Night of Fire and Air

We are past the winter solstice, but I swear on Jaga's bones, it is always the second month of the Third Earth year that is the coldest. The low burning fire had failed to heat the main room of the stone cottage. Tygra drew the blanket more closely around his thin body, which was clad only in a red o'ba'ti. The fading afternoon sun cast flickering shadows that matched the weak flames. A strong western wind rattled the windows. A storm approached. A serpent of anxiety wrapped itself around his heart, and made it race. The architect took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, watching the frosty vapor that escaped his lips.

He had received no relief from his anguish. No cubs amused him with playful antics. No mate warmed his bed. He grieved for his friends, and against his better judgment, that had eclipsed everything. Duty had torn Cheetara from him, and a mountain tiger had killed Panthro. He was the last adult Thunderan that Jaga had trusted to guide Lion-o. He had done so, and well. Yet, he suffered the burden of being left behind.

He had no wish to seek death, but he desired a reckoning with the evil that consumed his thoughts. He had been a warrior. As a lord of Thundera, it was his birthright to seek justice for Panthro, yet the mystic blood that flowed through his veins judged him harshly. To wield a sword, even in defense, was an abomination, but only such an action would give him satisfaction. Savar and Mrísena. He had served two gods, and neither one would give ground. It would be easier if his heart simply finished breaking, and he departed to the quiet of the silence.

But my soul would not know peace, he decided, and my spirit would wander. Talitha deserves her life. Our cubs deserve two parents. All gods be damned! I should stop this madness! He gazed at his father's sword hanging in a place of honor above the mantlepiece. A branch snapped in the flames with a hiss. "But I cannot!" Tygra cried, as it began to rain.

*****

Tir'shan watched helplessly. Two gods approached, and he could not stop them for he was chained to the place he guarded. A black crystal twisted into the form of an open spiral rested on an altar.

The white tigress gazed fiercely at the lion that wielded a long sword. Mrísena swayed slightly in her blue robes. Savar circled her, his boots kicking up dust that coated his leather armor.

The god snarled and tossed his auburn mane in contempt, certain that he would win the contest, and retrieve what was his from the altar. "Red for blood; white for bone; black for earth," he snarled. That is his path, mystic."

Mrísena smiled. "Already he reaches for the violet ray of healing though he knows it not, warrior."

"Metal conquers wood!"

"Sometimes wood conquers metal."

The god charged. Tir'shan screamed as the sword pierced his heart.

*****

"Blood of my mothers, Tir'shan, awake!"

The slap stung. The mystic opened his eyes. He was on the floor tangled in bedding. If the dream had not been so terrifying, he would have laughed at himself for the spectacle he presented to his companion.

Ayasha raised her hand. "That is quite enough!" Tir'shan exclaimed, grabbing the black woman's wrist before she could deliver another strong, well-intentioned blow.

A homespun shift covered the former Guardian's hairless body. A colorful knitted cap kept her bald head equally warm. Her brown eyes narrowed in concern, but her tightly pursed lips added menace to her expression. "When will you ask for help with these night terrors, Tir'shan?" Ayasha complained.

The woman had no notion of what he planned. Heaviness hung on the mystic's heart. He had known the action asked of him. The dream had repeated too often, but he feared the outcome. Along with healing, death also walked beside him.

His cub began to whimper. "Now see what you have done," Ayasha grumbled. The woman opened her right hand, and murmured. A small flame suddenly floated over her palm. It guided her through the darkness to the crib that held their daughter.

Her words deepened the guilt he felt over ruining his companion's sleep, her freedom and her future. What a strange web I have trapped you in, Ayasha, he thought with regret.

Tir'shan freed himself, and stood. He donned a batik robe as he padded to her side. Ayasha sang softly in a language he did not understand, but he knew to be of her people. Tiny Ameera, close to one year old, quickly quieted in her crib, lulled by the sweet alto of her mother's voice. She closed her pale violet eyes, and drifted back to sleep. The serenity in her face eased his burden for a moment.

Although born in the normal manner, he considered Ameera his second miracle, and no less surprising than his first. His precious daughter clearly favored his Thunderan origins. Her fur was brilliant white, and striped black on both her body and short mane. She would never possess the raven mane that crowned Cenatua's head, just as the new Guardian would never be light-eyed like her younger sister. Certainly their unique coloring precluded the development of any facial markings. For this reason, both would be deemed rare beauties.

Yet one sister will not know the pleasures of joining and one will. One will command the great power born of Guardianship; the other may have no mind gifts at all because of the presence of human ancestry, Tir'shan mused.

He studied tall Ayasha who walked back to the too soft bed he detested. She moves like smooth flowing water. Human, yet not quite. Modified one thousand years ago when she accepted Guardianship, and its transformation, from the last of the original Guardians, who was a being from the stars. Less now than she was, but still.....

Tir'shan stretched. He felt a smile on his lips, and the pleasant growth of desire. A night bird cried out. He remembered the dream, and what it portended. All joy died.

*****

"Tygra, you are not listening."

The rebuke was mild, yet the architect felt the heat rush to his face in embarrassment. He looked up from the papers he held in his left hand, knowing that he had lost the trail of the conversation regarding the new spring fields. From his place by the long windows that overlooked the bustling city, the Lord of all Thunderans raised an eyebrow quizzically. Tygra returned a nod in apology, but kept quiet. Grief and fatigue kept him chained to his chair, and his mind completely distracted from his work.

He considered the king in his fine robes of yellow. Lion-o had finally accepted Panthro's passing. When he had done so, the young lion had defeated the mysterious fever that had claimed his health for a short span. By his words he had helped the king move forward in the selfish hope that his own discomfort would diminish by his efforts. But I am still consumed, Tygra thought sorrowfully. And now new challenges present themselves.

The tailors could not keep pace with the changes in Lion-o's physique. That the king had grown in height and muscle suggested that, despite his youth, awakening would come earlier than anyone had a right to expect.

Another shadow crossed Tygra's heart. You should have crossed into full adulthood with Cheetara, my king. That is what she, Panthro, and I decided for you so long ago, when we were so few, and life, although difficult, seemed far simpler. Now whom will you take to bed for your awakening? Whom will Lir select when the time finally comes? Tygra rubbed his tired eyes. I hope your other advisor has made plans because I do not expect you to make it to the summer solstice without knowing first joining.

The lengthening shadows suggested that the sun had moved beyond its zenith. While the architect remained silent and pensive, Lion-o approached. He placed his hand on his shoulder. From recent conversations, the king knew what not to say. Although the lion clearly did not agree, he understood the tiger's need to find his own way out the maze of emotions that had deprived him of peace. Lion-o said simply, "Tygra, the plans can wait a few days. Go home. Eat something, and for the love of Jaga, get some rest."

Resplendent in his official robes of black and gold, Tygra rose fluidly, then bowed. For an instant he held Lion-o's thoughtful gaze, and wondered if he had assisted the young king for the last time.

*****

Tir'shan sat by a massive wooden table, sunlight alone illuminating its surface through a window that faced west. He wielded a brush to capture the symbol for courage on a piece of thin paper. His left hand shook too much for the red ink to flow smoothly. He set down his brush on its stand, then crumpled his work. He leaned back on his ebony chair, the folds of his generous blue robe loosely draping his long legs. He prayed that the one person he wished to avoid would not bother him, or he would lose what little courage remained to him.

Talitha. He hated the rumors that had followed his sister mystic since her prolonged stay at the temple of Mrísena. Many postulated that she had left Lord Tygra for him. That neither she nor her mate addressed the gossip only fueled it, as did the attention he had paid to the three cubs in her care. He had led the mystic council at Te'sara's request since becoming a Circle of One, a condition with which he still struggled. However, he had done nothing to keep his own people quiet, preferring to let the innuendos die out as boredom pointed to other discussions.

"Mystic council, indeed!" Tir'shan argued with himself. "Me, Te'sara and Sri'rin. We should be seven, not three, but time has taken its toll, and we have been too busy to rectify the situation." He caressed his throbbing brow in response to the acute stress that sapped his energy. "If my plan is put into effect, my equals will reject me, then what will be their excuse!"

A soft tap sounded on the door. "Enter," he said, and was not pleased to see the one who might suffer the most from his actions.

Talitha wore a green embroidered caftan that he found most pleasing. Hot liquid allowed a curl of steam to escape from the cup she carried. "Ri'sar'ri Cori told me that you looked like you could use some warming, Tir'shan." The white tigress set the vessel down on a woven mat at the corner of the table. She observed him keenly with her sapphire eyes. "What troubles you so?" she asked in a manner that suggested she would permit no evasion of her question.

"Your lord," he replied. Time has run its course for him, and me too, he thought sadly.

She casually picked up the discarded drawing, and marked the symbol. She carefully folded the paper before placing it back down on the desk. "Do not give up on him," she requested softly.

"I won't," he answered, leaving much unspoken.

Talitha smiled, the worst assault that she could launch upon him, then turned to leave. She trusted him implicitly, and he would betray her. No matter the affection he held for Ayasha, and the great gifts she had given him, he feared his soul would always belong to Talitha.

*****

It was fitting that he should call upon Lord Tygra at sundown. Tir'shan rang the bell hanging from a pole by the wooden door in the hedge. After several moments, he was not received by the tiger who dwelt alone within the stone cottage. He crossed through the portal, as it was not secured. He could see light through the gaps in the shutters of the cottage. He is in, of that I am certain, the mystic decided, for he knew the tiger's meeting with Lion-o had ended earlier in the day.

It was too late to be polite. Tir'shan took a deep breath, and summoned his northern strength. He kicked the front door open.

Tygra, sitting in a chair by the fire, leapt to his feet. In the space of a breath, he drew the sword that hung over the mantle. Silver light outlined the exquisite blade. A faint hum stirred the air between them. "In the name of my father, how dare you!" Tygra howled. He was a lordly vision clad in black and gold robes that too keenly reminded the mystic of the vanquished Lord Trel.

Tir'shan threw off the weather-stained cloak that covered his healer's robes to reveal the short staff clenched in his left hand. "It is your choice, Tygra. Give up the sword or fight me."

"Mystic fool!" the architect snapped. "Your lesson will be hard earned." The tiger charged. His expression changed to surprise as Tir'shan parried the strike.

"Not as easy as you thought, my lord," he snarled. Tygra stepped up his attacked.

The mystic repeated the most effective blocking moves that Shaktar'ri had taught him, and the staff's strong wood repelled the sword without failing. However, the tiger lord by sheer will drove him through the ruined doorway to the frigid outside. He found the relentless attacks increasingly difficult to counter because of the added distraction of his mystic sensitivity. Finding an opening Tir'shan delivered a thrust to the architect's shoulder to demonstrate his serious intent. The mystic empathically absorbed the blow in equal measure, gritting his teeth against the pain.

Hurt and startled, Tygra stepped back, breathing deeply. Time narrowed in the sudden stillness. Words would now work as well as strength. "You know that Talitha favors me since she left you," Tir'shan lied.

Tygra's pupils dilated with rage. He renewed his attacks with ferocity.

Warding off the architect's tremendous blows became even more difficult. Soon, thought Tir'shan, soon. He shot one last verbal arrow. "Did you ever wonder who my father was, Thundercat?" he asked scornfully.

They collided. Sword crossed staff. Face to face with his opponent, Tir'shan whispered. "I am the son of Sartren." They broke apart with such force that both spun about.

Tygra loosed a war cry. Both hands firmly on the hilt of his long sword, he flew forward.

Tir'shan threw down the staff and opened his arms to receive the blow. Momentum propelled the horrified architect forward. The blade plunged into Tir'shan's left side. Like a deeply rooted tree the mystic remained standing despite the rending of his flesh. The architect's face froze in agony from the empathic response he suffered from what he had done.

Between rapid breaths, Tir'shan gasped, "Now you know, what I have tried to spare you from discovering in battle with the mountain tigers." Before he could stop it, white hot light suddenly leapt from his hands, traveled down the sword, and poured into the architect like a lightning bolt. "No!" Tir'shan wailed, "Mrísena, spare him!"

Tygra flew back, and landed hard on his back. His amber eyes flickered between life and death. With a roar, Tir'shan grabbed the sword, and pulled it from his body. Colors beyond description dissolved the weapon he held with a thunderclap that knocked the mystic down.

Blood began to pool around the white tiger's wound. In a last defiant act, Tir'shan aimed his hands toward the architect. Violet light crossed the distance between them. It flowed into the stricken Thunderan lord, but Tygra's eyes closed.

Tir'shan's body and mystic gift finally failed him. His vision focused on the shards of emerald that littered the ground, the only visible remains of the sword he had destroyed. He struggled to remain conscious, but he could barely breathed.

The chants floated on the surprisingly warm breezes characteristic of a summer, not a winter, night. He smelt the sea. The hard ground beneath him had turned into sand. For a moment, there was no pain, only a great internal stillness. Naked figures illuminated by torchlight danced under the stars. One stopped and knelt down beside him. He shook his rattles over him with sibilant entreaties. A long white mane striped with dark umber framed the face of the striking sinda'am'ral'im he had encountered before in a realm beyond time. The red tiger, who was both a war chief and a priest, leaned back on his heels with a sigh. *You never learn, do you, healer* he scolded mildly with his mind.

*It was a difficult healing, Ta'k'tin,* Tir'shan admitted.

*It was only a healing that you could envision, and yet you did not consider the possibility of your own death.* The deep amber eyes regarded him with affection. *Now just decide to survive so that you can continue to guide the one you have subdued.*

*Tygra lives!*

*Your stubborn cousin still requires help that only you can offer.*

*My cousin?*

*You share northern blood.*

*But I don't--* Before the mystic could complete the thought, a new wave of suffering washed over him.

A younger, scruffier warrior dressed in worn leather suddenly sat next to the chief. The tiger's eyes, one of blue and one of amber, sparkled with mischief.

Tir'shan knew the name that somehow fit the new face. He summoned his thoughts despite his hurt.

*Trin'dir! By all the gods, Min'k'tin, we thought you were lost many seasons ago.*

*I was, Sa'k'tin," the youth answered, *but you freed me from my prison, and a promise I had fulfilled to the Silver Waters clan.*

Pain roiled Tir'shan one last time.

*Live!* the red tigers implored.

"Brothers!" the mystic called out with his last breath. He reached for the figures, who faded into strange colors, before blackness consumed everything.