For the Prisoner

22. The Summoning

Seonghwa had to sit down. When his sight waned and a delicate hand came up to touch his forehead, Hongjoong's arm was there to catch his stagger. The stranger by their side made a noise of surprise and moved to support the priest, too. Seonghwa forced a weak smile.

"Thank you; I just need a break."

"Please," the villager murmured without thinking much of it. Bright fear reflected in his eyes. So long as they didn't call the villagers on him and painted him a murderer, he would aid them.

Together, they helped Seonghwa settle on one of the two creaking chairs at the round table in the middle of the room. He supported his head with his hands, feelings its weight had tripled.

Fumbling with his hands, the villager stood to the side for a moment. He watched in fright how the gargoyle loomed over Seonghwa, feeling for his forehead with clawed hands. When the same hand slipped lower to settle over the priest's chest, the stranger snapped around with a blush blazing across his cheeks.

"Let me get you something to drink."

He tripped over Fléau, who sat by Ming's side as he examined the body. The hiss of the cat made him jump, then he dashed through his own house like a man chased by the devil.

Faint, Seonghwa listened to the blood rushing in his ears. One by one, the other companions filtered inside to crowd the tiny room. Wooyoung's eyes were teary with the stench of dog, and San stared at the corpse with eyes like saucers.

Jongho appeared by Seonghwa's other side and asked him a question. Unresponsive, Seonghwa listened to the ache in his chest, throbbing insistently against his sternum.

The White Lady was dead. Her curse hadn't lifted with her passing, and her magic that could have healed him had evaporated.

Was this truly it?

Was this how he died?

An accident had caused such a cruel twist of fate?

Perhaps Seonghwa wasn't favoured by God after all. Perhaps he was doomed to a life of anguish.

"H-Here. It's just water, but..." A trembling hand offered a cup to Seonghwa. Hongjoong snatched it, smelling its contents, before he set it on the table in front of the priest with a gentler claw. Seonghwa reached out, quivering like an arrow in the wind, unsure if he could hit his target.

Some water spilt over his chin as he drank. The chilling drink from the spring outside cleared some of the fog in his mind.

"What can you do?" Hongjoong asked Mingi as he crouched by the White Lady's side and dug through his pouches. His antlers scared the villager, and he stayed far away from the witch, eyes flickering between the others in apprehension.

If Seonghwa had been more coherent, he would have pitied him and assured him nothing would happen.

Mingi reached for a gem from his pocket, running it along the side of her wrist. It glowed in a hardly perceptible shine.

"I can reach out into the beyond and see if her spirit lingers. It might be just enough to lift the curse."

"Then do that," Hongjoong snapped. Mingi cast a seething glare over his shoulder.

"It takes time. I will take this outside. Pray to your measly god I succeed." With a huff, he slung the White Lady in her sheet over his shoulder. Fléau accompanied him outside, and a moment later, the door fell shut behind him. Tense silence took his place.

When it became unbearable, the villager whispered first.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, unsure what it was he had to be sorry about.