182) The Salvation of Eden, Chapter 17 -- Shaping: Connecting the Inner and Outer Worlds

As they reached the wagon, Beacon seemed to be asleep, standing in the roadway but unharnessed. Lenny headed straight for the grain sacks, in which she had fashioned a bed of sorts.  As Gorb followed, Kohra reached out, putting her hand on his arm.

         He stopped, looking up at her.

         “I want to…thank you, for everything. Today, tonight…it was a spectacular day, Gorb. I don’t understand why you’re doing all this for us.”

         Eyes smiling, he leaned in very close. “Dinna worrrry, Kohrrra.” She could smell the ale clearly on his breath, although she probably didn’t smell a whole lot better herself. “Lemme tell ye a secrrret ’bout de Flux,” he whispered in her ear. “I know ye’ve got it. But yer too wrrrrapped up in yerrr ‘ead.”

         “I don’t understand,” Kohra replied, and he laughed.

         “Prrrrecisely my point, li’l Elf!” He tapped her gently in the middle of her chest. “De Flux comes frrrom ‘ere. No….” He paused thoughtfully. “De Flux comes T’RRRROUGH ‘ere!” He nodded, slowly, like a sage. “Open yer ‘eart t’ it. Like fallin’ in love, like ‘ow ye listened t’ songs ye dinna ken de language o’. But dey affected ye. Ye felt ’em.” He pointed at her heart again. Kohra nodded. “Dat’s wherrre ye Connect, not up in yerrr ‘ead.” He turned to climb into the wagon.

         “Gorb?”

         “Mmm?”
         “That last song. Was that a…what was that?”

         He grinned. “If I told ye, I’d’ave t’make ye’ an ‘onorrrary Klliik. Arrre ye rrrready fer such an honor?”

         She saluted, smacking herself a little clumsily in the forehead, laughing, “Aye, my captain!”

         “Ye’ve cleared d’first ‘urdle.”

         “First hurdle?”

         “Aye, acceptance by a Klliik. ‘Tis a big one, ye know. We don’ just ‘and out memberships t’everrryone ‘dat comes along, ye know.”

         She laughed. “How many hurdles are there?”

         “I kinna tell ye.” His eyes twinkled with sly mirth.

         He extended his arm for a proper Klliik handshake. She grasped it as she had learned earlier. “I’m glad ye werrre able t’ ‘ear dat song t’night.”

         “I’m glad too. It was incredible. Does it mean anything?”

         He smiled. “Oh yes, many t’ings. Tis a complex song. It starts wit’de massacrrre o’ ninety-nine out o’ everrry one-hundrrred o’ my people.”

         She gasped. “Gods. I, oh, that’s…I’m sorry. That’s, that’s awful Gorb! I didn’t even know….”

         “Klliik are rrrresilient, lass. It takes more den one measly massacrre t’wipe us out.”

         He grinned, as wise-elder-like as ever, but clearly he was covering feelings of grief she knew she couldn’t fathom.

         “I’m so sorry.” It felt inadequate. She wished there was something she could say that would make a difference.

         “Aye. De song den. ’Tis about loss but also de lifeblood we all sharrre as Klliik, de knowledge we ‘ave, de magic,” (his voice rose in volume in his excitement, almost to shouting), “dat flows in ourrrr VEINS!!”

         He looked at the sky like he was challenging it to a duel. “When someone can sing ‘dat song, ye know ‘ees a Klliik.” Then he climbed into the wagon and within seconds, seemed to be asleep.

         Kohra laughed, throwing her head back, looking up at the skyflows. They were so bright tonight, incredible, like they were ten times closer than she had ever seen them.

         What IS that stuff Gorb smokes?

         She looked around, scanning the sleeping forms, horses and wagons, little makeshift shelters and tents. Nobody was awake. She closed her eyes and felt inside, sharpening her inner awareness.

         Her concentration was so pure tonight, she felt more attuned than ever, her body-sense immediate, palpable and grounded. Often, going “inward” was subtle, and she’d slip in and out of it like an early-morning dream. But tonight, it was solid and powerful. She felt her breath, her feelings, her eagerness to Connect. And then, she felt even more deeply into herself.

         Feelings of inadequacy. Not being enough. Not good enough. Not “special.” Her lifelong feelings of being invisible, wandering around alone, lost in her mind because nobody seemed to find her worthwhile. Her long-buried feelings of resentment. Why was I not more important to you?

         She felt the deep truth of her own failure as a person, the fact that she didn’t work as hard as other people. She wasn’t disciplined. She coasted, pulled things together at the last minute, relied on her raw intelligence to get her through whatever other people expected her to do. Like homework.

         I am neglecting my life. I am neglecting myself. I am not letting myself FEEL the passion that I have.

         I am holding myself back, not willing to risk failure. Or maybe it’s that I resist success? Maybe I’m scared of succeeding because then when I do fail it’ll be that much worse. Or maybe the feeling of success, of being strong, just feels wrong somehow. Maybe I just don’t know how to love myself because….

         Because.

         Because I just don’t. Maybe that’s the truth, and all these half-baked plans I make — to work on my writing, to work on Shaping, to practice with Devona, to volunteer, to help Ms. B’s younger kids, to learn cooking, to make more friends, to stop isolating myself, to “get involved” — maybe all these plans aren’t really plans at all. Maybe they’re just lies I tell myself so I can avoid facing the truth.

         Just look at me. Look at what I’ve done with my life (nothing…). Look at the people I’ve let down (everybody…). Look at the opportunities I’ve wasted (all of them…).

         She opened her eyes, held her hands in front of her and intensely projected her mental energy toward her right index finger.

         I don’t want to be like this forever, this half-engaged person. I don’t want…I hate this. I hate being this way.

         Maybe tonight is the night.

         She snapped her fingers, concentrating with every single iota of willpower she could muster.

         Tonight is the night!!    .

         Nothing. Not even a spark.

         She turned to go, dejected. She was never going to get it.

         The skyflows caught her eye. They seemed magnified, like she could see every swirl in high detail.

         So beautiful.

         Not wanting to disturb the others, she wandered a short distance into the field beside the roadway, then tilted her head back to gaze at the skyflows.

         She had the most fleeting intuition, the kind that hits you countless times in life, but almost always slips away before you’ve been able to hang onto it and make something of it. It was such a small thing, such an easy thing to overlook. But Kohra, attuned as she was tonight, paid attention to it.

         She realized that when she was gazing at the skyflows and felt their beauty, there was a moment BEFORE she thought “beautiful” when she could FEEL the beauty, directly, unmediated by any words or thoughts or analysis or anything else. In that first, pure moment of Being, she experienced the beauty of the sky purely.

         Ms. B used to talk about the “Suchness” of things. Maybe this is what she meant.

         She stopped thinking, and turned back to the skyflows, tracing their outlines carefully with her eyes, awestruck at the level of detail she was able to see. She didn’t know how this was possible, but it was.

         What you think is possible, and what is possible, may be very, very different.

         She concentrated, rubbed the palms of her hands together, then started to repeat the hand motions she’d already tried — the fire Shaping.

         She Connected, opening to the Flux, channeling it, funneling it.

         A tiny flame sprang out of the palm of her right hand. She stared, amazed. This was no mere candle-lighting trick. She was holding freaking FIRE in her hand! She could do it!

         Then, “DAMN IT!!” Her sleeve was on fire. “OWWW!” She clawed at the sleeve with her left hand, tearing it right off and throwing it into the dirt. But now her hand itself was on fire, flames bursting out of her forearm, her skin bubbling and cracking. She screamed, then everything started to go black, her whole body dissolving in pain.
         Suddenly she froze, involuntarily, like she was paralyzed, unable to move a muscle, despite the agony exploding through her body. She couldn’t even scream.

         Gorb was there, shouting in Klliik, clapping his hands above her head. A waterfall appeared in mid-air, dousing her in blessedly cold water. The sensation of relief was so intense it was almost its own form of pain. But she was able to move again; she wrapped her arms around herself, huddled under the waterfall for an indiscernible length of time, vaguely aware of Gorb’s droning prayer.

         The waterfall began to subside, then turned to rain, a nice, heavy drizzle, concentrated in a circle right above her head. There wasn’t even a cloud, just raindrops falling directly from the air. She stood up, letting them splatter on her face.

         A minute later, it was over and they stood there, together in the field. She was dripping, her hand and arm throbbing. She felt raw, shaky.

         Gorb put his arms on her shoulders as she started to shiver, trying to guide her back to the wagon. She turned toward him, wanting to ask what had happened, but he spoke first. “’Tis ok lass. Dat ‘appens sometimes at de beginnin’.”

         “Really? THAT happens?” she gasped, staring at her now purple-and-black right hand.

         He cleared his throat. “Errr, well, no. I’ve never seen dat before. But it can be surprrrisin’, y’know, when d’Light rrreleases in ye.”

         “The Light?”

         “D’Light lass,” he nodded. “Ye say Flux. Dat’s what ye believe.”

         He winked at her. “Klliik ‘rrr a sneaky lot, y’know.”

         Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? You mean a Klliik did this to me?”

         He nodded. “Sort of.”

         “What?!!” Anger bubbled inside like the fire had been a few minutes earlier.

         “’Tis like getting t’rrrrown o’errr a wall by a catapult, Kohrrra. See, ye’ave walls inside ye. But de Klliik, dey’rrre like a catapult, launchin’ ye.”

         “What the Hells?!!” she yelled. “I burned my hand! I’m scarred, probably for life! I thought I was exploding!”

         He nodded. “Ye were.”

         “What?!!!”

         He nodded again. “It prrrobably wouldn’t ‘ave completely exploded ye, dat’s a wee bit o’ exaggerrrratin’. More like…’twas cookin’ ye.”

         Her eyes widened even further, if that’s possible. “I could have died! Damn them! All the Klliik! To the Hells, Gorb!”

         He waited until she was finished. “Ye must unn’erstand, Kohrrra, ’tis de way o’ Klliik. Dey did nuttin’ wrrrrong, just accept an’ love ye. Dat’s der magic. Dey kinna ‘elp it if ye ‘ave walls dey don ‘ave.”

         He held her hand gently in his; a tingle, then a warmth passed between them. The pain in her hand subsided a little, then a little more, but it still ached uncomfortably.
         “You’ll feel it ferrr a few days, I suspect. ‘Tisn’t a rrregular burn.”

         She held her fingers in front of her face. They were burnt and scabbed, the fingernails black and encrusted with blood. Her right palm was deeply blistered, with wicked, angry looking scars running up her forearm. She touched it gently with her left hand, wincing. “I feel like I’ve been attacked by a cheesegrater.”

         “Sleep now, lass. ’Tis best ferr ye.”

         Kohra climbed into the wagon, carefully stepping over the sleeping forms of the others. It was amazing they hadn’t woken up. In fact, nobody in the entire caravan seemed to notice her screaming while she caught on fire, not to mention a sudden waterfall and rainstorm appearing out of thin air. She wondered if Gorb had muted the sound somehow. He’d surprised her, and in the best possible way. Just when she’d thought he was just an old drunk, he turned out to be a Connector, and a skilled one at that.

         Gorb helped her with her clothes, given the uselessness of her right hand at the moment. He was entirely respectful, she noticed, helping only when necessary, and not looking at all while she changed in front of him. Normally, Kohra would never do something like this, but tonight was everything but “normal” and she was far too exhausted and scoured clean of emotion to care much.

         Her head spun. Her hand throbbed. She lay on the grain sacks, and traced her scars with her other index finger. Gorb lay down a short distance from her.

         “Gorb?” she whispered into the dark.

         “Aye?”

         “Am I going to, blow myself up? Or kill somebody?”

         He waited a moment to answer. “No lass, definitely not tonight; ye’re much too tired. But ye ‘ave t’ learn contrrrol.”

         “I’m trying. I’ve been trying for a long time.” She felt tears coming to her eyes. I’m not really trying. I know that….

         “Dinna worrrry, we’ll find ye a teacherrr, an’ ye won’t Shape again ’til ye know ‘ow t’contrrrol it, I prrromise ye.”

* * * * *

* * * * *

         “Gorb?”

         A snort, grummph. “Mmmm?”

         “Thank you. For…you saved me tonight.”

         “Yer welcome lass. Ye passed de second ‘urdle.”

         Then he was snoring. She smiled, in spite of herself. A bird chirped outside. The sky was lightening. They had stayed up all night.

         Her body buzzed with energy. She could Shape! For real, not just tricks. She had POWER. It was the most exhilarating, while also terrifying, rush she had ever felt. She had also almost died, “cooked” as he put it.

         She made a vow to herself, a solemn vow to never Shape again until she got a teacher, and learned control.

         She glanced out through the open flap. The skyflows were fading in the morning light.

Thank you.