Chapter 11: Practitioner (2)

Staten Island, New York

Crossing the space between the hummer and the RV was torture.  Dressed in nothing but a gray hoodie and black jeans, I was pretty sure I looked like an avalanche survivor when I left the cold.  True to Emyrith’s word, the door was open and I managed to enter the RV.

The inside… it wasn’t what I had expected.  I expected a version of my foster parent’s house.  Heaps of trash piles everywhere, everything sorted into black garbage bags.  Broken appliances with rusted bits of scrap metal sticking out pushed up against the walls, making me wonder if I ever got a tetanus shot as a baby.

But nothing about it was dirty or unkempt.  

It was, dare I say it? Cozy.  Well-lived.

Like a home, actually.

Someone had left candles burning, in fancy little glass cups, so I didn’t have to stumble around in the dark.  Instead of the cold steel interior of a car, I was greeted by what looked like a small living room.  It was furnished with a small coffee table and a leather recliner couch.  Instead of broken appliances, I was pleasantly surprised to find bookshelves lining the walls.  Some empty, some filled to the brim with an assortment of books.

There was a row of windows, not big.  Just large enough to see if anyone was approaching the mobile home.  Pushed up against the window was a wooden desk.  No drawers, just the desk.

I found myself walking in, studying the place further.  I traced a fingertip on one of the shelves.  No dust.  Spotless clean.

Past the pseudo living room was an alcove which served as a kitchen.  To my disappointment there was no built-in stove.  However, I did see a small fridge just about my height.  Opening it, I found it stocked with bottles of water, bread, cold cuts, cereals and apples.  I found a bunsen burner on the counter top, the ones people use for camping that could be attached to a gas can.  Next to it were cup noodles.  Boxes of them.

There was a bathroom near the kitchen with full privacy.

A small alcove between the kitchen and the living space that led into what served as a bedroom.  The bed was actually built into the vehicle, about four feet off the ground.  To conserve space, a clothes rack had been installed underneath the bed.

All in all, everything I needed.

Staying in a place like this for a week?  No foster parents, no need to go to school and with an actual bed?  In any other circumstances, I would have been leaping for joy.  

Instead I sat myself down on the recliner and grabbed an envelope that had been laid out on the coffee table.  I ignored the strange test-tube looking thing next to it.  Inside the envelope was my mother’s letter.

Carefully opening it, I began to read.

Jain.  I regret that these are not things that I could tell you face to face.  That a letter is the best we could do.  But times are times, and I must do my duty as your Mother and as a Shin Heiress.  As must you, my son, to fulfill your duty as both Hallow and Shin.

I’ve read your father’s portion of the letter.  He rabbles.  I will keep mine succinct.

The very fact that this letter has found itself in your hands means that you are in trouble.  Trouble outside the bounds of the mortal law.  I suspect that the most obvious are Society Members.  In case you are unaware, the Society is a loose collective of practitioners.  Membership, or Citizenry rather, is highly selective and only granted to the chosen few.  Birth right, talent, influence.  In a sense, Power.

There are many ways to ward them off.  Your father and I have put a few deterrents in place. The RV is one of them. The rest, you will have to find on your own.  But these protections are deterrents, nothing more.  The citizenry, by the very virtue of the process of becoming citizens, are vicious and relentless.  Unless you prove to be more trouble than your worth, they will not stop.

That is because of who we are, not what you are.

The Hallows were Diabolists.

“Shit.”  I whispered.  The moment my eyes grazed over the name, it felt like I raked over hot coals with them.  A mental strain that struck discord in the deep recesses of my mind.

The Shin side of you is rooted in Eastern Shamanism.  A specific brand of shamanism called Musok, hailing from a small peninsula called Korea.

The Shins were Shaman in name, but treated no different than Diabolists.  They strictly dealt with darker side of Spirits; though a few of us kept the classical practice alive.

Now here is the truth.

You will be hounded for the rest of your life simply by the very blood that flows in your veins.   Not because of anything you did, but because of your Name and because of who we were.

Your father and I lived a life of hiding.  Hiding who we were.  We wanted to raise you as a normal boy.

It seems that is not possible.

You must be strong.

Skim Prerequisites.  Speed is of the essence.

To fully awake your blood, we have prepared a vial of distilled essence.  The proper steps to awakening your blood can be found in ‘Prerequisites’.

Afterwards, prepare.

Preparation is key for practitioners and knowledge is the first step towards being prepared.

If possible, I recommend following these steps; which I’ve listed in order of importance.

Familiar:  The bond with a familiar is for life.  As such, I would not recommend a familiar befitting a Hallow.  Without your father’s guidance, there is no telling what could happen as consequence of consorting with Devils and Demons.  Consult ‘Prerequisites’ and ‘Musok: Bestiary’.  For you, I would recommend a familiar that specializes in knowledge.  Martial force can be achieved in other ways.

Staff:  Provided that you have chosen a familiar of proper prestige, they could guide you.  Oak, Sagewood and Lemonwood are always safe choices.  You will most likely carve multiple staffs over your lifetime.  I wish you could’ve seen your father’s

The last line was crossed out hastily.

Instrument: Consult ‘Instrumentum’.  Just beware that this choice is for life, similar to a familiar.  The life of a practitioner is rooted in laws that were forged when creation was still raw and in their primal form.  You are now dealing with forces where the concept of ‘do-overs’ does not exist.

Trinkets: You can take your time with these.  I imagine it will be years before you could create decent ones.  Your father had a knack for these.  I hope you have inherited his talents.

There were some more words that were crossed out.  Angrily.  And some wetspots.

I am what you would have called a Tiger Mom.  I wanted to be.  I wanted to push you in school. Push you to excel.  But I also wanted to push you to smile.  To play.  To smell the flowers.  To make friends.  To find love.  To go to college.  To yell at you.  To see you rebel.  I wanted to nag you.  Make you turn off the TV early.  Make sure you do your homework.

I love you so much.  You’re my baby boy.  Forever.

…엄마가 많이 미안해.

사랑해, 아들.

That was it.