iii. whisperer

A sad smile formed on the aged Whisperer's lips as he looked at the scene in front of him. Like a porcelain mask, the stolid facade of his student gave away into a river of tears.

“Ina, what are you doing here?”

“I heard the Jurist was looking for an Archivist so I tried my luck and,” her voice broke, “I want to see you, my son.” She embraced him tighter, the tears flowing from her eyes created blotches on the cloak of the Whisperer.

At a glance, mother and son bore no similarity except perhaps for the twin streams of tears running down their faces. The young Whisperer was tall and elegantly-formed as his mother was tiny and robust-bodied. Her huge almond-shaped eyes contained no pupils and were the color of blackened coal. A small scar marked the corner of her blue-tinted lips and her shell-like ears protruded like a minute edifice against her ice white, ankle-length hair.

Changmin held his mother tighter as if to loosen would cause her to vanish and disappear. Soumm walked towards them and laid his hand on Changmin's shoulder.

“I know that it's been a long time since you last saw each other.” He paused before adding, “But there is no law in Dunya forbidding a child to visit his mother, Changmin.”

The young man said nothing. His arms were still around his mother and his closed eyes still sprung a steady flow of tears. A touching scene, the old Whisperer thought. He knew that it had been years since Changmin went back to visit his hometown; years since mother and son had last seen each other. There were a couple times, he remembered, when he would find the young Whisperer sitting alone on the stairs of the Cloister looking absentmindedly at the vast evening sky; staring but not quite looking at a group of stars falling from the heavens.

He knew that the young man had been missing his mother; yet if the yearning was strong, the facade Changmin built over it was none less sturdy. He was always tight-lipped, patient, and unemotional. He had built a mask which makes it impossible to see what was hidden behind it. The thoughts, emotions, and many other things that was a remainder of the effusive Human in him were perfectly concealed behind his stoic demeanor; that at times, Soumm wondered whether that humanity in him had already ceased to exist.

The female Djinn broke the silence.

“Son, it has been a long time but I am thankful to see you healthy and strong.” She untangled her arms gently from her son's body and prostrated in front of the elderly Whisperer. “Soumm, thank you for raising my son well. I owe everything to you.”

If Bhafa Soumm was surprised at her sudden action, it was not apparent on the expression on his face. Instead, he knelt down and tenderly raised the woman from her position. “There's no need to thank me, Erin. Your son deserves it all. He is the best Whisperer of his age. In fact, I have accompanied him here to ask permission from the Court for his Final Trial.”

At this, the woman stood up abruptly and placed himself between the two Whisperers.

“Final Trial? Soumm... I cannot let this happen.”  The black of her eyes appeared darker than what it originally was. Her face contorted in what would be a Djinn's expression of anxiety and her arms were open as if shielding Changmin from the older one.

Bhafa Soumm was silent for a while. “Erin, have you no trust in your son's ability?” His voice was gentle but there was an austere hint of disappointment in it.

“It's not like that, Soumm. But,” She paused and threw Changmin a look that is more of fear than worry, “he is still partly human. He might die.”

“Dying is one of the challenges that a Whisperer has to face in the Final Trial, yes, but your son has long understood that part of the test.” Bhafa Soumm looked at her with understanding eyes, “Changmin is partly-human but he is also part-djinn. Just like all Whisperers were before and after him.” He put his hands behind him and paced back and forth the room. “He has took after his Human father his mortal form but the blood running in his veins and his ineffable will to last is something which he took after the Djinn,” he stopped walking and smiled at her direction, “after you, Erin.”

“I suppose you fear that because you are a mother to a Whisperer, contrary to the usual paternal ground on which most Whisperers are associated to, your offspring is weaker.” Erin gave out a small gasp. She opened as if to argue but held her tongue and simply bowed her head in shame.

“Erin,” Bhafa Soumm walked in front of her and raised his aged hands to lift her chin, “True as it may be that Whisperers are usually children of female Humans and male Djinns, it is not an excuse for children of male Humans and female Djinns to be considered different.”

“Only the Royals are allowed to go after male Humans.” Her voice was soft but one could hear the tone of bitterness in it. “I have violated a norm.”

“Is it that principle you stand for why you left the Jurist in the first place, Erin?” There was sadness in Bhafa Soumm's voice.

“I have to. It is the only way for me to redeem my honor.” She looked down on the floor. “What I did is not natural.”

All the while, Changmin was silent as the two adults exchanged words. He felt the need to speak up, to say what's on his mind – that this little reunion is not turning the way he has expected it to be – yet he kept mum. He heard his mother let out a defeated squeak but the aged Whisperer pressed on.

“Yes, it is, Erin. For if not, Nature would have long recoiled its allegiance with the Djinns. But it didn't. Because the law of Nature is not ran by the alleged superiority of man over the woman. The law of Nature follows no law except its own,” He smiled that smile which have calmed too many generations of young Whisperers. “and that is the inerrable need for Change.”

He stood up and looked at Changmin's direction, as if finally noticing his presence in the room. “Alas, your son is one of the most gifted Whisperers this country has ever raised. Over two decades since you brought him to the doors of the Cloister, he stands before you; an able young man with overwhelming valor and experience to deem him fit of the Final Trial.”

Erin, albeit more cheery than before, still looked unconvinced.

“But Soumm, only a few Whisperers who dared try the Final Trial has succeeded...”

“That is true, I agree. But I will say yet again that Changmin has passed the dire years. He is the first Whisperer in thirty years to live past the age of twenty.” He gave Changmin a smile which looked none less than that of pride. “I believe that is a proof that you need not fear, Erin. Your son has followed after you,” he paused before continuing, “one of the most respected generals of Dunya.”

The gust of early evening air welcomed him like a slash of blunt dagger against his skin. The sun has just set and the concrete pavement was just starting to cool after a whole day of being scorched under the sun. Kris jumped over an upturned trash bin and dashed swiftly towards the gate. He ran as if the devil was on his heels. The last time he remembered he had ran just as fast was back when he was six – that time when a group of Djinns chased him and Tao after they played and trampled on a bed of rare carnations.

It was just a Rustle. It could not possibly have made her see me. His cloak billowed behind him as he sped up. He was of a fair distance from the person chasing him but he would not be assured. He turned a corner and felt a surge of relief to see that he had reached the park. He ran towards a clump of trees, half-hoping that the darkness would conceal him from his assailant. The evening breeze swept his hair back as he ducked from a low branch. Blood pounded against his ears and the scenes of his life flashed before his eyes. He can see himself, seven years old, sitting along a group of Whisperers his age as they recited in unison one of the first lessons they have learned: the role of the Whisperers.

Forebode Humans of ill-omens, leave a Mark, and secure the balance of the two worlds.

He recalled poking fun at the laws; stating that one could do it even with his eyes closed, and yet there he was in a situation unfitting of the jovial kid he once was. He can hear Bhafa Soumm's voice resonating inside his head as he read the words gleaming boldly into the board.

It is a desecration of the sacred oath to not leave a Mark on a Whispered Human.

The huge hackberry tree came into view and Kris gave out the remaining strand of his strength to reach it. He slumped on the tree for a moment to catch his breath before scrambling his hands all over the bark to look for something. His skin felt the knob before he realized it and, with eyes closed, welcomed the force that pulled him into their world.

Her feet hurt. She hadn't got time to look for the other pair of her slipper as she sprinted after the white-robed intruder. The stitch in her side tightened as she kept running but she did not dare stop to take a breather. Sooyoung could not even understand why she braved running, with only relatively skimpy clothes covering her body, into the chilly evening just to chase after a stranger.

A stranger who happened to get inside your room without you knowing. A part of her brain reasoned out.

She had been arguing with the voices inside her head ever since she left her room but the arguments went on. Somehow, it felt as if her feet had developed a mind of its own and simply decided to ran after the trespasser. She longed for an explanation yet the closest thing she had gotten out of it was that there was something tempting her to catch the funny-garbed man.

She winced when she felt a dull pang of pain on her foot. Her gaze strayed on a piece of broken glass stuck on her big toe. She paused for a second to pull it out before running again; her gaze never leaving the strip of white on the distance that was the stranger's back.

The stranger ran like a prey onslaught; something which fanned the flame of her desire to catch him. The gust of wind that kissed her skin was comfortably cold, sweeping the loose strands of her hair away from her face. In that curious span of time that she felt nature envelope her, she heard the sound of a cheery laughter. It took her a moment to realize that the laughter was hers. The comforting coldness of the wind, the feeling of blunt warmth of the concrete pavement seeping on the sole of her bare foot, the whole situation itself: her chasing something for reasons she could not even explain, seemed to rouse a dormant personality of hers that was thirsty for adventure. The adrenaline rush was something she had long forgotten, the feel of hearing your heartbeat tapping on the roof of your chest. She laughed at the discernment of how she could barely even remember the last time she ever felt like that, alive.

The feeling of her toes sinking into soft earth awakened her. It was then did she realize that her feet had led her into the park. She saw the stranger she was running after halted in front of a huge tree and touched the bark of the trunk as if he was tickling it. She limped towards the spot and her eyes grew wide when she saw the stranger disappear.

She stood nailed to the ground; eyes blinking furiously as she tried to digest what she just saw. The stranger she was chasing disappeared. She was still half-stunned she hadn't realize her feet had carried her right exactly in front of the tree.

She observed the aged lines of the tree trunk and the endless queue of ants crawling on the rough bark. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the line. She felt the slight touch of her skin hitting a concealed bump and she heard a loud swoosh which she thought was the wind blew in her ear. Sooyoung blinked her eye and her jaw fell down when the huge tree that was in front of her vanished and was replaced with what seemed to be a marketplace full of people all dressed in black.

The courtyard was deserted when Kris found it. The deafening beat of his heart has long calmed down. He paused for a while and took a deep breath before walking towards the Cloister. His steps were light yet the sound still resonated all over the vast space of the hall.

He stopped a few steps from the large wooden entry doors of the Cloister and ran his eyes over the interior of the building he grew up in. The Cloister's hallway was spacious. The towering columns stood up like a concrete forest supporting the high ceilings; their dark shadows breaking the monotony of the sheeny marble floors. His gaze fell on the inscription at the huge archway directly in front of the entrance.

Dar'pah Bangh'dung

The Home of the Whisperers. Below it was a text describing the inhabitants of the said building: the protectors of balance between Dunya and the Human World.

The silver-emblazoned words scarred on the marble stone glared at him, as if they were alive and were ready to jump any moment.

He flicked his gaze from the domineering blaze of the words to the long corridor located at the east side of the hall. Muffled voices, which he assumed belonged to the younger Whisperers, floated from that direction. It was time for the evening lessons, he realized.

The moon rose too early, Kris thought as his attention landed on the full moon shining eerily like a huge metal plate above the treetops outside the window. Its ribbons of light seeped through the glass windows and formed a silvery pool against the cold floor. He paused in his step, studied his reflection in the glass windows, and arranged his disheveled cloak before he made his way into the classrooms.

“Jimin, what are the grounds for a Whisp–” Nana stopped in mid-sentence when he stepped into the room. A group of young Whisperers, the oldest of which looked like he had just turned eleven, stood up almost immediately and bowed at his direction.

“Kris.” Nana gave him a nod.

He returned the nod before facing the younger ones and acknowledged their bows with a wave of his hand. “Continue.”

He stood at the back of the spacy room and quietly observed the class. Nana turned her attention back to the group and continued.

“Jimin, what are the grounds for a Whisper?”

A young girl with dark brown hair stood up and recited. “When the Original Mark glowers with the color of the Sun and fades into the dark hue of the Night, an ill-omen of death for the Human's beloved forebodes; and when the Original Mark bleeds like the color of the Sky and fades into the ashen-color of our cloaks, an omen of sickness and misfortune for the Human and the Human's beloved.”

“Thank you, Jimin.” Nana gave her a nod, the corners of rose slightly as if conveying an unripe smile. She remained stoic but Kris knew she was pleased.

“Marif, tell me what you know about Marks.”

Kris stiffened at the question, as if the query was directed at him. Marif, the oldest kid of the lot, stood up and started talking in an almost robotic voice.

“There are two Marks which a Whisperer must learn; the Original Mark and the Mark of Bearing. Every Human is born with an Original Mark; shaped like an hourglass and a wing inside a bollixed circle. The hourglass symbolizes Time; the thread of Life of every Human before they meet death. The wing is a figure of the Unseen; the Djinn, Whisperer, and Taginep'n, existing with the Human to create balance in their world and Dunya. Dunya, the world of the Humans, and the vacuum of Dreams where the Taginep'n thrives are symbolized by the Circle.” He paused and swallowed before moving on. “Every Whisperer carries a Mark of Bearing unique to everyone else. The Mark of Bearing is imprinted on a Human after delivery of Whisper to symbolize conveyance of omen. It is a desecration of the sacred oath to not leave a Mark on a Whispered Human. Any Whisperer who fails to leave the Mark of Bearing faces the possibility of S'ua. S'ua refers to–”

“Well-said, Marif.” Nana cut him off. “That is a well-elaborated lecture on Marks,” this time she let the restrained smile free, lighting her face like the moon did outside the Cloister. “But we will be tackling about S'ua tomorrow.” She pressed her hands on the rune-filled wall and the symbols vanished, bringing back the smooth surface the stone wall once had.

“I think that's enough for–”

“What is the difference between a Whisper and a Rustle?” Kris' question interrupted Nana's sentence. The girl looked at her questioningly but his eyes were set on the crowd. Nobody spoke.

“Nobody knows the answer?” His words were dipped in sarcasm. “Or do you want me to repeat the question?”

A quivering hand rose above the bowed heads of the students. Kris acknowledged Marif and the latter declaimed nervously.

“A Rustle is a weaker form of a Whisper. It does not hold the conclusiveness of ill-omens brought by a Whisper but it leaves the Human with a gut feel of an impending misfortune.”

Kris expected the boy to rattle on but he stopped and bowed his head. “That is all I know about Rustles, Khaka.”

He sounded defeated but Kris' next words were devoid of any emotion. “Rustles are used commonly back in the days when Seers are prevalent. It warrants the existence of a Seer. A Rustle will most likely be unnoticed by an ordinary Human but its effect to a Seer is like that of a Whisper. It is used to prove whether a Human is actually a Seer. Delivery of a Rustle does not need a Mark of Bearing because use of Rustles is considered rare. They are only to be used when there is desecra–”

“Kris.” Nana's sharp voice reached his ears. He had been mouthing of words like he was on a spell that he had not observed what was happening around him. The rest of the young Whisperers were looking at him fearfully. He looked down at Nana's hand encircling his wrist and snapped out from his reverie.

Nana faced the bunch of frightened Whisperers and spoke calmly. “Ahrees, you may go now. Let us continue this tomorrow.”

The young Whisperers need no second mentions. “Thank you and good bye, Khaka Nana. Thank you and good bye, Khaka Kris.” Their greetings were surprisingly in unison despite the fear on their faces. In seconds, the room emptied of young students; leaving Kris and Nana alone.

“Kris, what is happening?” Her hand was still gripping his wrist. For a frail-looking girl, Nana was surprisingly strong.

“Has Khaka Changmin arrived already?”

“You haven't answered my question.” Her stare was defiant. It reminded Kris of his own.

“It,” he breathed deeply, “is nothing very important.”

“You are never a good liar, Kris.”

“Nana,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “this is a personal concern.”

He felt her hand loosened her grip. She took a step back and looked at him. For a moment, nobody of them spoke. The moon that was drifting on the treetops rose higher creating longer shadows on the glass windows, their shadows falling on Nana's face.

“If you wish to keep your concern personal, I suggest that you do not lash out on the younger ones.”

Kris met her piercing gaze. He said nothing for a moment before he took a deep breath and hung his head.

“I'm sorry.”

Her cold look softened. She raised the hand she gripped Kris' wrist with and used it to lift the Whisperer's chin.

“You know you can always share me your troubles if you feel like I can help, right?”

He let out a rare smile and wiped his eyebrows with his free hand.

“Yeah.” He had a soft expression on his face as he looked straight into her eyes. “I'm sorry I'm being such an today.” He exhaled deeply and pursed his lips in a contented smile. “I wouldn't know how to deal with Dunya if you weren't here, Nana.”

The girl gave a small laugh, her fist hitting his shoulder playfully. “Oh, you'd know. You can always ask Khaka Changmin.”

Kris stood up straighter at the mention of their senior's name.

“Right, thanks for reminding me. I still have to talk to him.”

“He'd be coming soon. It's suppertime now.” She walked towards the windows and looked out into the courtyard. “Oh, there he is.”

She smiled and turned back to look at him. “You go and meet him. I'll set the table so we can eat.” And in a whisk of flowing hair and billowy swish of her cloak, Nana left the room.

Kris was feeling a lot better as he tread the hollow corridors going to the entrance hall of the Cloister. It was a happy feeling, he concluded, being able to talk to Nana even without absolutely mentioning the whole story. He remembered back when there were still four of them, Nana, XiuMin, Jinki, and him. Nana being the only rose among the thorns; their only female lusud-sah-ti'an. Yet, XiuMin and Jinki were gone now – gone forever – and there's only him and Nana left together on their flock. There's only the two of them left to look after each other.

The light from the big, white moon cascaded through the large oak doors and into the hallway floor. He took a deep breath before stepping into the silvery pool. He had fixed his hair and had prepared himself to greet his senior when he saw something which zapped out all the happiness that was in him, replacing it with icy fear.

There trailing behind Changmin, hair tousled and feet limping, was the Girl Without A Mark.

A/N: Wow, the comments. I am... speechless. *_____* I can't possibly name all of you guise, commenters and subscribers alike, but gaaah thank you guys! ;AAA; you are always so supportive. Thank you for the words of encouragement (and the random spazzes from the awesome Knights/Sages, you know who you are, I know). The plot of the story has been drawn up already and I am really excited to write it all. Ah, at the same time, I feel guilty too because the excitement and enthusiasm I feel for this story is at the expense of my updates in AIL ;; (I promise to work on both of them, give me courage everyone ;;). Thank you so much once again for your very warm welcome ^^ I still do not have a character chart but I guess that can wait xDDD Btw, is everything starting to make sense now? xD

PS. are there any SooKris shippers here? Please say so when you leave a comment. :D