Day Night

It was difficult to believe that a stone bench could be comfortable, but such was the case. Tygra stretched his full length on the slab, his arms cradling his head. He felt drowsy for the hour was late, but sleep would not come. The sun had finally started its decline to the west. Day lasted long on this odd world, but he could endure it cozily ensconced in the walled garden of the healing annex in the city of Lir.

Tygra's thoughts ebbed like waves pulsing along a shore. Casaphi's touch had drained him more than he had realized, but it had increased his appetite, so that he could at least enjoy a substantial meal. The inn that Talitha's father had recommended had served fine fare. He had forgotten how much he had delighted in Thunderan cuisine. He wondered how it would change on Third Earth. What flavors would be lost? The ingredients that comprised the recipes would not be provided by the powerful, but considerate, asira'savi.

The food was only surpassed by surprise. He had seen Talitha's mother. Shaktar'ri had pointed her out among the patrons of the inn. However, he had chosen to draw his hood more closely about himself, for interaction with one new relative per day had proven quite sufficient.

He watched Sum'ri'san consult with the owner of the inn on matters of business involving new linen. Their bargaining dance was quite amusing, and Talitha's mother was a master of the trade. The white tigress was as tall as her mate, but quite thin, an ectomorph with long limbs and angular features. Well-fleshed Talitha, it appeared, favored her father, not her mother, in body type, and that was a surprise.

A cooling breeze made the autumn leaves whisper secrets. A branch snapped. Tygra instantly knew he was being watched. Unmoving, he listened carefully. Someone glided through the trees.

A rock and a sling that was all that was required. He knew that a good stone rested near the bench leg by his left arm, but a sling would not be at hand. I guess I will have to test my aim, he thought. I hope I at least get a glimpse of the intruder, or drive him away.

Tygra deepened his breathing, and focused his mind on the faint sounds of the lurker. Only one good shot, he decided as he counted down to action.

The division of time into any recognizable unit became pure illusion. It existed on many levels as Tygra acted. He rolled himself off the slab. On the way down he grabbed the palm size stone in his left hand. He spiraled to his feet, then hurled the rock at the last point of sound he had detected. That he had not tripped over his simple brown robe, pleased him, for he had expected to tangle his feet.

A cry; the breaking of branches and the disruption of the leaves; a solid thud; all were his reward for accuracy.

"Excellent shot!" The voice made Tygra swerve. He dropped into a crouch, but relaxed when he saw Shaktar'ri. The tall mystic inclined his staff toward the trees. "Whoever that is might have need of our healing," he quipped.

"Better get a length of rope first!" Tygra growled.

*****

Shaktar'ri touched the fallen figure clad in black with the tip of his soft boot. "His spell of invisibility must have ceased when he lost consciousness. Seems to be breathing though."

"One of my uncle's jan'nirri?" Tygra asked, fingering a length of rope.

"Probably. He lacks the stature prevalent among members of the northern clans." Shaktar'ri knelt, his blue robe pooling about his knees. He examined the male's teeth. "Not filed. He must be a southerner." He checked the blood staining the white edges of the victim's mane. "Better forget binding this one for the moment, my friend. If we don't heal him first, we won't have any chance of getting answers. He will be dead. You have a deadly arm, son of Lord Siberan."

I should not feel guilty, Tygra thought with agitation, but the fact that the stricken male looked to be barely beyond awakening filled him with guilt.

Shaktar'ri said, "Can you tend this injury, my lord?"

"Me!" Tygra exclaimed.

"You are a mystic, are you not," he retorted.

Tygra decided against an argument. He set swiftly to work, fearful of wasted time. He placed his fingers to the wound he had caused, closed his eyes, and allowed himself, against his nature, to relax. His hands warmed as his power flowed from him into his victim. The music of healing, the point of his being, had to be adjusted delicately in matters of trauma to the skull. The difficult vibrations he summoned caused a thin trickle of sweat to run down his face. Soon the disharmony of fractured bone and swelling tissue subsided. He removed his power. He opened his eyes, and watched, as he always did, with amazement, as the little snakes of blue light slipped off his fingertips and faded into nothingness. He turned to Shaktar'ri and said, "Your turn. Get him talking."

"Have you learned how to induce a hypnotic state by touch? It is a bit unethical, but there are extenuating circumstances here," his companion remarked with a fierce grin.

"Not yet," Tygra admitted, wondering why Talitha had chosen not to instruct him in such a technique.

"Observe for now. I will teach you another day."

The light that poured from Shaktar'ri's hands was violet, not blue, designating him a priest of Mrísena. Eyes still closed, the mystic called to the intruder. "Awaken and tell us of your mission, youngling."

The jan'nirri regained consciousness, but his amber eyes looked vaguely to a distant point that only he could discern. "Has Lord Trel sent you?" Shaktar'ri inquired.

The younger tiger's mouth twisted as he fought the mystic's question.

"Has Lord Trel sent you!" Shaktar'ri asked with more insistence.

The victim began to gulp; his body twitched violently.

"Enough!" Tygra commanded.

"He resists, but he will speak!" the mystic snarled with determination.

A deep wave of violet engulfed the jan'nirri. He cried out in pain. "Yes! Trel!" he shouted between sobs.

Tygra pushed Shaktar'ri aside, a feat that surprised him, for the other offered no resistance. The mystic returned a withering look. "Sometimes healing comes with a little pain," he commented dryly.

"Not on my behalf," Tygra spat back.

"We have the truth."

"We have both caused hurt. What manner of mystics are we?" Tygra commented, uncomfortable with what had ultimately occurred because of him.

"Those that repel villainy," Shaktar'ri answered as he rose to his feet unsteadily. He leaned heavily on his staff. "And we accept the pain given as necessary to the greater goal," he remarked, his brows knitting with distress. "Don't forget, your uncle wants you dead. You are allowed to defend yourself."

"Not against someone who has been subdued."

Shaktar'ri shook his head in disapproval. "I will not discuss ethics, Tygra. I have seen too much death, and too little honor." He began to move stiffly away from the fallen spy, who had quieted once more, but still stared at nothing. "His trance will end soon. If you wish to pass a message along to your uncle, do it now while our patient is receptive to suggestion. It will at least ease my suffering to know that Lord Trel will be annoyed that we bested his jan'nirri."

"He will kill him."

"Or the youngster will take his own life for his failure. Jan'nirri ways are not those of the mystics. There will be no winner in this scenario, Tygra. Accept that."

"Jan'nirri," Tygra murmured in the spy's ear. "Go to Lord Su'ti. Tell him what has transpired. Ask that he offer mercy upon you, in the name of the son of Siberan, Tygra."

"Naive," Shaktar'ri grumbled, as he slowly made his way back to the walled garden. "What makes you believe that Su'ti will rein Trel?"

His message relayed, Tygra left the jan'nirri's side, and approached Shaktar'ri. "A question for a question, mystic. What has happened to you?"

"No mystic can give pain without receiving it intensified," Shaktar'ri said wearily.

"Then let me help you."

"No, Tygra. The price must be paid."

"Then share it with me."

"It was my decision, not yours. You are too involved to see the Silence that circles you. But now you must answer my question."

Tygra halted. What he had to say would make no sense to Shaktar'ri, but the words had come from his heart. "Su'ti sent me away from the clan following my father's death. I had hoped that in time he would display the wisdom of his father, Tiren, and call me home."