Circle Road

The setting sun tinted the plain red. The fortress in the east captured the light, which transformed it into a gleaming feline-shaped mountain. "Caaats' Laaair," the little metal being drawled to the giant that stood beside it.

"Magnificent," the Felinari'i answered, amazed at the construct that rose from the rocky hills. A twisting river gorge that had its origins in the mountains separated the stronghold from the plain. How could a small group manage such a miracle? the mystic wondered.

"Only five miles now, then you will meet your people, Tiiir'shaaan."

The mystic's fur was wet with sweat; dust painted his clothing. The scent of blood filled his nostrils from the soiled and useless garments still in the pack that rode on his shoulders. Not looking like this, he decided, regretting his initial impulse to reach the Lair by sundown. He glanced down at the rotund figure. "May I pass the night in your village?" The white tiger made a sweeping gesture with the staff that had once belonged to Eri'mintálí. "I am not prepared to meet a king."

A melodious whirl of clicks greeted his request, a sound that he guessed poorly mimicked laughter. "Looord Li'on'o would not mind," the berbil chirped, "but we will do your bidding. Cooome, we turn to the southwest and enter the forest."

"Tomorrow, my king," Tir'shan murmured, saluting the fortress in farewell.

*****

The village of the Berbils rested in a large clearing within the forest. Tall plants sprang from neatly tilled fields irrigated by tiled canals. The water flowed from a lake located at the southern border of the town. The stone dwellings arranged in a series of circles were as round as their occupants. Some managed to retain the odd geometry and reached two stories in height. Gardens brightly splashed with flowers accented the architecture.

A very pleasant scene, but I'll be spending the night outside again, Tir'shan decided glumly, realizing that he was too tall to be comfortable in any of the homes. "You can stay at BEL's hostel, and rest weeell," ROBEAR-BOB 598 remarked, deciphering his thoughts. "She cares for our guests and visitors."

A collection of townsfolk gathered around him. The electronic whistling sounded curious and excited. A berbil with blue glass eyes tugged at his trousers. A wreathed of flowers decorated its head. "Tooo BEEEL's," it sang with a higher pitched voice than BOB's.

Do they come in two sexes? Tir'shan thought with astonishment, not noting any difference in the roly-poly forms surrounding him other than eye color. He felt his mouth crease into a smile. Who am I to judge, he decided, silly as he found the notion. "Forward, my lady," he said cheerfully to the little female.

*****

A sliver of light pierced the room. Tir'shan, cramped on a bed that was too small, lay on his side, and watched the rays flicker between the drapes that failed to keep out the noise and the sultry breezes. As his accommodations were on the western side of the hostel, he was unsure how far the day had progressed. Better find out just how late it is, he thought, stretching away the stiffness and rising. He wrapped the thin coverlet around himself as he walked. He drew back the curtains to reveal the pair of opened windows.

Many berbils crossed the plaza below, determined mounds of silver planning the day's chores. The mystic squinted; he caught a movement unlike that of his hosts. Some slightly taller beings waded through the metallic traffic. One simply dressed individual had horns curving around his long black and white face. He conversed animatedly with a squat, plump fellow who wore high top boots and a wide brimmed hat, which accented his colorful clothes. The raffish fellow had pink skin; a fleshy snout and a short horn that sprang from his forehead distinguished his strange face.

Tir'shan scratched his jaw absently. Guess we won't be the dominant life-form on this world either, he thought with amusement. He moved away from the windows, and headed for the hearth. The clothes he had washed in a basin the previous evening hung over a wooden rack. The low burning coals in the fireplace had done their job, for the clothing had dried. BEL had kindly disposed of his ruined garments.

He had bathed the evening before in a spring that fed the lake. Some towels and a filled water jar BEL had provided remained on the nightstand. A quick rinse, and I'll be ready to dress and face the day, Tir'shan decided. He sat on the edge on the bed, still a little sleepy. He ran his hand though his long unbound mane. This morning I will make a proper braid, he thought determinedly, grateful that he had thought to pack a comb.

*****

Tir'shan finished his mug of tea. "Excellent," he said to ROBEAR-BEL 328, the owner of the hostel.

"Thaank yoou," she said, the warble in her voice denoting her glee.

The mystic stretched his long legs under the table and leaned back on his chair. "The fish was delightful; the potatoes too." He counted himself lucky for having heeded the attentive innkeeper's plea to dine before traveling.

"Care for somemooore?"

"Goddess, no," he replied with a chuckle. "I will need that walk to Cat's Lair for the exercise alone. Too many fine breakfasts will have a detrimental effect on my waist." I am not as fortunate as Ba'sir who can swell or melt his form to his own contentment, he thought ruefully. I'd better leave before I am tempted to my ruination, he decided. He rose, amazed again that his head did not hit the ceiling. "I have to find BOB, and go to meet my king," he said to BEL, "but you must let me settle my account." He reached into his pack. "I have some coins from our kingdom."

"No need. You are my guest. You will bring Li'on'o much happiness with your news," she commented, her yellow eyes glowing with anticipation. "For this reason, I am already well paid."

But where in Thundera will everyone live? Tir'shan wondered as he bowed in gratitude to the innkeeper. Can 30,000 individuals fit in that fortress? Probably not. He looked to the sunlit doorway, and the steady stream of people coming into and going from the hostel. Almost all had studied him, exchanging whispers he did not understand. It gave him comfort that some of the berbils could converse in his language. And I am already picking up the local words for things, he thought with pride.

A sudden sadness visited him. The people needed you, Eri. Now that you are gone what am I to do? A rising wind lifted the curtains on the eastern bay of windows. It was pleasantly warm, and scented with the rich aromas drifting from the kitchen. For a moment he considered taking another serving of food. One of the creatures with horns sitting at another table belched loudly, and made the mystic think better of the notion. He shouldered his pack, and retrieved his staff. Tir'shan gave BEL a wave, and headed for the door.

The mystic wound his way through the crowd. He caught sight of a stone fountain near the center of the bustling town, and walked toward it. He knew that if he waited there, BOB would eventually pass his way, for it was a meeting place upon which they had both agreed.

The temperature of the air promised a sweltering afternoon. Tir'shan sat on the wide fountain ledge, placing his staff across his knees. He removed his pack and enjoyed the cool spray from the stream of water. Feelings and memories drifted into and out of his consciousness in a comfortable, rambling manner. His pointed ears caught the light strains of harp music, and he wondered from which round building the airy notes emanated. The floating melody seemed oddly familiar. He hummed a similar tune trying to form a pleasant harmony, and was surprised how at well he predicted the notes.

The music ceased. The change allowed him to pinpoint the two-story dwelling, which was taller than the surrounding structures. A berbil who sat beside him said, "It is a place of healing for those who cannot reach the larger towns or the Thundercats' dwelling."

"I see," Tir'shan said, his interest peaking. "Perhaps, I can offer my services. I too have worked as a healer."

"You have white-brown fur and dark brown stripes. We wondered whether you were a smith like Felinari'i Bengal'i, or a mystic, like Felinaria Talitha."

The creature had said the female mystic's name so casually that for a moment, Tir'shan wondered if he had heard correctly. All nascent thoughts he had entertained about the other white tiger male had died. "Talitha?"

"Yes, the healer. Are you like her?"

"Names of all the gods and saints!" Tir'shan exclaimed, leaping to his feet, his staff falling onto the stones. The idea of waiting for BOB evaporated as he raced toward the house. He cast aside convention and politeness, and burst through the front door. One horned creature clad in loose robes froze in surprise. Another who reclined upon a bed could not react because he was asleep. The figure sitting by the bedside upon a chair made of woven reeds had no horns. The Felinaria of white tiger ancestry gasped in shock. The harp she held threatened to slip from her hands.

Tir'shan wanted to shout, but paralysis seized his throat. He wanted to take Talitha in his arms, and swing her about in joy, but his limbs felt weak from shock. It was finally because of a sudden, foolish concern for the safety of the harp that he summoned the power to speak before the vision that entranced him. "My lady, have a care for your fine instrument," Tir'shan managed to croak.

The bewilderment vanished from the female's face. The tigress smiled at the mild rebuke, and the room brightened with her light. Tir'shan opened his arms wide. "Tal'i'tha," he said softly, his voice catching in his throat on a name he had believed that he would never again utter in greeting.

"Elder," she answered, the endearment of the word sweetened by her crystalline voice. "How has Mrísena lead you to us?"

"Dear one, it is a story worth telling," he quipped, drunk on happiness.

The tigress rose, her blue gown gently brushing the stones. She passed the harp to her companion. She spoke a few words to him in a language he had also heard BEL use. The horned being answered with a noise that was half laugh and half bleat, a funny sound that Talitha obviously understood, for she nodded.

The tigress approached him, a gliding spirit whose presence enriched the love he had cultivated, but had never had the opportunity to offer. Her hand reached for his. The remnants of her healing power tickled his fingers. "You have been busy," he said with a chuckle.

Talitha tightened her grip on her hand. "No trick of Mumm-Ra," she said firmly, the blade of sadness cutting into her words.

The strange reference unsettled the mystic, and forced sobriety upon his mood. He marked the changes time had made upon Talitha. The darkening of her mane and the rounder curves of her figure heralded her complete adulthood, a female capable of sharing sexual intimacy with him. That her sapphire eyes had added sorrow to their hue disturbed him.

Had she always been so petite? he wondered, reality and memory diverging. A sigh escaped his lips. So much I need to know and learn. So much time passed.

Talitha closed her eyes. A little furrow formed upon her brow, and her teeth clenched. "What is wrong?" Tir'shan asked with concern. He placed his hands upon her shoulders, and felt the tension in her muscles.

"Ni'tara toys with us," she replied with a bitter tone that physically pushed them apart. "You will see when we get home," she said, gesturing toward the door.

"Then let us go there," he said, his heart beginning to race under the influence of her unhappiness and the mystery she had summoned.

*****

Tir'shan watched the ground beneath his feet as he walked in silence beside Talitha. He had heard Ba'sir's words about Third Earth, and had made his own truth, concluding that the mystic had not survived. That she lived slaughtered his interest in all the others who shared her new home. To be within the path of her shadow sustained him, but his first encounter with Talitha had passed in an unexpected manner. Her subdued greeting had made him cautious. He kept to himself what he knew of her kin, and strangely, she had not inquired. She has even considered me an enemy, he thought morosely. What world is this that brings such doubts upon a sister mystic. He glanced at her, noting again the wincing that marred her beautiful face. What troubles you so?

"Mrísena!" he shouted suddenly. In his distraction he stumbled upon a stone, and fell hard onto his side, the pack digging into his back, his staff flying from his hand.

"'Shan!" Talitha called with concern.

She does care for me! he thought triumphantly, a measure of his uneasiness lifted.

The female knelt, and reached out to him. Before she could complete the action, she sobbed. Her hands flew to her temples.

"Fifty demons, what causes you such pain!" Tir'shan cried out, casting aside his reluctance, and pulling her toward him.

"Don't. Please," she chided though clenched teeth. "You will only make it worse."

He released her immediately, fearful of increasing her hurt. He rose smoothly to his feet, and offered her no assistance, waiting with unhappy patience for her to stand.

After she had mirrored his actions, she said quietly, "I am sorry to distress you, elder."

"Mrísena help us both," he heard himself answer, baffled by his own response.

Talitha pointed ahead. "Get your staff. Only two more miles to travel."

*****

The short distance had the length of eternity, but even eternity eventually ended. Tir'shan stepped beyond the rim of trees, and back onto the plain. Before him stood the great fortress that dominated the landscape. A mile to go, he concluded.

As they approached, he marked three figures who waited in the courtyard, a place separated from them by the river chasm. To his sister mystic, he asked, "Must I jump across?"

Talitha laughed, a cooling balm that soothed the heat and his hurt. "Before they constructed the bridge, they had to use ropes."

He looked down at her, and smiled. "I cannot wait to hear the whole tale. The achievement is remarkable."

"I just wish that they trusted you," she commented.

Finally, some truth, Tir'shan thought. What is it that they fear? This Mumm-Ra? And what is he?

They heard shouts. Two figures on the bridge began to wrestle; one finally succeeded in subduing the other. Tir'shan discerned their race by color: red tiger and panther. The third Felinari'i, taller and calmer than the other two, appeared to be of the lion clan. Probably the son of Claudus, he thought. Time for the reckoning, he decided as he and Talitha finally reached the edge of the chasm.

The lion raised a long sword above his head. The blade emitted a sharp clear note as if in greeting. Tir'shan dropped to one knee, and bowed his head.

The king's voice, young and strong, carried easily across the gap."You see Tygra, there was no cause for worry! Mumm-Ra has not disguised himself."

At the mention of the red tiger's name, Tir'shan snapped to attention. From the current distance he could not easily reckon the detailed features of his new comrades. Grimness set itself upon him. If this is the Tygra whose uncle I defeated, how will he feel knowing that his contentious relation still lives!

Tir'shan straightened, and hoped that the gamble he was about to make would not fail. "We have the good fortune to meet again, Lord Tygra," he called, hoping to ease the noble's fears, "and under far better circumstances than our last encounter."

The panther set the tiger free, and waved. Tygra gave a slight, rigid bow of greeting, which verified the mystic's guess, and remained quiet. A bridge began to extend from the rock, guided by the work of unseen hands. When it had connected the two sides of the chasm, both parties began to move. They met at the center of the platform.

Holy, sweet Mrísena! Tygra has a ruff, Tir'shan thought with shock, unable to rectify the apparent middle-age of the tiger with his knowledge. He should be my age!

The king appeared to be a youth, a fact Tir'shan could reasonably accept. However, whether he had reached the age of awakening was not apparent to the mystic. We shall certainly have to compare notes on the passage of time, Tir'shan decided, sneaking a look at Talitha, and wondering what her true age was.

"The final test," the king said, offering him the sword.

"Grab the hilt," Talitha instructed.

When the mystic did so, the blade radiated silvery light and purred. "Fine magic," Tir'shan commented in awe.

"It means you are not evil," the panther said gruffly.

"That is what I have said all along," Talitha remarked.

Telepathy, Tir'shan thought. She's been in communication with them. Bengal'i or Tygra could receive her thoughts. The mystic handed the sword back to the lion.

When the youngster took it, the blade changed its length, decreasing in size. "That settles things," he said cheerfully. "I am Lion-o, son of Claudus, Lord of the Thundercats."

"I know you as the Lord of all Thundera," Tir'shan remarked politely.

"He has better manners than I," the panther said with a chuckle.

"You are Panthro," Tir'shan interrupted. "Ba'sir told us some things correctly."

"Why am I not surprised that the merchant is involved in all of this," the panther remarked, his words touched by sarcasm.

"How have you survived?" Tygra asked him with an edge to his baritone voiced that seemed to wish he had not.

"It is a story as likely as long as the one that you need to tell me," the giant answered plainly, still puzzled by the current of hostility flowing from the tiger. "What Ba'sir revealed amounted to little."

"A fine enough reason for tea," Talitha chimed weakly, gesturing toward the fortress.

"A healing beverage that eases any harsh road," Tir'shan remarked.

"We will see about that," Tygra muttered.

Lion-o ordered the tiger, "Go heat some water, so we can test this theory."

"As you wish, my king," Tygra replied. He walked stiffly away with hands clenched, obviously stung by the rebuke and the dismissal. The panther raced to his side, and the king did not stop him.

"Better go too, Talitha," Lion-o said to the tigress, and she followed the command without complaint.

Oblivious to the presence of the king, Tir'shan watched the progress of the three until they climbed the long staircase of Cats' Lair, and disappeared through the tall front doors.

"This day will be one for remembering, but say nothing more until we have all gathered in the council chamber. Come."

Tir'shan wondered how walking in the shadow of a king differed from obeying his elders in the temple. The young lion's comment held uncertainty, fear, and a mixture of emotions that he could not begin to catalogue.

The mystic's emotions simmered, but the stunning revelations of the day prevented them from spilling over and burning him. He looked at the metal doors with trepidation, and hoped that his heart was armored for the battle to come.