Crumpled Wings

A cool breeze wafted through the fissures in the rock. It toyed with a strip of cloth that dangled from the merchant's turban, which kept his maneless head warm. The richly dressed Felinari'i eyed the colossus that walked beside him. For some time they had traversed a rough path that wound through a tunnel that cut deep into the heart of a mountain.

The way is primitive. We navigate only by torch. How can I believe that this one's elders are responsible for the creation of the universe? Ba'sir wondered. The flickering light glinted off the golden torque that the strange being wore, its only covering on its sexless body. The individual, whom he had named Zak'shan for his own convenience, was at least twice his own formidable height. The shadows hid well the rich hues of its yellow-brown fur. It lowered its long neck to prevent its wedged-shaped head from scraping an outcrop of crystal. It snorted. The show of emotion matched that of an annoyed prince.

Ba'sir reconsidered his doubts. His people have developed a light-drive that can transport a spaceship to its destination in an instant, an incredible engineering achievement. The obese panther tightened his grip on the staff that he used to ease his way over the rough terrain. Damn the incongruity!

The sameness of the rock changed. A huge wooden door appeared. Now it becomes interesting, Ba'sir decided. The masters must play their role. "Shall I open it or you?" he asked the atdira'savi.

Its six-fingered hand gently touched his shoulder. Ba'sir cringed, displeased by the intimacy Zak'shan displayed. The being's small mouth twisted into a comforting smile. *Observe,* it communicated telepathically. The creature made complex gestures, but Ba'sir guessed that the dramatic movements were only for his benefit. The great door opened slowly, manipulated, he deduced, by his companion's powerful mind gifts. The merchant recalled a line in a dusty tome that his mentor Mri'rai'den had once shown him: "Abandon hope all ye who enter." The panther sighed. I have been doing that for more seasons than I can remember.

Ba'sir indicated the door. "After you," he said, sarcasm poisoning his tone.

*Despite your girth, we can both cross at once,* it retorted.

They entered a cavern. The ceiling now disappeared into the darkness that their weak light could not pierce. The air grew hot. Beads of moisture formed on the stalagmites scattered across the chamber. A hint of salt made Ba'sir's nose twitch. An inlet to the sea? he wondered, digging his boot into the damp, sandy earth.

Zak'shan pointed to a pair of figures discernable in the distance only because another torch rested on a flat boulder. Felinari'i and atdira'savi. Another pair like us, Ba'sir observed. He reckoned that the Thunderan measured close to his own height; the alien, although slightly stooped, matched the height of Zak'shan. The merchant caught the crisp inflections of a western Thunderan accent from the Felinari'i, who was unaware of their presence since he faced his own partner. Although he could not clearly hear the words, the baritone voice overflowed with concern. As they quietly approached, the merchant noted that his fellow Thunderan belonged to the white tiger clan. A trail of blue, the edge of the tiger's sleeve, flashed through the shadows with his expressive movements.

Ba'sir noticed two nubs of velvety flesh that sprouted from the other atdira'savi's head. He must be my escort's elder, the merchant judged, considering the differences in their appearances to be a sign of rank and age.

The ancient one nodded to acknowledge their presence. The tiger quickly spun around. The elder greeted its comrade with a plaintive cry which mimicked the sound of great horn. Zak'shan's response shook the walls.

"Ten thousand gods!" Ba'sir shouted in Thunderan, covering his ears to block out the noise. "Do they always do that!"

"Often, elder," the tiger replied, unruffled by the blasts.

The merchant slowly lowered his hands, and appraised the robed Felinari'i. The tiger was clearly in the prime of his life, ruggedly handsome and as solidly built as any northern warrior. Ba'sir rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He has a half a foot over me easily, he decided. Whose bastard is he, and what red clan did his white ancestors contaminate? What have these conspirators told him? Ba'sir wondered, glancing in turn at both atdira'savi, who watched them intently, scientists observing two interesting specimens. He is as cool as the snows of the mountains, and doesn't seem dismayed about meeting a stranger such as myself.

The tiger said, "I am called Tir'shan. I have awaited your arrival with much anticipation, Ba'sir."

The merchant put one plump hand over his mouth, trying to quiet his laughter. The tiger raised his dark brown eyebrows in vexation. Ba'sir bowed deeply, and said, "Forgive me." He straightened, still smiling. "Have you complained to your parents about your name? 'Little mountain', indeed!"

"Have you complained to yours," the tiger snapped, "or are you truly 'discerning', and only pretending to be a fool!"

The heat rose to the merchant's face. Watch this one, he warned himself. Ba'sir gripped his staff tighter to defuse his anger. He avoided a direct reply, and said instead, "Let us concentrate on our purpose here. If you don't already know, these beings wish to evict your people from their world."

"Are they not your people as well, elder?" the tiger replied sharply.

The observation hurt Ba'sir's pride. "Yes, they are mine as well," he admitted hotly, "but it has been only recently, after many tortuous seasons, that I have finally stumbled upon others of my kind. Few Felinari slaves survived the punishments in space found along the Mutant trade routes. Perhaps I need to be reeducated in Thunderan etiquette!"

The tiger unexpectedly opened his hands in a gesture of peace. His blue eyes had widened; all hostility had drained from his manner. "Mrísena heal your pain," he said softly. "They only told me your name, and that you have found others of our kind, but not the details of your suffering or theirs."

Ba'sir put his hand to his broad chest feeling the cut of insight. Is this one also a healer like the little white tigress Talitha? His clothing and manner would suggest it. Purposely not alluding to the Thunderans on Third Earth, he blurted innocently, "Are you a mystic?"

Tilting his head slightly to one side, the tiger eyed him with suspicion. "Have you never met a mystic? Our numbers have always been small, but...." The mystic quieted. His eyes narrowed in concentration. "A'tri'i?"

Let us mislead Tir'shan for as long as it suits us, Ba'sir decided. Holding on to his secrets, the merchant replied casually, "If you expect me to admit to being an outcast, then you are a greater fool than I."

The mystic fell easily into his deceit. "Well said, elder," Tir'shan commented with a chuckle, ceasing his prying comments.

*They come!* the atdira'savi suddenly chorused. The giants walked ahead and disappeared into the gloom.

Ba'sir hands flew to head. "Gods! What in the seven hells did they mean, and where did they go?"

"The asira'savi, their brethren, have arrived. We must go to the sacred pool."

"And do what?" Ba'sir grumbled.

"You will learn. Come. There is no danger. This I promise, and so, I am confidant, does my friend Eri'mintálí."

"'Sad music'?" the merchant questioned.

"That is how he sounds in my mind. Haven't you named the young one who has entered your thoughts?"

"I try to ignore it and the touch of its mind as much as possible," Ba'sir replied, refusing to admit that the appellation he had selected for his escort was an insult. He aimed his staff in the direction of the pool. "Lead on, mystic," he said abruptly.

Flattened stones replaced the loose soil as they forged ahead. Stopping at the edge of the pool with his associates, Ba'sir watched the waters churn from a submerged swarm. A dorsal fin finally broke through the surface. Feathery gills flared wildly from the enormous serpent's triangular head. It's black eyes made him shiver, for they burned with vast knowledge and power.

A second crested water snake rose next to the first. Eri'mintálí and Zak'shan bellowed in greeting.

*Enter,* the serpents ordered.

Tir'shan touched Ba'sir's wrist, but the stunned merchant paid no heed. The mystic's voice had become to him a faint, insistent noise. "We must disrobe, so that we may do their bidding. Once we enter the water, they will take us in their coils. That is one aspect of their communication, but it is not--"

"Never!" Ba'sir declared, overwhelmed by the test he faced. "I will tolerate no more invasions of my mind or my body." His heart pounded with anger and fear. Earth and water began to spin around him. The merchant leaned upon his staff, closed his eyes and prayed for the dizzying nightmare in which he was trapped to end.

*Submit, Ba'sir,* the hissing voices commanded, each syllable tearing his brain. *Your magic cannot match ours.*

"No!" he choked.

The mystic's cries resounded in Ba'sir's darkness. "Please don't let them harm him! He does not understand the extent of their might."

*You will learn, Ba'sir,* the asira'savi mocked, eavesdroppers to the mystic's pleas to the atdira'savi.

Fire erupted in the merchant's gut. He cried out and fell. He eyes opened, and burned with the scarlet light that surrounded him. His mouth pulled back into a forced grin under the forces pulling him apart. His clothing entangled him. His flesh roiled in a excruciating metamorphosis.

"Don't do this!" Tir'shan wailed.

Ba'sir escaped into an eternal emptiness free of pain and thought.

*****

The aroma of mint wafting on a light wind reached the merchant. His body, a weight of unnatural lightness reclining on a soft bed of unending blackness, protected his mind. He felt a measure of peace. I am safe, Ba'sir decided, more from intuition than evidence. But where?

Sounds slowly drifted into his consciousness. The rustling of leaves gave way to the crackling of fire, and finally the persistent footfalls of someone who walked barefoot.

Confident of his corporeal existence, Ba'sir ordered his eyes to open. Color flooded his sight. He wheezed in distress, the assault of daylight quickly resealing his eyes, and plunging him once again into the unending void.

The pacing changed. Fabric brushed stone. A door closed. Someone sat by his side. "Thank Mrísena, and all the gods, you've come back!" a husky voice praised.

The merchant attempted to reply to the sound, but all he could do was cough.

The invisible agent grasped his right hand. "As a mystic I can help you, but you must give me your permission, Ba'sir. I have held back because of your...sensitivity."

"T...ir...sh...an," the merchant croaked, startled by the weakness he heard in his voice.

"Don't talk. Just squeeze my hand if you want me to help."

Another invasion? Ba'sir wondered, his cognition the consistency of congealed soup.

"Ba'sir?"

Only choice.

"Do...s...o," he answered, ignoring the first command, but following the second.

"I will not stay long, I give you my word on this."

Another promise? Ba'sir wondered, anxiety making a knot of his spine.

The mystic's hands pressed against his neck. Heat entered Ba'sir's body. As moments passed, he felt himself grow stronger, as if the treatment fed his cells and restored his body to a greater solidity. Still, he sensed that something was not right in his being.

The power ebbed. "Try to open you eyes, but slowly," Tir'shan asked.

Ba'sir followed the mystic's instructions without complaint or deviation. His eyes did not hurt. Less sunlight now made it into the room. He suddenly found himself judging the visage that loomed over him in a stream of thoughts, cataloguing the mystic's reality to relate to his own.

Long, long, braid, just like a northerner, like my red clan father, but framing a pleasing, white tiger face. Light brown nose and cheeks. A mane of dark brown stripes mixed with more light brown on a field of more white. Eyes the color of the sky. So damn beautiful. Beauty can drown.

Fire? Ba'sir turned onto his side. The edge of a finely woven blanket slipped off his shoulder. He felt reeds beneath his hand, and noted that he lay near the hearth upon a large mat partially cushioned with blankets. The yellow glow should have reflected off stone, not the bare earth before him. His sodden brain tried to make sense of the paradox. A step ringed the dirt depression by the hearth. The few tiles that he could see from the floor that rose above the pit were soothing shades of green and brown.

Eccentric? he wondered. The merchant licked his lips, the thin layer of fine hairs tickling his tongue. Drunk. Or ill? Not sure. Not sure. He tried to sit up, and immediately realized the foolishness of his action. He tipped over into the arms of the mystic.

Ba'sir's long unbound hair, black fringed with white, draped his chest. The blanket had fallen to his hips. He gazed down at his flat belly. Gods!" he gasped, finally realizing that the form he currently possessed was his true one. The serpent magic had stripped him of his middle-aged, abundantly fleshed disguise.

"That was not a wise move, Ba'sir," Tir'shan scolded, helping him to lay back down, then covering him with the blanket. "I could only stabilize you, and no more. The life forces within you flow in odd patterns that I don't understand."

How long will he torment me before he mentions my metamorphosis? Ba'sir wondered, his thoughts arriving now with greater ease, a benefit of the healing.

Tir'shan commented, "No one within these halls yet knows what has transpired this day; I do not know how long I can keep your presence a secret." The mystic frowned, opened his mouth to speak, then decided against words.

The white tiger lightly touched the merchant's forehead. Whatever Ba'sir had planned to say remained unvoiced as the room began to spin about him, and the darkness devoured him once more.

*****

Many aromas assailed the merchant's senses. This time Ba'sir awoke with less difficulty. Although he still rested on a cushioned mat, a fluffy pillow now cradled his head. A nice concession, he thought, giving the mystic's action a positive appraisal.

The sun had set. Only a few candles softly illuminated a small circle within Tir'shan's quarters. Feeling stronger, the merchant sat up. He rearranged the blanket, so that it clad his body like a robe.

To his satisfaction, he did not become dizzy. Rubbing the fatigue from his eyes, he assessed his situation. Changes to my form aside, something is definitely not right within me. What else have those demon serpents done? Ba'sir wondered. He extended his arms and stretched. He looked down upon the long fingers of his thin, young hands. Have they permanently restored me to my true form and the flow of time? The concept frightened him as he considered the extent of their power. Should I thank them rather than curse them? he thought, unsure of his feelings.

A figure moved. It rose from what the merchant guessed to be a high-backed chair partially camouflaged by the shadows. The being was far shorter than either he or the tiger. As it entered the light, Ba'sir marked the light grey color and dark spots of one of the snow leopard clan.

A faint perfume, sweet with florals, lingered on its mauve robes. From the individual's movement and manner, he surmised that the flowing fabric veiled a female body.

The Felinaria sat on the step made by the floor. Her grey-green eyes, long like his own, conveyed a measure of serenity. "You can sit, and that is good. Perhaps you are feeling strong enough to eat." Her mouth creased into a smile. "Tir'shan said that your meeting with the asira'savi caused you to lose some weight." She giggled, "Tir'shan keeps his secrets well, but fate sent me here to learn, a price he had to pay for me to watch his 'special' charge."

The voice that had spoken was deeper than he anticipated, and somewhat mocking. "Jest not with me," Ba'sir hissed, insulted by her remark, and shaken by his dwindling confidence in his judgement.

The female pulled back as if she had been slapped for her insolence. Her shock made her delicately beautiful face even more striking. Guilt made a clean stab at the merchant's heart, and he cursed his insensitivity.

I'll remedy this! Taking care, Ba'sir slowly stood. Once he was certain that he would not fall over, he smiled weakly. "I am Ba'sir, and I am usually not so foul-tempered fair one," he remarked. He offered his hand in both a gesture of greeting and of peace.

"I have too coarse a tongue. Forgive me," the female apologized, accepting in his hand, and rising. "I am Ryndi." She surveyed him from his feet to his crown. "Few are almost as tall as Tir'shan," she said with admiration.

"The benefits of mixed blood," Ba'sir remarked. He released her hand as soon as he spoke, astonished that he had admitted his heritage so easily to a stranger.

"No judgements," Ryndi said, sensing his discomfort. She indicated the chair. "Better sit, my friend. No telling when your legs will give way. You're still weak. I will prepare a bowl of soup for you."

The mention of food made his empty stomach grumble. "Excellent," Ba'sir answered, grateful for the diversion. He pulled the covering more tightly about himself to shroud a body that he was not used to wearing.

The merchant disappeared into the shadows, and took his seat. A cursory glance about the sparsely decorated room told him that it was circular. He noted with interest that the mystic's quarters had only one window, but two doors. The slight movement of the curtains covering one portal suggested that it opened to the outside. The frosty air that skittered across the tiles made his toes cold. Ba'sir considered inquiring about the location of his clothing as he dug his chilled feet in the blanket's edge. But there is more to concern me than the weather, he thought glumly. He cupped his hands, and sang softly. No light appeared on his palms. Gone, he thought clenching his fists. They have stolen my magic too. Rage swept over him like a swift current. Until that moment, he hadn't truly believed that the serpents had stolen his power, that for which he had sacrificed greatly.

The snow leopard unexpectedly appeared before him like an apparition. She cheerfully set down a tray on the small stand by his chair. A wisp of steam rose from the bowl of vegetable soup. "I'm sure you'll like it, but let it cool first," Ryndi cautioned.

The scent of flowers intruded upon his fury. Her calmness and jocularity fueled it to the point of irrationality. How can they let these beasts control their lives! Ba'sir raised his fist, and slammed it down on the stand. The wood splintered, and the soup flew, splattering Ryndi. The show leopard cursed vehemently in a manner uncommon to females. "How dare you!" she shrieked, eyes wet with tears and pain. With a fury to equal his own, the Felinaria slapped the merchant's face. The force of the blow almost knocked Ba'sir out of his chair, and froze his rage. "Your arrogance caused the serpents to attack! May they punish you more!" Ryndi declared. She turned on her heels, then fled from the room.

"Wait!" Ba'sir shouted. He tried to rise, but became trapped in the blanket. With a misstep, he fell onto the tiles. His right foot twisted, and a spear of pain lanced his leg. He pawed at his ankle, and gasped, "Gods be damned."

"At least you should be!" the mystic snarled, slamming the door behind him as he returned. "How dare you show such disrespect." The white tiger gave him no chance to explain or apologize. Tir'shan pulled him to his feet, then pushed him back onto the chair. The merchant offered no resistance. The Felinari'i stared into his eyes, then spat a curse. He placed his hands on his hips, and demanded, "I cannot help you unless you tell me everything about the trauma you have suffered at the bidding of the asira'savi."

The healer was direct and unapologetic for his roughness. Ba'sir agreed inwardly that it was what he had earned for not controlling his rage. His throat tightened until he thought that he would choke, but he pushed the words past the knotted tissue. "The story is a long one."

"You should allow him to tell it after he has recovered from his shock." The reprimand had come from a white tigress of middle-age who had entered the room with Ryndi by her side. Her blue robes suggested that she too was a mystic.

Tir'shan frowned, apparently unsure of what to reply to his elder. "Before he doused me with broth, this one seemed well enough to converse with me, Te'sara," Ryndi huffed without doubt. "These silks are ruined!" she added, indicating her splattered clothing.

"I will make amends, fair one," Ba'sir replied. "Xian silk is the finest in all the quadrants."

Ryndi arched her dark eyebrows. "A merchant?"

Ba'sir nodded. He shifted slightly on the chair, then winced, the pain in his ankle intensifying.

"Tir'shan!" the tigress named Te'sara commanded.

The younger healer bowed in obedience. He knelt by the merchant. "May I heal this new injury?"

"Yes." Relief came quickly in the violet light that spilt from the healer's hands. Ba'sir wondered whether his own healing skills, born of his magic, would ever be restored.

A feminine hand grasped his own. "Tell us of your suffering. The love of V'sri'sar will shield you," Ryndi murmured.

Her fur and flesh were soft, but the hand, despite its delicacy, contained strength. "Do you serve this deity?" Ba'sir asked.

Her laughter tinkled like wind chimes. "I am the Li'am'ra."

The merchant's mouth opened in surprise as he realized that the snow leopard was an o'lathi, a being both male and female, like the deity that she served as the chief priest of her order.

"You can consider Ryndi what you like," Te'sara quipped, sensing his dilemma. "Most of us prefer to view the Li'am'ra as male."

"But some enlightened beings see me as female," the snow leopard answered in kind.

She squeezed Ba'sir's hand. "It makes no difference to me, for I see myself only as o'lathi, like my Master."

The merchant rested his elbow on the arms of the chair. He lowered his head onto his palms in weariness. What new shocks await me? he wondered in dismay.

"Let this young one rest," Te'sara scolded Tir'shan. "You can question him later."

"How long to you think that we can keep his presence hidden!" the mystic protested.

Ba'sir straightened. "No more squabbling," he sighed. "I will tell you all that you wish to know." I have no choice anyway, he decided glumly, considering his present condition.

Ryndi walked behind his chair. The snow leopard began to massage his neck. Ba'sir's spine melted in relaxation. "No talk before tea," she purred.

*****

The heat from the mug soothed Ba'sir's hands. The twisting vapors from the fragrant tea gave him a neutral point on which to focus. He avoided gazing upon the three Thunderans, who studied him with varying degrees of interest.

"I was born in a village of outcasts located deep within the northern mountains," he said softly. "It was not on any Thunderan map, but it had the distinction of having been the first site of Mutant invasion and destruction."

"But Men'di was the first," Te'sara remarked. The tigress sat on a three-legged stool by the fire. She grabbed another branch, and casually fed it to the blaze, as if she cared little for what he had to say.

"Not true. But what historian would care about the fate of a'tri'i?"

The snow leopard sat by his feet, her knees drawn close to her body, arms wrapped around legs. "The Mutants invaded Men'di in the winter," Ryndi commented. "When did they come to you?" The glints of light from the large candle by her side illuminated them both. It made her grey-white fur shimmer, the black spots dancing. Ba'sir doubted that he could ever consider her male, despite what her clothing concealed.

"The summer before," he answered, "the only time the harshness of our mountain home eased."

"Was everyone slain, as at Men'di?" Tir'shan asked. The tall Thunderan leaned against the curtained door to the outside, a shadowy figure beyond the perimeter of light.

"No. Those that lived, such as myself and my parents, were taken into slavery, commodities for sale on trading routes of space."

"Incredible!" Te'sara replied, her false ennui dispersed. "Many have speculated about Mutant slavery, but no one has ever proved that it occurred."

"Many times," Ba'sir sighed. Too many times, he thought, and yet, what good have I done stopping it.

"Ba'sir, just how old are you?" Ryndi inquired, voicing the question that the others had skillfully chosen not to ask. "You seem now to be barely past the age of awakening."

"Unlike Ryndi, I haven't told you of his other form," Tir'shan said to Te'sara. "He was fat and nearing middle age when I first met him."

"Then are you a mage?" the tigress queried in a stern tone that sounded like an accusation.

So many questions, but where to begin? With the only one not judging me with each word, Ba'sir decided. He smiled at the snow leopard. "I prefer not to deal with exact numbers. Let's just say that I am somewhere between 90 and 95 seasons old."

"You are a mage!" Te'sara exclaimed.

"Yes, honorable one, but the great irony is that the form that you see before you is my true one," Ba'sir replied. "I have not aged in many seasons. To present myself at my true age, or as one fat and middle-aged," he added with a nod to Tir'shan, "I must use my magic." His resonant voice dropped to a feeble whisper. "The serpents have stolen my power; I am not sure whether they have returned me to the flow of time."

Ryndi lightly touched his knee. "Who taught you?" The innocence of the question deepened his melancholy, although the younger Thunderan had tried to divert his attention from his problem.

"One who rescued me from slavery; one to whom I swore an oath. My greatest magic was his last gift to me, but one for which I paid for dearly." Ba'sir rubbed the arms of his chair hoping to reawaken his body from the numbness that had crept into it. "I have used my power over many seasons searching for others of our kind trapped in slavery. I have met with little success."

"Tell us now of the others." The excitement in Tir'shan's voice revealed that this was the question that he had sought to ask from the beginning of their meeting.

The merchant considered what he had learned from Panthro and Talitha. Who is it that you wish to find, mystic? Ba'sir wondered. Talitha, perhaps, your "sister" in healing? And what of the others? How much dare I reveal? What is best left for you to discover?

"Counting the snarf, there are twelve Thunderans in all," the merchant remarked cautiously. "Four slaves I rescued from the planet Zera. My spaceship was in need of repair. We landed on a planet in an insignificant solar system. To my surprise, a Felinari'i discovered us, a Sev'rati warrior. This Panthro had a small flying craft. We were on an island. He took my charges across the sea, and back to the fortress where the others in his group dwelt."

"From whence did they come?" Te'sara piped.

"Of that I am uncertain," Ba'sir said, adding to his lies and half-truths. "The ones who came with me needed medical attention which the others could provide." His brow unconsciously furrowed with the truth. Although my healing skills do have limits with respect to others, I had not wanted to reveal my magic or my disguise. The irony was that I failed even in this. Panthro learned my secrets. At least in the end he respected my wishes for privacy.

"Was anyone a mystic?" Tir'shan asked hopefully.

Ba'sir shrugged. "That I do not know. You must understand that small talk was not my prime concern." His edited revelations made Ryndi's eyes go grey. In the darkness, Tir'shan sighed. The frown on Te'sara's plain face suggested that she had doubted his words. Trying to convince her of his sincerity, Ba'sir said demurely, "I can at least tell you that those whom I rescued were of the masses, but the others, whom I did not meet, were, like the panther, from noble houses. I did not ask for their names. But I will tell you this: Panthro said that their leader on this Third Earth was the son of Thundera's last king."

"Lion-o!" Te'sara gasped. "The royal cruiser must have survived Thundera's ending."

"That will make things difficult if we travel to this new world," Ryndi commented dryly. "Lir may be willing to relinquish his crown, but his relatives may not want to discard their new status so easily. Isn't that so Tir'shan?"

The tall mystic sank to the floor, caring little for the politics of the situation.

I was correct about your heart's name, Ba'sir thought. My friend, your pain will only worsen because Talitha has found another. Let her tell you, not I, of her new love.

The tigress approached Tir'shan. "I am sorry," she said, looking down upon the other mystic. "The gods had their reason for taking Servalla, Talitha and all our people who died on Thundera's last day. We have survived only because of Ta'hir's courage. He broke the light-drive crystals of our spaceship with the intention of destroying us, but instead, his action saved us. For the sake of his sacrifice, and that which he has suffered--the reproach of others, his self-inflicted exile--you, Tir'shan, must be strong. The asira'savi will only speak to us through you."

She pointed to the merchant. "He has a spaceship, our transport to this new world. If the serpents have punished him, perhaps they mean to punish us too. You must not give them that chance. My place is here. As our liaison to these creatures, you must take Ba'sir back, and try to talk to them again."

"I suppose my desires play no role in this," Ba'sir remarked with black humor.

"Not unless you wish to remain as you are," the tigress snapped, "a crippled mage."

Before the sting of the words could anger the merchant, the snow leopard interceded. "Ba'sir, you must give yourself to the serpents as they wish," Ryndi interrupted. "You must acknowledge them as your betters, and count on their mercy."

Tir'shan rose, then stepped into the circle of light. "It is the way back to the right road, Ba'sir," he said, finality tinting his words.

The merchant marked the sadness that weighed upon the mystic. He has accepted his duty. Can I do no less? Despite the coziness of the room, a chill came over him as he pondered the trial he had already failed once. But to be so exposed!

An airy voice whispered into his ear. "I will enter the waters with you." The snow leopard now standing by his shoulder brushed the strands of his mane gently, and smiled. "The asira'savi won't dare to destroy two priests."

"I am not a priest," Ba'sir remarked.

"No, but like commanding Te'sara, Tir'shan is. And remember: where there is love, no evil can enter," the snow leopard answered with conviction. Her hands bunched into fists, and feet planted apart, she radiated a power that belied her shorter stature until it seemed that she was the tallest in the room.

I hate the road that they insist I travel, and yet I know, it is also the only possible way back to my magic, and my freedom. Ba'sir slapped the arms of the chair. "Let's go back before I reconsider," he growled.

"Is he well enough?" Ryndi questioned.

Tir'shan nodded. "Sooner is better."

"Then you'd better call for the atdira'savi with the torque. He has the ability to take you back to the pool unseen, and so allow us to keep this fragile secret a little longer," Te'sara commanded. The sleeve of her robe slid over her elbow as she waved her hand vigorously. "All the gods go with you," the tigress declared.

With these beings nothing goes as planned, Te'sara, Ba'sir thought grimly. I wonder if my spaceship even remains where I landed it! He followed the flames rising from the hearth. A foolish notion. Even if it still rests in the mountain valley, I certainly would not be able to find it on my own.

*****

Zak'shan had returned them to the sacred site, then had quickly departed without explanation. The serpents, now three, were no less frightening than on the merchant's first exposure to the asira'savi. Although he wore loose trousers, a tunic, and slippers borrowed from Tir'shan, Ba'sir felt their dark gaze move over him as if he were naked. He wondered if they planned to flay him for his past transgressions. Perhaps they were not satisfied the first time, the merchant thought with a shudder.

The snow leopard's murmurs distracted him from his troubles. "Follow after Tir'shan and me," she said. "If you see how they react, which, I am afraid, is hard to describe, it will be easier for you to proceed."

"This time give no offense," Tir'shan warned. "Observe what happens, and exhibit no concern for our welfare. They will tell you when to enter. When you do, expect to share in our experience."

Ba'sir nodded as he watched the two priests disrobe. Tir'shan was as strongly built as a mountain, and more than aptly equipped for a male. Ryndi revealed her secrets, and that left him mute. Her garment had masked her wide shoulders, which tapered to a narrow waist. The flare of her hips, however slight, was decidedly female. As she moved, he followed the small, gentle curves of her breasts down her faintly rounded belly to the incongruity of her phallus. She lack a scrotum. However, the white-furred flesh that protected her femaleness was large and thick, two great petals that perfectly balanced her unique form. Ba'sir rapidly switched his sights to the serpents to kill his unexpected desire for o'lathi.

The two smaller asira'savi wrapped their bodies around the priests once they entered the pool. In an instant, the serpents pulled the pair under the water. The swiftness of the action made Ba'sir forget the mystic's warning. He shouted in dismay to the largest asira'savi, "Don't punish them for my offense!" Still clothed, he ran into the dark lagoon.

A blaze of silver light emanated from beneath the water. Ba'sir flung his arms across his eyes to block out the intense illumination. The serpent knocked the merchant off his feet. He cried out, struggling with water and asira'savi. It ripped the clothing from his body. In an instant, the creature had him trapped, and drove him under the water.

Immediately, Ba'sir found himself surrounded by the serpent and the silver brilliance to which his eyes adjusted faster than he had anticipated. To his amazement, he discovered that he could breathe normally. Not understanding the spell that protected him, and fearful of swallowing a mouthful of watery radiance, he chose not to speak. The serpent glared at him, its dark eyes narrowing in annoyance. It fanned its feathery gills forward, and entwined the delicate tendrils in his mane. Despite his lack of mind gifts, the merchant protested with his thoughts, No! This is not right! He had objected to the intrusion, but was convinced that the beast had ignored his protests.

The light in his magical cocoon changed to a soft violet. Pleasure roared throughout his floating body, and made itself apparent. He felt ashamed, but could do nothing. To his astonishment, he suddenly relaxed. To his horror, his soul opened, flooding the light with all that he had ever experienced. He drifted in the rainbows made by his mind, helpless to stop the violation, unable to cry.

The rainbows faded into the silver. The unwanted pleasure, although still present lessened in intensity. *Now we understand better* the serpent remarked.

The alien had exposed him with the same coldness as the slavers on Cestus Five. At least he had eventually taken his revenge on his enemies. Although powerless now, Ba'sir reached for the anger in his soul which had served him well over many difficult seasons. You say that you created all that is. Do you not respect your creations? You had no right to do this! he screamed his thoughts.

*We have placed limits upon ourselves, so that all may run smoothly. We needed to see what you feared and why you feared. To do that, we needed to understand you, and what forces made you. Why must you make this so difficult?*

Defeat. The asira'savi because of their power had moved beyond simple feeling and compassion for lesser beings. They could do worse to me, the merchant decided, sick with humiliation. They probably could think me straight out of existence if they chose. Despite his pain, a tiny window of mirth opened in his heart. At least I discommoded the bastards for awhile. That I suppose will have to suffice, for they have won this unfair contest.

The light suddenly burned red, but this time caused him no pain. May the gods take me into their protection, Ba'sir prayed in desperation. No thought is safe, and all is lost! The light dimmed back to violet immediately.

*You are restored*

The prosaic thought was almost laughable. Oh? Ba'sir remarked, too unsettled to find a witticism.

The creature had no time to waste in detailed explanation. *We have informed Tir'shan of what needs to be done. You will follow his commands.*

A flicker of sizzling red in the sea of violet light made it clear that there was to be no further discussion. As you will, Ba'sir reluctantly conceded, his composure returning. The things I could have learned had I only submitted easily, he thought in growing despair.

*Your mother and father suffered little in their exile. They died shortly after they separated from you.*

He had wanted more, but at least the serpents had unexpectedly gifted him with something of use. Although he despised their pity, Ba'sir replied, Thank you.

*One other matter, there are no more Thunderans in slavery.*

Uneasiness dampened his exhilaration. They are masters indeed, Ba'sir decided. They take one challenge and replace it with another. My people may be gone, but the slave routes remain. May the gods help me to find the new path destined for me.

The light disappeared, and the serpent set him free. Unhindered and unprotected, Ba'sir surfaced with a gasp. He glimpsed his hands as he swam toward the edge of the pool. The serpents may have restored his powers, but not his preferred form. A matter I will tend to later, he decided, weariness returning like a weight ready to submerge him.

He spied the two priests, already clothed and waiting ashore. Zak'shan appeared through another wooden door that he had not noticed before. The merchant halted, the water lapping only his ankles. He sang with power. The weird dirge caused the air around him to sparkle green. The clothing the asira'savi had destroyed reformed without damage on his still thin body.

He had learned long ago that survival precluded the luxury of a slow recovery from trauma. When I am free of this world, I will weep, Ba'sir decided. He greeted the others as he approached. "Let the mysteries continue," he mocked.

*****

The merchant paced in the small, walled garden located outside the mystic's room. The blanket over his shoulders did little to keep out the cold. The night air had the sting of the autumn soon to come. The long grass, dry and coarse beneath his slippers, crackled under his feet as he considered what tale he would spin for the king that would allow him to keep his secrets.

"I should put on my coat of fat, and then I would be comfortable, and so, more decisive," Ba'sir grumbled to himself. Soon...but not yet, he decided reluctantly. I must try to relax first. The spell is less exhausting that way. He stamped his foot in frustration. "But I cannot relax or sleep! Too much fills my mind. Would that I had a feast to devour, a bottle to nurse, and someone to bed. That might help." He frowned. I missed the opportunity with Ryndi, but I am sure that she would be unhappy with the result of my transformation. I cannot imagine that beauty would ever consider joining with someone so...well-fleshed. He pulled the ends of the ribbon the Li'am'ra had carefully braided through his mane as Tir'shan had recited the asira'savi demands. "Maybe I assume too much," he sighed.

Ba'sir looked to the heavens, and marvelled at the clarity of the stars, their brilliance and their color. He tried to make sense of their unfamiliar patterns, and found little comfort in the exercise. He reflected that the patterns in his own life had become too complicated recently. Even the passage of time on this world had hindered him with confusion. One day here equalled two Thunderan days in length. Although he would meet King Lir in a short span of time to discuss the asira'savi plan, the "morning" would be old well before the sun actually rose. He looked at Tir'shan's sleeping form visible through the open door to his quarters. The white tiger's left hand rested against the earth before the hearth in a gesture that resembled a caress.

Ryndi had promised Tir'shan that she would inform the mysterious Ta'hir of current developments, but without revealing the mage's secrets, which the three priests had vowed to keep in confidence. She had returned to her temple, and Te'sara had gone to her own room after their too brief discussion. After their departure, Tir'shan had recommended that he take a healing sleep, which he would not allow. With his refusal, the mystic had surrendered the day, and reclined on the mat by the fire.

Ba'sir smiled. Tir'shan has the northern soul: as tough and resilient as the unforgiving mountains, and yet caring of the earth that nurtures. I won't fail him again. He has suffered because of my stubbornness.

The merchant seated himself on a stone bench, and reconsidered his new role. The asira'savi had decided to send Tir'shan and Eri'mintálí to Third Earth to establish contact with the other Thunderans. When that mission had ended, the latest Thunderan exodus would begin using his sizable ship as a transport. Where the aliens had ensconced his craft was unknown, for they had not revealed that information to Tir'shan, and he had been too perplexed by his own experiences to question them.

The power of the serpents makes one thing clear, Ba'sir decided. No one will challenge them, not even King Lir. If trouble occurs among the people, it will start on the new colony.

The merchant resumed his aimless walk. Until I can again pilot my ship, I am as much a prisoner on this world as the others, he thought. Ba'sir kicked a stone. I can understand not releasing me for this first little expedition; I might not return. Eri'mintálí has not the power of his water kin. I might escape his grasp. However, I cannot understand why they are permitting the elder the adventure, and not the younger Zak'shan. That decision upset Tir'shan. The ancient is in the change from atdira'savi to asira'savi. What will happen to him if he does not return before the transition is complete. There is no pool of water contained in the spaceships used by the wandering atdira'savi.

The merchant snorted derisively. As a new asira'savi Eri'mintálí can probably save himself. The mystic worries over nothing. A coldness suddenly gripped Ba'sir's heart. Or maybe the elder is not supposed to return. That may be part of the asira'savi plan, he thought with alarm.

A sharp cry in the night put the merchant on the defensive, his hands readied to cast a spell or break bones in jan'nirri fashion. Ba'sir cursed his folly when he realized that some distant creature had made the noise. Another animal in the nearby wood answered the call. The surge in adrenaline had made him ready for a fight. "Best put my energy into magic," he snarled. "It is time that I felt like myself again!"

He quickly peeled off the borrowed clothing. He started his spell song with sounds to create new finery to appear on his robust form. He ended the spell with the single note that would transform his flesh, and ignite the magic.

The world turned gold. He became lost in a pleasure beyond physical description, a satisfaction that made love to the soul. When the light faded, and the night finally returned, Ba'sir admired his handiwork.

His bejewelled hands and pearl-dusted turban signified his wealth. The fatness of his body, reined by voluminous layers of multicolored silk, attested to the excesses afforded a merchant of standing. He patted the flesh under his chin, content with the thickness. He stroked his flat nose and wide, fleshy lips, the magic having altered the strong, refined features that the younger Ba'sir had worn.

"I am ready now for king, mystic, priest or alien," Ba'sir growled with pride. "Who can stand against a mountain such as me." He threw back his head and laughed heartily, not caring whom he disturbed.