"No, it's fine," said Byam. "Are you sure you won't be scared?"
Leslie nodded. "It'll still be you."
Byam looked around the room. There wasn't enough space for its real form, so it would have to make more space. But that was a simple magic.
It hadn't expected the sense of relief as it expanded into itself. It was as though for several decades it had been wearing shoes a size too small and had finally been allowed to take them off.
Leslie's eyes were wide.
"Are you OK?" said Byam.
"Yes," said Leslie, but she raised her hands to her face. Byam panicked, but before it could transform again, Leslie rubbed her eyes and said, "Don't change back! I haven't looked properly yet."
Her eyes were wet. She studied Byam as though she was trying to imprint the sight onto her memory.
"I'd look better with legs," said Byam shyly. "And antlers. And a bumpy forehead…"
"You're beautiful." Leslie touched Byam's side. Her hand was warm. "It was you, wasn't it? That day in the mountains."
Byam shrank. It said, its heart in its mouth, "You knew?"
"I've known for a while."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Guess I was waiting for you to tell me." Leslie gave Byam a half-smile. "You know me, I hate confrontation. Anything to avoid a fight."
"I should have told you," said Byam. "I wanted to, I just…" It had never been able to work out how to tell Leslie its original plan had been to devour her in an act of misdirected revenge.
Dumb, dumb, dumb. Byam could only blame itself for its failures.
"You should've told me." But Leslie didn't seem mad. Maybe she just didn't have the energy for it anymore.
"I'm sorry," said Byam. Leslie held out her hand and it slid closer, letting her run her hand over its scales. "How did you figure it out?"
Leslie shrugged. "It made sense. You were always there when I needed you." She patted Byam gently. "Can I ask for one more thing?"
"Anything," said Byam. It felt soft and sad, bursting at the seams with melancholy love.
"Promise me you won't give up," said Leslie. "Promise me you'll keep trying."
It was like going in for a kiss and getting slapped in the face. Byam went stiff, staring at Leslie in outrage. "That's fighting dirty!"
"You said anything."
Byam ducked its head, but it couldn't see any way out.
"I couldn't take it," it said miserably, "not now, not after… I'm not brave enough to fail again."
Leslie's eyes were pitiless.
"I know you are," she said.
One last time
They scattered Leslie's ashes on the mountain where she had first seen Byam, which would have felt narcissistic if it hadn't been Leslie's own idea. When they were done, Byam said it wanted a moment alone.
No, it was all right, Eun-hye should stay with her mother. Byam was just going round the corner. It wanted to look at the landscape Leslie had loved.
Alone, it took off its clothes, folding them neatly and putting them on a stone. It shrugged off the constriction of the spell that had bound it for years.
It was like taking a deep breath of fresh air after coming up from the subway. For the first time Byam felt a rush of affection for its incomplete self—legless, hornless, orbless as it was. It had done the best it could.
Ascending was familiar, yet strange. Before, Byam had always striven to break free from the bonds of earth.
This time it was different. Byam seemed to be bringing the earth with it as it rose to meet the sky. Its grief did not fall away—it was closer than ever, a cheek laid against Byam's own.
Everything was much simpler than Byam had thought. Heaven and earth were not so far apart, after all –
"Look, Sam," said Eun-hye. She held her son up, pointing. "There's an imugi going to heaven! Wow!"
The child's small frowning face turned to the sky. Gravity dug its claws into Byam.
It was fruitless to resist. Still, Byam thrashed wildly, hurling itself upwards. Fighting the battle of its life, as though it had any chance of winning.
Leslie had believed in Byam. It had promised to be brave.
"Wow, it's so pretty!" continued Eun-hye's voice, much loved and incredibly unwelcome. "Your imo halmeoni loved imugi."
Sam was young, but he already had very definite opinions.
"No," he said distinctly.
"It's good luck to see an imugi," said Eun-hye. "Look, the imugi's dancing!"
"No!" said Sam, in the weary tone he adopted when adults were being especially dense. "Not imugi. It's a dragon."
For the first time in Byam's inglorious career, gravity surrendered. The resistance vanished abruptly. Byam bounced into the clouds like an arrow loosed from the bow.
"No, ippeuni," Eun-hye was explaining. "Dragons are different. Dragons have horns like a cow, and legs and claws, and long beards like Santa…"
"Got horns," said Sam.
Byam barely noticed the antlers, or the whiskers unfurling from its face, or the legs popping out along its body, each foot adorned with four gold-tipped claws.
Because there it was—the cintamani of its dreams, a matchless pearl falling through five-coloured clouds. It was like meeting a beloved friend in a crowd of strangers.
Byam rushed toward it, its legs (it had legs!) extended to catch the orb. It still half-believed it was going to miss, and that the whole thing would come crashing down around its ears, a ridiculous daydream after all.
But the cintamani dropped right in its paw. It was lit from the inside, slightly warm to the touch. It was perfect.
Byam only realised it was shedding tears when the clouds started weeping along. It must have looked strange from the ground, the storm descending suddenly out of a clear blue sky.
Eun-hye shrieked, covering Sam's head. "We've got to find Byam imo!"
"It's getting heavy," said Jean. "The baby'll get wet. Get Nathan to bring the car round. I'll look for her."
"No, I will."
"I've got an umbrella!"
They were still fighting, far beneath Byam, as the palaces of heaven rose before it. Ranks of celestial fairies stood by the gate, waiting to welcome it.
They had waited thousands
