A Different Blue

Talitha carefully cut the stem of a small plant with a knife, apologizing to the organism as she worked. "I take from you, so that others may know healing. Thank you for your gift." The white tigress sat back on her legs, and slipped the stem into a pouch that rested against her hip. A breeze cooled her face. The day was perfect for collecting herbs. She glanced at the edge of the Forest of Silence. Her companion had hidden himself well in his own pursuit of healing herbs. She could not spot him among the trees despite the sunny color of his robe. His black stallion contentedly munched grass on the plain.

Xerxes had become the Master of the Unicorns probably sooner than he would have wished. One morning Aidan and Althea had simply left him a note. The Forest and its creatures were in his keeping now. His starborn relatives had departed for coastal Tabbia, and a boat that would take them on a journey to their home across the sea. They had left him horses, unicorns and hearth.

The mystic checked the position of the sun. The afternoon had grown late. She decided that she should call him back to her. A brief stop at Xerxes's home for some water would suffice before she walked back to Cats' Lair. She stood, and brushed the stray clippings from her brown trousers and tunic. Talitha tugged on the strap that crossed her shoulder, making sure that the pouch, now full of plants and seeds, rested securely and comfortably against her body. She reached inside her trouser pocket to retrieve the palm-sized object Panthro had given her, his latest improvement on Lair communications. Tapping a code, she activated the signal device to call the starborn who had a similar instrument. Even if he could not hear the signal, he could see the flashing light. He would know to return to the plain.

To her surprise, the steady beep quickly switched to a high pitched whine. The air about her became charged with static. Her fur bristled. Were her mane not bound by a piece of cloth, the hairs would have stood out against her head. A deafening roar split the quiet. A great white oval appeared before her. In an instant a tall figure darted from the sphere, and fell to the ground panting. The anomaly shrank and disappeared with another blast of sound, but not before a blue arm holding a sword simply dropped to the ground where it had been.

"Goddess be blessed!" Talitha shouted, approaching the stranger. The man was as tall as Xerxes, and possessed the equally canted brows and pointed ears of the starborn race. He was naked, but for a ragged, dirty strip of cloth that covered his genitals. His long hair, which may have been blonde at one time, was a matted mass of filth; his royal blue eyes watered with pain. His tan skin stank of sewage and blood. The fluid that oozed freely from a wound in his left side was dark green, an anomaly, for those of starborn origin bled as red as humans and Felinari. A ring of glowing purple light encircled his neck.

Appearances aside, Talitha knelt by the man, and placed her hands upon his wound. She called up her power, then shrieked in pain. The tips of her finger had been scalded as if by hot water. The ring around the man's neck flared white. He arched his back and screamed, trying to clutch the light, before going still. The strange chain, for that seemed to be its purpose, dulled to a sick blue, and now appeared deceptively solid.

"What in the name of Zeus!" Xerxes gasped as he appeared by Talitha's side.

Talitha explained, "We need to stop this bleeding and save this one's life. He has defeated my mystic skill."

Her imperious tone made Xerxes set aside any further request for an explanation. To staunch the blood, he bound the man's injury with a cloth from a pouch he also carried. "That is all I can do for the moment. We can clean and cauterize his wound back at my dwelling," he offered, knowing that the mystic's skills did not usually run to the surgical because of her sensitivity.

Blowing on her fingertips, which had begun to throb, Talitha concurred. She said, "I hope that device around his neck will let you. Look at what it did to my fingers when I tried mystic healing."

Xerxes carefully cradled her hands in his own, the sleeves of his yellow robe bright against her brown garb. "Some of my salve will help you," he said with a reassuring smile that usually made young females in the nearby villages melt with delight. He glanced down at the man, his pale green eyes weighing all that he saw. "Perhaps his current state will aid us. You tried to heal him when the device was active."

"That device is still active, Xerxes. Its light pulses, although not as brilliantly."

The starborn nodded thoughtfully, the sunlight glinting off his raven black hair. "I have never seen blood that color before, although certain forms of sea life do possess such pigments."

"This one is not of this world," Talitha stated. "What little information I received through my mind gift has told me that. His internal arrangement of organs is very different."

"Fascinating," Xerxes muttered, wrinkling his brow and the star magically tattooed upon it, a sign of his office as the Unicorn Master.

The wind rose unexpectedly, and Talitha sensed a presence. The unseen source left no doubt as to what she needed to do. *Gather your power in your hands and flood the chain with it!*

The command filled her mind with urgency. Without consulting Xerxes, she cupped her hands, feeling the warmth of her collected blue light.

"Talitha, what are you...."

The strength of her concentration allowed the starborn's words to drift away. Before he could stop her, she grabbed the light chain, and poured her power into it. Fire burned in her hands, but she would not surrender. No one defeats a daughter of Mrísena! she thought, her anger a shield against the hurt. The device broke in her hands with a sharp snap, and disappeared. The light of her power faded and the pain ceased. For an instant, the stranger eyes flew open with the shock of the experience. His head tilted to the side as he again lost consciousness.

"By the gods, your hands!" Xerxes exclaimed. He fumbled in his pouch for more cloth.

Between gasps, the mystic studied her palms. The thin coat of white fur was completely gone. The skin was raw and red. Blood pooled and seeped through the most damaged areas, those places where the chain's power had thinned her flesh.

She had suffered for one reason only, and she was not going to lose the opportunity to save a life. "Later, Xerxes," she declared ignoring the depth of her discomfort.

Talitha yanked the bandage from the stranger's wound, her blood mingling with his. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she focused her mind with only thoughts of healing. She fed her power into the ugly slash. It should have hurt, but to her surprise did not. The dissonant vibrations of harm she touched within the stranger gave way quickly to the balanced, though alien, rhythms of restoration.

Finally spent, Talitha removed her power. She slumped against Xerxes, her hands resting on her lap. He washed her wounds with water from a small pilgrim bottle that he had retrieved from his pouch. To her amazement she discovered that her palms, although still without fur, had otherwise healed through the healing of another. This was another mystery to match the unknown voice that had provided the answer to her predicament. "How very strange," she whispered.

*****

The naked man quietly sat on the edge of a bed, and realized that his name had fled. He calmly waited for it to return (surprised that he expected that it would) as he considered his circumstance. He knew he should be upset, but peace had overtaken him. He stretched his clean arms and marked their thinness. He had believed he had forgotten hunger, but now his empty stomach rumbled in need.

That he appeared to be free of his bondage was evident. Someone had destroyed the fetter around his neck. A thought flitted across his mind, and carried with it, not a name, but a delicate face belonging to a woman, although one with fur. And something else: rage.

He traced the new scar on his torso. She had also healed him. A priestess, perhaps? But of whose cult, and of what race?

He angled his head slightly in concentration. A lock of washed blonde hair brushed his cheek. The memory of the pit and his captors had turned to shadows that eluded his grasp. The present seemed all that remained to him.

One other person, he thought suddenly. One who is .... The word would not come. One who looks like me, he decided, to settle his mind. But what had he done? Maybe cleansed the embedded grim from this poor form, he mused, taking a long, deep breath, and reveling in the fact that despite whatever he had faced, he had survived.

Through the single window in the room where he found himself, he observed a change in the forest beyond. Green leaves turned gold under the bent rays of a setting sun. The phenomenon provided comfort in its timeless simplicity. When twilight deepened, and the night began its advance, he wrapped a blanket about his body to ward off a chill.

In all that time, his name had chosen to stay hidden. He turned his attention then to the closed door. Light seeped around its seams. Voices talked low in the adjoining room, and he wondered how long they had conferred. The people he had encountered had already proved their worth. He should met with them, and thank them. But could he stand?

With a grunt, the man rose. That he remained standing he considered an achievement, for his legs felt as weak as saplings. Yet, he stayed rooted in place. "Take a step, fool," he grumbled softly to himself. The insult spurred his body, and with slow, but certain, steps he walked to the door.

He hesitated for a moment before he reached for the knob, and turned it. The door easily pulled toward him. He crossed into the room with as much dignity as a naked man clothed only in a blanket could.

*****

Talitha knew the stranger would fall. He should have never attempted to leave his bed, considering the amount of blood he had lost from his wound. Xerxes, who was closer to the man, rushed to his aid. He guided him onto another chair set by the table. Only moments before he and Talitha had pleasantly enjoyed some Berbil tea as they had discussed the stranger's recovery. The man spoke, the tone and timbre of his baritone voice conveying thanks, although his words were foreign.

Xerxes occupied his seat once more. "I do not understand him any better than you," he said to Talitha, confirming her suspicions.

The man leaned back on his chair, and narrowed his eyes. He spoke again. The cadence was different indicating that he had tried another tongue. Both starborn and Thunderan shook their heads. He attempted several other languages until he finally raised his palms in a gesture that suggested that he had exhausted all his linguistic potential. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Isn't there anything you can do?" Talitha asked Xerxes.

The starborn drummed the tables with his fingers. "I have not mastered all of the magic of my position," he admitted sheepishly. "There might be a spell for understanding languages in the book left to me by my uncle Aidan. It will take some time to find out if that is the case. Perhaps our friend should try to eat something. You can cook; I'll research," Xerxes said firmly. He left his chair, and disappeared into the another room where books littered every bit of free space.

"We will start you on some broth," she said to the man, knowing that her words had no meaning to him. "You need to eat something to begin to rebuild your strength." Her words, although not understood, must have comforted him, for he rewarded her with a wan smile. In health, he must have been a handsome man. She noticed the strands of silver that streaked his blonde hair. Had his age or his experience gifted him so? His face was unlined, but his eyes held too much sorrow. She needed to turn from his unflinching gaze before she sank into his pain. She nodded politely, and moved toward the hearth, away from his sadness.

*****

The cat woman must be a good cook, as well as an excellent healer, the man decided. He quietly watched her turn a collection of sorry vegetables into a soup that filled the cottage with an pleasant aroma that enhanced the comforting warmth of the fireplace. He considered the little object that she spoke into as she stirred the contents of her kettle. A masculine voice, somewhat chiding, had sounded from the metal case. He knew it be a communication device of some sort. That he did not find such an item strange made him wonder what other knowledge remained locked in his memory. The occasional grunt and exclamation from the other room made him certain that whatever the young man searched for, it seemed to elude him.

The female put the communicator away in a pocket in her trousers when she had finished speaking. She ladled some soup into a bowl, making sure that only broth found its way into the vessel. With a smile that lit her beautiful face, she placed the meal and a spoon before him. She pointed to the bowl, a sign that he should eat.

Like everything else he could not recall, the man wondered when he had last smelt a bowl of soup so aromatic. He picked up the spoon with his left hand, disturbed that it would not stop shaking. Despite his handicap, he forced the spoon into the bowl, angry that his body would not obey his command. In trying to raise the spoon, all he accomplished was to spill the food on the table. He dropped the spoon, and clenched his fists, embarrassed by his failure.

In a gesture of comfort, the female touched his hand.

*Let me help.*

The psychic sending was sharp. Although the man heard words not in his language, he understood them. *You can reach me with your mind?* he thought back in his own tongue.

*I did not intend to touch your mind! And even if I wished it, I should still not be able to understand you! Tiger telepathy does not grant the knowledge of languages that we do not possess,* came the shocked reply from the female.

She now grasped his wrist so tightly that the man looked down at her right hand. To his amazement he watched a coil of red light spiral over their limbs. *What by the starlight....*

*....is this!*

"Zeus!"

Startled by the young man, the stranger pulled his hand free.

The female spoke to the youngster, and once more her words were foreign to him. The man grabbed her right hand, and the light returned. She did not cast him off, but continued to speak to her companion. Their speech remained a mystery.

He directed a thought to the cat woman. *Can you still understand me? It appears that I can only comprehend your words by both your thoughts and your touch.*

*While you hold my hand, tell me your name using your voice.*

"I cannot for I do not remember it," he announced sadly. He knew from their blank looks that what he had said they had not understood."

*Your name again?*

*It is lost to me along with my memory.*

A frown crossed her sweet face, but faded quickly. *We will find it and your past, never fear. It may just take time,* she answered in determination.

*Thank you, youngling.*

Her eyes widened unexpectedly, and he believed he had given offense. His countenance must have signaled his distress too for she replied, *Forgive me. The day has been long. Your words...reminded me....*

*...of one who is not here.*

*How did....*

*You feel the longing so eloquently,* he replied flustered that he knew the answer and that he had the temerity to broadcast it.

*What a puzzle the Goddess has given us!*

The young man spoke sharply which gave them both escape from the uncomfortable.

*He must wonder....*

*Very perceptive. Xerxes does. Let me try to explain to him. Then we will see to that soup. You need to eat, and you will need the help of my hand until yours steadies, man with no name.*

*But my savior is called...?*

*Talitha, my elder.*

The man laughed deeply. *As old as a mountain, youngling, surely not yet.*

*No. More like the sharp, grey stone that strikes the fire, a smoldering, waiting quiet that one must recognize. So let us call you Dah'ri, which is what we call such a rock, until your own name finds it way back to you.*

The man voiced the name. It did not appear too awful. He let her hand go gently.

"Dah'ri." The man hoped that what had eluded him would not take the lifetime of a mountain to discover.