Melody in Two Voices

Cheetara

When Tygra sleeps, the strain that scars his face vanishes, and I marvel at his youth. He is but little more than 30 seasons old, but with the dawn, the weight of his responsibilities will burden him with age. He possesses the wisdom of one of middle life. The tiger gained such virtue through the sacrifice of his innocence in service to his king. Although he has never acknowledged the judgement rendered long ago by the priests of Savar, he has earned the right to wear the open spiral of one favored by destiny.

Tygra alone understands the frustrations that I endure. When I study the Matrix of History, I curse my fate, for I am a historian who has divined only a meager portion of the knowledge that the magical crystal contains. It mocks me with its silence each time that I try to convince it to yield its secrets. In the tiger's arms, I can forget my failure and my pain. My friend strokes away the turbulent past, and veils the uncertain future with his thoughtful touch. He nourishes my starved spirit with the pleasure of the moment.

Because Talitha has chosen to keep her innocence for a time, Tygra has come to me whenever I have requested joining; unfortunately, our closeness has eroded in direct proportion to the love that has grown between him and his mystic. The release that the tiger experiences with me is the reluctant pleasure of his own need. My desire often transforms into guilt, for I know that he belongs in her bed, not mine. The time of our grand passion is indeed long past. I have never thrived on limitation, but soon, I must confront my aloneness once more.

Tygra and Talitha. The joining of their names shines with life. I envy the mystic her luck. Once this tiger maiden has coupled with the architect, she will have found the joy that I once knew with my beloved Char'ran, whom the silence called too soon.

And yet, who can truly ascertain what the future will bring? Great Meryt cannot solve the genetic problem that our small numbers create, and Tygra hinders us with his refusals. If our race is to continue, he must be made to change his beliefs, and adjust his monogamous nature. Talitha represents one hope, for if Tygra breeds with her, love will have triumphed over his sterile logic which denies to us our biological continuance.

And I will not cede the fight; the call of life must be answered. I have sworn to Miritana to conceive a cub by Tygra. On Thundera, my request for such a mating would have unleashed reprisals from the tiger and cheetah clans. On Third Earth, I have the freedom to answer only to my heart, and make flesh my secret vision.

My dreams constantly remind me of my obligation. A tall young male watches me patiently with his striking green eyes. The robes of a historian conceal most of his orange fur. He is, however, too lean for a tiger, and the white border of his fiery mane is dotted with cheetah spots. He is no stranger; I recognize his father in his handsome face. "When?" he asks quietly. His question always awakens me before I can reply, and I am left to shiver with uneasiness.

My son by Tygra... I will not hasten his arrival with drugs or mystic intervention. When Miritana alone restores my long absent fertility, I will keep my promise. I shall know the rightness of my action in the blessing She conveys. Talitha will respect my son's coming whatever her personal feelings may be. As a mystic, she has served the gods. She will understand that the one that I desire to bring forth has a task to complete.

My melancholy gives way to amusement. I gaze upon the father of my dream cub, and smile. Tygra has begun to snore. The thunderous noise is one that would drive Mumm-Ra from his crypt. In the darkness, I delight in his weakness. It is a comforting sound that I will miss in Panthro's quiet chamber. I gently tug his mane to silence the rumbles. When Talitha cared for Tygra during sickness, she heard his night music. What does the impressionable mystic think of this affliction that plagues her noble lover?

He calls out to her in his dreams, and interrupts my wandering thoughts. His stiffened phallus presses against the linen. I discover within myself not jealousy, but hunger. My eyes feast on his shadowed beauty as I draw back the sheet. I run my hand lightly over his white belly to rouse him. A throaty purr escapes his lips. His prominent nose wrinkles as he adjusts his sight to the moonlight.

A cool breeze drifts through the windows. It cannot quell the summer heat or my ardor. I place his hands where I desire touching. Surprise flickers in his eyes. Yes, again, dear friend. I wish to fill myself with you, so that the memory of your love will sustain me in the lonely seasons to follow.

I eagerly submit to his favor.

*****

Talitha

You have done it again, architect. You look so innocent, and yet, I know how stubborn you are. One day, Tygra, with Mrísena's blessing, I will convince you that healing is tiring work. There is no shame in being a little selfish when it comes to conserving your strength. How foolish you are to think that you could proceed with your normal routine after the efforts of our day.

My poor tiger. The single healing that you performed on the elderly balkin's broken arm drained you, but how can anyone fault your determination? In your devotion to your new calling, you are as disciplined as Tir'shan ever was.

I should let the past slumber; it intrudes into the present when I too am at my weakest, and places the dead before me. Dearest Tir'shan... while you lived, I was too young to know the fullness of my love for you. My friend, what might our future together have held? I knew you far better than the one who now claims my heart. Sometimes in my dreams, it is you, not Tygra, who initiates me into the pleasures of adulthood.

You dwell in the silence, Tir'shan. I must release you from my heart so that Tygra may receive the love that could have been yours. My doubts have slowly withered as I have freed a memory of you with each dawn. In the ripeness of summer, I will finally leave the prison that I have forged with grief and uncertainty. After I have joined with Tygra, will I remember you only when the shadows of night descend? My question goes unanswered, for my future has awakened. His thoughtful regard banishes you from my thoughts, Tir'shan, and sends you home to the past.

Upon your love there is no falsehood, Tygra. Your goodness; your dignity; the inner turmoil that walks with you and renders you so vulnerable to the world's pain; all of these traits and more, fuel the love that I possess for you, until within desire's flame, I burn with a hunger that I cannot satisfy, a wound that I cannot heal.

Do you, architect, imagine me in your bed? What of the other who has slept beside you? You have created a dismal path for Cheetara to walk. To ease her pain, I would willingly share her with you. How can I heal the wedge that you have driven between us all? I could ask you to forego your arguments, but then, I too would play the hypocrite. Although I hope to one day sway you, and thus favor you with a cub, there are demons within myself that I must first exorcise. Despite her steadfastness, even Cheetara has held us back. Has she not finally admitted to me that she has had but one fertility in her life? Still, she has persisted in keeping from me the possible reasons why. She cares not for our help to resolve this problem. She trusts only in the prayers that she offers to Miritana. How can I deride her faith? In truth, I am not confident that I have developed the level of power necessary to help her. You, Tygra, must know some of the secrets locked in her heart, but would not betray her. Perhaps the solution to the equation that we are at a loss to solve rests in a new way of seeing. We mustn't look back to the old laws and customs, but forward to the unknown.

And who am I to be so bold in my thinking, my lord? After half a season in this household, I am still the stranger, the daughter of weavers surrounded by the nobility. Our lives have been very different, Tygra. As the only issue of Siberan, you are comfortable with being alone. I, however, often hear phantom voices in the summer winds, the gentle teasing of my three strong brothers. How often I had hoped that my elders among the mystics would have freed me from my duties, so that I could have spent time with my younger sister. I wish I could have known better this special daughter who was given to my parents in their middle life. Her eternal innocence touched all who knew her.

You stretch, dear Tygra, and I lose my problems once more. Each firm muscle strains your snug uniform as you rise gracefully from your chair. Your beauty sweeps away the dark clouds over my soul. The gods carved your face for strength, but in your amber eyes they left gentleness. Your large hands, shaped from the northern blood of your ancestors, endlessly fascinate me. They can easily snap the neck of an enemy or cradle a cub like a delicate blossom.

Do you know what I have been thinking, architect? It will take many seasons before I can learn to decipher your cryptic smile. You offer your hand, and ask me if I care to walk with you across the verdant plain. Leave our work until tomorrow? Mrísena be blessed, there is hope for you yet, architect.