BW C54

Chapter 54

More than anything else, that was what he desperately longed for. His whole body was sticky with all sorts of fluids, yet at the same time dry and raw. It still ached as if Taemuk’s hands were clutching him even now.

‘The garrison quarters are much more comfortable to sleep in, and the food is far better. Ah, and you can even take a bath in hot water. It truly isn’t a bad place to stay at all.’

He recalled what Gilsang had said on the way here. A hot-water bath. With that alone, he felt he might be able to at least gather together his frayed body and mind.

“……”

But Taemuk gave no answer. His silence made Hoeun uneasy. Even during the act itself he had ignored everything Hoeun said. Could it be… was he going to force himself on him again? No, surely not…

Hoeun wrapped his trembling hand around his own forearm. He pulled his legs in close—legs mottled with Taemuk’s handprints and bite marks. As he curled up this way, his already small frame seemed even smaller.

“…Unless you… need more of me…”

Hoeun trailed off.

Let me go. Release me.

That was what he wanted to say, but he could not bring himself to speak it. What if Taemuk grabbed him by the hair again, snarling that he still hadn’t learned his place? What if he was shoved down once more onto this pit-like black bedding? What if he was crushed and left to sob his heart out again?

And then—

“……”

Taemuk rose to his feet. Startled, Hoeun shuddered and dropped his head even lower. His hair—untied, dangling loose without its ribbon—spilled forward in a messy veil. Through it, he stole a wary glance at Taemuk. His eyes were nothing but pools of fear.

Taemuk snatched a robe hanging from the pole and swept out of the tent. Beyond the flaps lay darkness and silence; there was no way to tell if it was night or day.

This tent, unlike the ones he had stayed in until now, let in not the slightest glimmer of light. It did not sway with the wind, nor did outside noise seep through. Hoeun could not gauge how long the coupling had gone on for.

“……”

Left behind, Hoeun simply sat on the bedding in a daze. Truly in a daze, without a single thought.

Before, he would have fretted—should he wash? Should he get dressed? Was Taemuk angry? What if he was discarded? All sorts of worries would have taken over him. But now, no thoughts came. Better to say, he lacked even the energy for them. He could not even muster the will to dress; he remained crumpled up in his nakedness, powerless.

How long had he sat like that? He drifted in a state neither fully awake nor truly asleep. From the entrance of the tent came the faintest sign of presence.

“……”

Hoeun’s eyes snapped open. His entire body froze in an instant. Was Taemuk back? Why? Was he going to mount him again? Terrified, Hoeun darted his eyes all around, frantically searching for a place to hide. But—

“Um… young master?”

A youthful, boyish voice rose. It was not Taemuk’s voice. Hoeun’s furrowed brow smoothed at once.

“…Chilbok?”

“Yes. It’s me.”

“Ah… uh, just a moment…”

Hoeun made an attempt to climb down from the bedding to put on clothes, but then remembered the state of his body and gave up. In this condition he could barely stand, much less walk. Yet he still had to cover himself somehow. What to do…?

As he fumbled in panic, Chilbok’s voice floated in again.

“Please stay as you are. I won’t come inside. He—he told me not to enter…”

“Oh… right…”

Whoever had ordered him not to enter, Hoeun could only feel relieved. All the same, he stretched his hand beneath the bedding to snatch up the scattered garments. Torn and ruined though they were, they would at least hide his body.

“Ugh…”

Hoeun swallowed a groan as he forced himself into the clothes. The shredded jacket gaped open again and again, and he tugged it closed while pressing down the wrinkled parts with his palm, flattening them like a makeshift iron.

He no longer had the nerve to tie up his hair, so he just ran his fingers through it and swept it to one side. Fortunate, he thought, that the inside of the tent was so dark.

By the time he had salvaged a bit of dignity, sweat beaded cold on his forehead. His breath came ragged, his vision swam. A sudden spell of dizziness had him clutching his brow.

“I’ve drawn bathwater.”

Chilbok’s voice reached him from beyond the tent.

“Ah… thank you.”

Hoeun found himself smiling unconsciously, then stiffened in shock. His voice was a wreck. It was his own, but gutted and coarse to the point of strangeness. It sounded like something monstrous, some alien rasp. That Chilbok could still respond naturally to such a voice seemed a marvel.

He swallowed dryly without thinking. Pain shot through his throat, as if it were being torn apart. Wincing, he clutched at his neck. Chilbok’s words flowed on.

“When you’re done bathing, I’ll bring your meal. Or—rather, I’ll prepare it right away.”

To that, Hoeun gave a faint smile. Was it strange that he could smile in such circumstances? Or was it strange that Chilbok, with his innocently eager manner, could coax a smile from him? Hoeun shook his head, though the other could not see.

“I’m fine.”

“But you haven’t eaten in two days… shouldn’t you at least have a little? What if you collapse again…?”

His words made Hoeun’s head whip toward the tent entrance.

“…Two days?”

Two days had passed? Impossible. He had known time had crawled by, but he thought perhaps a single night at most. Two full days? Taemuk had crushed him for two whole days? He had writhed, wept, and broken on that black bedding for two days straight?

“……”

Hoeun’s jaw dropped. He looked down at the bedding beneath him, and suddenly it appeared hideous. He sprang from it as though it burned—only to crumble with a thud the moment his feet touched the ground.

“Argh…”

Pain wracked his entire body as if his bones had shattered. Tears stung his eyes.

“Young master? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, it’s nothing.”

Terrified Chilbok might come in, Hoeun forced a steady act. Could a voice this hoarse fool anyone? Yet, blessedly, the tent remained undisturbed. Hoeun bit his cracked lips, choking back groans. Sweat seeped cold not only on his brow now but also down his nape.

Whether he knew or not, Chilbok kept talking gently.

“Is there anything you’d like to eat? I can make it for you.”

“No… nothing.”

“We have meat. And fish too.”

“Really, I have no appetite…”

“Then would you take some medicinal decoction at least?”

His voice brimmed with worry. From his tone, Hoeun could easily picture Chilbok’s face scrunched up with concern, looking years older as though he bore the weight of grief.

With his own complexion pale and ghastly, Hoeun slumped back against the bedding and gave a faint smile.

“Chilbok.”

“Yes?”

“I’m truly all right. So go on back.”

Hoeun spun the lie with a voice that sounded as though it tore apart at every word. He heard Chilbok sigh faintly.

“…Very well. Then I’ll go.”

Hoeun, listening, hastily called to him.

“But, Chilbok!”

“Yes?”

“Where… do I bathe?”

Taemuk’s tent—or rather, the military pavilion—was nothing like the ones Hoeun had stayed in before. Following Chilbok’s directions, he found tent after tent unfolding before him.

From what he could gather, there was one massive tent, like a mountain itself, and within it smaller tents partitioned like rooms. At last he understood why the bedding tent had been so impenetrable to light, so still against the wind.

Outside of the sleeping quarters lay another tent filled with Taemuk’s personal belongings. Neatly folded uniforms bore the insignia of a general on the shoulders. A command cloak hung there as well. A desk with its chair stood, a low chest, and weapons—bows, swords, spears.

The space was large, yet the furnishings… how to say it? They did not seem fitting for one bearing the title of general. Without even a folding screen, the place looked, kindly put, orderly; bluntly put, cheerless and shabby. As though furnished with cheap, makeshift pieces.

Here the passage forked. One way seemed to lead to a room for Taemuk and his officers to discuss operations, the other to the bath chamber.

“……”

Hoeun lifted the flap of the bath tent. The sharp smell of water tinged with dampness greeted him, along with clouds of white steam. Dozens of oil lamps lit the place brightly. At the center lay a round wooden tub. Steam coiled thickly from the hot water brimming within. Just gazing at it, some of Hoeun’s pain eased.

He hobbled forward, leaning on various bits of furniture as crude supports. At last, at the edge of the tub, his shaking hands fumbled to peel off his clothes. Torn and tattered, they slipped off the instant he let go. In moments, he was naked.

A thought struck—was it all right to strip bare like this, even indoors? What if Chilbok came in, or worse, Taemuk? But he resigned himself. He lacked the strength to do otherwise.

“Ah…”

As he slowly lowered himself into the scalding water, Hoeun screwed his expression tight. His wounds screamed unbearably. Cuts and bruises not yet scabbed over burned and pricked. In the clear water, slender veins of red spiraled upward like wavering heat haze.