Stories and Mirrors

 
Shields and Mirrors
The old Krale are gone.
But will new ones be born tomorrow?

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 to blame all this on the one master is a lie.
Even a creature of compassion, with a great heart, will have its own selfish and cruel thoughts.
Are they denied, and hidden, or are they accepted and released?

I dip my energy hands into the black well, over and over, and feed that energy deep into my eyes.
My eyes become mirrors, and the glow that shines from my face grows stronger.

My light touches the outside of each shield, and its inside edge becomes a bright mirror.

The mirror reflects back to each Bizra all its weak, hidden feelings of cruelty.
The reflection shows an image of a Krale, enjoying its cruelty, and killing Jiku.

A dream rises from me, with a sound like thunder, 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 reveal someone cruel, who I don’t want to know.

I cry with the Bizra, and 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 shout 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 word cruel.”
“Let yourself hear the word, so the action may vanish.”

“Tonight,” I tell 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.
My healing strength has left me, and I’m no Gen while I hold the Bizra form.

The Bizra body binds its energy bodies in unknown ways.
Now, that I’m 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 know what I must do.
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 tell them, “what we cannot see.”

The shields are weak, almost gone, 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 I die.
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 Jiku 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 take a Jiku shape.

My fire body is Jiku, Gen, and Bizra, but it’s weak, barely able to remain in the physical world.

The Bizra look at me.
And know that I can become a Jiku again, but not without help.

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 reshape a Jiku pattern body for me.

This is their their gift to me.

I am awake now, and Jiku, but my fire body holds a taste of being Bizra.
When I touch their minds, I am Bizra, not Jiku.

The Bizra call their messages dreaming together.

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

Once, as a Jiku, 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 Jiku pattern body, 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 Jiku 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 Jiku, 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, still watching the world 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 tell them.
“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.

“What happened,” I ask them, “to the Jiku who became Bizra, and confused your dreams.”

They respond with a dream, but I understand it 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.”

The Bizra don’t say goodbye.
I slip out of their dreams, and get lost in my own thoughts.

Nival helped us, and we’ve freed him.
I wonder what his next mission will be.
He could be anywhere now.

But I’m sure that 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 will travel home as Jiku, not Kishla.

Balshown and I prepare to 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 **