I rise again to the top of the dome, and look at the scene below with energy eyes.
A silver energy shell spins around each Bizra.

The shell is made of 12 silver disks, that move independently.
These shields protect the Bizra against feelings of cruelty.

Thoughts and dreams of cruelty hide within the Bizra.
Some thoughts have come from the energy master who became Bizra, so long ago.

But even a creature of compassion, with a great heart, will have its own selfish thoughts, cruel thoughts.
Are they denied, and hidden, or are they accepted and released?

The glow that shines from my face grows stronger.
And the inside edge of each shield becomes a bright mirror.

This mirror reflects back to each Bizra all its weak, hidden feelings of cruelty.
The mirror shows an image of Krale, enjoying its cruelty, and killing the people of this world.

There is a dream that rises from me, and floats over the Bizra.
In this dream, the Bizra let the shields soften, and the energy move freely through them.

The silver shields become golden suns that heal everything around them.
The Krale are gone forever, and the people rebuild their cities.

The Bizra are tired, and crying.
They look weaker than I have every seen them.
Do they have the strength to redream themselves?

In the dream, I show them my heart.

I show myself young, compassionate, and weak.
I show myself, building shield after shield to hide from the powerful energies that circle around the child I was.

Do children know how to let the energies pass through them without harm?

The energies frighten me.
And reveals someone cruel, who I don’t want to know.

I cry with the Bizra.
I show them how my shields help me hide, from my own cruelty, my own selfishness, and my own weakness.

In my dream, the shields become mirrors.
I say before the Bizra, “I am cruelty”, and let the energies trapped within me flow.

I show them my tears softening the shields.
And my energy body glows bright and strong, rich with the energies that I once hid from.
Outside of me, and within me.

“With this strength,” I tell them, “we soften the cruelty in the world, and the cruelty in each heart.”
“The cruelty is lost in the energy web, and does not act.”

“Strong energy,” I explain, “can fuel violence, or move and fade without harm.”

A shiver goes through me as I understand.
“The people of this world call the creatures ‘Krale’, never knowing where the word comes from.”

“The sound of your dark dreams echoes wide in this world.”
“But the word ‘Krale’ is born on my world, from the world ‘cruel’.”
“Let yourself hear the word, so the action may vanish.”

“Tonight,” I say to all of them, “is our moment to transform the Krale into a memory.”
“There may never be another time.”

 
Death and Tears
I feel death calling to me.
The Bizra body binds its energy bodies in unknown ways.
Now, that I am Bizra, will death be forever?

We Bizra are connected together, deeper then the drops of water that fill an ocean,
Or the leaves that cover a strong tree in late spring.

I extend millions of energy hands glowing like my face and body.
These hands fly along the strands of energy that connect the Bizra.

When the energy hands reach the Bizra, the hands massage the edge of the silver shields.
An image of the Krale appears on each silver shield, and the hands disappear in fire.

I give birth to more hands.
They approach the Bizra again.

As the hands rub the shields, the image of the Krale grows brighter and brighter.
And the shields begin to soften.

We cry together, from the pain of cruelty.

Again, and again, the hands disappear in fire.
And again, I give birth to more hands.

“We cannot heal,” I say, “what we cannot see.”

The shields are weak, but I have no more strength.
I can give birth to no more hands.

“Help me brothers and sisters.”
“Give me your strength.”

New streams of energy join the energy river.
But still, I fade.
I can go no farther.

Then we dream one dream together.
Each Bizra rises up, and looks at its own face in the mirrors before it.
Then, it reshapes its own shields into beautiful, soft hands of silver energy.

The hands melt, and enter the hearts of the Bizra.

I am high above the others at the top of the dome.
But we are one mind, and one beating heart.
Cruelty is just an energy, and it moves through all of us without harm.

Once, many years ago, I dreamt of dying and what lies beyond.
I remember clearly from that dream what it feels like for the world to fade as a man dies.
I hear the voice of Jaina, of the forest world: “a good way to die.”

The world fades out, whether from death or sleep I don’t know, and I am quiet.

 
Dreams and Stories of Light
I awaken in the daylight, a man again.

The bizra show me dreams of falling.
Hundreds of them rise to catch me, and lay me down on the soft grass.

Every Bizra joins together to gave me a gift of energy, beautiful strong energy to heal my dying Bizra body.
The body is refreshed, and glows.
They let me sleep.

My fire body glows brightly in the dream.
I knew when I became Bizra that my fire body would be forever changed.

And Bizra can never become human.

My fire body is not human anymore, but it’s not exactly like the Bizra.
There is something of the Gen mixed in.

The Bizra see that.
And know that I can become a man again.

They lay down around in me in tight circles, that grow every larger.
And they sleep with me, until the dawn comes.

They wake before me, and fly above my sleeping body.
They form a great spiral that rises high in the air.
And together, they flow my pattern body back to being human.

They could wait for me to do this when I wake, but they want it to be their gift to me.

I am awake now, and human, but my fire body holds a taste of being Bizra.
When I touch their minds, it is a Bizra’s touch, not a man’s.

The Bizra call their messages dreaming together.

When people see Bizra dreams, the dreams are silent.
A distant, quiet movie.

Once, as a man, I joined my thoughts with the Bizra.
I saw each message through the Bizra’s eyes, memories, and experience.
And somehow knew what each message truly meant.
My mind translated this understanding into words.

This is close to the way that the Bizra communicate.

When Bizra dream together, there is a joining of spirits and memories.
The other Bizra guides me through her memories and feelings, so I come to a quick, sharp understanding.
And I give her a tast of my spirit in return.

I have the pattern body of a man, but we dream together as Bizra.

The dreams continue until the sun rises high in the sky.

Then the Bizra stop, and give me water that glows with a deep green energy.
And they feed me some kind of delicious root.

They tell me that I am a man again, and still Bizra.
Bizra, is their word for dream.

So I give them a gift of myself, a little of the life they have given back to me.
I dream with them the story of how I came to their world.
I show them the frightened boy, the man, the bird, and the dream.

There are many parts of me who walk in my story.
I let them feel the love I have for each of those spirits.
I deny none of them.

I let them walk in my story.
I face the truth.

Some of my selves will fade, in time.
And only watch as I grow and change.

Others will walk with me, and be my hands.

 
Nival’s Gift
I still have a remnant of the river’s glow as I fly toward the beach.
Thousands of my brothers and sisters fly with me.

My friends wait on the beach, in the form of the great birds.
I land among them, as my brothers circle above us and fill the sky with beautiful dreams.

“Yagrin,” says Shazira.
“Are you all right? Where you able to help them?”

I smile.
“The Bizra will walk and fly again among our people.”
“As they did before the coming of the Krale.”

“They will be our teachers and friends again.”
“And they will help the people rebuild the great cities.”

I run my hands along the silken feathers of Shazira’s bird form.
“Change back now,” I say.
“The Krale are gone forever.”

I greet Balshown and Berek.
And hug my sweet daughter, Tzina.

Then I hold Shazira with all my strength, and feel her warm tears.

Berek gives me a shy hug.
“I was worried about you, inta” he says.
“I’m happy you’re back with us.”

“Where is Nival?” I ask at last.
“I feel that he’s gone,” answers Berek.

An odd thought comes into my head.
I reach into the air with my dreams and join the thoughts of the Bizra.

“The man who became Bizra, and confused your dreams,” I say.
“What happened to him?”

They respond with a dream, but I understand in words.
“He knew what he caused, and could not bear it.”
“He killed himself, in hopes that it would stop the Krale.”

“Do you know his name?” I ask.
“The Bizra do not have names in words like men,” I hear.
“Each has a short dream, which is theirs alone, and identifies one from another.”

“But his people called him Nival.”

I say goodbye to the Bizra, and slip out of their dreams.
I’m lost in thought.

I don’t know what Nival became, after his death as a Bizra, long ago.
Or how he passes from world to world, and ended up on Earth.

He could be anywhere now.

But he knows what we’ve done today.
This is my gift to him, for all the help he’s given me.

My friends and I prepare for our journey home.
We travel home as people, not Kishla.

Balshown and I carry Shazira, Tzina, and Berek in an energy net.
We travel much faster than the great birds, or even Shazira can fly.

We rise, and begin our journey home.
 

** End of Book 1: Traveling Home **

Night whispers to me,
Challenges me to stay awake.

I run into the meadow, and fly in a spiral, five hundred feet high.

The meadow below me extends for miles.
And sleeping Bizra fill the meadow.
There are thousands, or millions of Bizra.

My eyes see clearly in the darkness.
The sleeping Bizra have a gentle glow.
And a cloud of moving images, ten feet high, hovers over each one.

To my energy eyes, each cloud is a cluster of energy, floating on the energy web.
Sparkling lines of energy race from each cloud of images to the next.

And a dome of energy rises one thousand feet high, and covers all of the Bizra, and their dreams.

To free the Bizra from their Krale dreams, I must become their heart.
And free the energies trapped within them.

Streams of energy shine from each Bizra to the energy web.
I will bind all those outgoing streams into one great river, a liquid storm.
And the river will pass through me, on its way to the great sea, the energy web.

 
The River
I prepare to be at the center of that great storm.

I drift down, and settle on the ground.

I practice letting energy race through my new body.
One at a time, I focus on the energy streams from twelve sleeping Bizra.

Each time I let go of the edge of myself.
And call the energy stream to me.
And let it pass through me.

Then, I call to all twelve.
Their energy streams combine in me, and move through me, like a raging fire.

I fill my heart with a single thought.
“Let this energy strengthen me, so that I uncover what is hidden, and find what is lost.”

And then, another thought.
“Let this energy strengthen me, for my benefit, and the benefit of all creation.”

I call to, connect with, more and more Bizra, and the energy of the Bizra moves wild within me.
Now, it is a powerful river, that barely stays within its banks.
Too strong for me to control.

I spread my listening body across the energy web, and listen.
There is a hunger in the web, an imbalance.
Because the Bizra energy moves through me.

The energy web is an infinite sea.
Against the sea, the river is small, a child against an army.

I make myself open, clear, free.
I bind the energy to come to me.
But then, it races through me, as though I’m not there, and pours into the web, where it all but disappears.

I enjoy the wild movement of the energy through me, like lightning in a thunderstorm.
And, I continue to connect with other Bizra.

The river grows stronger and stronger, too powerful for me to carry.
Who am I to let such a river pass through me?
So, I forget Yagrin, and become the river.

There is no Yagrin who needs to hold back the river.
Only energy and movement.

Now, I’m free to connect to all the Bizra in the dome.

The Bizra are spread evenly across dozens or even hundreds of miles.
And the energy dome covers them all.

I move to a place in the center of the dome, far from the ocean.
Then, I rise up, until I reach the top of the energy dome.

I say to myself, “I am the hidden.”
Let me see with dark eyes that open the hidden before us.

The thousands of Bizra within the dome, are an endless sea of lights.
But the lights are darkened with shadows, nightmares that the Bizra dream.

The dome of dreams is a place, and a song,
It seems to shrink to a tiny ball, and float on the river of energy that I am.

I reach out with some part of myself, and listen to the great pattern that is the dome of dreams.

I’m surrounded with an overwhelming compassion for all of existence.
And filled with a desire to lead and serve this creation.
The energy moves through the world as a symphony, and I watch it in awe.

But I grow tired, and sleep calls me.

I drop down to land gently on the ground, at the center of the land.
And I ask: “What can I alone give the Bizra to heal them?”

 
A Mist of Krale
Endless new clouds of pure energy rise up from the energy river that I am.
Each cloud comes to rest on one Bizra, then, reshapes itself into energy hands.

The energy hands circle each of the seven energy wells within the Bizra.
Then, the hands bathe in the energy of each well.

I feel the river accelerate.
It moves a hundred or a thousand times stronger and faster than before.

My energy eyes see an eighth, hidden well.
It shines with such rare light, that it is dark to most eyes.

This dark well surrounds each Bizra.
It hides and teaches.

The energy hands dive into the eighth well, and disappear.
Now, one, immense, energy well forms, around the dome of dreams.

“Where is the path?” I ask myself.

The well opens, and I seem to hear words, which I repeat.

I say, “I am compassion“, and let compassion color the river, as though I’ve set it afire.
I say, “I am cruelty“, and I let that energy pass through the river, sparkling and wild.

The sky inside the dome is full of Krale.
Every Krale has come home.
The river calls them with an urgency they cannot deny.
They circle around me, and energy flows from them, and joins the river.

My Bizra body has a visible glow.

The energy river, fed by the Bizra and Krale, glows brighter and brighter.
It moves away from me, and rises up to the top of the dome like a fountain, then falls to me, and through me.
It falls only upon me, not upon the other Bizra.

A wave of fear touches me.
This gentle energy frightens me, more than the river.
And I begin to shape shields to protect myself.

Then, I relax, and let the new energy dance within me.
“Let me be open in strength, that the energy moves for the benefit of all creation.”

The energy passes freely into me through my head, shoulders and upper back like a steady rain.

The wave of energy grows stronger and stronger.
It circles my heart, again and again, like a rising whirlpool.

Finally, a fountain of energy erupts from my heart, and rises, straight and strong, to the top of the dome.
It spreads along the top of the dome, covering the inside surface, and rains down glowing energy on the sleeping Bizra, and the flying Krale.

A few Krale are born each night.
Some disappear when the morning comes.
But over time, their numbers grow.

Tonight, all the Krale are here, thousands of them, circling within the dome.
The river brought them here, but the energy rain tears at their stone skin.

Confused, they try to escape the dome.
But they can’t pass through the dome, covered with the glowing, energy rain.

They come toward me, sensing that I am holding them back.

I remember being a Kishla, when everything was song.
And I sing a song that rides along the river and the fountain, and joins the falling energy rain.
The song circles compassion and cruelty, hope and despair.

There is a great collective moan from the Bizra as their sleep is touched by this new energy.
A moment later, they awake.

The rain cleans tonight’s dreams, and the clouds of dreams vanish.

The Krale surround me, but can’t harm me.
I am Bizra now.

My black eyes glow so brightly, that the dome is filled with light, as though it were day.

I make a dream cloud, and in that cloud, I see one Krale sizzling in the light.
The hard black stone softens, and becomes air, with a gentle mist of energy.

My dream cloud grows to the size of the dome.
And I dream away all of the Krale into an energy mist.

The cloud fades away.
And all of the old Krale are gone.

But how do we stop new Krale from being born?
 

“How do we heal their nightmares, Yagrin, and stop the Krale?” asks Shazira.

“The Bizra have energy shields to protect themselves against the energies of violence,” says Nival from behind us.
“These shields protect them agains energies that reach them from outside.”

We turn to see him visible again, in the form of the boy with dark eyes.

“But once violent energies entered them through the dreams of the transformed one, the energies are stuck within them.”
“The nightmares,” he continues, “are caused by the stuck energy.”

“Nival,” I ask, “can we teach them to release the energies?”

He thinks for a moment.
“They have to loosen their shields to release the energy.”

“They have powerful, sensitive hearts, full of compassion.”
“And find violence unthinkable.”

“They can’t imagine life among us, without their shields.”
“It’s their way to face the violence, and still show compassion to the victims.”

“They won’t listen to us if we ask them to dissolve those shields,” says Tzina.
Nival nods in agreement.

“Then we’ve failed,” says Shazira.

“Not yet,” says Balshown, and he removes the Sphere of Itarus from his pack.
“If we can’t help them, we have no choice but to kill them.”

“What?!” say Berek, Tzina, and Shazira together.

(What is Balshown really like that he could do this?)
“That thing will kill us all Balshown,” I say.
“It will scorch half the planet.”

“How do you know that, Yagrin?” asks Balshown.

“I told him,” says Nival.

“It’s powerful enough to do that,” says Balshown, “but I’ll set it to stay within the land of the Bizra.”

“We can’t do this,” says Shazira.
“Wipe out an extraordinary, peaceful race?”
“They don’t mean to harm us.”

“But they are harming us,” says Balshown.
“What do you think Berek?”
“Should we continue to let the Krale attack and kill us?”

“Leave him alone, Balshown,” cries Shazira. “He’s only eleven years old.”
“You ask too much of him!”

“Isn’t there another way?” asks Berek.
“I want to kill the Krale, not the Bizra.”

“One of the energy masters caused the nightmares.”
“Can we blame the Bizra for that?”

We’re all quiet for a few seconds.

“There’s only one way,” I say.
“We can’t help the Bizra free that destructive energy from the outside.”
“So we do it from the inside.”

“I’ll become Bizra.”

Everyone is quiet.
“No one seems to know what to say.”

“Yagrin,” says Balshown turning toward me, “how do you know that you can help them?”

“You see what happened the last time an energy master became Bizra.”
“Maybe you’ll just make it worse.”

“I can do this,” I say.
“But I can’t protect you from the Krale when I’m doing it.”

“You should all leave except Nival.”
“He doesn’t need protection.”

“I’m not going,” says Shazira.
“No,” says Tzina.
“I’m staying,” says Balshown.

“We started together,” says Berek, “and we’ll finish together.”

“We’ll flow back into the shape of the great birds.”
“That should keep us safe.”

“At sunset,” I say.

“When the Bizra go to sleep, change back into the Kishla.”
“And I’ll transform myself into a Bizra.”

Balshown and I find water to drink, and we sit together to eat.
Everyone seems restless.

Tzina takes me aside.
“Ina,” whispers Tzina to me, “spend some time alone with mommy.”

“What about you?” I ask.

“We were just together,” she says smiling, “at least in my head.”
“And I can feel some of your thoughts and feelings here within me.”

“I know about Berek,” she says quietly.
“I should be mad at you, but right now I’m so happy that he’s my brother.”

“And besides, I expect you to find a way back from being Bizra.”
She hugs me tightly.

Then I take Shazira’s hand, and we walk down the beach to be alone together.
We lie quietly and just hold each other.

 
Endless Change
Shazira and I rejoin the others.

Only a thin sliver of the sun remains.
The Bizra will begin dreaming soon.

I’m convinced that I’ll be able to help them, but at the moment I have no idea what I’ll actually do.
When the moment comes, I’ll know.

My thoughts start to spin in circles, and I begin to worry.
I take a few deep breaths and rub my belly with energy hands, and let the energy flow.

I look at the others.
They’re all lost in their own thoughts, even Nival.

All except Shazira.
We’re still holding hands, and she’s looking at me as though she’s trying to memorize every detail of me.

Soon, the darkness appears over the meadow and the rest of the land of the Bizra.
“It’s time Yagrin,” says Balshown.

“There’s no path back from the change to Bizra,” Shazira says.
“Help the Bizra. Then find a path where there is none.”
“Come back to me.”

I complete the full transformation.

I’m disoriented for a few seconds.
More than with any other change.

The Bizra are so different from us.

When my head clears, I hear a beautiful song, and I think “this is Shazira.”
I can see her body still through these eyes, but there are so many other senses.

As I look around, the world is full of … (what do I call it?)
I’ll call it patterns of beauty.
I perceive the unique patterns of beauty in the physical world as a sort of music or song.

I extend my senses to touch a wide area around me.
These patterns of beauty form a complex, rich sound that I can only compare to a symphony, the symphony of beauty.

When I focus on a single object or person, it’s more like a song.
Let this be called the song of beauty.

I look at each of my friends, and I see their thoughts above their heads as visual dreams.
I see Balshown’s thoughts of the bomb, and I feel a deep revulsion.
Then I let that energy flow, and it exits harmlessly as an energy mist through my back.

The Bizra look something like cats, but the legends say that they’re physically capable of speech.
They just use other means to communicate.

I concentrate, and find that I can speak.

“Balshown, guard your thoughts. It’s obvious what you’re thinking about.”
The sound of my voice reminds me of the voices of the Kishla.

Balshown and the others stare at me in wonder.
No one alive has heard a Bizra speak before.

There’s a loud buzzing sound.
There are a dozen Krale flying through the walls of darkness that cover the Bizra.

And all of my friends are still in their human form.

Before I can react, dark lightning flies at Shazira.
Nival raises a black web to protect Shazira and the others, and the lightning disappears.

The Krale fly away and then start to circle back toward us.

“Yagrin,” says Balshown, “I can’t flow them, and I can’t change into the Kishla either.”

“But Yagrin,” he continues, “you’re Bizra now. Maybe you can flow them.”

I reach out toward the Krale and try to flow them.
Nothing happens.

I try to flow some nearby sand into a stone, and that works fine.

If I can’t flow them, then what?
“They are dreams,” says a voice in my head.

I reach out and imagine that the Krale that I see are only an image that I dreamed into existence.
And then I change the dream into a mist.

The Krale disappear.
“Quickly,” I say, “change back into the Kishla so you’ll be safe.”

A moment later, I see that they have done so.
“Nival,” I say, “come with me.”

All is quiet, and Nival is nowhere to be seen.
I walk over to my pack and touch the black stone with my right front leg.

“Wish me well,” I say to the others.

Shazira speaks.
“Let the energy of this world make you strong for our sake and the sake of the Bizra.”
“Let hope come when it’s needed, and no hope is left.”
 

I transform myself into Tzina’s exact form, Bizra eyes and all.
And spread my listening body.

This lets me see and feel someone’s thoughts, feelings, and memories.

Shazira has never seen anyone do this.
Flow masters, like Shazira, use masks to change their shape, but never take the form of other people.

It’s either too difficult, too dangerous, or simply not done.
And besides, I’m not using a temporary mask.

I do a complete transformation.

“What are you doing, Yagrin?”

“I can’t explain now, Shazira,” I answer.

“This is what I need to do, to save her.”
“Watch over us, and don’t interfere.”

I lay down next to Tzina, and take her hand.

I’ve never knowingly done this with a living person before.
I can see every thought, and feeling she’s ever had.

No one would want to expose themselves like this.

I don’t know how she’ll feel about this, or feel about me when we’re done.
But it can’t be helped.

I travel through her memories, and past thoughts.
Her mind reminds me of the Bizra.

She changes over time.
But at one moment, her mind moves clearly and powerfully in a single direction.

She knows that most people live with contradiction,
But she won’t, or can’t tolerate much contradiction in herself.

And like the Bizra, she hates cruelty.

I cry inside when I feel how much she loves Shazira and me.
I miss her so much.

I move through her memories to her time at the dreamschool.

The dreamschool works by connecting several minds into a kind of simulation.
I don’t know how it works with others, but I can watch the connection in her.

Her waking awareness doesn’t connect with the simulation.

A copy of her personality connects with the simulation, and then re-integrates later with the waking personality.
My guess is, that most minds adjust to the simulation, and waking without a problem.

But in her, the simulation personality becomes something foreign.
It’s unacceptable to the waking Tzina, and is never fully re-integrated with her waking self.

A separate personality is born.
Somehow my Tzina is trying to kill it.

And this is killing her.

I focus on connecting with Tzina in the present moment.
And I find myself in the dome with her again.

The beautiful garden is still there.
But there’s barely room for the two of us to stand.

“Ina,” she says,”is that you, again?”

“Yes, it’s me.”
I tell her that the Bizra suggest transforming her.

And I tell her what happened with the dreamschool.
That she is at war with herself.

“I don’t want to become Bizra,” she says.
“And I’m not trying to hurt myself, Ina!” she says.

“I know, but that’s what’s happening,” I say.
“I’m going to try to find the parts of you that are at war, and stop the war.”

“If I can’t stop it in time, I’ll have to transform you into a Bizra.”

 
Inner War
There must be two selves at war.
Some unknown part of Tzina is trying to kill the dreamschool self.

I’ve only met her dreamschool self.
So I focus on my own memories of that self, and try to touch its current thoughts.

I find myself on top of a barren mountain.
The world around me is dark and broken.
There are random bursts of fire, that rise up from the world around us, like volcanoes, as tall as the mountain that I stand on.

There’s a large, beautiful house on the mountain top, surrounded by a small garden.
I walk up to the front door.

The house is made from some incredibly strong hardword.
Visually, it looks like wood, but its energy patterns seem more like metal.

There are a few windows, that feel like crystal.
Their energy patterns also remind me of metal.
This house is a fortress.

The sides of the doorway are beautifully carved, but there is no knob on the door.
I knock.

“Go away,” she says.

“I told you before.”
“I’ll never let you in, and you won’t stop me.”

“I’m not who you think I am,” I say.
“I’m ina.”

“No one comes in,” she says, “not even you.”

There are small explosions at a dozen spots on the house.
The house is undamaged.

I see a dark figure about one hundred feet away on a horse.
She’s wearing some kind of armor, and pointing a weapon at the house.

“Get out of here, ina!” says the one inside the house.
“You’ll be killed by the warrior!”

“I can’t leave,” I say, “without speaking with you.”

“Only the stories matter,” she says.
“I’ll be dead soon, and I have to finish a story.”

“No one will ever see your stories,” I say.
“The stories will die with you.”

The door quickly opens, and she pulls me inside.
There’s an explosion outside the door a moment after I enter.

“That last explosion would have killed you!” she says.
“I couldn’t bear that,” she says, surprised at her own feeling.

She tries to shake off the feeling, and her expression turns cold, as I remember it.

The house is beautiful.
And it’s filled with manuscripts.

This Tzina has aged years since the dreamschool.
She’s still on dreamschool time!
And it’s eating up Tzina’s life.

“You’re going to die soon?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.
“I feel life draining away.”
“And that’s if the warrior doesn’t find some way to kill me first.”

“Ina,” she says, “you’ve got to take my stories with you.”
“So they don’t die with me.”

“What about the other stories?” I ask.

“What stories?”

“The ones you haven’t written yet,” I answer.
“And if you die, those stories will never be born, and never be told.”

 
The Dreamer and the Warrior
Tzina cries, and the cold expression melts away.

“I want the stories so much,” she says.
“But I can’t stop death!”

I explain to her what happened at the dream school.

“Do you want to join with the warrior to kill me?”
“So that your little girl can go on living her childish life?”

“No, Tzina.”
“I love you.”

“But your greatest stories will be born, in the midst of living.”
“Not in this dreamschool!”

I show her my thoughts, and let her feel the love I have for her.
I also let her touch the love that the other Tzina feels for Shazira and me.

She starts to cry, and we cry together.
The cold face is gone.

In this inner world, I look like Tzina, but I wear the master’s robe with the four bands.

“You passed the artist’s test, ina?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“And one of your arts was story?”

“You know how I love stories,” I answer.

She smiles.

“Promise me that I’ll get a master’s band in art, and my great work will be a story!”

“I promise, Tzina.”

Tzina gathers the books and puts them in a strong sack.
She hands the sack to me.

“Promise me, ina, that you’ll get the stories out of here, and give them to the other Tzina.”

“I promise, but I think that you’ll give them to her yourself.”

The dreaming Tzina shakes her head, as the house dissolves around us.
“I don’t know how to stop the dreamschool that I’m stuck in.”
“Let the warrior kill me!”

“Tzina has to live, so she can create more stories!”

The warrior launches several explosives at the dreamer.
I flow them into air.

The warrior gallops toward us, launching wave after wave of explosives.
I flow them all into air.

She jumps off the horse, but I hold her in mid-air, bound to the energy web.

“Let me go,” says the warrior.
“She’s killing us.”
“I have to stop her, or we’ll die.”

“I’m ina,” I say, “and I won’t let any of you die!”
I connect my thoughts to both of them, and gather their memories and feelings into me.
I act as a bridge so their thoughts and feelings and memories can join together.”

To do this, I have to open my own thoughts, feelings and memories to them.
I don’t know how much of my memories they’ll see and feel.

At the same time, I connect the three of us with emotional energy.
I fill that connection with love, and the desire to live, and create.

The two of them are glowing like fire.
Slowly they reach out and grasp each other’s hands.

They cry out in pain.
Then they join together, and become one.

 
Out of the Garden
This new Tzina looks something like my Tzina, but a bit older and stronger.
I see dreams above her head, like the Bizra.

Her smile is still the same.
She glows like the sun.

Her light fills the whole inner world, and heals it.
The land is healed, and becomes filled with growing things.

She turns around and walks to where the house was.

In its place is the dome that imprisons my Tzina.
She touches the dome, and it melts away.

My Tzina is lying unconscious, on a small patch of ground, next to one flower that still grows.
I bend down.

She still breathes, but just barely.

“Connect us, ina,” says the strong dreamer.
I connect them as I did the warrior and dreamer.

“We are who we are, Ina,” she says, “and who we choose to be.”

The glowing one reaches out, and takes the other’s hands.
She cries out, and my connection with the Tzinas is broken.

I get up slowly in the outside world, and return to my normal form.
Tzina isn’t moving.

“She just stopped breathing, Yagrin!” says Shazira.
“What did you do?!”

She’s not breathing.
I pick her up, and let vines of energy and light connect our hearts.
And I let the energy of love pass between us.

She shakes in my arms, and starts breathing again.
Then she settles down, and opens her eyes.

She smiles and laughs.
“Put me down, ina,” she says.
“I’m all right now.”

Shazira hugs Tzina fiercely.
“Are you really all right?” asks Shazira, hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” says Tzina.

“Where are my stories, ina?” she asks me.
“Did you find a way to bring them out of my mind?

“The stories are safe within me,” I say.

I shape a sack from air, and fill it with manuscripts like the ones I saw inside her.
Then I shape the ink to match the words I’ve stored.

“A part of Tzina was writing stories for several years,” I say.
“They’re beautiful.”

“May I read them, Tzina?” asks Berek.

She looks at me with a mischevious expression.
Then she kisses him on the cheek.

“I’d love for you to read them, cousin,” she says.
She emphasizes the word cousin, and then looks at me.

She must have glimpsed the truth about Berek, when our minds were joined.
 

The rest of my group is sleeping.
At least, everyone but Nival.

The sand is covered with dozens of small creatures that crawled out of the sea.
They look something like seals.
But they’re ten inches long, with an expressive face that glows in the dim light, like fireflies.

I wonder what a swarm of these glowing faces would look like underwater at night?

Right now, their faces are filled with curiosity.
They’re bold, and several of them come right up to me and gently poke my feathers.
They jump back in surprise when I spread my wings for a moment in a birdlike stretch.

Then they look at me like they’re happy, and make a pleasant humming sound.
The sound calms me, and I feel energy flowing freely through me.

I don’t know if they’re intelligent, but I sing: “Thank you for your present, little ones.”
They stop humming, and look at me intently.

“Here’s a gift for you,” I say, and I sing them a soft song.
They form a circle around me, and concentrate very hard.
They start humming again, and the humming comes in powerful low waves of sound.

When I finish, each one comes up to me and gently touches my beak with its face.

I watch them glow as they roll and play together in the sand, digging for some kind of food.
Before the sun rises, they are back in the water and out of sight.

“I heard you thank and sing to them, Yagrin,” says Balshown as he moves slowly toward me.
“I saw how they touched you afterwards.”

“Do you know what those creatures are, Yagrin?” he asks.
I shake my head.

“They’re called Feldin,” he says.
“Most people think that they’re only a legend.”

“They’re friendly and beautiful,” I say, “but hardly worthy of legends.”

He laughs.
“Sometimes,” he says, “I don’t know if you’re an intuitive genius, or just lucky beyond belief.”
“Maybe both,” he adds and smiles.

“The walls of the closed city are covered with murals of the Feldin, swimming, playing, and digging for food.”

“The murals are nice enough, but not exceptional, except for one.”
“That mural shows a few dozen Feldin forming a circle around a Kishla.”

“The Kishla raises it’s head in song.”
“That bird has the usual colors of the Kishla except for two black, knife-shaped marks on its feathers.”
“The black marks in the mural are glowing.”

I twist my head around, and look at the knife-shaped marks on my feathers, and a shiver passes through me.
The black marks are glowing like the faces of the Feldin I saw.

“Prophecy, Balshown?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers.
“But that’s not all, Yagrin.”

“Yes?”

“The legends of the heart fountain say that the mural is much more than it seems.”
“It’s called the path to the fountain.”

We wake the others, as Shazira returns.
Balshown tells them about the Feldin, without mentioning the fountain or the mural.
Then Balshown and I glide some dried fish out of our packs and we all eat.

Tzina looks terrible, but she eats.
She has a day, maybe two before death claims her.

 
Prisoners of Compassion
The sun rises over the horizon, and the darkness covering the Bizra burns away like a fog.
Shazira gasps when she sees thousands of Bizra awake and stretching.
Before long, they notice us.

It’s hard to describe the Bizra to someone who hasn’t seen one.
Imagine a cat with a body as flexible as a snake, and a face as expressive as a person.

It’s wonderful to watch the Bizra when they move.
Even the way they stretch leaves you breathless.

We start to move toward the Bizra, with me leading the way.

“Yagrin,” cries Shazira, “Tzina won’t move.”
I go back for her.

She seems to be slipping away.
I change myself and her, back to human form.
And I carry her, as we approach the Bizra.

The Bizra look at us intently.
They seem to be looking past our physical bodies at our energy bodies.

They herd Shazira and Balshown to one side, leaving Berek, Tzina and I together.

“Should we resist?” asks Shazira.
“No,” says Balshown, “unless they show any sign that they mean to harm us.”

Balshown and Shazira are surrounded by many Bizra in a tight circle.
Balshown flows himself back into human form, and Shazira follows his lead.
They stand back to back, facing the Bizra, prepared to fight.

Berek and I are surrounded on three sides.
The fourth side is open and leads into the center of the meadow, where thousands of Bizra are watching.

“Let’s go, Berek,” I say, and we move to the center of the meadow.
The Bizra form a circle around us, and look at us, waiting.

I put Tzina down on the soft ground.
She whimpers.
It’s the first sound that she’s made in days.

I transform myself back into the Kishla form.
“Greetings Bizra,” I sing aloud, not knowing how to begin.
“We’ve come to solve an old mystery, and to find help for the young one who is dying.”

A thought comes to me: “The Bizra speak in dreams. Sing them a dream.”

When I sing a message in the Kishla way, I don’t have to think about encoding the message in the song.
I just think and feel the message.

This time, I combine the powerful visualization skills of the Kishla, with a song.
I sing a sad song, and imagine the attack of the Krale on Berek’s city.
I visualize what I saw last night when a Krale materialized from the Bizra nightmare.

The Bizra move back a few feet, and make a low wail.

The meadow fades a little, as the Bizra send me a dream.
I see a group of Bizra.
An image floats above their heads of the watchtower, and the great sea wall that surrounds the city.

The image changes.
I see the same group visiting my people, and showing them dreams of how to build the wall and tower.

I respond with a joyous song, and I imagine dozens or hundreds of Bizra moving among our people in several cities, long destroyed.

I wait in the silence for them to respond.

Their dream rises to my eyes again.
I see hundreds, perhaps thousand of images, each lasting a few seconds.

Each image shows the Bizra caring for their young, their old, the sick and dying.
Their feelings of compassion fill their expressive faces.

Then I see hundreds of images of young Bizra playing together peacefully.

“Berek?” I ask quietly. “What are they trying to tell us?”

“There’s no trace of violence in them,” says Berek.
“They don’t fight, even as children.”

 
Dreaming Together
Berek has a talent for understanding Bizra dreams.
But it’s not enough.
I have to find a way to understand their whole message.

I send my listening body, and it covers a few of the Bizra.
Each one of the Bizra seems like a pure color, or a pure tone.
There is no room in them for lies or contradictions.

In contrast, humans are collections of personalities, often at war with one another.
But it’s not all bad.
We excel at living with contradiction, and tolerating imperfection.

And we are incredible simulators.
We can temporarily adopt a persona, a role, an attitude, see where it leads, and what it teaches.

I look again at the Bizra with my listening body.
There is a rich web of connections between them.

The Bizra can see the world through another Bizra’s memories, associations, and point of view.

When I write a note, or draw a picture about something important to me, it may have universal, obvious meaning, but there are subtle associations that only I understand.

When the Bizra send a message, there is typically a universal, surface meaning.
But the Bizra assume that others will look at the message through the sender’s eyes, with all of the related memories and associations.

I learned from the Gen how to join minds.
I join with the Bizra, and hope this connection will let me see what a Bizra sees when he looks at a message.

The Bizra images continue.
There are feelings as before, but there is 10 or 100 times the information.
There is a web of related events, filled with images and feelings.

Something is born, but not in words, that surrounds the messages like a shadow.
This understanding whispers to me, and explains what the messages mean.

I see the image of Bizra sleeping peacefully in the meadow.
Above their heads a great dream image takes shape.
The image is connected through vines of light to all sleeping Bizra.

The Bizra know that they are the source of the Krale attacks on the people.
So they withdraw from the cities, to stop the attacks.
It has little effect, but they continue to stay away.

The Bizra can handle the violence, and cruelty when it is outside them.
It simply saddens, disgusts them, or inspires pity.

But those thoughts and feelings become dangerous, when they are a part of the Bizra.

Among people, it’s different.
Each person has seen their own foolishess, cruelty, and anger.
We may hate it, but we usually can deal with it.

Tzina has Bizra eyes!
That’s what it really means, more than the superficial resemblance of the eyes!

People with Bizra eyes are poor at living with the different sides of themselves.
Tzina has built a mental wall around her acceptable, known self.

And other parts of her, run wild, and somehow destroy her sanity, and ultimately her life.

I have no idea how to help the Bizra, or Tzina with this problem.

I turn back to the Bizra.
I visualize what happened with Tzina, and sing about needing help.

The Bizra show me an image of Tzina, near death, as a person.
Then, they show me her transforming into a Bizra, and regaining her health.

Their message is clear.
I can save Tzina by transforming her into a Bizra.
If I do this, I lose her forever, and maybe cause further damage to the sensitive Bizra.

The Bizra clear a path so we can rejoin Balshown and Shazira.
I return to human form, and carry Tzina back.

I tell Berek and the others what I’ve discovered.
“How do we stop the Krale?” asks Balshown.

“I don’t know, yet,” I answer, “but it might save Tzina as well.”
I turn to Shazira, filled with sadness.

“Do it Yagrin,” says Shazira.
“Transform her.”
“There’s no time to find another way to save her.”

“Not yet,” I say.
“I’m going back into her mind to find another way to save her.”
 

Their eyes see well in day or night.
And their vision is always half-focused on the energy web.

The waves seem endless on the ocean beneath us, as we fly.
Hours pass, but none of us grow tired, not even Tzina.

The physical muscles and wings move, again, and again.
And some energy muscle within us, takes hold of the energy web.
And pulls us along.

Without thought, we glide along the energy web.
And fly through the air.

Balshown leads, and guides us where to fly.
Two hundred years ago, he visited the land of the Bizra.

But I don’t need his guidance.
This body knows where to go.

I’ve seen drawings of the land of the Bizra.
As a Kishla, those memories become colorful, bright, and three-dimensional.

And I just feel the right direction to fly in.

About a half hour’s flight away from the Bizra, we see the Krale flying toward us.

“Nival?” I say.
“Here, Yagrin,” he answers.

“Will I be able to handle the black lightning in this form?”

“I’m not sure,” he answers.
“Don’t risk it.”
If we’re threatened, return to your human form.”

My head gets caught for a moment in what-ifs.
What if the Krale suddenly attack Shazira or the others.
Maybe I should just change now?

I imagine energy hands rubbing the underside of my belly, where the navel would be, if a bird had one.
The energy of the world moves freely through me.
I am calm and I move to the front.

“Everyone stay behind me,” I sing to the others.

Berek is frightened, even though the krale ignore us.
I sing a song which I know will calm him.
This is a song, I think, that the Kishla sing to their children.

The Krale fly calmly through the dark sky at random.
They seem peaceful and untroubled, beneath the starlight and the light of the moon.

We’re far away from the city and the watchtower.
All we see here is ordinary night sky.

Soon, we arrive.
But there’s something odd.
We can’t see the land.

There’s a tiny sliver of beach at the edge of the ocean.
Otherwise, the ocean seems to disappear into a thick darkness.

The group follows my lead in landing on the beach.
And Balshown and I remove the packs.

 
Dreams
“Why does darkness cover their land?” asks Shazira, facing us all.
“This place feels sick, like the life is draining out of it.”

“Nival,” I ask.
“What is this darkness?”

“It comes from their dreams,” he answers.
“But I don’t know why.”

“There’s something wrong with their dreams,” says Berek.

“How do you know that?” asks Shazira.

“This is their time to sleep,” says Berek.
Sleep is usually a peaceful time.”
“But I feel a great weight of fear and sadness within the darkness.”

“I know that fear.”
“I have nightmares often, and the Krale are in every one.”

“In my dreams, I hover as a spirit in my bedroom, and I see my physical body below, caught in a nightmare.”
“I see myself sleeping, and moaning in bed.”

“The Krale appear above my bed.”
“They’re not interested in my sleeping body.”

“They turn toward my spirit, give me a viscious smile, and then fly into my parent’s room.”

My spirit follows.
“The black lightning strikes and kills my birth parents.”
“My birth father seems to rise from his death, and face the Krale.”
“Then I wake up.”

“It’s strange, inta,” he says to me.
“For a long time, I thought it was my father who rises from death in the nightmare.”

“But the one who rises wears a master’s robe with four bands.”
“And his expressions and movements seem more like you, than my father.”
“It’s you who rises up against the Krale in my dream.”

“How long have you had these nightmares?” asks Shazira.

“Long before I ever met you,” answers Berek.”
“Ever since my parents were killed.”

“I know that some people are caught in their sadness, like an endless maze.”
“But the dreams are more than that.”

“I’ve always felt that my dreams are trying to tell me something.”
“I just don’t know what it is,” he says, frustrated.

“One thing I do know.”
“Somewhere in that darkness, the Bizra are caught in nightmares.”
“And the Krale are born from those nightmares.”

“How is that possible?” asks Shazira.

“I don’t know,” says Berek, “but I feel that it’s true.”

“Shazira,” I say, “you told me that the Krale attacks began after the Bizra distanced themselves from us.”
“Does anyone know why they left us?”

“No one knows,” she answers.
“They’ve never told us.”

“Communicating with the Bizra is challenging,” says Balshown.
“We know that they understand our thoughts and words, at least in their own way.”
“But they don’t think like people, and they don’t use words.”

“They communicate to us by giving us a waking dream of pictures and feelings.

“But, it’s odd.”
“They expect us to completely understand what they’re telling us.”
“And they seem surprised when we don’t understand them very well.”

“I think that there’s something in their messages that we can’t see or feel.”

“We’ve asked them why they left us many times,” he says.
“They show us pictures of war and violence.”

“They’ve known about our wars and violence, since they first met us.”
“They abandoned us during a peaceful time.”
“It doesn’t make any sense!”

“Lately, the Bizra just ignore us when we ask why they left us.”
“I guess, they’ve gotten tired of answering the question.”

“Has anyone ever transformed into a Bizra, to communicate with them?” I ask.

“Every child who learns to flow, takes the form of a Bizra,” says Shazira.
“It’s the first mask we use on our own bodies.”

“The Bizra have great powers of flow.”
“They transform themselves into countless forms.”

“The one transformation that a Bizra cannot do, is to become one of us.”
“A Bizra who tries to take our form, will die.”

“Guild teachings warn us to never completely transform into a Bizra.”
“We can become Bizra, but we can never return to being human.”

My energy bodies are Gen-like, and I don’t worry about the dangers of transformation.
But the Bizra are unique creatures.
Transforming into a Bizra is a bad idea, even for me.

 
Violent Dreams
I open my energy eyes fully, to see into the darkness covering the Bizra.
But my energy sight can’t pierce this darkness.

So I turn to the energy wells within me.
I focus my attention on the seven wells, and I feel them glowing, brighter and brighter.

I circle the openings to the wells with energy hands, then bathe my energy hands within the wells.

I feel my inner eyes of darkness that Nival gave me once, long ago.
I think, as Nival taught me, “I am the hidden.”

We still stand on the beach, listening to gentle waves.
But now, I can see inside the darkness that covers the Bizra.

There are thousands of Bizra sleeping in a nearby meadow.

I see rocky coastline without beaches, and white spray where the waves of the ocean crash against those rocks.
Some of the Bizra sleep on large rocks near the water.

The Bizra are not sea creatures, but their flexible bodies remind me of seals.

Most of the sleeping Bizra look peaceful, but a few are restless.
About 10-15 feet above the ones that are restless, I see moving images of human war.

Great ships destroy each other in space.
Troops fight with each other on the surface of another world in great cities.
I see fire, death, ruined cities, and a few damaged ships landing.
These are the wars that brought the people to this world.

Then I see dozens of cities rising up within our world.
Thousands of energy masters walk and fly through these cities.
But before long, I see the wars of the energy masters which scorch the land, and kill millions.

I watch the nightmares for 10-15 minutes.
And I feel the sadness, disgust, and fear that the Bizra feel at these scenes.
Finally, I see what I am expecting, and dreading.

Painful dreams hover over the head of one of the Bizra, like a cloud.
A Krale appears as an image within the cloud.
Then, the Krale solidifies, and flies off into the sky.

I sing a sad song to my friends.
It describes what I see, and explains what I think the images mean.

The Bizra are troubled with images of human tragedy.
They are sickened by the wars that our people once fought, and all the horror that goes with them.
Somehow, these horrors are the source of their nightmares.
In the Bizra dream minds, the only way to eliminate the tragedy and the nightmares is to eliminate the cities, and the energy masters.

“The Bizra lived among us for years,” says Balshown.
“What changed?”

“I don’t know,” I answer, “but we need to find out, to have any chance of stopping the nightmares.”
“As people, we don’t understand the Bizra, but perhaps as Kishla, we will.”

Midnight comes, but the darkness stays, and the Bizra remain sleeping.

“Their sleep patterns have changed,” says Balshown.
“Let’s rest for a few hours.”

We all lay down on the beach.
Berek and Tzina go to sleep.

Balshown, Shazira, and I split the night, keeping watch.
The rest of the time, we sleep, and wait for sunrise.
 

Today the winds are gentle.
There are a few wispy clouds in the night sky, visible in the light of the watchtower.

“Master Balshown,” says Shazira, raising her hand and facing her palm toward Balshown, “you are the eldest here of the flow guild.”
“Lead us in the changing.”

The changing is a ritual that members of the flow guild perform when they flow their forms to journey together.

“I ask you, Shazira,” he replies, “to lead the changing in my place.”

She nods, and the rest of us surround Shazira in a circle.
The one who recites the changing, lets her body follow ritual movements as she speaks.
The movements are slow and continuous.

She begins.
“Life spins on three bodies as the world rises and falls.”
“One body is hard like stone.”
“The second flies like air, covers the stone like water, and feeds it.
“And the third is fire unseen.”

“Flow the stone and the water, and remember who you are.”
“Safe journey, and return home.”

As Shazira finishes the last words, she is kneeling, and her forehead touches the ground.

(See: The three bodies and flow)

I am like the Gen, and my awareness and memories are bound to my fire body, not my pattern body.
I can safely transform into Kishla.

But even I may be trapped as a Bizra.
“The Kishla,” says Shazira as she rises, “make a rich variety of notes and can even pronounce the sounds we use for words.”
“The birds are known to be highly intelligent.”
“still, no one has ever heard them use anything like speech.”

“As you flow into the shape of the great birds, focus on the idea of speech.”
“This will help you adjust the energy mask so you will still be able to speak in this new form.”

We all remove our clothes and place them in the packs.
Shazira removes Tzina’s clothing.

The packs will be strapped to our bird bodies after we flow.

 
Born to Fly
We flow into the shape of the great birds.
Shazira and Balshown use energy masks to flow themselves and Tzina into Kishla.

I also flow with the energy mask.
I feel that it’s not time for a full transformation.

The great birds are coverd with many colors in beautiful patterns.
And the feathers are as soft as silk.
Their songs are beautiful and haunting.

There is a legend which speaks of the birth of the Kishla.
Once there was an energy master who dreamed of a beautiful bird, and its energy form.

He transformed his family and some friends into the birds.
They flew away to a distant mountain that touched the sky, to start a new life.

“Are you all right Berek?” asks Shazira.
Her words are sung, not spoken, but they are words.

“Hearing words seems strange” answers Berek, “but I’m not afraid.”
His message is not expressed in words.
It is a kind of beautiful song with nested patterns that hold the message.

Berek has flowed his pattern body completely into the form of the Kishla.

Shazira, Balshown, and I understand the message, even though our pattern body is a hybrid.
We can also mimic the basic song, but we cannot create the complex patterns that carry the message.

“Berek is not trained in flow,” says Shazira.
“His talent is natural.”
“And the most natural way to flow, is to take on the complete energy body that matches the physical form.”

“Every 30 minutes, we will speak to Berek,” she continues.
“When he begins to have trouble understanding us, he must return to his own shape.”

Nival is still in his “dark boy” form.

“Nival,” I ask, “why haven’t you taken the form of the birds?”
“I don’t take on winged forms,” he answers.
“But I can understand all of you, even Berek, without taking on any special form.”

“Yagrin,” he says, “Look at my body with energy eyes.”

Balshown and I look at his energy body.
There are only a small number of points of light.
It reminds me of what I saw when I looked at the Krale.

And I look deeper with my dark eyes, and see his fire body. It’s egg shaped like the human fire body, but it’s different somehow.

“Your pattern body reminds me of the energy of the Krale,” I say.
“It looks artificial.”

“That’s right, Yagrin. It is.”
“I only make it to support the physical form that I take.”

“But unlike the Krale, I have a fire body.”
“My fire body is my only natural body.”

Then he seems to disappear, leaving only a slightly dark area in the air.
“Can you see where I am Yagrin?” he asks.
We hear his voice coming from the spot of darkness.

“Yes,” I answer.
“Good,” he says. “I’ll be with you the whole time, but I’ll stay hidden.”

 
A Weaver’s Song
I feel a vibration beginning at the edge of my wings. It is a pleasant low sound, like rumbling thunder, but soft.

The vibration spreads across my wings.
When it touches the pattern of black knives on my wings, I know.

I know that I must feel what it means to completely be the great bird.
I drop the energy mask, and I let my pattern body transform completely into that of a great bird.

For a moment I’m disoriented, and then I feel the power of the great body.
I feel the energy of the sky and the earth, and even the darkness flow through me in great waves, and I release a song.
The song has words that express what I am feeling.

The words, though, do not touch air as consonants or vowels.
Instead the ideas are carried as great patterns on the back of the song.

My group looks at me, first in surprise when they realize that I have completed the transformation.
Then, they look at me in awe when they hear the message of my song.

Berek releases a short, musical cry at the end, sad that I am done.

“Well Done,” says Nival, his voice coming from the air a few feet away.

I find it curious that Nival can understand the song without being in the form of the great birds.

This pattern body has sharper energy senses than my regular body.
Nival’s fire body glows brighter than ever.

Shazira and Balshown are quiet for a moment, mesmerized still by the song.
“When I hear your song,” says Balshown, “I understand why someone would give up being human.”

“What’s it like to sing like that?” he asks.

With great effort I respond in words instead of song.
“When I speak as a man, with a deep inner strenth,” I say, “my words are filled with emotional energy.”

“Some people hear these powerful words, yet feel nothing.”
“Their hearts are as hard as stone, and the energy cannot reach them.”

“Other people are touched by the words and energy, and feel connected to me, but it passes in a moment.”

“Sometimes, the words, and the energy penetrate deeply into others, and become part of them.”
“This creates a lasting connection between us.”

“The song I sing is a thousand times more powerful than words, or ordinary emotional energy.”
“When I sing this song I feel connected to all of you, to the earth, ocean and sky, and to worlds beyond the sky that I can only feel as distant, dim voices.”

“But it’s far more than a feeling.”
“I see the connection in the world’s energy matrix.”

“Balshown.” I say.
“When I sing again, look at the energy in my pattern body!”
“And see how it connects to the energy of the rest of our group.”

Energy is far more subtle than matter, and some think that all energy is the same.
But it’s not.

Different types of energy have unique qualities.
Yes, energy is movement, but there are patterns and structures of energy that can exist in one place.

The human body holds its form, while every cell dies and is replaced.
Similarly, an energy pattern or structure can continue to exist, while the component energy changes.

The smallest identifiable part of an energy pattern we’ll call a point, although it’s not a particle of any kind.
It’s a focal point for part of the pattern.

An energy body is a dense “structure” of energy.
It exchanges energy with the background matrix of energy points that fill the world.

But the energy body has its own patterns, and is distinct.

In addition to the linked points of energy that form the matrix of energy, there are flows of energy that ride along that matrix.

The deepest form of energy weaving is when someone is able to gift some of the energy points that are tied to their own energy body, and let these “points” become part of someone else’s body.
Balshown and I have exchanged part of ourselves in this way.

I start to sing, and Balshown looks at my energy body.
I continue the song for a short time and then let it end.

“Yagrin’s pattern body is growing as he sings,” says Balshown to the others.
“The points of energy within his pattern body grow more concentrated.”
“And his body grows extensions, like vines, using those energy points.”
“He connects to us and to the world, in all directions, at incredibly speed.”

“When Yagrin stops singing,” he says, “a few points of his extended body are woven/absorbed into our energy bodies.”

“The rest of his vines disconnect from his energy body and are re-absorbed into the energy web.”

“Yagrin,” he says, “do you feel connected to the world after you stop singing?”

“While I sing, the sense of connection is indescribable.”
“There is a subtle, greater sense of connection that stays with me.”

“Balshown,” I say, trying to break the intoxication of the singing and connections.
“It’s time to put the packs on.”

None of us have hands.
But Balshown and I use our skills as energy weavers to move ourselves and other objects along the energy web.
He and I glide the packs into place and fasten the straps.

“I’ve seen you move things like that a hundred times,” says Shazira, smiling, “but I still find it wonderful to watch.”

It’s difficult, even for true Kishla, to take off straight from the ground.
Our forms seem to know how to fly, but we do not have experience at flying.

“Get ready to fly,” I say.

I glide each of us two hundred feet up, and then let go.

As we begin to fall, we naturally spread our wings, and let the wings catch the air.

Tzina’s awareness is deeply buried in her mind.
But her Kishla body loves the air, and flies.

The air embraces us all, and our journey begins.
 

The sun’s light at dawn is dim, compared to the watchtower’s brilliant light which stops with first sun.

Berek’s parents arrive.
We go inside together, and complete the formal turnover of the watchtower.

They are quiet.
What more can they say about this trip?

They don’t want Berek to go.
But they know that he must go.

And they fear how Berek will feel when we return from the trip.
When we tell him that I am his father, and Tzina, his sister.

I raise my palms, and spread them wide before the two of them.
The king of Tshuan greeted Shazira and I like this once, a rare greeting of honor to a couple.

Zias and Bintar raise their palms to meet mine.
They have heard of the greeting, but in our land it hasn’t been seen in hundreds of years.

“You will always be his mother and father,” I say.
“Perhaps someday, I can also be his father.”

I leave quickly.
The only things I need from the watchtower are a few clothes and the message cube.

I have a haunting feeling about the cube.
Like I’ve missed something important in the message.

I land at my parents’ house, alone.
Shazira and Tzina sleep at her parents’ house.
And my parents are dead many years.

Strange that I still call it their house.

I sit outside, and connect to the cube.
I watch myself flying in the message, over and over, again.

Finally, I see it.
My robe in the message has four bands, not three.
I must complete the master’s test for the artist’s guild before I go.

Fortunately, the guild leader wakes early.
He is eating breakfast before I arrive.

I tell him about the message, and my need for the fourth band.

“You want to test on your 3 arts, and perform flowsong, and finish two hours before sunset, today?” he asks.
“Yes,” I answer.

“I don’t know if it’s possible to do so quickly,” he says.
“Wake these three masters,” he says finally, and gives me a note with their names.

These are the three who will test my competency in the arts.
And the guild leader will join these three to view my performance.

The tests go slower than I hope for, but I pass.
And I perform a Gen type of flowsong for the masters.

The performance cannot be hurried.
The song, the transformations, and the movements continue until I feel that it has reached its proper end.

The masters are quiet as I finish, still digesting the performance.
They have never seen anything like this before.

When I finish, I am already late, but I wait quietly for their response.
The masters sing their approval, traditional in this guild.

I thank them for their help, their teaching, and their welcome, all according to tradition.
Then I kiss the hands of each of the four masters.

I color the blue master’s band on my robe, and fly away at Gen speed.

 
Facing the Night
We plan to assemble two hours before sunset, outisde Shazira’s parents house.

I arrive 30 minutes late, the last, except for Nival, to arrive.
In front of us are the packs, already filled with supplies for the trip to the Bizra.

Shazira is nervous and frightened for Tzina.
Tzina has the same blank stare, but her body looks weaker.

“She eats, Yagrin,” says Shazira with an angry stare, “but her life still drains away.”
“And you come late?”
“Who know how long before her life vanishes?”

Then Berek sees the master artist’s band on my robe.
“Inta, you tested for this today?”

“Why before this journey?”
“How could you even concentrate on the tests?”

I explain the message.

“I did what had to be done, Berek, so our trip will succeed.”
“I don’t know how the master’s band will help us, only that it’s necessary.”

Berek is frightened, and feeling lost, as we finish our final preparations for the trip.

“Inta,” he says to me, “I wish I could help Tzina.”
“But what can I do, that three masters can’t do?”

“I don’t understand why I must come.”
“The only thing that I can give you on this trip is my fear.”
“And a desire to get revenge on the Krale for my parent’s death.”

“Neither of those is of any use!”

“We all must go, Berek.”
“Just accept it.”

Nival appears.
Darkness hovers over his face, and makes him seem frightening, at least to Shazira and Berek.

Balshown is full of unasked questions, but not fear.
He trusts me, but he will decide for himself if Nival is our friend or not.

Balshown turns away from us, and puts a rock sphere in his pack.
It is a perfect sphere, except for a rough surface, with pockmarks like a huge golf ball.

Only I can see Nival’s face, and it suddenly takes on a serious expression.

“What is that thing, Balshown?” I ask.

“It’s an ancient machine,” he answers.
“One of the few things of the ancients that was not hidden in the closed city.”

“What’s it for?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he says, “but I feel that we’ll need it.”

I walk with Nival away from the others.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“The sphere that Balshown carries is a weapon called The Sphere of Itarus,” he answers.

“It has many uses, mostly destructive.”
“If misused, it will destroy the planet.”

“Do you think Balshown knows how to use it?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” he answers.
We rejoin the group.

“The Krale never attack the cities in the light of day,” I say.
“And they are driven away by the light of the watchtower.”

“The safest time to approach the land of the Bizra and Krale is during the light.”
“According to this, we should leave at first light tomorrow.”

Berek and Shazira nod.

“But instead I’ve called you all here now, to leave at sunset, and travel at night.”

Berek and Shazira are quiet, listening.

“Why?” asks Balshown.

“The Bizra sleep from sunset until midnight,” I answer.
“We must arrive while they are sleeping.”

“But the Krale fly at night,” says Berek.

“I will protect us from the Krale,” I answer.
“Nival has taught me how.”<