Flowering

Dah'ri studied the fields. Anemic plants grasped the dawn. He put his hand to the earth, and touched the soil. Too dry. Too crumbly. He smelt the tips of his fingers. Too basic, not enough acid. A voice suddenly rang out. A farmer, small and stocky, approached. "Leave the plants alone!" he growled, his black and white fur bristling.

Dah'ri raised his hands in peace. "Have no fear, elder," he answered..

The farmer suddenly stepped back, and eyed him cautiously. "Haven't seen you in Lord Lion-o's city before," he declared. "Have never seen your like," he continued unsure of what clan the stranger claimed.

"Oh, but the King knows me," Dah'ri replied smoothly. He made a sweeping gesture. His fields are in need of my assistance.

The elder of the small cat clan pointed to the golden broach that adorned Dah'ri's red robes. "A fine flower," he commented, "but picky and prickly, so I am told."

"Life without thorns would be dull," Dah'ri remarked.

"You wait here for the guard," the elder ordered, shaking his finger at the desert cat while retreating.

Dah'ri found a rock and sat. "Thorns, indeed, " he sighed.

*****

Lion'o's city was fair and full of the growing promise of late spring. That the inhabitants continually stared at him was mildly annoying. They could easily mistake him for a member of the cougar clan, but the burnished gold fur of the desert cats, a people that had never reached Thundera, filled their eyes with both curiosity and suspicion.

The Great Hall of Cat's Lair, once so empty, now teemed with guards and officials. The blast of a horn signaled the arrival of the king. Lion-o appeared every inch the sovereign. His yellow robes clung to his strong young body, and made him a beacon of sweeping light as he ascended his intricately carved, wooden throne.

A taller, older lion standing beside him scrutinized the crowd. He possessed the majesty of rulership that made his back straight and his eyes keen. He spoke softly to the king. Lion-o's brows arched. He stood and scanned the faces in the room.

"It is I!" Dah'ri exclaimed.

"Come closer," Lion-o ordered.

Dah'ri walked to the dais, and looked up. Lion-o gasped, "It is you! How by all Thundera!"

"Perhaps a story told over a pleasant breakfast."

The advisor huffed, "Insolence."

The youth waved his hand. "He meant no disrespect, Lir, and has earned every measure of respect we can afford. This is the one who weakened Mumm-Ra, so much so, that we have not been plagued by him at all."

Sadness touched Dah'ri's heart. "Not yet gone, then," he said.

Lion-o nodded gravely. "He is as he claims: Everliving."

"That claim will one day be destroyed," Lir declared.

Lion-o gestured for an attendant. "Provide for our guest." He looked back to Dah'ri, and then over the room. "As you can see, our meeting must wait until later."

"The people always come first, my lord," Dah'ri answered with a bow.

*****

The Lair had become a garrison. The king's dwelling stood at the heart of the city. As royal houses went, it was quite simple, but elegant, a star shaped edifice. From the third floor window, Dah'ri watched the citizens with amusement. Deals over finely dyed fabric were made in the street; laughter and songs from performers rose up in odd corners; serious discussions on trade with Tabbia snaked along; in all, the streets of the city were as any other: full and interesting.

"Isn't it fabulous?" The afternoon light that flooded the room made Lion-o appear even more the Sun King.

"The people seem content, my lord," Dah'ri remarked. "That is always the sign of a good king."

Lion-o dropped onto a chair. "And a tired one."

Indeed the youth now fully knew the burden of leadership. His light eyes held fatigue and worry.

"Perhaps, I can ease your way, my lord."

"That is for the King to decide," Lir growled with suspicion as he stood by his lord's side.

Dah'ri studied the advisor, and marked the tension in his clenched fists. "Your black mane marks you as one of the desert clan of the lion race. Did not your people have alliance with...mine? Is that not why your people named their clan after our race?"

"But, Dah'ri," Lion-o began.

The advisor gave a wave of his hand. What the young king had told his advisor of his origins was still unknown to him. "That is very ancient history," snarled Lir.

"So ancient, that it is remarkable that even the historians recall it," quipped Lion-o.

"Could you not use the help of a people who could grow crops in even the barren deserts?"

"Yes, but despite appearances, that is not you," Lir retorted.

So Lion-o had told his advisor all he had known of him up until the time of his "death". "There is more to the story than you both know. Permit me to tell it."

*****

Under a sky where the stars went on forever, Dah'ri walked alone. He had waited some days for the full moon, and tonight, her beauty did not disappoint. Through her, he hoped to summon Dandara, Goddess of All That Grows. The Goddess would add blessings to an already improved field. In the days prior, he provided the farmers with precise instructions on how to improve the quality of the soil with natural amendments. Already the fledgling plants looked more robust. He had asked for quiet and privacy among the fields, for if he were successful, he was unsure of what the Goddess would require of him.

The wind rose gently on this warm night. Soon the moon would be at zenith over the fields, and then he would dance. He would know the moment, feel the energy surging through him by the hidden lines of power that radiated beneath his feet. In the steps of the dance, the streams below would realign, and the crops would have their constant benefit. He pushed his bare foot against a mound of earth. His toes tingled.

He could not recall the steps or the patterns he made along the rows of plants. Movement and time existed together in a changing dance not meant to be recalled. The wind grew more vibrant. Scents perfumed the air that belonged to the day, not the glittering night.

Dah'ri danced into an open circle in the field, and there she stood. The last time he beheld Dandara she was as green as the fields. Now, she was the black of night and soil. She opened her hand. Dah'ri pressed his palm against hers. Through the Goddess he saw the world as it was: fleeting illusion.

*The people still need to eat,* he chided gently.

*You are again a part of reality, I see, and dancing with the illusion,* she answered.

*Isn't that what you wanted?*

*What of your desires?*

Earth, sky, wind and water. The comfort of a fire. Yes, he wanted it all, this grand blanket of illusion.

Dandara pulled him forward. They began to dance. Flashes of light erupted from the ground where they stepped. Everything wavered in the vortex they created. Dah'ri pulled Dandara close, his heart filled with the pleasures of the earth. The Goddess allowed him in, and at the height of desire they remade the fields.

Dandara vanished on the wind. Thunder rolled across the plains. Rain nourished the earth. Dah'ri grumbled as he rose to his feet, and sloshed back to Lion-o's city.

*****

When the weather cleared the following morning, the desert cat inspected the fields. The plants had clearly grown. Fluffy clouds drifted lazily over the landscape, making fanciful shadows on the plains.

"My lord."

Dah'ri turned, surprised at the sound. Several people knelt on the still soggy ground, heads bowed. "I am no lord," he answered.

"We have prepared your house...priest of Dandara."

Had anyone seen? Dah'ri wondered. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He would need a home while he planned his expedition to find others of his race. What to say? He surveyed the people. Each figure wore a green sash. Acolytes? The worship of Dandara was bound to the land, not a building, and in the heart of anyone who had ever helped a plant bear fruit. But perhaps the Goddess wished something more cohesive.

He gestured in the direction of the town. "Please," he said with a smile, and prayed for wisdom.