Rain of Winter

Tygra held the steaming cup of tea. The spicy fragrance gave him some comfort on a day when relentless rain bathed cobblestones and garden statues. Almost all of the Felinari had returned to Homeworld. The merchant Ba'sir had only a thousand souls left to transport to Third Earth in his spaceship from the world of the Four-Forms. That everyone would be in Lion-o's city for the end of the Third Earth year was a goal that would be missed. Just past the solstice, the shroud of winter still covered the renewing light of spring.

The architect moved away from the window, and sat on an ugly wooden chair by the fireplace. The dreariness of the season contributed to his chill, but it was the death of innocents that had left him in despair. That he could have done nothing to prevent it made him increasingly believe in the futility of existence. "What will Trel do now?" he asked the flames. A log cracked opened and hissed sparks. He looked back on the arrival of his kin to Third Earth, and wondered what signs he had missed.

Ba'sir had finally mastered a smooth and exact landing of his spaceship. Within sight of Lion-o's city, the merchant had released his latest batch of refugees. Tygra remembered that he had steeled himself. He owed the fat panther a favor, for it was he that had warned him that most of the red tiger clan would be on this particular excursion. Standing behind the Lord of the Thundercats, Tygra had waited for the appearance of the Chi'ris'rin Su'ti, and his uncle Trel, a clan leader in his own right.

His older cousin had donned the formal dress of his office. Sweeping robes of black draped his strong body, and a diadem of gold, with a single emerald at its center, encircled his brow. Trel, attired for battle in leather armor similar to Tygra's own, flanked the younger leader. When his uncle had seen him, the elder Thunderan had tensed. When Lion-o introduced Tygra as his chosen Chi'ris'rin for those of mixed blood, Trel's right hand had tightened into a fist. The tiger believed he would draw his long sword. But the impulse passed, and although Trel did not remove the grimace from his face, nor soften his intense gaze, the architect knew that he would not strike. Tygra noted the manner in which his uncle held his arm. An injury had not healed properly. Even in sport with his brothers, Trel had always preferred to win any contest. Tygra relaxed his guard. Trel would not skewer him. Indeed a prophecy he had taken little faith in had suggested that they would never comes to blows.

Su'ti had accepted the king's declaration with a bow and words of fealty. Trel could do no less before the son of Claudus. Others of his kind, from the oldest to the youngest, quickly disembarked, and performed the same ritual. The architect knew that his aunt Kalyn'ri would not be among the group. Many in the house of mystics, those who had the gift and those who served, had not yet returned to Third Earth. The few that had come so far Ba'sir had transported separately. Under whose advice he had chosen to do this, Tygra could not be sure. In this instance, given Trel's hostility to mystics, it had been a wise move.

Sweet voices had finished the oaths of loyalty. The females' silver-black clothing marked them: Trel's rahildi, the ones with whom his uncle had desired to produce a male heir. Their offspring, all females too, were cousins he would never come to know.

Rum'ni, the Sar'i'rahildi, had taken his aunt Kalyn'ri's place when she had relinquished her position as Prime Consort. His aunt had become an apprentice in the house of healing, the place to which she had retired when she had wearied of Trel and his insanity. Her surviving daughter, Makani, cloistered among the historians, had come to the new world before either parent.

A roll of thunder caused the windows to rattle in their casements. Quiet thunder. Rum'ni should have been named Quat'ri: bringer of lightning. It was she who had brought plague.

The wind increased in its ferocity, and Tygra wondered where on the landscape of Third Earth his uncle Trel currently sought shelter, if he still lived. The elder had always called down the lightning. Finally, he had burned.

Trel had beaten Rum'ni. The testimony of the servants to Su'ti indicated that the female had moved stiffly soon after their arrival to Third Earth. The wagging tongues hissed that she had felt the sharp claws of her lord, but no one knew her offense. None would discover it either. Rum'ni was the daughter of a warrior. In the darkest sector of the night, she went to the temple of Ni'tara. Before a priest could stop her, she had wielded her dagger to seal her prayer. She had offered her blood and her life for the intervention of the Goddess of Fate. That the fruit of her own womb would wither was a consequence she had not anticipated.

The sickness had begun at dawn. Within the space of a day, the youngest born of the rahildi had died, their lungs filled with thick fluid. Over Trel's objections, Su'ti had called for mystics, not clan physicians, for he feared a swift plague that would threaten his king's city. In the space of another day, the remaining kittens and their mothers had succumbed. The Goddess of Healing had lost this war to the far stronger Goddess of Fate, who had heard and answered Rum'ni's prayers for vengeance in Her own manner.

The sad images fled his mind. Someone banged loudly at his door. Tygra quickly ushered in an ill-clad figure from the tempest.

"When!" he gasped in surprise.

"Two suns ago," his aunt Kalyn'ri answered. The architect brought the tigress to his chair by the fire. "Where has he gone?" she asked.

"I do not know," Tygra replied truthfully.

His aunt began to weep. "I must find Trel," she choked.

Anger crept into Tygra's voice. "Why! His violence to Rum'ni caused this."

"Rum'ni invoked Ni'tara. She must pay the price in many lifetimes for the death of innocents."

"How can you defend him!"

"I do not," Kalyn'ri demurred, "but his prayers did not kill."

"He merely lacked the opportunity," Tygra hissed.

"You do not understand, young one," Kalyn'ri said with sorrowful finality. The female rose, and headed toward the door. "Goodbye, Tygra." The storm claimed his aunt once more.

Conflicting emotions vied for his heart, but he finally sped toward the door.

*It is her quest alone. You have other obligations now.* Te'sara had sent the stinging mental command.

*She is my kin!* he protested.

*As am I,* Te'sara answered more gently. *I am the leader of the mystics. An apprentice in our house has fled into danger. I have sent Shaktar'ri to watch over her.*

A warmer presence stroked his mind, and dispelled his aunt.

*It is cold,* he told his mate.

*I will be home soon.* Talitha assured him.

*I will be waiting.*