Travelers

They fled with the cover of darkness, stopping only after the lights of the city no longer illuminated the clouds with red. The night was beautiful and warm, and Sungjong felt more like he was out camping for fun than running for his life. Maybe it was Sungyeol’s company; his joyful whistling and carefree character.

“I could get used to this” Sungjong mused while leaning on a rock, watching as thin slices of meat cooked over their little fire. Sungyeol was blowing smoke rings out of his mouth; “Well, when life gives you lemons you make lemonade, honey”.

The next morning came with a sore back and a runny nose from sleeping on the ground, and Sungjong’s mood sunk even lower as Sungyeol presented his idea for a disguise.

“Seriously, you really think this is necessary?” Sungjong asked as Sungyeol redid his sheet-robes. “Oh, we’ve been over this already. Who do people trust? Why, monks. And if we hide your gender then it will be impossible to connect you with… well, yourself.” Sungyeol explained. The smirk on his lips didn’t help in convincing Sungjong. “See, even I’m dressing as a monk.” Sungyeol said. Sungjong couldn’t help but notice that his clothes weren’t feminine in the least bit.

“But how do we convince them when we don’t even know the rituals?” Sungjong asked as Sungyeol hung a prayer-chain around his neck. Sungjong didn’t really want to know how he’d gotten a hold of the prayer chain and the other props he kept pulling out. “You might not, but I do. I was at a monastery for a short period of time.” Sungjong looked scandalized. “Yeah, that’s a story for another time. But it’s not like normal villagers even know the rituals and prayers. Simply chant some mumbo-jumbo and act all humble, it’ll be fine.”

* * *

He was gone.

For the longest time Myungsoo’s life had been a dull continuum of restricting rules and gray people. Then he’d appeared, Sungjong, his fantastical little paradise bird, simmering in brilliant colors. He’d come and abducted Myungsoo’s heart. What could he do now? The heavy curtain of gray was dangling over his head again; even riding only reminded him of the boy.

That was not the prince’s only problem; just yesterday his mother had sent a message insisting he’d return home at once. Apparently the perfect match had finally been made for him. Well, Myungsoo had no intention of returning before he heard of Sungjong. In fact he was harboring the very same thoughts as a certain general; if a word came of Sungjong’s whereabouts, he would be out in a flash, chasing after him.

Drowning in an ocean of worry and longing, both the prince and the general tried their hardest not to feel betrayed.

* * *

After finally venturing out to proper roads, the first person Sungjong and Sungyeol ran into was a man with an aura similar to Sungyeol’s. He was stirring a pot over a fire, and a heavy scent of herbs drifted from it. He hailed them over with; “Would you like to sit down for a meal. It might not be much, but eating alone is just depressing.” Sungyeol flashed Sungjong an; I told you monks are trusted, kind of grin and happily accepted the invitation.

“I am Shim Changmin, a sad excuse of a musician.” the man introduced himself, pointing at the beautiful stringed instrument leaning on a tree. Then he raised his right hand from his lap; it looked like someone had smashed all of his fingers; “My arm is broken beyond repair.”

There was a comically obvious glance between the two “monks”.

“What if I told you that my mate here is actually a spirit healer” Sungyeol asked. Changmin smiled; “I’d say that I’ll believe it when I see it”. “That can be arranged” Sungyeol said and turned to Sungjong, who was beginning to look paler by the minute.

“You know what we talked about before. Well, now is your chance to try it out” Sungyeol said to the boy. “I can’t even begin to tell you how suspicious that sounded.” the troubadour commented, not looking alarmed in the least. Instead of resisting as Sungjong crouched over him, he laid back comfortably.

Sungjong closed his eyes, and Sungyeol could feel something nudging at the very essence of him. It was subtle, almost curious. And as soon as it had come it left, taking a little piece of him with it.

Sungyeol decided to stay far away the next time Sungjong tried something like this.

Sungjong looked quite relieved when he stood up without feeling powerless. Changmin studied his arm with wonder, watching as The last hints of golden light disappeared. In high spirits, the troubadour amused them for the rest of the evening with wild stories and almost magical melodies. And when Sungjong curled up next to the dying fire, Sungyeol and Changmin kept on talking.

After turning to brush Sungjong’s face just to make sure that he was really sleeping, Sungyeol turned back to the troubadour. His eyes were glinting in the dark, like those of a cunning fox. “What is it?” Changmin asked. “It’s just a thought I had…” Sungyeol began. “Maybe you would like to… say… enhance our road ahead. You’re a troubadour, so tell our story.”

Changmin smiled and reached for his instrument, a melody already tingling at the back of his mind. “Legend of the Angel with golden hands, Cheonjaga Geum.” the troubadour was looking at the stars. “A bit grandiloquent, perhaps. But I guess that would do” Sungyeol laughed as he threw a little vessel to Changmin. It’s contents clinked happily when he caught it and quickly hid it away inside his jacket. “Some monk you are. Well, it’s a good story. Maybe it’ll sell”.

Just when Sungyeol was about to fall asleep Changmin’s voice echoed trough the air, bright and clear; “But I would have done it even without a single nickel”.