you properly?" Dust paused briefly, then pulled out one thing after another from under its body. A piece of salt-beast horn, wax crumbs, a red thread, and a thin piece of metal it had somehow picked up. Kichan looked between the locked door and the materials on the table. For a moment, darkness crossed his eyes. Instead of the locked room, he saw an old cafe table. A cooling coffee cup, a glass window with marks like rainwater, and Suyeon's face sitting across from him.

The thing wearing Suyeon's face did not smile. The same materials were on the cafe table too. A horn piece, wax, red thread, thin metal. Beneath them, however, two sheets of paper overlapped. The Voynich document and the Rohonc copy. There was no angelic language. Instead, in that place lay one empty coaster.

"You're teaching me again?"

"You're the one making it."

"I'm looking for a way to talk to Dust." The thing tapped the red thread with a fingertip.

"A path is language too." Kichan closed his mouth for a moment.

"A path back?" The thing did not answer. Instead, it pointed at the empty coaster. A chill ran down Kichan's spine.

"Angelic language?" On the surface of the coffee, the ceiling of his room in Seoul reflected very faintly. The next moment, the white light of the Rome plaza and the gun barrels overlapped it. Kichan clenched his teeth.

"I ended up here because of that."

"That's why you have to practice." The thing placed the metal piece on top of the horn fragment.

"Name it."

"That again?"

"That is how it becomes yours." The cafe vanished. For a while, Kichan could not speak. He was afraid. But the door was locked, the village was behind him, and the home he needed to return to existed somewhere. He pressed his dry lips together once.

"So you're telling me to make something that lets me talk to you, and practice angelic language?" Dust struck the edge of the table once. Tap. Kichan sighed.

"Fine. Let's say one tap means yes." He slowly pulled the materials on the table toward himself.