"Chin up. Back straight. Try again." in a soft helpful voice of encouragement.
The scrawny, mousy haired girl had to wear a dress to school. She wanted to wear pants because she moved better in them, faster, plus it was so much more practical when climbing. In her head, as the problems were shown to her she thought, 'one day, I'll change it all'. The courses she was being taught was to do just that, she was just a kid though dreaming of one day wearing 'the pants'.
Head in the clouds she tried the problem one more time, and then one more, till she had tried what felt like a thousand but was only three. "Third times the charm" said her teacher.
Her school was in the desert sands, the first of its kind, one out of fiction till it was not. The concrete block building was small and ugly, there was nothing fancy on the outside. Inside it was bright with colour as the gold light shown through the windows. The Royal Flight school had been decreed by The Sultan that year. The Sultan was a small man and was known to her to visit hidden as someone else. He often didn't want to be seen and if he did he rode on his pale steed, above everyone. He was a grand scene, out of an old story of prophecy, a Khanjar around his waist always; everyone knew when the Khanjar would be revealed their would be death.
There were only a few handfuls of children at the school, none older than 12. The children were the Avant-Garde. They all spoke the same language but in distinctive ways. She was the one that had to learn enunciation specific to one area but indistinctive to region, so nobody would know where she was from they joked. It was not the sweet sing song the other children got to practice, hers was harsher and loud. Later in life she would say to people who asked, "Why are you so loud?" she would come back with, 'because you aren't listening'. She hated it and at age four, she didn't understand the why.
Her name was Kristin.
On a hot sunny day the students were on a play break outside where they would often race. The sound of 'Ready! Steady! Go!' as bodies moved forward at once, the one yelling, still. Kristin took a deep breath, granules of all the past and future came at once. She whispered to no one, 'The storm is coming, I am the storm.' Her teacher on play duty a step away, asked sternly, "What was that you said?!", Kristin replied, "Queue up, a storm is coming" just as the heavens appeared from no where and came to life washing them of the dry dust. It was a marvelous feeling, the wet on skin, this time she was glad she had to wear a dress. She knew that in a few minutes the boys that got to wear pants were going to be uncomfortable and she wouldn't. Her teacher took her by the shoulders just that instant and shook her. Kristin gazed up in fright at the way her teacher had put her hands on her. The Sultan was nearby unseen that day, unannounced. He often rejoiced in the Avant-Garde. He had seen and heard what had happened. Wet like the rest, he walked forth a short man growing taller with ever step, you could feel the earth rumble underneath his feet, his voice thundered,"Let that child of God go!" No one was to touch them. He had been watching this one. She always knew if he was there and would sneak a smile his way and he would wink in turn.
The teacher stricken with fear at the Sultans voice and sight pushed her away. Kristin looked at the Sultan and cried out in explanation, "I was only telling the truth! She just didn't see it!" not knowing what was about to happen, her concerns were of what she had seen before the heavens had opened. When she had yelled 'Go!', at her moment of stillness an ambient vision flew through her. Things she didn't understand yet. The Sultan looked at her already scared face and said, "In the future, remember." Then he winked at her, "Remember that queuing is specific and there is timing to all. We are washed now for the better, do not be afraid." In his perfect accent of Royalty.
Mrs. Brown, the teacher that had shaken her stared. It was a shock to see the Sultan be addressed in such a familiar way, which added to the confusion. His head turned slowly to Mrs. Brown, his left palm up and right hand facing out, "Now for all time, you will see no more and be gone." At this Mrs. Brown knew she would not be walking away.
The Avant-Garde were the children chosen from the lot of the most resourceful war fighters of the west. Royal Flight was where the Sultan would have the children taught the old ways and new. He had been shown in a site, that the Archetype had been born a few years ago. In that same vision bombs were exploding and blood covered the ground. So he made a gathering to find the Archetype. This plan was within plans of many he had. It was also to build leaders and guide them later into places far and wide. Unseen till the time was right. It would unfold when the hidden in plain site would be revealed.
Kristin's fable would be a strange one since before her birth...
Be still and listen
One day I'll tell you a story
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