Red Magic

The mage desired purification. I have made too many mistakes, Ba'sir decided as he listened to the ripples in the lake caused by the stones he had tossed. The Felinari'i gazed skyward and watched the stars. One was particularly bright. He adopted the radiant light for his own, and marked its ascent in the black sky. I'd better begin, he decided.

He ran his hands over his plump, naked torso, tracing the two white vertical stripes of fur that stood out against the black. I must be what I am, he thought, reluctant to shed his protective layer of fat. He stilled himself, and listened to the murmur of the trees. In the darkness broken only by starlight, he could not appreciate the magnificent change of color that the leaves had begun. He sighed. No matter the world, autumn brings melancholy.

"You have been too lax!" he shouted to stir himself from his brooding. He raised his arms and sang the one note that would begin the metamorphosis. The forest, lake and glade disappeared into the twisting golden light that he became. When his surroundings returned, he wore the form of someone younger and thinner. A zephyr ruffled his lengthy black and white mane. He stroked his wrists, imagining the phantom stripes that were a gift from his red tiger sire.

It took a moment for the mage to get used to carrying less weight, but once he had, he glided into the lake. As he swam, his thoughts raced back to the trouble he had encountered a few suns earlier. He had failed friend and enemy. He had not dined with the Li'am'ra. He knew virtually nothing about the pantherine sorceress that had snared him. Without the knowledge from one, he could not respect the battle with the other.

Ba'sir emerged from the lake. Whatever troubled him, he swore that he would dance it free. He would find the answers to his questions in his own heart, and not at the feet of a priest. The tall panther approached a stone, singing softly to it until it had begun to glow red. He directed his chants at several other rocks until he found himself surrounded by a ring of scarlet. He cried out and a burst of orange light connected all the stones, completing the circle. This time I will not forget to protect myself, he assured himself.

In the center of his sacred space, the mage danced. The negative energy locked inside his form, that which had mislead him, struggled to remain within his soul. He summoned his memories to combat the poison. In his mind, he became his fatter self, strong and proud, the unexpected warrior. His heart quickened with each leap and turn of inner fire and resolve.

When his lungs burned, he slowed his steps and became his father, thoughtful and sensual. He followed his heartbeats, and moved to the love he had seen between his parents. The call to joining catapulted his thoughts to the one world where he had found refuge.

The lush landscape of Xi Four beckoned. Sorrow replaced seduction. The warmth of his large house and the love of those he had released from slavery called for his return. They had given him comfort, and he had chosen to stay away. He had squandered their gifts, and felt ashamed. The viper coiled within his being bit his heart. Depression filled his veins.

"No!" he wailed, refusing to surrender to self-defeat. He spun about until the circles became the totality of his existence, and he became free in the moment. The serpent retreated, but he knew it would never die. It would wait in the shadows until he allowed it to return, a vile companion that fueled his excesses with excuses, and left him weak.

A fluctuation entered the perfect present. The mage's world expanded once again. He continued his dance, but focused his mind on the unseen visitor. A flicker of movement blurred the lines of a tree. Ba'sir smoothly changed his steps, and prayed that the shadow had not noticed. Myr'an'dra, he thought angrily, convinced of the stranger's identity by the rising hairs on his neck. He spoke softly, but the flowing words contained power. Lightning descended. A cry of pain cut the night.

Ba'sir halted, and cursed himself, fearing that he had killed her outright, a method that he did not favor in dealing with an enemy. The punishment should take time! With a snarl, he banished the lights. His keen eyesight guided him in the dark to the figure that had fallen near a tree. "You are both impolite and foolish, Myr'an'dra," he said with disapproval to the prone form lying near the patch of smoldering grass. He chanted words that guaranteed that his prey would not escape.

The female, clad only in an ak'ti as befitted the hunt, stirred when addressed. She attempted to rise, and realized that an invisible weight kept her pinned to the ground, allowing her only minimal movement. Ba'sir touched the tree, and sang. Veins of light emanated from the bark, illuminating his fallen foe. Myr'an'dra winced as she tried to reposition herself, her long tail twitching. Pain moistened her eyes, although no wound was evident on her body. Ba'sir judged that she had misstepped in avoiding his attack, and probably strained a leg muscle. "I have no patience with spies," he mocked. Despite the danger she faced, the pantheress remained calm. That she betrayed no surprise at his true appearance or his use of magic suggested that she had watched his transformation. And she did nothing to prevent it, or to gain the advantage, Ba'sir thought, his curiosity tempering his fury.

Myr'an'dra's almond-shaped eyes narrowed, and anger dominated her pain. "Whatever it is that you wish to do, do it. I have no patience with the verbose."

I promised that I would show her no mercy, but she is a worthy opponent, the mage decided, considering his options. One thing is certain: I must know who her master is, the person who insists that I be watched by this jan'nirri. He smiled, hoping to cause her greater discomfort. "An appropriate punishment will do. The last one I imposed on an individual has taken quite nicely."

The female slightly arched her back. The subtle lines of her slender form enticed him again. A sensuous movement of her tail beckoned. Ba'sir cursed his taste for the exotic. He became acutely aware of his nakedness, and what it might soon reveal.

Myr'an'dra answered with a voice smooth as cream, "Ah, yes, poor Talar. The court physicians have not yet deduced that his affliction has a magical cause. They believe he has merely surrendered discipline. The warrior truly suffers, for the more he fights the impulse to eat, the greater his appetite becomes, and so he cannot stop himself. His waist has grown larger and softer in a short time. Will you allow him to eat himself into immobility?" she asked like a colleague interested in the possible outcome of an experiment.

"It might be amusing," Ba'sir purred. No need to let you know of my concern for Talar's friend. The cheetah worries, and his distress is not something that I had anticipated. It is only for his sake that the spell will soon be lifted from that arrogant panther.

"Justice, not revenge," Myr'an'dra commented softly as if he were not there.

What did she hear in my reply? How have I given myself away? Ba'sir thought with irritation. The mage stamped his foot. She sees through me too well! I'd better tend to her, before she wins this contest, like the last, he admonished himself. "The question remains: what punishment shall I give you?"

The mage marked the subtle shift in the hue of her green eyes. She fears, but she does not expect mercy, nor will she ask for it. He knelt beside her, and ran his fingers along her thigh. He poked her flat abdomen. "Fatness would slow you down, and then you would leave me alone. However, I prefer a spell more suitable to your crime." The muscles beneath his hand tensed. "Tell me who sent you to spy upon me, and I'll release you."

"As you are a jan'nirri, you know that I cannot reveal that information. Get on with your magic, and cease wasting my time."

That too she has guessed! Ba'sir's hands tightened with renewed rage. The mage stepped back, and began to chant. Despite her fear, Myr'an'dra glared at him as he worked. He interrupted the spell. The hostility that coursed through him diluted under her steely gaze. Why can I not finish this! Ba'sir howled inwardly. She is not the first upon which I have taken just vengeance.

The answer suddenly sounded inside his head: She has made of me the fool, but she has caused me no true harm. She is a jan'nirri, and only performing her duty, as anyone of her peers would demand and expect. That is why I hesitate.

He spat several words that sliced through his spell of holding. "Leave now!" he roared at the pantheress, having lost the rage that had served him.

"This changes nothing," Myr'an'dra hissed.

The mage raised his hands, prepared to call down the lightning for a killing strike if she forced him to act. The pantheress, despite her sore muscle, leapt to her feet, and smiled. "If the battle comes, it will be a fine one, Ba'sir." The female turned away, and with a demure wave of her hand vanished in front of him as if she had passed though an unseen door.

Alone in the forest once more, the mage gathered the belongings he had set aside, and considered Myr'an'dra's words. He suddenly realized that it was his admiration of her skill and magic that drew him to her. He pondered the destruction of someone so beautiful and deadly. Ba'sir bent his head. He hoped that they would never meet in war, but knew his wish was futile.