By Hearth Light

In the end, King Lir had come to him. The lion lord, who had guided the people for many seasons on this strange world, had come alone...or so it had appeared. "Fear not for my safety," he had stated confidently when Tygra had questioned the rashness of his action. During their long conversation, he sensed the unseen. Had his mystic gift deepened his senses to the point that he knew where jan'nirri walked? What he believed did not matter. Tygra stirred the coals in the fireplace hoping to ignite a flame with the addition of more wood. Wood turned to ash, but the certainty of a peaceful transition of power from Lir to Lion-o blazed.

Tygra rubbed his chin thoughtfully, while he tried to ignore the cold that seeped under his blue robe. To be relieved soon of kingship pleased Lir. Lion-o would be a fool not to make you his chief advisor, Tygra decided, his own position in jeopardy after the return of the Thunderan refugees to Third Earth. He found it no longer disturbing that his life now flowed closer to the mystics than the royal family of Thundera. Talitha was the rock that marked the new path. Such a precious stone would never wear down in life.

The fire restored, Tygra settled back on the chair near the hearth, and felt a twinge of guilt. The private room Shaktar'ri had assigned to him within the healing annex should have gone to the highest ranking mystic on duty. The others shared quarters. The room lacked windows, and lay at the heart of the complex, which ensured privacy, quiet, and Tygra hated to admit, freedom from outside attack.

The tiger casually tossed some more wood onto the cheery blaze. Lir had promised that his spies would keep close watch on his uncle Trel and his cousin Su'ti. However, judging from his words, Tygra had sensed that the current Chi'ris'rin of the red tiger clan had bristled under his obligations to his father's brother. Lir had recounted that many had spoken highly of Lord Su'ti in recent seasons. Perhaps his cousin had finally shed the chain of influence that Trel had forged for him when he was young and inexperienced in his role as clan chief.

Tygra leaned forward and warmed his hands. Although it was afternoon, he knew that darkness spread across the land. The unusual length of time between night and day had wrecked havoc on his sleep pattern. Despite Shaktar'ri's reassurances that he would get used to the longer periodicity of the day, Tygra doubted his claim. All I want is to be home, he thought. Talitha's imprint on his soul was a whisper that he strained to hear. He felt uneasy. He was unsure whether his mind played tricks upon him, for he sensed that his mate faced difficulties. Fragments of disturbing dreams aided his lack of decent sleep. Not even Shaktar'ri's attempts to distract him by assigning him duties had worked to dispel his worries.

A soft knock on the door coincided with a branch crackling in flame. "Enter!" he snapped, not yet of a mind to entertain guests or patients.

A young mystic crossed into the chamber. She pulled at her hands in worry. "Two to see you, Lord Tygra," she gulped, forgetting to dispense with his rank as the custom among the healers dictated.

"Have they followed the ways of Mrísena?" he asked

"Yes, I have secured their weapons. They offered them to me without my asking." Yet fear paradoxically remained in her blue-green eyes.

"Then send them in An'li," Tygra replied smoothly. "And if you can bring us some refreshment at your leisure, that would be kind." He hoped his calm demeanor would ease her distress, but he was prepared for attack. His eyes made a sweep of the sparsely furnished room, noting any item that could be used in defense. By the time he finished his inventory, and found it lacking, his guests had arrived.

They were as tall as he, cloaked and cowled for the cool weather. He could not see their faces, and gloves masked their hands. Playing to the drama, Tygra silently indicated chairs by the hearth. One figure sat, but one remained standing, and that told him much.

"What do you seek from She that heals all," Tygra asked, giving the formal greeting as he returned to his chair.

The seated Thunderan raised his palms up in supplication, and replied, "Soothing for a heart grown weary."

Time had not changed the voice, deep and rumbling like the sea even in his youth. Fear of attack evaporated for the voice held not hate, but regret. "Su'ti," Tygra whispered, the name finding its way to his lips with difficulty. "By all the gods of Thundera. Su'ti. My cousin."

The tiger lord pulled back his cowl, and confirmed Tygra's statement. His dark amber eyes narrowed as if disconcerted by what they observed. He remarked with bewilderment, "Cousin, you have aged more than I. How came you into your ruff? Have you surpassed me in seasons?"

Tygra met his cousin's steady gaze. What he found made him sad, for he discerned that Su'ti had suffered over time as much as he. "Third Earth, our Homeworld, is a paradise infested with evil. Such a paradox has sent me early to my ruff. However, I assure you, by any reckoning, you are still older than I."

"Then to be so blessed tells me that you have reached wisdom beyond my seasons with your experiences."

It rose in his chest and he could not stop it. Tygra laughed long and deeply, sorrow fleeing under the absurdity of his circumstance. Gaining composure, he finally managed to sputter, "Forgive me, Su'ti. My ruff does not indicate wisdom. I am the same fool you knew as a cub."

"Always searching for the sweets, and making up stories when discovered raiding the pantry, your crime evidenced by the crumbs decorating your mouth."

"The same," Tygra replied dissolving into unanticipated laughter once more. He dropped a burden he had carried for a long time. He rose to embrace his cousin and the seasons melted with the touch.

"Younger brother," Su'ti finally remarked with affection.

"Elder, what of Trel?" No reconciliation could be complete without immediately addressing the problem their uncle posed.

Settling back on his chair, Su'ti carefully arranged the folds of his black robe. "He dare not disobey nor offend me," he answered. "And if he does..."

"I will not ask you to elaborate," Tygra replied, satisfied that despite the dangers that probably still existed, the Chi'ris'rin favored him over his uncle. For now, that would have to suffice. The architect sat down once more, and decided, Whatever new relationship will bloom between us will have to wait before our duty to the people.

Su'ti smiled, obviously relieved that the subject of Trel could be set aside for another time. "We have a different matter to discuss with you. That is the reason for our visit."

Intrigued, Tygra raised an eyebrow. The other male finally lowered his hood. A glint of light bouncing off a precious stone. That was how to describe the fleeting memory that had run through his mind, for he had seen the red tiger before. The male was not much older than either he or Su'ti. He had yet to grow his ruff, but his light yellow eyes darkened with shadows that haunted the world he viewed. A name, an errant electrical impulse, flitted across the architect's mind. "Ka'frin?" Tygra asked. To his surprise, the male nodded in acknowledgment, and smiled weakly. When had it been? Tygra wondered, his curiosity forcing his thoughts into many directions.

"Just before Star Vale," Ka'frin remarked, mysteriously supplying the answer.

The name always invoked pain. "Where my father died," Tygra stated forlornly.

"As did mine," Su'ti added softly. The Chi'ris'rin rose. "What he has to tell you, is only for you, cousin." He bowed, then approached the door. It opened before he could reach it. An'li entered balancing a tea tray across her arm.

"Leaving so soon my Lord Su'ti?" she asked.

"He was just stretching before taking refreshment," Tygra said calmly.

A hint of irritation knotted Su'ti's brow, but he returned to his place by the fire.

As An'li set the tray down on the low table before them, Ka'frin said, "I am afraid that my sword is necessary for the telling of this tale." The female straightened and gave Tygra a sharp, disapproving look.

Su'ti placed his hand over his heart, a gesture of trust.

"Do as he requests," Tygra ordered.

"But Shaktar'ri will--"

Tygra grabbed the female's wrist. "There is no danger here. Please. This is essential for the healing that must be done. Would you impede the bidding of Mrísena?" A glance at his cousin indicated that he had chosen his words wisely, for the tension evaporated from his rigid posture. The clan lord slumped slightly on his chair.

Confusion made An'li's lip tremble, but she pulled her hand free. "One moment." The time passed in silence. She returned with the nondescript long sword housed in a plain scabbard. "I have sent word to Shaktar'ri," she growled as she handed the weapon to Ka'frin.

"You have performed your duty as I have expected," Tygra replied. "Now leave us, please." The hiss that escaped her pretty lips he found justified, for his actions had been imperious. He studied Ka'frin who looked down at his boots, his tea untouched. "What have you to say?" Tygra inquired.

The answer came quickly and without hesitation. "I was with Lord Siberan when he died."

Tygra heard the beating of his own heart. His mouth opened, but speech did not come. "Continue," Su'ti intoned filling in the words that had abandoned him.

"Shri'zzzz. It was him that delivered the fatal blow to your father. That demon reptile stabbed him in the back while your father dispatched another Mutant. But Siberan, with his great strength, took his head with one blow from his sword. Such a weapon. It glowed with silver fire even after Siberan fell." Ka'frin balled his hands. "If only I had gotten to the ridge sooner...."

Mystic empathy. It overtook Tygra now, a cool wash that cleared his pain, so that he could take on the troubles of another. "Who knows the way of Ni'tara, She who determines our fate," Tygra remarked. "That you were there meant he did not die alone, as I have always feared. For that I will be eternally in your debt."

The tension eased in Ka'frin. He handed Tygra the sword in its scabbard. "You owe me nothing, my friend," Tygra said.

A smile flickered across the warrior's face. "This belongs to you my Lord. I was to make sure that you received it and the proper instruction. Your father lasted long enough to charge me with this task, and I vowed to do so as he passed into the Silence."

"You mean--"

"Yes, this is his blade, hidden well by the magic he invoked as he died. He feared Trel's retribution even then. He made the blade to appear as my own, and I left mine with his body."

"And the clan believed the sword had passed into Mutant hands, forever lost," Su'ti remarked. The Chi'ris'rin stood. "I leave you with Ka'frin. He has words to give you that belong not to me." He left the room, while Tygra remained in his memories. He studied the plain hilt, and wondered how much sorcery his father had known.

Ka'frin spoke the words of power the architect needed to repeat. Tygra drew the sword. In the subdued light it looked as plain as any blade issued to the clan's fighters. He took a deep breath, not knowing what to expect. The ancient tongue had no meaning for him. He spoke the incantation.

Silver light snaked along the blade, and uncovered its true essence, peeling back the illusion that had lain upon it for so long. His father had never allowed him to touch the sword. As much as he had desired it, he had never asked. He had heard rumors of its luminous beauty, but had not seen it until that moment. The few times his father had shown him the weapon unsheathed it had not appeared unworldly, merely a perfection of the sword maker's skill. The guard and hilt were cut and inlaid with emerald spirals. The shaft was a piece of metal beaten with such precision that its layers formed a wondrous surface so sharp that he once believed that it could cut without touch.

The hilt suddenly grew warm as if the weapon were alive. Ka'frin melted along with the confines of the room into an envelope of darkness. Another presence occupied the ensuing blackness with him, and conversed with his mind.

*Son of Siberan. How unfortunate. I am no longer for you,* its mind whispered in sighs that mimicked the movements of the tide.

*Sentient!*

*Indeed.*

*Why has my father imprisoned you!*

*I answered the call in seasons long past when Homeworld plunged into war. I have willingly served the Silver Waters clan since that time, as is my right and destiny. My path is clear, unlike yours, healer,* it mocked.

The rebuke stabbed at the heart of his insecurities. Once he had been a true warrior, named an open spiral by the priests, like his father. With the arrival of his mystic gift, and the empathy it spawned, the touch of any weapon upon flesh seared. The sword had the right of it. Although he might fight in battle, and although he had learned to endure the discomfort forced upon him by his gift, as a warrior, he had become flawed, a victim of the unexpected compassion born of healing.

*To whom do you now belong.*

*In time you will know. Summon me no more.*

Soft firelight returned. Ka'frin had left the chamber. The sword rested across his knees, without its silver light, but its deadly beauty unmistakable. He sliced the air with the weapon. The weapon did nothing to prevent his action. It was supremely balanced. And not for him. I have your body, but not your soul, he mused.

"I respect your wishes," he murmured, sheathing the blade, and with it, a longing for something he could not possess. "And now I must also hide you, for Trel will not have you."

*That will not be difficult.*

He had not expected another sending of the mind, and despite his promise, Tygra instinctively drew the blade. The being that stood before him was the one that had taken the Sword of Omens in payment for the city on Third Earth that would shelter those from Thundera. That he had crossed time and space without the benefit of a spacecraft left Tygra dizzy with unanswered questions.

Eri'mintálí wore the form that had allowed him to walk to the steps of Cats Lair. The asira'savi smiled, and extended his scaled hand. *Time for you to return home. The city must be built.*

With certainty, Tygra knew that the lack of a vehicle mattered not to the being, but his concerns clouded his acquiescence to the request. *What of Shaktar'ri? He is responsible for my safety.*

*We will see that all is well for him. Have no fear.*

The asira'savi had still left some matters unvoiced. *My uncle Trel--*

*Not on this world will you settle with him.*

And maybe not on Third Earth either, Tygra decided ruefully. He returned the sword to its scabbard, then offered his free hand to the alien. Talitha. After the events of the day, that is all that he wanted, and she was on Third Earth. The problems of this world would be resolved by those pulling the strings, not him. "A city needs to be built," he declared with confidence.