Stars Fall

Tygra stood at the edge of a dense forest, and waited for someone who would not come. "Who changes the way?" he asked Cheetara. She blew lightly on his neck as she had done when they were lovers.

The architect snapped awake. Two summers had passed since he had given the Guardian's gift to the Matrix of History, and Cheetara had touched his soul. Shifting in his bed, he reached for his pregnant mate, and found nothing. The architect grumbled, "Where in the name of Jaga is she?"

Tygra took a deep, resigned breath. That Talitha would get upset this late in her time was not foreseen. She had maintained her new level of mystic power, despite her current condition. It even deepened her connection with him and the daughter she carried. She had come easily to an accommodation with the changes of her body, and had responded to them with a calm mastery of self that put an unflattering light on his own grumblings. His body had remained stubbornly soft despite his attempts at exercise. However, the architect noted with gratitude that this time he had at least been spared the inconvenience of lactation.

Maybe males will never understand females, Tygra decided as he stumbled out of bed, and donned his robe. Despite several rugs, the cold of approaching winter made his feet tingle. He walked quietly down the staircase. He had no desire to wake the cubs or the snarf sleeping in the bedrooms on the lower floor, for concern that chaos of another order of magnitude would erupt.

Tygra squinted in the darkness. The fire burned low, yet Talitha was not in her chair by the hearth. Fear replaced annoyance. Outside. She must be there, he decided. He darted to the window. "Damn!" He threw open the door, and despite the blast of cold, sprinted across the barren earth. "What in the seven hells are you doing out here!" he demanded.

From her place on the stone bench, the white tigress looked up at her mate. "Uneasy," she said, unsure of her own response. She shivered under her thin robe.

"Names of all the gods," Tygra murmured. He bent over, and lifted her up in his arms. The tigress rested her head against his chest. "Do you want our daughter born on frozen ground?" he gently chided.

Talitha's smile at his jest quickly faded. "Look!" she declared.

Tygra had an opportunity to see the meteor, for it seemed to linger in its descent against the blackness of night. "Birth or death," he remarked. His pensive mood quickly turned. "But no matter that. You are going to sit by the fire, and drink some hot tea."

*****

Leaning against the mantle, Tygra studied his lover. He had practically buried her under warm blankets. He relaxed his mind to read her aura, a practice that still came with some measure of difficulty. All appeared well. Her blue eyes continued to stare at the flames in the fireplace, as she remained in quiet contemplation upon her favorite chair. Her mind travels, he wondered, but where? She had not touched her tea, but a coil of rising vapor indicated that the liquid in the cup was still hot if she wished its warmth.

The layers of fabric hid her gravid body well. The promise of another spring had made itself surprisingly known in many families in the city including his own. A few days, maybe a week at the most, and a new cub would join his household. Would the sons of Cheetara really appreciate the birth of a sister. Tygra chuckled. "Three cubs in the house. We may not know quiet for some time to come, Talitha," he said with amusement.

"Tygra, I think you should wake Velma."

Before he could answer her request to summon the snarf helper, a contraction nearly knocked him off his feet.

*****

He feared the night would be a never ending circle of confusion. However, once Velma and the cubs had left the cottage, and Tir'shan had arrived to assist in the delivery, everything proceeded smoothly, but painfully. That he had borne the brunt of Talitha's labor contractions because of his psychic link with her proved to be the one variable that he had left out of his equation.

His daughter finally came with the dawn, entering the world with a surprising amount of noise for one so tiny. "She is perfect!" Tir'shan announced. The giant cleansed the cub in a small ceramic basin filled with water. She squirmed and squeaked until he dried her off, then wrapped her in linen. He passed her to Talitha with a bow. "Your little wonder."

Observing the face still scrunched in outrage, the white tigress remarked, "She favors her father." The exhausted cub rested against Talitha's breast and quieted quickly.

Breathing heavily, the last assaults on his body subsiding temporarily, Tygra dropped onto his chair with a grunt of relief. The mystics' laughter filled the room.

*****

"Take another," Tir'shan said as he poured Tygra a drink into a small green glass. "You have earned it," he added with a smirk.

The warmth of the fire and the leisurely passage of the day with too many toasts of celebration and small talk had left the tiger feeling slightly disconnected from his body. "I shouldn't, " Tygra mumbled before he threw back the shot of liquor. He had lost count of how many doses of the potent Berbil elixir he had downed with the white tiger.

Tir'shan shifted on a chair too small to comfortably contain his size, his long legs stretched out toward the fire. The giant grew reflective. "My daughter Ameera is not that much older than your own, Tygra. But what talents have come with her life? That I have pondered without answer, for I never expected to father more cubs. Her conception was a shock to Ayasha and me."

Tygra chuckled. "Certainly no more service for you in the temple of Miritana."

"Unless, of course, some female wishes to be a vessel for mystic bloodlines." Tir'shan shook his head. "For now, though, there is too much uncertainty. The level of power that I now possess is difficult to comprehend, and some days, I feel it is hard to contain as a Circle of One."

"You worry too much, mystic," he replied, thankful that Talitha had been spared from ever serving in Tir'shan's healing circle. The giant now overpowered everyone, and could no longer serve as a ri'sar'ri.

"Shall I hold up a mirror, my Lord Tygra," Tir'shan retorted as he refilled the architect's glass.

At this rate he would surely be spending the night by the fire, for he would not be able to make the stairs without tripping over his robes. At least Tir'shan had the sense to dress in a less entangling pair of trousers. With resentment, Tygra had yet to mark the alcohol's effects on the giant. I used to be better at this! Well, he's taller and outweighs me considerably, Tygra decided. Another thought suddenly rushed into his tired brain. That bastard! I will bet on Jaga's bones that he has nursed one drink this whole damn time.

The architect closed his eyes in defeat. He slipped into a lightness of soul that magnified his senses. Somewhere in the room Tir'shan's breathing grew almost as relaxed as his own. A restful night in a temporarily diminished household loomed ahead. Let Velma and Snarf watch Altair and Marcus for a few more suns, he decided.

A deep voiced suddenly complained, "I should have made it back sooner! I missed all the excitement, and any opportunity I had to torment you about your weight, Tygra."

"You're back! We did not expect you for another moon." He never recalled opening his eyes, yet he saw the grey warrior clearly before him. "You've changed too," was all he managed to add.

"Indeed, and not for the better," the panther said softly.

He had seen Panthro in the ceremonial robes of the panther clan, but not for roaming the wilderness. Tygra rose unsteadily, keeping a hand on the armrest to keep himself from pitching forward. "Why are you clothed so? Such garb is not practical for a patrol or fighting."

He answered cryptically, "The northerners have always been trouble, you know that, Tygra."

Tygra walked with uncertainty toward his friend. "Sartren's people?"

"They come back to bite us, my friend."

Tygra clasped Panthro's hands. Knuckles that had become increasingly gnarled by worsening arthritis, those were the hands of Panthro, not the smooth fists he now held.

"Oh no," Tygra gasped, and sank to his knees as he released Panthro from his grip.

The tiger's eyes opened, his gaze following only the grain of the wooden floor. Tir'shan knelt beside him. "Who are you talking to?" the perplexed mystic asked.

Tygra put his hand to his mouth. If he spoke the words they would be real and unalterable. Tir'shan helped him to his feet. The spinning of the room made him cling to the giant's tunic. "Who, Tygra? What in the seven hells has happened?"

A sound came from the upper floor of the cottage. "Talitha cries!" Tygra choked. "We must go to her."

The mystic shook him soundly. "Tell me what you know, Tygra!"

"Panthro is dead."

*****

"He blessed our daughter, Tygra. I cannot tell you how he...." Talitha's voice faded. The white tigress turned from the window, and looked to the crib.

"Dearest, you should get back into bed," Tygra suggested, discreetly bracing himself against Tir'shan and a dresser. He prayed that Talitha would not notice his distressed state.

"Shall I call Cenatua?"

"No, Tir'shan, never her!"

The giants eyes narrowed in anger. "Then we wait for the patrol to return," he snapped, stepping away from the tiger lord. "That is all we can do if Panthro is already dead."

Tygra tightened his grip on a drawer handle to prevent himself from falling. "Wait!" The giant glared back at him, still stung by the insult to the new Guardian, who happened to be his eldest daughter. "What of Cheetara?"

Tir'shan placed his hands on his hips, his fingers tapping in consternation. "An approach we will consider tomorrow, Tygra, and not before," the white tiger replied. "Our immediate responsibility is to the living."

The giant turned his attention to Talitha. "You are to rest." He pulled Tygra toward the door. "I have other plans for you."

*****

Dah'ri removed his hand from the Matrix that held the history of the Thunderan people and two souls. The reflection of his red robes bloodied its crystalline purity. "She will not tell me."

The young Lord of the Thundercats asked the golden desert cat, "Why does Cheetara not communicate with us. I must know!"

The priest of Dandara indicated the crystal tree that cast prisms of morning light about the room. "She may prefer another's touch regarding this matter."

Tygra entered the chamber with Tir'shan. Food, rest and a special concoction prepared by the mystic had driven the alcohol from the tiger's body. Lion-o came to the architect's side. The stricken look knifed his heart. How could he comfort his lord if he could not ease the misery in his own soul.

"Last night Panthro appeared to me in a dream. Do you think he is really dead, Tygra? Will you ask, Cheetara? " Lion-o implored.

"My lord," growled Lir obviously upset with the submissive request of his king.

"Silence!" Lion-o thundered at his advisor, the walls of the chamber reverberating with his distress.

He is truly a youngster no longer, Tygra decided, wondering when Lion-o had gained strength to both his form and his voice. He placed his hands on the young king's shoulders. "My Lord, yesterday he also came to me. I will attempt to get to the truth. This I promise." Tygra glanced at Tir'shan, whose rigid stance indicated a level of concern. If I fail, he must succeed. The architect relinquished his grasp, and faced the great object of power.

Most times the tree reflected its surroundings. On rare occasions he saw scenes of the past spontaneously play out in its faceted branches and leaves, and wondered if Cheetara yearned to send a message. But for now, an infinite number of Tygras danced in its light. He positioned himself against the trunk, and let the barriers to his mind recede.

*****

One must expect rock strewn, frigid ground on patrol, Panthro decided. Pulling a thin blanket over himself, he concluded, But I don't have to like it. I am old before my time. Waves of pain periodically nagged his left hip, and left him clenching his equally tormented hands. Hard warrior living had lead to this. He required sleep if he intended to take over the watches deep in the night, but would not bet heavily on his chances for rest.

He smelt freezing rain in the rising breeze, weather that none of his small band of woefully untested warriors needed. Against the light of a low fire, he watched Chand'ra pace. Definitely the last patrol of the season. We should hole up until next spring with a well stocked supply of wood, food, and potent drink. That will keep us well fueled. The thought of sharing his bed with the snow leopard warmed him in an inconvenient way.

The cracking of a branch did not alarm him, but the clear scent of mountain tiger did. He was on his feet as the first arrow shot past him. "Get the archer," he commanded as his comrades fanned out to repel the attack. To his surprise a human not a mountain tiger leapt upon him with a shout. Just a damn youngster! he thought with indignation. Panthro dispatched him with a solid right to his jaw. Two more took the place of the fallen one, but these were more seasoned men with clubs. He had no mercy for them, and felled both with his daggers. A shout came from one of his own, but Chand'ra's throwing star smartly silenced the attacker.

Time elongated during battle, then suddenly snapped back to its normal flow when everyone stopped moving. Panthro quickly scanned the camp site, and counted his warriors. None lost. It took a instant too long for the shadow to register in his mind. "Chand'ra down!" he shouted as he lunged forward throwing his knife at the one mountain tiger that skulked in the forest. The blade cleanly lodged in the enemy Thunderan's throat, but not before the expertly slung stone crashed against Panthro's temple. The force of the blow knocked him off his feet. As the circle of his vision narrowed, the last thing he saw was the anguished face of Chand'ra.

*****

A strong, masculine hand gave his shoulder a squeeze. The end had come seven suns prior, not yesterday. Tygra stirred, surprised to find that he had slid to the floor. The crystal tree was warm under his hands. "Good journey, Panthro," he whispered. "If it is in your power, Cheetara, ease his passage." A delicate breeze caressed his neck.

Tygra reluctantly related what he had seen, and watched the Lord of the Thundercats's face darken with anger. The flame unexpectedly leapt into his own heart, but he made no attempt to quell it.

"My Lord Lion-o!" A young guard of the lion clan burst into the hall. He bowed to one knee in greeting. "Panthro's patrol has returned!"

*****

Guilt made him nauseous, yet he hated that evil had gained the upper ground too many times in his life. He despised the fact that joyous occasions had suffered ruin. The sickness of heart which afflicted him had stolen his clarity. "I have had enough!" Tygra roared, unleashing his rage.

The cheetah warrior he practiced with froze in terror as the architect brought a long sword down like an avenging god. Through his agony Tygra barely realized that he was about to deliver a fatal blow. He twisted his body so that the blade hit the courtyard stone with enough force to crack it before shattering.

Tygra straightened slowly, and with heavy breaths. The mystic blood that coursed through his veins rejected such violence, and intense pain was its payment. He prayed his mind barrier was strong enough to shield Talitha from his distress. The part of himself that was truthful doubted it.

"Don't you think that is completely enough?" Tir'shan tersely observed.

In that instant in time, he would endure anything in Panthro's name to defend what he cherished against the threat of the rebellious mountain tigers. Tygra silently handed what remained of the broken sword to the dazed youngster he had bested.

"You're a mystic, Tygra! I can help you to broaden your defensive fighting skills with minimal pain with our martial arts, and not the blade. If you must loose your anger, release it with the bow!"

The words rose up from a dark place. "Far less satisfying than a sword sundering flesh," he snapped, the interference by the mystic forcing his anger to grow even stronger.

Tir'shan's sky blue eyes changed color like an incoming storm. He turned to leave. Without looking back, he said, "The cubs in your household do not need to lose another parent."

The funeral he had arranged at Lion-o's request had come and gone too quickly. Tygra thought of the small urn, which contained some of Panthro's ashes, that rested on his mantle. He considered his own tears that refused to flow. Marcus would never have any strong memory of his father. Chand'ra was now alone. And he would be without his grey brother for the rest of his days.

No matter how small their band, Sartren's people would attack one day, of that he had no doubt. He would only have to wait, and prepare. That was what he had calmly advised Lion-o to do. "And then, you will have your day, Panthro. We will all see to it."