The Dowager will be able to read your mind, Shinhak warned me before.
I didn't know when or how, or if she was going to, but now that I'm gripped and ensnared in her iron vision, I feel a sense of utter terror crawl up my spine and into my head.
It's like something invisible is surrounding and covering my skull from its base to its crown. I cannot hear the clattering echoes of the colossal hall around me; it becomes so quiet that I can only hear the beating of my heart and the rushing of my blood. I feel dizzy, nauseous, afraid even to look down at some half-hundred meters of empty space between the platform and the wooden mezzanine below.
An even more peculiar and uncomfortable feeling strikes. My thoughts begin moving on their own accord, and so do my memories, beginning on the day of my parents' murder at the hands of those North Korean agents.
All my memories begin to flip page-by-page from that day until now, like an open book on a table laid completely naked and bare.
I see and hear a splattering 'bang' of crimson cover my vision. As I try to wipe the image away, I see myself in the mirror upon that restroom. I see myself standing next to the headless man. I see the mirror divide the other man with the machete in two when he brings it down. I feel the elation again, the rapturous joy, as I find myself capable of controlling it to manifest my wishes.
The pages turn.
I feel the snapping of my heartstrings. I feel myself punching the manhole-sized cavity through the Jopok. The murderous abandon of squeezing their leader with my unseen hands until he exploded in blood and guts. The old man Hosu. The sepia photograph of his daughter.
The pages turn faster.
The businessman that was kind enough to give me a ride to the Jopok without knowing. The Jopok's vast underground lair where they were having a feast of grilled meats bought with the spoils from the innocent. The eyeballs of old man Hosu's daughter, harvested from her when she was still alive. The indescribable rage I feel. The blood-red splatters upon the men as I erase their swine-like boss from existence. The swirls of darkness as I become the living image of a fabled witch. Crushing the man into the mirror bit by bit, until my mirror awakens its eyes and teeth. Devouring with a heartbeat that pounds into my head, hearing the chanting that calls to KILL.
The pages become a blur. I can only see myself devouring, yes, devouring. My mirror and I are one. We devour, devour, devour, until we are gods unto ourselves. The feast and the reverie of blood does not cease. It's too much. It's too much!
As my memories rush through my head like a speeding train, a single, giant eye, not oriented horizontally like the eye of a person, but like a vertical slit open wide from top to bottom, peers down upon my consciousness. I can feel its presence. I can see it in my head. It stares at me with its multi-ringed pupils, colored grey, cyan, magenta, gold, all shades and tints that exist like the eyes of a divine being. No flip of each page can be hidden from the gaze of the great, terrifying Eye.
Through the reel of my memories playing over and over, the Eye thrusts itself into the heart of my soul and poses a single question.
W H Y ㅤD O ㅤY O U ㅤK I L L ?
An answer rises from the depth of my consciousness. It's instinctual.
"Vengeance," the depths beckon. Fury swells up within me from the recesses of my heart. It's an anger that cannot be quenched.
"Justice. All manners thereof. To send those unworthy of life to Hell; to vanquish off the face of the Earth those who revel in comforts earned by pillaging the innocent. To all those in power that exercises cruelty upon others, let that cruelty be returned to them. And that INCLUDES THE LIKES OF YOU!"
The raw, unfiltered force of my answer staggers the giant Eye hanging above my consciousness, taken aback, making it blink once. But it's got what it's looking for.
Without thinking, my throat begins to sound off an audible answer; the same answer which grips my mind. My mouth and tongue ready themselves to pronounce the words given upon it. If these Elders hear of my murderous answer, then I am sure to –
The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind.
Shinhak's advice rings clear in my head – not on the pages of my memory, but above it, above the giant Eye. A singular ray of light beams down, illuminates my consciousness.
He was right. He was absolutely right – the Dowager Justicar was trying to probe my thoughts, and compel me to say aloud words that will incriminate me. Oh, no you won't, I think, gritting my teeth. You think peering into the mind of Kang Reza is so easy?
I repeat Shinhak's mantra. The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind.
But my throat still moves. I feel sounds being produced. My tongue moves to form the first audible syllable.
"Do you know what it means?" I recall Shinhak's voice.
"No."
"It means that whatever other people think they know about you is wrong: that only you can know your true thoughts."
His advice returns to me, writing themselves into white letters atop the firmament of my consciousness. I've found the meaning nonsensical, odd, but spurred on by the desperation of my predicament the meaning strikes me like a clarion drum.
Whatever I've gone through, whatever reasons I may have for killing – they are mine and mine alone. No one can pretend to know what they are by flipping through a few pages in the memories that constitute who I am. After all, the Eye didn't even try to make an effort to flip through to anything before it all began: my life in North Korea, the great famine, our escape North by crossing the Amnok river, our desperate odyssey through China and the Gobi Desert, being gnawed on by relentless rats, our bodies robbed by hunger, cruel stars witnessing our suffering yet offering no hand overhead. A different kind of fury now rises from within – an existential one, one that rises against those who pretend to know who I am.
How dare you claim to know from where I arise! I growl towards the Eye.
And with that, my voice being forced to pronounce the incriminating answer begins to halt. But it's not perfect.
"Venge – "
The Eye peers even closer. Fights me. Writes out a list of words for me to say.
I conjure more thoughts. More thoughts. My memories of childhood. My memories with friends. My memories elsewhere. My father, my mother, my little brother. The little boy called Iseul whom I've rescued from the lair of the Jopok. The elation and relief and tinges of guilt I felt upon seeing his face, small and afraid.
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That's right. I'm not going to give you what you want to hear, old hag.
I repeat. The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind.
The Eye strains upon the pages, drenching in red the things I must say. It is terrifying.
The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind. You are only a pretender.
The Eye strains more.
The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind.
The pupils of the Eye unfold into even more concentric rings, gripping the pages and words I must say, shoving them into the muscles of my throat.
The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind.
The Eye strains even further.
The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind, I repeat forcefully, impressing its meaning upon the pages of my consciousness. White rays begin emanating from the book of my memories.
The Eye strains with an unfathomable force, contracting its pupils towards me with a supremacy of effort. I feel the entirety of my head being gripped by its gaze; squeezed, crushed, juiced, even the atmosphere around me beginning to buzz and vibrate. All the real world around me seems to disappear into the void, with only me, the book of my memories, the Eye, and the mantra from Shinhak remaining as its only inhabitants.
The Eye, furious, opens wider than ever before, and rushes towards me, threatens to swallow me whole –
The mind that can be pronounced is not the true mind!
And, like the tip of a spear being splintered against an immovable rock, the Eye shatters, scattering into a thousand pieces of manic color.
In an instant, the pressure around my head disappears. I am gripped by an otherworldly force no more.
My throat releases its force now not in the words that would have killed me, but words of nonsense conjured from vacuum.
"Venge-ful grapes," I holler. "Strawberries. Cake. Cream. Garble warble."
A sly smile escapes from my expression towards the hag.
Heh.
The figure of the Dowager Justicar does not react in the slightest, but whatever expression must have appeared on her face would have been a sight to behold. I just countered a technique from one of the titans of the Mirrormusha.
Mireuk immediately breaks into mirthful laughter.
"Oh, Dowager Yang, don't tell me you used your technique on an absolute novice and actually ended up failing!" He clutches his ribs.
His laughter rings off the hall with a contagious quality. I hear Shinhak behind me to the right purse his lips to stifle his own.
"What impudence, Mireuk!" rings out an angry elderly man's voice from the floating table afar, different yet again from that held by the previous personage. "You dare accuse the Justicar?"
"Of course," Mireuk replies. "If you weren't in the know about the technique being used, then you wouldn't be as indignant and tomato-faced as you are now. Am I right?"
"Our methods are beyond reproach. As if making a mockery of the Council isn't enough, you seek to reveal the existence of the technique to a mere outsider! Do you want Kang Reza to die because of your careless words?"
"'Die because of my careless words?' My supreme eminence, you have already spilt the water. Ms. Kang Reza just repelled the technique from the Dowager. Ms. Reza knows that someone – one of you – tried peering into her mind and force her to say whatever it was to get herself incriminated and executed. Perhaps if you didn't doze off in the last seven minutes, you would have witnessed the flash of shock sweep across the Dowager's brows. You think that the light from this conjured sunset of yours hides your faces from me?"
The Elder makes a loud, irritated cough, while the Dowager herself begins to speak.
"Young Mireuk, you should be well aware that you are part of the Musha. And as part of the Musha, you are forbidden to reveal to outsiders of any technique that we here possess, regardless of your personal disagreements and convictions otherwise in the administration of due process."
"Dowager Yang," interrupts Shinhak, "Ms. Kang Reza's words just now are typical of those who have endured a mental breach. I must say that your interrogative techniques are uncouth, given that you provided no adequate time for Ms. Reza to speak her mind freely and without outside influence."
Mireuk butts in. "Exactly. Your idea of 'due process' reeks of horse-dung, Dowager."
"Do you two call the pursuit of due process for the greater good 'horse-dung'?"
Shinhak moves to answer, but Mireuk stops him to answer instead. "No. I call the pursuit of due process for your 'greater good' as 'mushroom management', and your techniques to impose said justice as 'horse-dung.' I implore you to remember that this is quite an important distinction."
"And why so have you dubbed our goodwill 'mushroom management', young Mireuk?"
"Because you keep others outside of the Council in the dark, and feed them shit. Need I explain it in easier terms for you?"
An elderly man bolts up from the Council's table, and points his fingers towards Mireuk. His voice comes off in a thunderous cadence.
"Insolent child! How dare you speak to us in such a manner callous and uncouth! Especially when you still reek of your mother's milk, so wet behind the ears!"
"I have tasted more guemuls than you have tasted grains of rice, old man. It'd be best for your ailing health to keep your ageist mouth shut, unless you want me to lecture you on how Plato complained of the youth in his time. You must know you are utterly unoriginal."
"Regardless, young Mireuk, save your achievements!" admonishes another old man, sitting across from the elderly man that stood, shaking his head. "What, have you not even a sliver of respect for those who have kept peace and stability at great pains for the prosperity of all?"
"Respect is earned by conduct. Your conduct of self-interest convinces none," Mireuk replies, cold fire in his riposte.
"There must be a fine balance between stability and progress."
"But of course," Mireuk shakes his head. "Stability. Your favorite word. How many promising young talents in Korea have you ordained to their deaths because you were afraid they may usurp you?"
"Culling the weeds before they disease the rice and bring a famine is scarcely usurpation as you speak."
"Twenty-seven," Mireuk continues, not heeding their excuses. "Twenty-seven promising young men and women you have ordered killed. Twenty-seven young men and women who could have become a 5th-dan or 4th-dan in less than five years, help us greatly against the rising incidence of guemuls, and ensure that no more innocent civilians perish at their hand. And yet you chose to squander their lives, calling it 'dangerous', 'risky', 'threatening'."
My eyes widen.
"Do you know what Europe does, Dowager? That's right – their Elder Grandmasters dedicate themselves wholly to teaching and training the next generation, and step down willingly after their terms conclude. Whatever child or youth makes a mistake regarding the use of a dangerous mirror, they listen, they forgive, they utilize their talents in ways that can redeem their past actions, not consign them to immediate death! Do you realize how much this differs from your anemic existence of clinging to old glory and wealth amassed?"
"Their culture is incompatible with ours," declares another elder, new this time. "Do you wantonly suggest we adopt their 'cultures' of decadence and corrosive liberalism? To imitate and dance to the tunes of those Western mongrels?"
"And yet they face the lowest incidence of deaths to guemuls, and have been for decades since the conclusion of the Second World War. Even that aside, the spectre of nuclear war haunts us now more than ever, with greater conflicts and far greater threats enabled by the scientific progress of the world outside. Guemuls will rise in incidence whether you like it or not, and right now, the Goryeo Musha is weak! You swore to protect the people of Korea, but what have you undertaken to fulfill your oath?"
"One would think that those hearing your words for the first time would be convinced we are nothing more than tyrants and worms! Is this how you wish to impress the legacy of our Goryeo Musha on who we shall grace our – "
"How many guemuls have you vanquished this past year?"
"...You have no right to command me that question, 3rd-dan – "
"You know very well why I insist on staying a 3rd-dan. How many guemuls?"
"......"
"Are you aware what's mine?"
A deafening silence blasts across the hall, muting all speech and sound. For a moment, none of us can hear anything; not even our own breaths nor our heartbeat.
Then, like a tide rushing out, all sound is restored again. The exchange between Mireuk and the Elders is brought to an unceremonious close.
Madam Dowager Yang speaks at last, motioning her hands softly down.
"That will do, Mireuk. Let us not stray from the urgency of our topic; for our own sake."
"Our own sake?"
"For Ms. Kang Reza who you so fervently defend. You should listen carefully to what I shall suggest, because I've set her body to explode 3 days from now."