Flower Dreams

It is too humid today for gardening, but work, as ever, is the medicine that I require, the mystic decided. The kneeling tigress shifted her weight slightly to accommodate the sling that draped across the front of her body and sheltered a human cub. The baby slept soundly against her breast despite her movements. Goddess, I am tired, and could fall asleep as easily as this little one, but nature never waits upon the convenience of others.

"Do you want this orange flower, Si'va'ka?"

That he insists on calling me "teacher" is annoying! she thought. "Th-the nas-nasturtium, yes, please," she stuttered, still flustered by the honor that her pupil had bestowed. Talitha took the plant from the Thundercat who had become her apprentice. Poor Katren, she observed, you really do need another robe. The sleeves and hem have already grown short on the gown that I have made for you.

"And what about this pink mint?" Unused to wearing his new clothing, Katren stumbled toward the collection of plants that she had cultivated by hydroponic means within the Lair, and had planned to add to those whose seeds she had planted directly into the soil. He gathered into his arms a pot of red blossoms. "Or maybe these roses."

The mystic chuckled, but stopped when she noticed his crestfallen expression. "Katren, I was not laughing at you, but at your garment. The hem will be around your waist soon if I don't let it down a bit more. You are growing so fast. I'm afraid your days of kittenhood have truly past."

The youngster's smile had a mischievous cast. "Kitra is upset because I have become taller. My sister doesn't like looking up to me."

"She shouldn't worry. Your twin has also begun to grow into the next phase of life."

"But it's started in her chest, not her legs."

"Katren!" Talitha tossed a clump of dirt at her assistant in punishment only for his rudeness, for despite his observation, his words carried no hidden significance. Until he approached an awakening that lay many seasons in the future, he could not relate sexually to any female.

"It's time we stopped playing, and got back to work," she declared. "Give me the mint. I will deal with the roses later." He wrinkled his nose in distaste at her choice. I suppose he is correct, the mystic thought. He is an artist, and has a color sense superior to my own; however, this flower bed is more than just a decorative statement. The arrangement of the plants in a specific sequence of color and design will elicit a tranquil state of mind from any visitor, and that is the true purpose of our garden.

Inspired by her own insight, the mystic quickly reached a decision. Indeed, this will be our youthful healer's lesson for today. He must understand the powerful role that nature assumes in the healing process.

"Katren, pink is a color that produces a peaceful state of being. It is important that it rest near the heart of the sacred space that we have created."

The youth set his hands on his hips, then looked over the site. "Si'va'ka," he said hesitantly, "how can this place ever become sacred? Slythe murdered your daughter on the very rocks that stand at the center of the design."

Engrossed in her work, she had passed the morning in a state of contentment, but the youth's statement had broken her temporary serenity, and had unleashed the pain that had plagued her since the day of her daughter's death and of Tygra's leaving. You have voiced your mind with conviction, Katren, she thought with sorrow. But I cannot let my problems interfere with my responsibilities. You have asked a question which requires an answer that will instruct.

"The first principle of healing is this: heal all. We do not judge who is or who is not worthy of healing. Our knowledge and help must be available to all, the good as well as the evil. The trees and the stones by their very existence form sacred space. Slythe despoiled the land. As healers, it is our duty to restore and purify what nature has given to us as a gift."

The frowning catling appeared unconvinced by her statement. "Will it help you to understand if I tell you that by sanctifying this area, I will help to heal and cleanse myself of my hurt and my loss?"

Katren dropped down beside her. "Si'va'ka, I didn't mean to add to your pain!"

Talitha set her hand upon his shoulder, and said firmly, "The second lesson for today is this: pain is an essential part of any healing process. The absence of pain is a sure sign of danger."

Katren rested his head upon her thigh, and reclined upon the grass. He asked softly, "Have you forgiven Tygra?"

How do I tell you that the answer to your question is both yes and no? Talitha regarded her charge. His amber eyes were of the same rich shade as those of her departed lover.

Tygra. She wept at twilight when the setting sun marked another day without him. At night, she envisioned the garden and its beauty, and imagined showing him the carpet of colorful flowers. Each bud that opened with his touch sang a prayer for his return.

And yet, despite all the love for her that he had professed, Tygra had chosen self-indulgent pity over the trust and loyalty that she had offered. He had gone from the Lair before the funeral of their cub, a precious daughter given to them as a gift by the gods. Of all the hurts he had delivered, that act of supreme selfishness had ultimately sealed her anger against him.

She had hoped that by assuming alone the responsibility for the rites of silence for her cub that her anger would be released in each hard task that she completed. For five days, she had labored with the rituals and preparations. The other members of the household, whether out of uneasiness or hostility, had complied too easily with her request to be left alone. At the time of burning they had gathered at her side, but had not comforted her heart.

Tygra had never spoken to her the name that he had chosen for their daughter; however, their special bond had revealed the secret to her through a dream. When she had refused to voice a name as ritual required, Panthro had expressed his disagreement by leaving the proceedings before the lighting of the pyre. Kitra had followed the older Thundercat. Their condemnation had shown her that her anger had extended its hideous roots to those in the Lair who had worsened her burden by their disapproval.

But I have not helped the healing process that affects us all, she thought glumly. I had the opportunity to neutralize some of the poison blackening Panthro's heart. What would it have hurt to have given a name to my daughter? All I would have betrayed would have been my sense of loyalty to Tygra. I set my feelings above my obligations.

A butterfly alighted on a yellow flower. Its silver-blue wings lifted gently with the light breeze. The mystic fingered the black stripes in Katren's short, orange mane. "The third lesson I have for you today is this: healing takes time." Shifting to a sitting position, the youngster nodded thoughtfully in response to the indirect answer to his question.

The winged insect delicately probed a long tubular blossom for nectar. My connection to you, Tygra, is as fragile as this creature, Talitha decided as she returned her attention to the flowers. But our bond exists beyond your denial, for my soul knows that you still live. May Mrísena keep you from harm, for I am not ready to die with you.

The baby stirred. Its soft gurgling noises broke the somber calm that had followed her teaching. "Can she be hungry again, Si'va'ka? How greedy this cub is!" Katren huffed as he stood.

"Little ones need to eat quite often." Talitha opened the front of her gown, and put the baby against her left breast. Katren's mouth opened in surprise. Despite his constant attendance upon her during his training, he had not yet seen her nurse. She had simply not given him the opportunity. The others in the Lair had been uncomfortable with the child's presence, and had not understood her decision to nourish the human. The little one had served only to remind them of what they had lost. Respecting their feelings, she had fed the child in seclusion.

I suppose breast-feeding is something Katren needs to understand as natural; however, there is no reason to try teach him everything in one day. He looks so dreadfully confused. She said to the gawking youth, "I forgot to bring some linen squares. Keena is going to need changing soon. Can you please go to the Lair, and fetch me some?"

"Of course, Si'va'ka," the cat answered with relief. As he dwindled to an indistinct shape in the distance, Talitha carefully counted the number of times that he almost tripped over the folds of his robe.

The mystic gently patted the suckling child who had lost her warrior mother. Myril had died during a hunt. Princess Nayda had brought the orphan to the Lair. Queen Willa had remembered her request for a baby to nurse, and had honored it.

I am in your debt, Myril, my sister in the silence, Talitha thought solemnly. Your little gift has kept the darkness at bay, and has helped in my recovery. Although my breasts are still full, my rounded belly has flattened with nursing. The child reached up for a lock of her long mane, and gave a surprisingly strong tug. She said to the brown baby, "Tending to your needs night and day has certainly given me plenty of work. In part, I owe my good condition to your demands." That and exercising at every free moment, she decided as she stroked the baby's cap of black hair. In this alone have I won the admiration of Panthro.

A lone, puffy cloud blocked the sun. The shadows it created matched those that the grey warrior had cast in the Lair. His mood had grown as dark as his fur. The reticent panther paced the corridors of the fortress like a grim servant of the silence. His relationship with Cheetara had become lifeless and formal even though he had not held her at fault for the disaster that had ensued. He had found consolation for his black moods only in his unspoken alliance with Kitra.

The wedge of enmity that Panthro and Kitra had forged against her had taken different forms. The grey warrior's stiff expression clearly mirrored the cold blame and lack of forgiveness that he held against her. She had yet to make him understand that it was neither her responsibility nor her right to have prevented Tygra's departure. Mystic law demanded that the tiger be the architect of his own fate. It had also not been her fault that Lion-o had chosen stronger measures than she had intended when she had suggested that Tygra be freed from the Lair.

How could she not have seen Kitra's attachment to Tygra. Katren's quiet nature had converted his shock into sympathy for her, but Kitra's rage had burned more hotly against her with each passing sun. She had often thanked the gods that her encounters with the youngster had been brief.

When the kittens had begun to undergo the physical changes that marked them as catlings, she had eagerly petitioned for the right to train Katren as a healer. Council leader Cheetara had suggested that Kitra's excellent memory made her a prime candidate for instruction as a historian. Panthro had suggested that she be trained as an engineer to preserve their knowledge of technology. Lion-o had settled the debate by insisting that everyone gain greater familiarity with the Lair's systems. Kitra possessed the talent necessary to develop into a fine dancer, but she had surrendered that secret desire. The young female had clearly seen that her responsibility rested in more important areas. She had accepted Lion-o's decree that she become an historian without complaint. Cheetara had won the right to train the hostile twin, but had also gained her antagonism. With her aloofness, Kitra had made clear her accusation that Cheetara should have prevented the tragedy that had struck the Lair by heeding the precognitive dream her mind gift had given. The cheetah, for her part, had not dissuaded the young female from her belief, for she equally held herself accountable for failing to foresee the evil that had claimed their unborn cub.

I wonder which is greater: Kitra's hatred or Cheetara's guilt? Talitha thought. I know which is harder for me to accept. Cheetara avoids me as much as Kitra even though she knows that I bear her no ill will. I miss her companionship.

There seems to be no way to balance everyone's feelings toward me in light of what has happened. The attention that Snarf gives to me is overcompensating and stifling, but I cannot hurt the old one by stating this. Lion-o values my advice, and has sought my company, but he has changed. He has built a barrier within our friendship beyond which I cannot pass. He has learned that to govern effectively, a king must limit his intimacy with his subjects. And yet, I can see in his eyes the hurt that banishing Tygra created. I feel his sympathy, and for that openness I am grateful. His depth of feeling will help Tygra to return, for it will provide a door that he has yet to realize exists.

The pull at her breast ceased. "All done, little one?" The baby smiled as if she had understood her question. The mystic burped the infant, then rearranged her clothes. The child squirmed in its sling, and showed no desire to resume its nap. Talitha asked her charge, "Shall we walk?" The baby cooed and drooled with delight.

The mystic approached the large flat stone upon which her daughter had died 60 suns past. With ritual and prayer, she had transformed the site of evil to a haven of light. She allowed her gaze to linger on the objects placed on the rock's surface. A layer of flower petals formed a soft covering for the altar to Mrísena. Her statue of the Goddess blended harmoniously with the pine branches that circled it. Age and the elements had smoothed the features of the wooden deity, which her father had presented to her on her eleventh birthday, and had given the statue an air of serenity that hinted at the healing nature of time. "Mrísena, show Tygra the strength within himself, so that one day he can conquer the fear in his heart."

The mystic reached for the second statue that guarded the holy circle. Talitha fingered the long, tapering wings that characterized the Lord of Knowledge. "Irri'in, show Tygra the great knowledge that he possesses, so that he can find the road home," she begged. The handsome face regarded her with kindness and amusement. The wolo who had carved the idol had captured well Tygra's features. She had presented the carving to the architect as a gift to celebrate his thirty-first birthday. How shocked he had been when he had recognized the face of the god as his own.

The mystic bowed respectfully before the altar. All of her hope for Tygra's salvation rested with the mercy of the gods. She had called upon another to help her lover. During the first days of spring, she had held a vigil before the pyramid of Meryt, but the priestess had not answered her summons. "I was foolish not to see that it must be this way," she said to the baby. "Meryt is bound to a code as strong as the one that mystics know. In the end, Tygra can save himself only by looking within himself. May the gods open his eyes."

The mystic seated herself upon a small stone. She pressed the blades of grass down with her sandals to distract herself from the growing melancholy that had threatened her prayers.

"Si'va'ka!"

Talitha turned toward the source of the cry. Her apprentice darted across the broad plain. He has good timing, a perfect quality for a healer, she thought with admiration. None has done a better job than him to lift my spirits during this dark time. His virtue deserves reward.

"Ho, Katren!" she shouted as he drew near. "We have labored long; our work has ended for this morning. Let us leave the garden, and seize the day!"