Afternoon in Black and Green

The tiger assessed the lines on the drawing spread across the dining table. The planned expansion of the mystics' enclave would require help from Thunderans and Berbils alike. He could not stop the formation of a smile upon his face as he considered one particular feature. The enclosed hot spring is far more intimate than the large public baths of the city, he decided. I will be the first to take advantage of it. They might never get me out.

The architect looked up from his work to find his sons at his side, their green eyes holding curiosity. They were dressed as he in shades of brown. Although it was first day of spring, the chill in the air still necessitated warm clothing consisting of heavy tunics and trousers.

"What do you two think?" he asked them, showing them the drawing with pride.

"Hungry!" they both chirped in unison.

Tygra sniffed the air. The stew he was cooking over the fire was just about ready anyway. His ego deflated, he rolled up the design, and dropped it into a long wooden cannister. He set the tube safely on a shelf.

"First, we wash," he said to Marcus and Altair, as he retrieved a basin from a cupboard. He poured water from a large ceramic jug into the metal bowl. The twins wrinkled their noses in disdain, but remained calm. Not as bad as a bath, Tygra decided. I won't have to sprint all over the house to catch them.

In the end, there was a minimum of splashing, although Marcus in particular liked to fling droplets of water at his foster father. The action did not anger the tiger, but made him think fondly of Panthro. You were always up to something, my friend. You kept me on my guard, and your son is no different, he thought. He ruffled Marcus's black-spotted blonde mane as he passed. "We try to keep the water in the bowl," he said to the little panther.

"No fun," replied the normally complacent Altair, much to the shock of his father. Satisfaction spread across the tiger cub's face in an appealing grin.

I am definitely out numbered today! Throwing his arms up in the air, Tygra commanded, "Set your places." The twin's effort proceeded with much giggling, and thankfully, no damage. Although not quite three years old by local reckoning, they had taken to learning and doing chores well. He arranged two small chairs around an equally petite circular table, furniture made for cubs. I am surrounded by the young! Before long we will need a third seat for Ri, he thought, the notion immensely delightful.

The changing patterns of sunlight told him that morning had truly fled. He wondered how his daughter, his tenira, and their snarf helper fared at the Halls of Healing. The traditional, somewhat, chaotic, spring cleaning of the compound was underway. He thanked Mrísena that he had escaped that task because of his duties to the crown. However, he shuttered at the thought of learning the complex rituals of a priest, a task he needed to commence soon. Well, at least I have Talitha to help me in that area, he decided. I just wish I felt the part. I must be the only mystic-priest of Mrísena not to have taken the Oath. My healing skills are wanting. And the specter of participating in a Circle now looms.

His experiences of recent months still tended to erode his sleep, for he had yet to process everything that had occurred. Still, he remained grateful that although Tir'shan could once again enjoy his role as a ri'sar'ri, he had not called Talitha to his Circle. That was a stress he wished to avoid indefinitely. Hands suddenly tugged his trousers, and broke his reverie. "Food, Ta'sa'ba!" the twins howled.

Setting aside an inventory of his troubles, and his shortcomings as a mystic, Tygra led his sons to the their chairs with a gentle push. He turned away from them, and approached the hearth. Using a heavy cloth he retrieved the metal pot that hung over the flames. He had to admit that the stew smelt delicious, and his stomach growled in agreement. He grabbed a wooden ladle hanging from a nearby hook, then turned to face his cubs. They both leaned over the table, their heads neatly positioned on their hands as if asleep. To his horror, a towering white tigress clad in flowing green silk stood between him and the comatose cubs.

"Cenatua!" he snarled in anger. "Stay away from my sons!"

"And what will you do, architect, if I refuse?"

He was ready to throw the pot of steaming food at her, but found himself paralyzed. He answered with a roar that rattled the casements. The Guardian's black eyebrows arched, impressed at the force of his response. "Mrísena help me defeat this demon!" Tygra howled, his muscles straining under the enchantment he attempted to break. The Guardian raised her hands, and he knew the end approached for himself and his family. "Do not hurt them!" he pleaded. "Take me if you must!"

"One day, architect, you will collapse from your rage," Cenatua replied with resignation. "You never seem to learn anything." She lowered her hands. "And, as always, you misunderstand." She moved to a chair by the fire, and sat. Her beautiful white face was unreadable as she studied the flames in the hearth. "All I require is your help," she finally said softly. With a wave of her hand she released him from his unseen bonds.

When he dropped the pot, it should have crashed to the floor. Instead it drifted gently down, the ladle positioning itself inside the vessel as if placed by an invisible hand. Not heeding the small miracle, Tygra ran to his cubs. That they continued to sleep convinced him that the Guardian still represented a threat. He spun around to face her. "Release them!"

She said with measured tones, "I only bound you because I knew you would react as you did. I did not wish to frighten the young ones, so I gave them pleasant dreams."

"Get out!" he shrieked.

"What of the code of Thundera?"

"You mock it by your presence!"

"How can you refuse a request for help?"

"I will not assist evil."

The Guardian stood, her long black mane and stripes shimmering with energy. Tygra quickly scanned the room for anything that could be used as a weapon. "Use your skill at reading auras, Tygra. If I am evil, you will know."

"Why should I believe anything you say, monster!"

"Monster...an interesting word." A shadow crossed over Cenatua's brown eyes, but the emotion it represented eluded Tygra. "What makes me a monster, architect? My unusual birth?"

"You have no respect for others, and would use your power to satisfy any whim," Tygra answered, hoping to keep her distracted from whatever she had planned.

She nodded which surprised him. "I admit, I may not have respected boundaries as much as I should have, but I have never caused any Thunderan true harm." She sat back down on the chair. "Forgive me."

Is she giving up? Or is this another trap? Tygra wondered. He dared not move until he knew how he could subdue her, and realized the total improbability of his chances.

I am the one who needs help, he decided. He stretched his awareness. *Tir'shan, your troublesome daughter is here!" He garnered no response to his telepathic sending. *Talitha, can you hear me?* he broadcast to his tenira. Again, nothing. The Guardian had shown no change in her countenance. That neither Talitha nor Tir'shan had responded telepathically to his call, suggested that Cenatua had shielded his cottage from any external psionic disturbance and interference.

Tygra took a deep breath to calm his pounding heart and clear his fearful mind. It is the only way. If I just listen to what she has to say, he admitted to himself, maybe that will at least mollify her, and she will leave.

"What help do you require?"

The Guardian continued to stare at the fire, and remained mute.

"I cannot assist you if you will not speak."

She said, "I expected too much. You will not yield to my request, and I will not force you, although it is in my power to do so."

Tygra moved slowly over to the other chair near the hearth, and sat. He replied, "Now who judges, Guardian?"

She smiled at his retort, and the affection on her face bewildered him. She inclined her head slightly, and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. "Long ago, you sang to me, and nourished me with love, not hate."

"You answer with a riddle?"

"I answer as Am'mril."

Fury came from a place deep within himself, a beast let out of its cage of restraint. "How dare you invoke her!" he shouted. He leapt forward and grabbed the Guardian's arm. With unexpected strength, he pulled her to her feet. The set of her mouth said it all: I can kill you where you stand.

The architect had no time to reflect upon his impending doom. He was suddenly elsewhere. A scene played out before him. A white tiger kitten asked tentatively in a voice shaded by tears, "Ta'sa'ba?"

He watched himself kneel beside the little one who wore a tunic stained with red. "My little daughter, come into my arms, and suffer no more." The two players in the strange tableau embraced. The anguished cry Tygra heard was his own as he released Cenatua's arm.

What evil have I committed that the gods torment me so! Dare I tell Talitha of this revelation? he thought with agony. A hand gently touched his shoulder. "What do you wish of me, lost daughter?" he gasped, utterly convinced of the truth of the vision he had seen.

"I wish to free those within the Matrix of History." She indicated his sons. "I need you to provide but a drop of their blood to accomplish this task."

That she had asked him to harm the cubs filled him with revulsion. "Why must you wound innocents?" was all he managed to ask through his disgust. "Cheetara chose the crystal. The stranger who walked with her, I was told, had no choice but to do so, because he was not of this dimension."

"No one should be imprisoned in such a manner as they were for the sake of history." She pointed to the urn on the mantle. "With Panthro's death, you trod a dark path, but in the end light emerged. The sword you destroyed by your actions granted Trin'dir the freedom to finally cross the River."

That his clan had trapped a soul within his father's sword sickened him anew. Suddenly dizzy, Tygra seated himself. He let his head rest upon his hands. It was all too much to understand. "Why now? Why did you not stop Cheetara and her companion from even entering the Matrix of History?"

Cenatua sighed. "I never was in favor of the action, but Guardians prefer not to interfere. It was also the only hope for her companion. But once within the crystal, Cheetara breached the Balance. She saw the future unchecked, an unanticipated consequence of the psionic ability of her soul pattern. That single act changed the most probable future, and alerted me. Without her knowledge, I spelled the crystal, and so induced a calmness and a satisfaction in Cheetara regarding her visions. I thought it would be enough for her to resist further temptation."

Cenatua grew silent. Tygra raised his head. The white tigress looked to the window near the front door as if marking the approach of a visitor, and grimaced. Before he could remark, she continued, her voice seemingly strained with fatigue. "Cheetara has a will worthy of the gods, and a heart purified with love. Despite my spell, Panthro's death replayed in her mind. In the end, she attempted to save him with a dream warning." She frowned in annoyance. "I stopped her from doing so. To cloud an historian's memory is an offense of which I am guilty, and which she now suspects. There is much I have taken from her and her companion to stabilize the Balance, but in the end, it was not enough. The mere fact that she saw Panthro's death was enough to direct his soul to her realm, and not the River. Now too many souls reside within the crystal. Their presence unsettles myriad time lines."

Tygra observed his cubs, their sweet faces at peace with dreams. They are too young to be so involved with the world, he thought sadly. He turned his attention back to the Guardian. I must be certain of her intent. With a breath, he relinquished his sight. Cenatua's aura of gold and violet illuminated his blindness. There is no falsehood within her, he decided, allowing his normal sight to return.

A shadow suddenly darted by the window. Tygra leapt to his feet in alarm. "What followed you here!"

Cenatua stood, her light robes rustling. "Let the shadow be. It has no interest in you," she declared. "Ignoring it is the best way to torment it."

"What is it?" Tygra asked.

"The past," she answered with the heaviness of a chain.

She gestured toward the sleeping cubs. "If you will help me, it is time."

Tygra approached his sons. He knelt by their sides, and prayed that what he was about to do was the correct action. "Forgive me, little ones," he said, his baritone voice cracking with distress.

Using the tip of his claw, he pressed into Altair's palm. He flinched as he felt the pain he caused, but the cub did not register. A little patch of blood formed. Cenatua murmured words he did not understand. The droplet turned into a glittering red sphere which floated toward the Guardian, and circled her head. He repeated the process with Marcus. When he finished, he held the hands he had wounded, and called forth his mystic power. Violet light easily closed the small injuries. "Will you release them now?" he whispered when done.

"These two are heroes, like their fathers," she answered kindly. She looked at the window again, but this time as if she glimpsed another shore beyond its pane, then vanished.

Tygra raced to the window, and found nothing. A light breeze rattled the casement. The enormity of what had just transpired, and its implications, finally registered on his astonished brain. He placed a hand against the sill to steady himself. It will be easier with Panthro's return for the cubs did not participate in his funeral. We merely told them that he had gone to the River, not that he had died. The urn is just another decorative object to them, not a vessel to contain ashes. But the cubs will not remember Cheetara, he thought sadly, even though they know she dwells within the crystal tree. That will hurt her, and be confusing to them. There is where trouble rests for all of us, for she will want them back, and my heart will sunder.

"Ta'sa'ba!" the cubs suddenly cried, breaking his reverie. "Hungry!" It was as if Cenatua had never visited. Both sat with arms folded and lips pursed in vexation. It was obvious from their expressions that they viewed him as completely lacking as a parent for delaying their lunch.

The request allowed him to quiet his tumultuous thoughts at least for a time. Tygra retrieved the crock which still safely held both stew and ladle. He marveled at the fact that a powerful Guardian had performed the mundane task of saving their lunch. Despite the uncertainties and strangeness of the day, he laughed with gratitude.