Leaves of Transformation

A wreath of smoke encircled the fat panther's head. In the warm wagon it slowly dissipated, and perfumed the air with a spicy scent. Ba'sir set down his long pipe on a narrow table. "From the very far and mysterious East, it comes," he intoned. "At least that is what the merchant who sold me this tobacco stated," he added with a chuckle. A light breeze with the promise of midsummer suddenly wafted through an open window. "Change. It always comes. That is the nature of all."

Despite the serious turn of his remarks, Cheetara hissed, "Platitudes cheapen my death."

The merchant who was a mage narrowed his green eyes. "It can be done at any time," he said calmly.

"And only you can perform this magic."

Ba'sir nodded. "Yes, and only you can help another."

"By my death I am ensuring the preservation of Thunderan history by restoring the Matrix, what more could my Master want of me."

The merchant poured red wine into a clear goblet. He offered it to the cheetah, who shook her head in refusal. With a shrug, he downed its contents in a single gulp. He leaned back on his wide, dark chair, a throne for his immense bulk. His cool gaze rolled over her slender, defiant form, which cast a long shadow near the wall where she stood. With amazingly little effort, Ba'sir rose smoothly from his chair. His head nearly scraped the roof of the covered wagon, and his body blocked whatever light had come through the small window. "We will go to Xerxes' house, and you can meet the one who can also benefit from your sacrifice."

*****

Never had she seen such a wound. Nothing but scar tissue remained on the right side of the face. The arm and ear were gone, and the torso was a ruination of flesh and bone. That anyone could have survived such a wound seemed impossible. But if any one could have stared down Death, it would have been Tygra. No matter the universe, Cheetara decided. The stricken tiger slept on Xerxes' bed so deeply she was unsure whether he had already crossed into the Silence.

"He fades fast from this reality," the starborn remarked, "because he has a counterpart here. His presence has disrupted the fabric of space-time. The universe treats him like an infection that must be destroyed." The man glanced at the young tigress Masika. "His daughter is not effected because she is unique. In our universe Tygra never defeated Mumm-Ra, and never sired a cub with Willa."

It was in the eyes that Masika reflected Tygra the strongest. The gaze was direct and unflinching with the courage to face the loss of everything she had known and the loss of her father.

"When he dies, he will vanish into oblivion, erased as a mistake." Ba'sir remarked. "There will be no chance of rebirth. Cosmic rejection."

"How can you possibly know that!" Cheetara protested, yet knew instinctively that the fat panther was correct.

"You can give him the chance of rebirth in our universe by taking him into the Matrix with you. Within its dimension his spirit, free of its mortal form, will be slowly added to the fabric of this space-time. And when your day of freedom finally comes, you can both cross into the Silence and infinite possibility together."

The metaphysics were beyond her understanding, but her sixth sense attested to the truth of it all. In an instant of time she saw this other Tygra and herself on a verdant plain. His smile brightened the azure sky; his spirit form had the beauty and wholeness his body lacked. It was surprisingly peaceful. The vision blurred into dizzying colors.

Cheetara felt a warm arm around her shoulder. She leaned against Xerxes' chest. He was youth and spring, and smelt of the roses that climbed the cottage walls. Would the senses exist within the cool crystal that would be her prison? she wondered.

"Will you help him?" The voice that asked belonged to a warrior, but the tone conveyed the feelings of a daughter.

"Your father does me honor," Cheetara answered, "shares my burden, and gives me company."

*****

Cheetara's cubs played at her feet, their snarling and growling cute in its intense sincerity. Two days had passed since her meeting with Ba'sir. The sun dipped to the west. It had been a good day of warmth and laughter. On this night, so close to the solstice, she must cross into the unknown.

Snarf helper Velma fussed over the twins. "Marcus does not play fair!" she observed. It was true that Panthro's son used his greater weight to sit upon his brother Altair, but Tygra's son was very adept at flipping him over. They had not yet mastered walking, but crawling and rolling came easy. They had not yet uttered words. They did know their names, although it had taken Panthro so long to settle on one for his son that he answered to several. The name Marcus did seem to suit him though. Even at this young age he had a warrior's spirit. Altair was quiet, like his father, but was not one to be pushed around, and rose to the challenge when necessary.

Cheetara glanced at Velma. She had no idea of what was to come. Her papers were in the hands of the Master. She said a small prayer of thanks that her companions were either on the road or too busy to know what was about to transpire. It is better this way, she decided. Cowardly, but better, else I lose my resolve.

She reached over and picked up Marcus, and kissed the top of his head. He giggled with delight. Altair gave an affronted squeak. The reality was that he would be missed most of all. She pulled him up onto her lap, and studied his green eyes. What role he had to play in their future was uncertain, but she knew that one day he would be an important key. "Don't forget me," she whispered.

"Oh, why would he ever do that," Velma said with a snort. "He is so in love with his mother, he believes you cause the sun to rise."

Cheetara set him down slowly, and with the hope that the touch of his fur upon her hand would last forever. She rose from the stone bench. "Velma, I am going for a walk. I will be late, so don't wait up for me. I need to see the Master."

"He certainly does not appreciate you. Works you too hard. I am glad you took two suns to play a little."

Cheetara smiled, and with all her courage left her home, her sons, and all that she had known and loved.

*****

The Hall of History seemed surprisingly small, as if it could not hold the events that were about to unfold. At its center rested the Matrix on its golden stand. All the people she had expected were there, and many that she had wanted to be there were not.

Cheetara approached the crystal. Tonight a door would open, and a door would close. She touched the smooth facets of the Matrix. The wounded tiger, revived by Ba'sir's magic, stood by her side, and stared at her with astonishment. Tygra from the other place finally rested his right hand upon a facet.

In the shadows stood the few witnesses to an exchange that had occurred just once before, and far in the past. Masika had the stance of a warrior, straight and proud. Xerxes had a heart open with sympathy. She had thought him vain and shallow, but this night his compassion reached her empty heart, and gave it comfort. The Master historian was a mute sentinel who would soon die, his task complete. Handsome Dah'ri with blue rose in hand smiled.

All that remained was to give permission. And that she did with a nod of her head, such a simple gesture for such a profound moment.

Ba'sir whispered. The edges of reality softened. She and her companion became as transparent as the crystal. The last gesture and word belonged to Dah'ri who flung his rose. The petals touched her clear hand, and she and the tiger dissolved into the Void.

In the next moment, which may have lasted an eternity, she floated with Tygra above a plain bright with light from an unseen sun. A crystal tree rose proudly from the earth.

The original soul that had fueled the Matrix had gone. *Be free and at peace,* she prayed.

The tiger looked soulfully at her. All his injuries had vanished. Tygra at the height of his power and beauty would be her companion for countless seasons. *Make for me a fine dwelling,* she asked.

Tygra from the other place smiled.

The future opened before them.