The courtyard smelled like jasmine and smoke that day, the kind of cool autumn morning where his breath was wispy, and reminded him of steam. Taesu was sent out to fetch water from the well because they were running low, so he took his bucket, a small one in comparison to the ones used by the older children, and ventured outside. It was a cool day, and Taesu lifted his head toward the sun before continuing on. He enjoyed this chore; it was quiet, away from the shouting and the chaos that often came with living with so many other children, plus he could see hills in the distance when the sky was clear.

Fortunately today was one of those days. He was lowering the rope into the well, his gaze on the tops of the hills in the distance when he heard footsteps scuffing behind him. Taesu didn’t turn although he did quickly tear his gaze away from the hills in favor of staring at the bucket. It was almost to the bottom.

“Hey,” a boy said to him, although he seemed to keep his distance. “Hey!” He said louder, and this time Taesu turned toward. The boy was maybe a year older than he was, sturdy, with cropped hair and a scowl that was permanently etched onto his face. Myung. He’d come in just a few months ago but the sisters already liked him because he was useful, loud in his prayers and good at whatever chores they gave to him.

Myung stared at him like he was expecting a response, but Taesu wasn’t sure what to say. The air felt strange between them, stretched thin, as if the space itself were waiting for something.

“What’re you smiling for?” the boy snapped, his hands balling into fists.

“I’m not,” Taesu said, though he had been. Sometimes he smiled when he was nervous, but he didn’t realize it.

“The sisters say you’ve got the look of an akma*. That you make people do things they don’t want to. I wish they’d make you go away from the rest of us.” Myung spit out, and although he didn’t sound angry, Taesu picked up the resentment toward him in his tone. He didn’t know why – Taesu hadn’t done anything to him outside of trying to be friendly since his arrival. He remembered how frightening it was to suddenly be in a new place where you didn’t know anyone or what the rules were. He flinched as the boy stepped closer.

Taesu shook his head as he knelt down to begin to pull the bucket back up. It was heavy. “That’s not true.” He didn’t understand the boy’s reasoning – he wanted to tell Myung that he’d never made anyone do anything against their will, that he really only wanted people to like him, and it wasn’t his fault if people stared or faltered when they were near him. All Taesu wanted was one person to call a friend. But before he could speak, Myung shoved him.

It wasn’t a hard push, but it was unexpected. Taesu’s heel caught the edge of the well’s stone rim, forcing him to let go of his grip on the rope attached to the bucket so he could catch himself. The bucket clattered into the water below, and for a moment, the splash was the only sound between them. At least he had not fallen into the water below; Myung probably would have let him drown down there.

Myung froze, his face suddenly pale. “Akma!” He shouted, even as guilt crossed his face like he wasn’t sure why he was saying the word. And then he turned and ran, boots scraping across the ground until the sound disappeared behind the chapel. At least the bells didn’t toll.
Taesu did not chase him. He couldn’t. His hands throbbed from where the rope had burned them and the cool autumn air only made the sting worse. He crouched beside the well, the bucket bobbing in the water below. There was no way he was going to get it out now. His reflection rippled back at him. He looked small, pale and frightened.

He didn’t know when he’d started crying. It came quietly at first, just wetness against his cheeks that the breeze turned cold, and then small, shuddering breaths that he couldn’t stop no matter how hard he tried. He wanted to go back inside, to curl under the blanket in his bed, but his legs would not move no matter how much he willed them. If he went back now, someone would ask what happened, and Taesu was not sure how to even answer that.

Why didn't the other children like him? He tried so hard to be good. He worked hard, never complained about the chores he was given, said his prayers, and shared his bread when he could. It helped that he didn’t like to eat all that much, and the others around him were happy to take more food. Taesu smiled because he wanted to show that he was friendly, although when people returned his smile, it was never for very long. Being near him always seemed to make them uneasy.

By the time the bell rang for midday prayer, his tears had dried into faint salt streaks. He wiped his face with his sleeve and stood. His throat ached. The bucket was gone. He’d have to tell the sisters he dropped it. They would scold him, maybe give him extra chores. That was fine. He could take that. It was easier than trying to explain the rest.

When he stepped into the chapel for prayers, one of the sisters reached down to smooth his hair, murmuring, “Poor child, you’re always so quiet.” Her touch was gentle, protective. He leaned into it without meaning to, desperate for warmth that didn’t vanish.

She smiled down at him, kind but puzzled, as if she didn’t know why she wanted to keep him close. Unfortunately, neither did he.

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akma* // devil

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