Please Comment specifically on the language and style, it is unusual, and i would like to know if it disrupts the flow of the story. comment also on the content, does it make sense to you.
not too worried about grammar, but if something is really jarring do mention it.
The young shaman said to the djinn AKHRI… teach me to fly.
“You cannot” AKHRI replied, “ I can teach you many things, for I am AKHRI, but you are human and you cannot fly.
“Please”, begged the shaman, “in all your thousands of years how could you have never found a way?”
“There is a way”, replied AKHRI, anger burned evenly, beneath his voice. Insult his knowledge! This pup! He would teach him humility.
“There is a way” AKHRI said again. “But a human cannot fly, you must travel out of your body, fly with your soul as I have taught you. Find an egg, a life as yet unformed, dive into it and mould your soul to its contours, become the life within the egg, and then wait”.
So the shaman undertook a great journey, he travelled far to the north, to the Afghan mountains. There nested the Kahja Hawk, the mightiest creature in the sky.
Young and supple the shaman scaled the mountains heights, to be closer to the beast of his choice. All the while, light as a feather, AKHRI floated beside him. Finally he reached a cave high up amongst the clouds, there the shaman created his sacred flame, and beneath the watchful eyes of AKHRI, travelled away from his body. Up, up to the very highest and most jagged cliff top. There he found what he sought. Nestled in the sky lay four eggs unguarded, lives as yet unformed.
The shaman descended, he selected the strongest of the four, into the contours of the half formed soul he descended, settling, moulding, consuming. He settled deep, the life forming yolk within melded with his essence. Awareness settled, thoughts, meaning and desire all settled. Now was the time for peace now was the time for waiting.
He flickered, life and infinity created and destroyed by a distant heat,a sputtering boundary encompassing the entirety of him. Every time it returned, it got closer. This heat was his mother, he simply knew this, and was at peace.
He felt his mother, as always she had returned, but this time it was different. The boundary pressed in around him, closing him in. Gone was the peace, suddenly there was only agitation, only restlessness. This desperate urge to move, to breathe, this feeling of horrific confinement, where before there had only been harmony. Fight, struggle, break through and then freedom, wind. Scream, scream with the pain of life.
His mother had returned, he felt her coming, his brothers clamoured after him, they were too slow, they were always too slow. He was easily the largest, he begged the loudest, he fought for her attention. His mother rewarded strength. He ate, he ate his fill.
Once more this restlessness, once more this horrific confinement. He grew too quick, his world shrank upon him, he was forced to its outer limits, forced to gaze again and again at the dizzying fall all around him. He shied away in terror, but his world kept shrinking, kept pushing him closer to the edge. His mother would not help him, his mother only rewarded strength.
Over he fell, pushed past that final inch, that last resistance before all falls away.
Down he plunged, inconsequential, helpless, pushed into death by his own restlessness. He screamed, he screamed his fear, he screamed his defiance. Every fibre of his being, every tendon in his body defied, defied the inevitable. He reached out and clung to the wind, found its secret strength. He opened his wings and soared. Away from the earth, away from all inevitability. Up he flew, pushed higher and higher, no longer fearful, no longer restless, he was purity, a creature of wind and instinct. No thought clouded his mind, no boundaries held him. Higher and further he pushed, a tiny speck of dust amongst white mountains.
He was in his prime, he knew every dance of the wind, knew it without remembrance, knew it in every particle of his being. He was unstoppable, a juggernaut of wind. He looked down on the tiny white body frantically flapping far below him. A gods regard, cold and focused. On he hovered hardly moving, the wind fondling him like a lover. But he did not notice its attentions; his whole world had collapsed to a point, waiting for a moment, a single moment of perfection. And then it was upon him, he shot down, cutting the wind like a knife. Spurning all control, no thought of life, of preservation. Hurtling down in total silence. A collision of perfection, a moment of eternity. His talons tear flesh, the tiny white life turned to meat.
He settled down to feed, the precious moment forgotten, consumed now by the taste of blood and quivering flesh. Suddenly a presence, floating there behind him, disturbing, familiar… AKHRI. A fierce pain, sudden and sharp, and then it was over. It was not a moment of fear, he was a creature of wind and instinct, he need not fear death.
Heaviness, awareness…words, the shaman opened his eyes and saw before him his sacred fire. His life flooded into him. He remembered the formation of words, but somehow he could not find the will to mould them. He could not find the strength.
Behind him floated the voice of AKHRI. “Your soul remembers, your soul knows what it was, simply find that place within, return to it, mould your flesh to that memory and you will be able to fly. You shaman! not the animal, your flesh can be moulded to a remembrance, but your soul will forever again be human. You will be aware, conscious. You will see and understand what a human was never meant to understand. You shaman will fly.
And so the young shaman found desire again, with great eagerness and skill he dove down within himself, and found his souls remembrance. As AKHRI had told him, he changed his flesh to fit that remembrance, he had gained the ability to take the shape of the mighty hawk, to soar into the clouds and perceive the world below with all his human understanding.
With AKHRI beside him, he flew all the way back to his home, a journey of many months, over in days. Only when they reached his village only when they reached his home did the shaman change back to his human form, thinking as he did so of all the benefits that this ability would give him and his tribe.
“Are you happy?” AKHRI inquired smugly, “Glad that you have all knowing AKHRI who has taught you how to fly?”
For the first time the shaman moulded thought into words, he spoke in a voice filled with the pain of knowing, “I flew, we made the journey home in a matter of days… but its not the same. I understand your lesson AKHRI, but it was too harsh, you should have let me live, you knew what you were doing… you should have let me fly.”
not too worried about grammar, but if something is really jarring do mention it.
AKHRI and the Shaman.
The young shaman said to the djinn AKHRI… teach me to fly.
“You cannot” AKHRI replied, “ I can teach you many things, for I am AKHRI, but you are human and you cannot fly.
“Please”, begged the shaman, “in all your thousands of years how could you have never found a way?”
“There is a way”, replied AKHRI, anger burned evenly, beneath his voice. Insult his knowledge! This pup! He would teach him humility.
“There is a way” AKHRI said again. “But a human cannot fly, you must travel out of your body, fly with your soul as I have taught you. Find an egg, a life as yet unformed, dive into it and mould your soul to its contours, become the life within the egg, and then wait”.
So the shaman undertook a great journey, he travelled far to the north, to the Afghan mountains. There nested the Kahja Hawk, the mightiest creature in the sky.
Young and supple the shaman scaled the mountains heights, to be closer to the beast of his choice. All the while, light as a feather, AKHRI floated beside him. Finally he reached a cave high up amongst the clouds, there the shaman created his sacred flame, and beneath the watchful eyes of AKHRI, travelled away from his body. Up, up to the very highest and most jagged cliff top. There he found what he sought. Nestled in the sky lay four eggs unguarded, lives as yet unformed.
The shaman descended, he selected the strongest of the four, into the contours of the half formed soul he descended, settling, moulding, consuming. He settled deep, the life forming yolk within melded with his essence. Awareness settled, thoughts, meaning and desire all settled. Now was the time for peace now was the time for waiting.
He flickered, life and infinity created and destroyed by a distant heat,a sputtering boundary encompassing the entirety of him. Every time it returned, it got closer. This heat was his mother, he simply knew this, and was at peace.
He felt his mother, as always she had returned, but this time it was different. The boundary pressed in around him, closing him in. Gone was the peace, suddenly there was only agitation, only restlessness. This desperate urge to move, to breathe, this feeling of horrific confinement, where before there had only been harmony. Fight, struggle, break through and then freedom, wind. Scream, scream with the pain of life.
His mother had returned, he felt her coming, his brothers clamoured after him, they were too slow, they were always too slow. He was easily the largest, he begged the loudest, he fought for her attention. His mother rewarded strength. He ate, he ate his fill.
Once more this restlessness, once more this horrific confinement. He grew too quick, his world shrank upon him, he was forced to its outer limits, forced to gaze again and again at the dizzying fall all around him. He shied away in terror, but his world kept shrinking, kept pushing him closer to the edge. His mother would not help him, his mother only rewarded strength.
Over he fell, pushed past that final inch, that last resistance before all falls away.
Down he plunged, inconsequential, helpless, pushed into death by his own restlessness. He screamed, he screamed his fear, he screamed his defiance. Every fibre of his being, every tendon in his body defied, defied the inevitable. He reached out and clung to the wind, found its secret strength. He opened his wings and soared. Away from the earth, away from all inevitability. Up he flew, pushed higher and higher, no longer fearful, no longer restless, he was purity, a creature of wind and instinct. No thought clouded his mind, no boundaries held him. Higher and further he pushed, a tiny speck of dust amongst white mountains.
He was in his prime, he knew every dance of the wind, knew it without remembrance, knew it in every particle of his being. He was unstoppable, a juggernaut of wind. He looked down on the tiny white body frantically flapping far below him. A gods regard, cold and focused. On he hovered hardly moving, the wind fondling him like a lover. But he did not notice its attentions; his whole world had collapsed to a point, waiting for a moment, a single moment of perfection. And then it was upon him, he shot down, cutting the wind like a knife. Spurning all control, no thought of life, of preservation. Hurtling down in total silence. A collision of perfection, a moment of eternity. His talons tear flesh, the tiny white life turned to meat.
He settled down to feed, the precious moment forgotten, consumed now by the taste of blood and quivering flesh. Suddenly a presence, floating there behind him, disturbing, familiar… AKHRI. A fierce pain, sudden and sharp, and then it was over. It was not a moment of fear, he was a creature of wind and instinct, he need not fear death.
Heaviness, awareness…words, the shaman opened his eyes and saw before him his sacred fire. His life flooded into him. He remembered the formation of words, but somehow he could not find the will to mould them. He could not find the strength.
Behind him floated the voice of AKHRI. “Your soul remembers, your soul knows what it was, simply find that place within, return to it, mould your flesh to that memory and you will be able to fly. You shaman! not the animal, your flesh can be moulded to a remembrance, but your soul will forever again be human. You will be aware, conscious. You will see and understand what a human was never meant to understand. You shaman will fly.
And so the young shaman found desire again, with great eagerness and skill he dove down within himself, and found his souls remembrance. As AKHRI had told him, he changed his flesh to fit that remembrance, he had gained the ability to take the shape of the mighty hawk, to soar into the clouds and perceive the world below with all his human understanding.
With AKHRI beside him, he flew all the way back to his home, a journey of many months, over in days. Only when they reached his village only when they reached his home did the shaman change back to his human form, thinking as he did so of all the benefits that this ability would give him and his tribe.
“Are you happy?” AKHRI inquired smugly, “Glad that you have all knowing AKHRI who has taught you how to fly?”
For the first time the shaman moulded thought into words, he spoke in a voice filled with the pain of knowing, “I flew, we made the journey home in a matter of days… but its not the same. I understand your lesson AKHRI, but it was too harsh, you should have let me live, you knew what you were doing… you should have let me fly.”
