The Road to Anmokji

Vrrrooooom.

The headlights of the approaching car brightened over Kang Hyeong-seok's face and Lee Geum-kyeong's, swelling closer by the second. The sun had gone down; they stood before the house where the ssitgimgut — the rite of soul-washing — had taken place.

"Trust only in your own Momjusin."

Lee Geum-kyeong said it in a low voice, her eyes fixed on the car.

Kang Hyeong-seok answered just as quietly, watching the same place. "Yes, ma'am."

The man behind that windshield was Hong Gyeong-soo. What schemes he carried, Kang Hyeong-seok couldn't begin to guess — but the source of the death curses remained unresolved, and the man had come back alone. What was he after? What was he playing at?

Like a jet-black viper with venom pooled in its belly, the car slid up and stopped in front of them.

The door burst open.

Hong Gyeong-soo who climbed out was much changed from the man of that afternoon. His hair hung in a hasty, half-collapsed knot, his legs dragged with a stagger, and his clothes were stiff with dried mud — the picture of someone who had spent the day rolling down a mountainside.

"Uuuugh..."

Barely able to hold himself upright, he leaned against the car and bowed his head to Lee Geum-kyeong.

"I've got no face to show you, ma'am."

"I heard the gist of it."

He regarded her through eyes whose corners had sagged with weariness, then turned his gaze on Kang Hyeong-seok as well. From his breast pocket came a cigarette, and he set it between his lips.

Click, click, click. The lighter sputtered and refused to catch — the dirt ground into his fingers, most likely. So he scrubbed his thumb against his jacket, rolled the wheel again, and this time the flame took.

Fwoosh! Bathed in that flare of red, his face looked somehow not right. Or was that only a feeling?

"Where's the rest of your people?"

"I sent them off to rest — at my word."

"Hah, the heartless rascals. Aigoo."

Hong Gyeong-soo let his head droop as the cigarette burned.

"It went badly, I'm afraid."

Then, sounding genuinely ashamed of himself, he went on in a sunken voice. "This one's vicious. Far beyond what I can manage alone."

"With your skill, it should have been plenty."

"That's what I thought too. But the senior shaman turned out to be a far busier soul than I ever gave credit for."

A bitter irony — that the demons had piled up in exact measure with the people he had helped. Evil karma accruing in step with every good deed: an absurdity that defied the very order of things.

"I need help. Lend me a hand, please."

Lee Geum-kyeong smiled faintly. At a glance it was a kindly smile; her eyes were not. They were the eyes of a woman who had foreseen this very plea long before he made it.

"Then I shall come along."

"No, ma'am. You know what manner of place it is. The road is brutal — you'd never make the journey."

He pointed at Kang Hyeong-seok standing at her side. "What I need is someone who carries a great god."

Kang Hyeong-seok and Lee Geum-kyeong looked at each other. It was Kang Hyeong-seok who nodded first.

"I think that's for the best."

They had already settled everything between them before Hong Gyeong-soo ever arrived. And yet a thread of worry crossed Lee Geum-kyeong's eyes. It lasted only an instant; then they were her own again.

"You'll be all right?"

"Yes. The senior shaman's ssitgimgut has to be seen through to the end."

"Understood."

She said it heavily, then thumped Kang Hyeong-seok once on the back — and in the same motion, brushed her fingers over the inner pocket of his jacket. A signal: trust in what lay hidden there. When he nodded, she turned her gaze on Hong Gyeong-soo.

"No harm must come to him."

"I can't promise the impossible — but I'll do my utmost."

"Swear it on your Momjusin. Swear that no harm will befall him."

For a moment, Hong Gyeong-soo's eyes wavered. Then his face resettled into its usual cast, and he answered with force. "I'll swear it. A thousand times, ten thousand — take your pick."

"Very well."

With that, Lee Geum-kyeong gave Kang Hyeong-seok's back a push, sending him toward the car. Step by heavy step. When he stopped beside the passenger door, Hong Gyeong-soo forced out a long breath, straightened, and bowed deep at the waist.

"Thank you for your understanding."

"You sowed this yourself."

Staring down at the crown of the man's bowed head, Lee Geum-kyeong went on in a low, steely voice. "See it resolved. Whatever it takes."

Hong Gyeong-soo straightened, and the corner of his mouth curled faintly. "Yes, ma'am."

He climbed into the driver's seat, and Kang Hyeong-seok took the passenger side.

Grrrrrm! The engine snarled like a beast, the front wheels swung wide, and the car pulled away in a billow of acrid smoke, heading back the way it had come.

Jolt, jolt. This was a sprawl of low villas huddled close to the livestock sheds, and the road was nothing but ruts; the car bucked through the darkness. Inside, where it was darker than the night without, Kang Hyeong-seok found his mind returning to the items tucked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠against his chest.

Then, without warning—

"So what did she pack you off with?"

Hong Gyeong-soo's tossed-off question dragged Kang Hyeong-seok's eyes over.

"Ah, speak easy. Even going by face value alone, I'm way your senior."

"...Yes."

"You don't trust me either, do you?"

A probing question. Kang Hyeong-seok studied the man's profile for a moment, then put on a gentle smile. "I take it that's happened to you often."

"Often. Far too often."

Pain had crept into the words; Hong Gyeong-soo grimaced and groaned. Then he set a fresh cigarette between his lips, touched its tip to the old one's ember — a quick flare! — and flicked the shortened stub out the window. Two deep drags, and he spoke.

"It's always like this. Deal in death curses and hexes long enough, and the hard part becomes finding someone who isn't like that."

Was the dampness in that voice sincerity, or a lie? If not for Lee Geum-kyeong's warning, Kang Hyeong-seok might have found himself warming to the man. He blinked slowly and curled the fist resting on his knee into a hard knot.

"Then the answer's simple — stop doing it."

"PWAHAHAHAHA!"

Hong Gyeong-soo's shoulders shook with sudden laughter — then his teeth clenched hard. "You haven't been carrying your god very long, have you?"

"No. Not long."

"That's exactly why you get to say it. Kid — the god I took on was that kind from the very start."

A road he'd had no choice but to walk. That was how Hong Gyeong-soo's words sounded. "Not everyone is granted the power they need. And you and I both know of a shaman who never got the power they wanted."

That much was true. Even now, one senior shaman — with Hong Gyeong-soo's help — had corralled a lifetime of accrued demons into a single place, and dealing with that place was precisely what this journey was for.

"And I run my work by a code of my own."

"There's a code for hurling death curses?"

Kang Hyeong-seok said it as though refusing to be swayed; Hong Gyeong-soo gave a heavy nod.

"Curses aren't some far-off thing. You've hated someone before too, haven't you? You're human."

"..."

"That feeling spilling outward is a curse, and it takes a thousand shapes. Spewing hate on the internet is a curse too — people just don't realize it."

A curse, properly so called, needed a few things: anonymity, and a burning wish. The desire to wound someone, or to drag them down. Vicious comments, spiteful reviews left on shopping and delivery apps, fabricated rumors about celebrities — every one of them met the same conditions. Which meant a curse was never far from anyone's hand.

Hong Gyeong-soo scratched at his brow with his thumb and twisted his lips. "You know as well as I do — a curse comes back."

He did know. Whoever cursed another would, without fail, pay the price.

"The strong have no need of curses. It's the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weak who need them. I cast in their stead — that's how I help them."

"You sound like a man defending the perpetrators."

"I'm protecting both sides."

Hong Gyeong-soo gave him one brief glance — eyes without a flicker of doubt — and returned them to the road. "These are people who come hunting for shamans, begging for death curses. You think they take no for an answer and go home quietly? No. People aren't built that way. They can't."

He shook his head hard, his mouth twisting further. "That knot already lodged in their hearts keeps swelling and swelling until it turns into monstrous evil. All I do is vent the steam before the pressure cooker blows."

Kang Hyeong-seok thought he understood what drove the man's work. It was something like clearing landmines. But no string of words could ever justify loosing death curses at other people — that much, he believed.

"Hard for you to grasp, I know. So ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠let's not try."

He said it the way Lee Geum-kyeong might have. Hong Gyeong-soo drove on with a lonely look on his face and took another slow drag. "Faith doesn't need anyone else's understanding."

Kang Hyeong-seok watched his profile and pressed his lips into a hard line. He thought he understood now, thoroughly, why Lee Geum-kyeong kept this man at arm's length. Hong Gyeong-soo was a man of the wrong faith.

"I—"

The words never made it out.

"Almost there."

Hong Gyeong-soo's voice had gone oddly hazy. He drew deep on his cigarette and flicked on the high beams. The road ahead sharpened, and what the darkness had been hiding slid into view: branches grown wild in every direction, a narrow dirt track. It felt cut off, rarely trodden — the kind of road no one should ever turn down.

Jolt, jolt! The car rocked, ill-omened, and as the sinister air thickened around them Kang Hyeong-seok pressed himself deep into the seat. It felt, somehow, like a road into demon country. And a smell of blood drifted in.

Jolt, judder. In the lurching car, Hong Gyeong-soo fixed his eyes dead ahead and began to chant.

A chant from the Taoist canon.

Kang Hyeong-seok turned to look at the man — and found him already reciting a second scripture.

A prayer invoking the Jade Emperor's protection. It seemed Hong Gyeong-soo meant to shoulder this vile miasma himself.

Jolt, jolt. The car jolted onward and onward, but the miasma never thinned. Not that his chanting was failing — the moment one wave of it receded, the next came flooding in to take its place. A den of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ghosts, tangled past all counting. That was the impression their destination, waiting at the end of this darkness, sent ahead of itself on the air.

THUNK! CLATTER! The car struck a boulder and rocked violently; Hong Gyeong-soo rode the brake and let it slow. They had arrived, it seemed.

Squeak — the handbrake ratcheted up. Hong Gyeong-soo turned eyes that were plainly asking for help toward Kang Hyeong-seok.

"Out we go."

Kang Hyeong-seok stepped out of the car without a word. At once a vicious reek of stagnant water jabbed at his nose — and still, he could tell what lay spread wide before him.

"A reservoir...?"

He took out his phone and checked their position. The place was called Anmokji.

"You know what kind of place this is, kid?"

Kang Hyeong-seok answered with a nod. He didn't need to look it up to know what this place was.

Wicked ground.

Ground where the living had no business standing. A place where a shaman who had spent a lifetime helping others had heaped up every evil thing left unresolved. A place that was, unmistakably, part of the world of the living — and yet one no living soul should ever approach. That place was here: Anmokji.

Glub. As if to prove him right, a thick, viscous bubble rose from the black surface of the water.