The Last Fallen Star by Graci Kim (the mitten read aloud .TXT) 📗

“Jega gajingeon, dangsinege jumnida,” Hattie chants. That which I have, I give to you.

I respond in earnest, my voice shaking like a leaf. “Dangsini gajingeon, jega gajyeogamnida.” That which you have, I take from you.

I start making my way to Hattie and the cauldron.

The motion brings Appa back to his senses, and he grabs my arm. “Riley, what are you doing? Sit back down!”

I give him a guilty look and hope my eyes are apology enough as I continue to chant. “Dangsini gajingeon, jega gajyeogamnida.” I break away from his grip and continue toward Hattie.

We’re doing the right thing, I tell myself. Everyone will come around, and they will eventually understand. Everything is going to be all right.

Eomma is up on her feet now, pleading with us to stop. “Girls, please. Don’t do this!”

It pains me to ignore her, but I keep walking. I focus my eyes on Hattie, and we both look at the cauldron. We’re so close now. All we need to do is pour the second half of our vials into the cauldron and the spell will be complete.

Sweat beads on my forehead as I finally reach Hattie and we both lift our potions over the cauldron’s mouth. This is our moment. I am finally going to become a witch, and the adrenaline is like a living thing pinballing inside me.

“Stop, girls, STOP!” Auntie Okja screams, running toward us. “You can’t!”

Something about the frenzy in her voice makes me halt dead in my tracks. I have never heard her sound like this before.

“It’s okay, Auntie O,” Hattie assures her, beginning to tip her vial into the cauldron. “We know what we’re doing.”

Auntie Okja shakes her head so hard her perfectly coiffed hair frizzes around her head. She slaps the vial out of Hattie’s hand with one swift movement. “No, you don’t understand. It could kill you!”

My vial has started to tip slowly into the cauldron, but I flip it upright even before Auntie Okja makes it to my side. “What do you mean? It’s only a temporary spell. We’ve done our research. The spellbook said it’d only be risky if cast between witches.”

Auntie Okja cups my face in her hands. My eyes flit to my parents, who are both standing midway between the pews and the cauldron, holding on to each other. They look like they’ve seen a gwisin.

“It’s dangerous,” Auntie Okja blurts out in a rush, “because you’re not a saram, Riley.”

There is a confused murmur from the onlookers, and Hattie’s jaw drops to the ground. I stay frozen, unable to comprehend her words.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hattie says, her palms raised up. “Back up the bus. Are you trying to say that Riley has been a Gom all along?” She shakes her head and glances at me with a disoriented look on her face. “Rye, what’s going on?”

“No, not a Gom.” Auntie Okja tightens her grip on my face. “You, my sweet child,” she whispers hoarsely, “are a Horangi.”

I PULL AWAY FROM MY AUNTIE’S grip and rub my ears, because what I just heard cannot be true.

“Sorry, come again?” I splutter. “I thought you just said I was a Horangi.” The clan name tastes bitter in my mouth.

The congregation lets out a shocked gasp. I’m pretty sure I hear Mr. Pyo using some colorful words that, according to Appa, only drunken sailors and politicians use.

Eomma and Appa have clambered up to the cauldron and are now looking at me as if I’ve grown a Haetae horn on my forehead.

“Tell her,” I say to my parents confidently. “Tell Auntie O she’s got her wires crossed. I’m a saram. You adopted me because my birth parents were teenagers who were too young to raise me. Go on, tell her.”

The sanctuary goes so quiet I’m pretty sure the congregation can hear my heart thumping in my chest.

Eomma takes a big breath and steps toward me. All the color has drained from her cheeks. “Riley, my aegi-ya…”

Hattie squeezes my hand, but the muscles in my face freeze. Aegi-ya? Eomma only calls me baby when she’s about to deliver really bad news.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? This isn’t the time or place—”

“No!” I interrupt. “Tell Auntie O she’s wrong.” It goes against everything I know about myself to make a scene, especially in front of the entire congregation. But this can’t wait. After all, how hard could it be to say the words You are not a Horangi?

Eomma winces. She starts to talk, but it’s so quiet I have to lean in to hear her. “I’m so sorry, aegi-ya, but I’m afraid what your auntie says is true. Your birth parents were scholars from the Horangi clan. You’re not a saram. You’re just as gifted as the rest of us.”

I guess she wasn’t as quiet as I thought she was, because another wave of appalled gasps ricochets through the congregation. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the other elders gathering and whispering conspiratorially to one another.

“No, that’s not right,” I mutter. “I can’t be…It’s not possible!” My legs give out under me and I crumple to the ground. Hattie squats down to hold me, and I bury my head in her shoulder. This must be as much of a shock for her as it is for me.

Eomma and Appa approach to pull me into their arms, too, but I cower away. Everything I have ever known about me, about my identity, about my heritage…it was all just a made-up story. And of all the clans to be a part of, why did it have to be that one? They are power-hungry heretics who were banished from our community. They were cursed to never wield the power of the goddesses again. They killed Emmett’s mom. Being a Horangi is a thousand million gazillion times worse than being a saram.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” I dare to ask.

Eomma drops her head into her hands, and Appa takes over, his voice