The Teacher

(Based on a story told to me by a spirit guide, about a previous life of hers)

The tremors were coming more often now. And they were stronger. The children could see the cracks forming in the stone walls, and the dust was making some of them cough.

“Earth mother is waking up. Don’t be afraid. She will take us into her belly where a new world will begin for all of us.”

She kept her voice soft, low and soothing, relying on her gentle sing-song alto to sway them back into calm. Tightening the outer edges of her aura as it wrapped comfortingly around the group, she disciplined herself to relax the core, smiling a little to herself as they heaved a collective sigh and released some tension.

Was the Earth Mother awakening? Would they really be carried into a new world full of light and happiness? Kintiera did not know. What she did know was the fine art of weaving a spell, a mood cultivated within herself that she could spread out around her like an infectious ripple through a pond.

Her people’s time had come to an end, and these children were under her care. The earth tremors could be run from but her visions told her that surviving them would be a far unkinder fate for these little ones. She had spoken to the city elders but they had brushed her aside, smug in their self-assertion that the Great Empire was impervious to both earth shakes and invading demons.

Now the citadel was crumbling around them, chaos abounded and the only task left to Kintiera was to nurture these little ones through the crisis and cross over with them to into Spirit. Guided by her spirit guides, she had gathered these children from the streets where they wandered lost and dazed. Some had seen their parents and siblings die, others had become separated when the city began to panic and run.

Her guides had told her where to look, where to find each one. Most of them knew her from classes and willingly came. Others had to snared by her will and soothed with light from the calm centre of her auric field. Now she was telling them stories, old prophecies about a time when civilisation would crumble and fall, giving way to a new dawn of light. She embellished here and there, weaving song through her re-telling, her hands and body moving masterfully as she spoke and sang.

The language of her people was never just spoken. Body movement complimented every sound that came forth. A slight tilt of the head and sweep of the hand could change the meaning of a word profoundly. As a teacher, she was well versed in the fine art of communication, number-keeping and story-telling. The added gift of prophetic vision and a keen observant eye meant that the current events were of no surprise to her. The weather had been changing, the animals had been behaving differently and her dreams whispered dark portents.

When she consulted with her guides, she was told over and over again that she could not save her people and that she must simply guide this select group of children through to death with as little trauma as possible. She had argued, to no avail. They insisted, showing her what the fate of these children would be if they lived. The earth shake was kind by comparison.

“We have other plans for them, daughter. They must come to us with their spirit intact so we can send them back when the time is right. Please do this for us. All of your life has been preparation for this moment. Be strong. Keep their eyes bright with wonder even as the walls fall in around you. We promise it will be quick. Just keep them focused on you and take them with you into your light as you die. Look after them for us; guide them to us.”

And so here she was, in this crumbling room, spinning tales of magic fine enough to enchant even her own frightened heart. She had them all now, all gazing up at her as the final giant shudder felled the room. The light of her guides wrapped around her and the children. They rose together as One, merging with the Mother to be reborn another day in form, their destinies yet to be fulfilled.

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