Seondeok of Silla and the Star Tower
Seondeok of Silla and the Star Tower — a biography. 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder People.
Page 1
The sun had barely cleared the tiled roofs below when a gust came tearing up Namsan's eastern slope. Darae was holding the kingdom's old star chart out flat, trying to show the Queen where the ink had cracked, when the wind snatched it from her small hands. 'Catch it!' the Queen cried, already reaching, but the brittle paper was already tumbling end over end down the terraces. Darae dropped her ink-stained fingers from empty air and ran, straw sandals slapping, leaping the low stone ridges between flooded, ruined seedbeds where last season's rice had rotted. Kkachi burst off a branch with a sharp cry and dove after the chart, red thread whipping behind his leg. The paper cartwheeled past a sagging dike and finally snagged, torn but whole, on the low branch of a wind-bent pine. Darae flung herself at the trunk, scrambling up bark that scraped her knees, while Kkachi gripped the flapping corner in his beak and hauled it taut so it would not slip free again.
Page 2
Bohae leaned back hard against the ox's flank, guiding the creaking cart backward through the fortress gate, its wheels taller than his hip rumbling over the flagstones. He shouted to the ox, tugging the rope, but the cart jerked and the tailboard dropped, spilling wet straw mats in a heavy, dripping heap. One mat slid sideways and clipped the tall clay water jar standing by the wall — waist-high, heavy with rainwater — and sent it toppling. Water sheeted across the courtyard stones, racing straight toward the low table where the kingdom's last star chart lay unrolled. Darae screamed and scrambled on her knees, grabbing for the parchment's edge, but the soaked paper tore apart in her fingers, crumbling into grey flakes like wet ash. Queen Seondeok rushed forward, cloak flaring, and dropped to the ground beside Darae, trying uselessly to press the flakes back together. Kkachi flapped down, snatching at a dry corner, but it was already too late. Bohae froze, rope still in his fists, horror creeping over his freckled face.
Page 3
Master Gurin knelt at the base of the stone guardian lion, chisel biting into its paw, when Kkachi swooped low with a startled shriek. The old man flinched, and his mallet slipped from his fingers, bouncing and clattering down the temple steps one by one until Bohae lunged to trap it under his bare foot before it rolled into the dirt. 'Careless bird,' Gurin grumbled, hauling himself up with his measuring rod. But Darae was already tugging his sleeve, pointing east where the sky was pinking between two hills. 'The gap, Master! Quick, before the sun climbs past it!' Gurin grinned, caught her under the arms, and hoisted her onto his broad shoulders, grunting at her wriggling weight. Steadied by the Queen's hand on her ankle, Darae squinted, lined up the notch of hills, and scratched a charcoal mark into the rod Gurin held up for her. Bohae whooped and rang his wrist-bell, delighted.
Page 4
The granite slab in Buddha Valley stood taller than the ox cart, a grey wall of stone running with a single thin seam. Master Gurin thumped his charcoal-marked rod along the crack, counting paces, then jammed the first wooden wedge into the seam with three hard mallet blows. Bohae hauled a sloshing bucket up the slope, his ox-bell clanking, and dumped water into each wedge-gap so the wood would swell and bite. Darae scrambled along the base, ramming smaller wedges into the gaps her arms could reach, ink-smudged fingers gripping the mallet handle tight. The Queen braced a wedge upright with both hands so Gurin could strike it true, her grey travelling cloak dusted pale with stone powder. Wood groaned, water hissed into the crack, and then the whole seam split with a boom that rolled down the valley. Pale dust burst outward in a cloud, and Kkachi shot straight up off the startled ox's horns, red thread whipping behind him.
Page 5
The cart lurched, then stopped dead, its wheel swallowed to the axle in the gravel of the ford below Woljeong Bridge's stone piers. Bohae threw his weight against the rail and heaved, the ox-bell on his wrist clanging wildly, but the wheel would not budge. 'We go in!' called Master Gurin, already rolling up his hemp sleeves and splashing knee-deep into the river. The Queen set down her travelling cloak on a dry rock and waded in beside Darae, both passing cut stones hand to hand in a human chain from cart to bank. Suddenly a drum-shaped block, slick with river water, broke loose and rolled toward the deeper current. Bohae lunged, planting his bare feet on the riverbed and bracing the heavy stone with his shoulder, grunting under its weight. 'Hold it, hold it!' shouted Darae, splashing closer. Gurin swung a rope from his apron and looped it fast around the stone, cinching it tight before it could slip further. Kkachi circled overhead, screeching encouragement, the red thread on its leg snapping in the wind.
Page 6
The clay tower stood waist-high on the mud bank of Wolji Pond, ringed with reeds, its soft rings wobbling as Bohae packed another handful of wet clay along its side. 'Careful,' warned Master Gurin, thumping his tall notched rod into the ground, 'this little one teaches us what the great one must not do.' As if to prove him right, the model leaned, shivered, and slumped sideways with a wet slap into the shallow water, clay rings rolling apart and sinking into the mud. Darae gasped and ran forward, splashing knee-deep into the pond, grabbing ring after ring before they could dissolve. Queen Seondeok crouched at the bank's edge, steadying Darae's elbow as she hauled a heavy ring free. Bohae scrambled in after her, scooping gravel from underfoot and slapping it into his palm. Kkachi hopped along a reed stem, scolding loudly at the ruined tower. 'The ground is too soft,' Gurin said, dragging his rod through the mud like a plow. 'Pack it with stone first — gravel bones beneath the clay skin.'
Page 7
The scaffolding swayed under their feet, nine storeys of lashed timber rising higher than any roof in Gyeongju. Master Gurin braced his measuring rod against a post and leaned out over the platform's edge, waist-high rail the only thing between him and the long drop. 'Hold the cord steady,' he grunted, and Darae planted her sandals wide and gripped the plumb-line in both fists. Bohae crouched low, bracing her hips so she would not tip forward. The Queen unrolled her chart against the rail, watching the weighted thread swing toward the horizon. Then the cord snapped with a crack, and the red-threaded weight dropped away into open air. 'It's falling!' Darae shrieked, lunging over the rail. Kkachi burst from Bohae's hat-brim and plunged after it, wings folded tight, snatching the ribbon in his beak just above the rooftops below. He beat hard back upward and dropped the cord straight into Darae's outstretched hand, who clutched it to her chest, breathless and grinning.
Page 8
Wind came sideways across the flat field, and the rain hit the half-built tower like thrown gravel. Twenty-one courses of stone stood taller than three men, and at the top the guy-rope whipped loose from its stake, snapping like a living thing. The stacked upper rings groaned and began to lean. Bohae ran barefoot through the mud, his ox-bell clanking wild on his wrist, scrambled onto a stacked timber, and hurled a fresh rope up over the curve of the tower, hauling it tight against a post with both hands. Gurin dropped his measuring rod, slammed timber props against the stone base, and wedged them deep with his boot, shoving his whole round weight behind each one. The Queen threw off her travelling cloak, dropped to her knees beside Darae, and together they grabbed sandbags, carrying them two at a time and piling them against the shifting foundation, again and again, until their arms shook and mud climbed their sleeves. Kkachi shrieked from the scaffold, flapping low through the rain, catching Bohae's rag-tied hair between its claws for balance. Slowly, course by course, the leaning stopped, and the tower stood black and steady against the storm.
Page 9
The stone tower stood taller than ten men now, its round bottle-shaped body narrowing toward a square window halfway up. Darae set her sandal on the ladder's bottom rung and climbed, rung after rung, the brass dial bumping her chest, until she reached the opening and squeezed her small body through sideways, scraping her saffron jacket on the gritty stone edge. Below, Bohae planted his bare feet wide and hauled on the pulley rope hand over hand, the ox-bell on his wrist clanking with each pull, while Master Gurin threw his whole round weight backward, boots skidding on dust, to keep the rope taut. Slowly the last square capstone — wide as a cartwheel — rose past the window where Darae leaned out to guide its corner clear of the ledge. The Queen climbed the final rungs herself, violet sleeves catching the first sunrise light, and reached up to steady the stone with her own bare hands, settling it gently onto the top course as Kkachi circled once overhead and landed on the capstone's edge, trailing red thread in the wind.
Page 10
Harvest had come at last. Across the golden plain, farmers trudged past with sheaves stacked high on wooden A-frames strapped to their backs, and far behind them Cheomseongdae stood small and pale against blue Namsan Mountain. Bohae, lugging a basket of chestnuts to share, caught his bare toe on a root and tipped the whole load sideways, chestnuts bouncing and rolling in every direction across the stubbled field. "My chestnuts!" he yelped, scrambling on his knees to grab them back. Master Gurin chuckled, thumping his measuring rod into the dirt as he bent to scoop a few into his apron. Darae, laughing, didn't stop to help — she was too busy hauling the new star chart up a long pole, the painted paper snapping taut in the wind as she planted the pole's base and held it steady with both arms. The Queen steadied the pole's other side, smiling as the fresh chart caught the light. Kkachi swooped low, snatched one rolling chestnut in his beak, and flew off with the red thread on his leg trailing bright behind him over the fields.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
- Format: 10 illustrated pages, narrated, on the kids shelf, free to read on Wonder People
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