Disiecti membra poetae

Limbs of a dismembered poet.

“What’s not good?” Junhong asked immediately, straining his neck to see what Daehyun was looking at with such worrisome eyes.

“Where did you find this book?” Daehyun answered his question with another, further confusing Junhong.

“At the library in the town I used to live in. I tried to get rid of it, but it kept coming back.”

Daehyun shuddered and it seemed like what Junhong said hadn’t registered to him. His eyes were shut in a concentrated trance as he gripped the leather cover with tense fingers. “When I touch this book, I get this feeling of treachery. It’s more than what I expected, than what he expected. This book is dangerous. It’s using you, Junhong. Using you to get power, riches and a war that will wrack this Earth.

“There’s a boy,” Junhong blinked; Daehyun had spoken before he could even breathe a word. It was as if he was blocking out everything around him. His eyes seemed to be moving beneath his eyelids as he spoke in a curious, steady sort of way. His accent has thickened, almost to the point where he was difficult to understand. “Wrists bound, no flare to his magic. Fancy silks on a fat man. He’s laughing, chortling. Given in to temptation. He’s manipulative, greedy and selfish.”

Just like that, Daehyun seemed to be back to normal. He blinked once or twice before that smile returned to his face. “Sorry about that, friend. It seems that this book is linked to others.” The way he said it was so passive, so relative, as if he didn’t just undergo some strange type of reverie. Was this sort of thing… Common?

“What do you mean it’s linked to others?”

Daehyun cleared his throat before he spoke. “Ancient artifacts like this have been left behind by those like you and I for centuries. Let’s call them wizards for now, shall we? It’s not the technical name for us, but it’s fairly close. Your book has seen many wizards before you. Though it seems it hasn’t chosen one for quite some time considering how attached it’s become to you. I do believe that the boy I described has also come in contact with your book, though it may actually be his ‘handler’ that really had possession of it.” He paused, thinking. “It’s quite peculiar, though. That book makes it’s keepers corrupt, evil, so that it can use them for it’s bidding. You, though… You’re virtually the same. It’s seduced you into opening it, yet you remain untempted. I believe that you may be the true owner of it.”

“Me?” He uttered in disbelief. “I’m just some kid from California who rented a book from the library. I can’t really be the owner of a something like that. Besides, isn’t it like, hundreds of years old?”

“Thousands of years old, probably,” Daehyun chuckled. “You’re mostly likely related to the original wizard somewhere down the line, and that’s why the book chose you. I can’t see it clearly, but I know that you’re destined for greatness, my friend.”

Junhong winced as he felt his chest contracting. Greatness? That was a really high bar to set. This didn’t have anything to do with academics. He couldn’t show off any prowess in magic, could he? Magic was different. It was something he struggled with greatly. When he was training with Yongguk, there were days where his hands were almost completely unresponsive from her fervorous spellcasting. Perhaps Daehyun was confusing him for someone else? Maybe that boy from his vision? There was no way a simple kid like Junhong could be related to some big important wizard from thousands of years ago.

They both let the silence sit stagnant for a few moments before Daehyun stood, disturbing Rani who was still resting her head in his lap. He moved to the bureau of drawers and added the new supply of flowers to it. It didn’t close easily, but he managed to force it shut eventually. Small plants and vines still stuck out of the sides, though, like little creatures itching to escape from their cage.

“You know, Junhong,” Daehyun began as he prepared to brew another pot of tea. “The first time that I met Yongguk, I told him the same thing. You’ve seen that leather pouch he keeps around his neck, haven’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. Junhong didn’t answer, and Daehyun merely continued. “Within it is a flower that never wilts. When I held that flower in my hands I felt the same kind of sorrow and torture that your book possesses. It’s resentful and turns that into wickedness. I saw so many who had been overcome with that same wickedness when Yongguk gave me that flower. Yet here he was, genuine and peaceful just as he had been before. It takes a certain sort of resilience to resist those sorts of temptation, I think, and it’s that type of resilience coupled with an artifact’s love for it’s master creates an almost unbreakable bond. These aren’t just mere objects, my friend.”

Junhong eyed the book in front of him. It lay open to a page with a crude sketch of a human skeleton. There were specific places labelled and described. He remembered that chapter, Chapter Six. It was the chapter that went through the key parts of the body that were the most to least useful in spells. Could this thing really have chosen him? A book? That sounded like nonsense. Books couldn’t do anything except sit there and be read. Just… Just like him. He thought back to that time when the old woman from the antique store read him as if he was a book. It still hurt to think about. He wanted to be understood, not told what he was by some stranger.

Perhaps the book wasn’t so bad after all.

“You’re much calmer now.” Daehyun observed, as water boiled in the teapot that sat in the palm of his hand.

“I’ve accepted my fate, I guess. You think I’ll get a cool title like ‘The Book Bearer’ or something?” He laughed, more at the expense of himself than anything.

Daehyun smiled. It was the type of smile that was contagious, yet it didn't hold the same kind of tranquility that Yongguk’s did. Instead it held a sort of forlorn happiness that every sorrowful person yearns for.

“The Book Bearer sounds excellent, friend.”

———

Weeks passed and Daehyun had helped Junhong with the language he’d been seeing everywhere, yet still couldn’t read. So far, he could make out the sounds of the letters and some of the basic words, but as with any language there was more to it than that. At the very least, those hasty lines on the page weren’t chicken scratches anymore. Slowly, but steadily, he was understanding.

The days had fallen into a steady rhythm of going to the bazaar at dawn, helping out in the village in the early morning hours until the afternoon and then moving steadily into language practice. Junhong had become quite fond of the villagers that depended on Daehyun so dearly. All of the children flocked around him when he and Daehyun arrived back from the bazaar and asked to ride on his shoulders because they’d never seen a real live giant before! Junhong gave many piggy back rides before the day was done. Nights were spent in long, deep talks over tea. They talked of their pasts and the heartache within them. Daehyun discussed the future and what he could see coming. It was always foggy, and whenever he placed a hand upon the leather cover of Junhong’s book it became even hazier.

Daehyun and he shared a soft mat that stretched across the green rug covering the wooden floor. Each and every night Junhong would fall asleep listening to the cicadas hum their shrill song. It was the type of noisy peace that he loved to lose consciousness to.

Being in India was so tranquil. Junhong felt at ease when he helped Daehyun with his spells or shopping. Everyone in the village had warmed up to him, too. Though he didn’t speak a of Hindi, they either communicated through Daehyun or with vague hand motions. Apart of him wanted to stay there forever. Perhaps he could marry a nice woman, learn the Hindi from Daehyun, and settle down. But that seemed boring. He wanted to explore, to live, to fulfill himself. Where was the fun in settling down for the rest of his life. As much as he loved India, he was a bit homesick. Some nights, he dreamt of waking up on top of Daisy with a book in his hands and a cup of burnt rice tea at his side. Yongguk would be standing in front of him, a stack of spell books in hand and a calm smile on his lips. It had been more than a month since he had stepped foot in that temple. He needed an excuse to go home.

As if the Universe sensed what his heart craved, an excuse came along. Yet it wasn’t the sort of excuse that he wanted.

The cicadas had been buzzing all through the night and into morning. Daehyun had gone for a walk after brewing the morning tea. He usually disappeared in the mornings and came back with an armful of flowers. It was only normal. However, he didn’t part the curtains with that usual personable smile, and no flowers were falling from his arms. Instead, a look of urgency riddled his soft features. Tears streamed down his face and reddened his eyes with their sorrow.

“The village,” he croaked, voice breaking. “They’re all… All of them.”

Junhong set his tea down and stood. “All of them what?”

“They’re all sick, Junhong. Every single one of them has the disease.”