No Greater Love
For Tara
Part One
She looked annoyed. Correction, she looked tired and annoyed. Too bad, Panthro thought. No one got out of training sessions. There were no excuses and no exceptions. Apart from serious illness, of course, or enforced bed rest. But then a headache did not qualify as either of those. Yea gods, it was no good complaining about a pain in the head or belly when faced with a Mutant. Whine like that and they would soon give you something to make you forget the pain permanently.
Still, he did have some sympathy for her. Regularly consulting Cheetara's sixth sense was taxing her considerably. Back on Thundera, he knew that she had always viewed it as a last resort, for a serious trance had been known to pitch her into unconsciousness that could last all day. A burden, she called it. Right here and now though, the advantages well outweighed any negative effects. He consoled himself with the certainty that if Cheetara could not handle it, then she would tell them so. Recently, however, a little voice had started whispering in his ear that she was a stubborn little cat, who might well stoically carry on through the pain. After all, this was the Thundercat who had dragged herself out the desert with a broken leg to warn Cat's Lair of the approach of amassed Mutant forces after they had devastated the southern villages.
Looking at her now, as she wandered listlessly into the chamber, he tried to appraise her condition surreptitiously. Dark circles hung under her eyes and, judging from the way that her hand drifted to her head, her headache persisted. Nothing that a good night's sleep couldn't cure, he thought. A good training session would help her sleep all the more soundly.
"You all right?" he asked when she joined him.
Cheetara shrugged. "I've had better days."
Panthro fought to suppress a chuckle. "And plenty of worse ones too, don't forget."
A smile twitched the corners of her lips. "I'm just tired, that's all. I suppose asking for a reprieve..."
"Is out of the question, yes," he finished for her.
"Slave-driver," she muttered, giving him a sideways glance to make sure he had heard.
"Watch it, you," he growled back good-naturedly. "If you get me, I'll show no mercy." His attention was diverted to the opening door, where Lion-O and Tygra were just entering, deep in conversation. The Thunderkittens skittered past them and danced across the chamber.
"I've got the names!" declared WilyKit, holding aloft six pieces of paper.
"And I've got the bag!" said her brother, who came bounding along proudly bearing a doubled-up slip of black fabric held together with a woven cord.
"Well done, kittens. I had forgotten," Panthro said, taking their offerings. The names went into the bag and he pulled the drawstrings tight. "Glad you could join us," he said to Lion-O and Tygra when the pair finally joined them.
"Sorry, there was something Tygra had to show me," Lion-O said. "It was kind of important."
"Yeah, there's funny weather," said WilyKit.
"And it's headed this way," said WilyKat.
"What was that?" came a disgruntled little voice. Panthro looked down to find that Snarf had trailed his charge in, and now stood with his nose wrinkled in obvious displeasure. "Not snow, I hope."
"No, Snarf, a thunderstorm," Tygra told him.
"Well, that's just dandy," muttered Snarf. "Wind and rain and sleet! Brrr, makes my toes curl just thinking about it."
"It's not like it's going to affect us," said WilyKat. "We'll be safe here, won't we?" An edge of concern had entered the cub's voice and he looked to his elders for reassurance. He was met by solid nods all round.
"It's not us I was worried about," said Tygra. "The Berbils have left it late this year with their harvest. We should warn them about this approaching weather system. Just in case."
"I agree," said Lion-O. "We can help them gather it in. Tomorrow--"
"Is another day," said Panthro, interrupting him. "Right now, it's the moment of truth." He knelt down and offered the bag to Snarf. "We await your choice, your lordship."
The little creature purred with obvious pleasure at the inflated title. "Weeow, now Panthro, don't be silly. I'm plain ol' Snarf as well you know."
"But today you hold our fate in your paws. Who gets to fight who rests on you."
Snarf looked uneasily at the gathered Thundercats. "I'm still not happy with this idea. Don't seem right to me, snarf, snarf. Fighting each other. We're friends, not enemies."
"It's good practice for us, Snarf," said Lion-O. "No one actually gets hurt."
"Well, if you insist," he said, finally relenting. Shutting his eyes, he thrust his hand into the open bag and drew out a screwed-up piece of paper. The name he read out elicited an audible groan from its owner.
"It would be me," Cheetara muttered.
"Cheer up," said Lion-O. "You never know, you might get me."
The look on her face suggested that might not necessarily be a consolation. Panthro grinned at his young lord's innocence and again offered the bag to Snarf. This time his stubby fist withdrew a name scrawled in WilyKat's untidy handwriting. Snarf squinted at it and tutted.
"That's not how you spell 'Tygra'," he chided the cub. "That should be 'Y', not 'I'."
WilyKat rolled his eyes. "Does it matter? We all know who I mean."
"Indeed we do," said Tygra. "Well, m'lady, are you ready for this?"
"Not really," Cheetara sighed.
"Why? What's wrong?" asked Lion-O.
"She's feeling a bit delicate this morning," said Panthro. "And trying to milk our sympathy for it."
"You are?" Lion-O said, turning to her.
"I've got a headache," she said. "It's nothing. It'll pass."
"Cheetara, if you aren't up to this," Tygra began, but Panthro cut him short.
"Of course she's up to it," he said. "Now quit stalling you two and get on with it."
"Panthro, if she's not well--"
"Try telling that to Mumm-ra," he said tersely. "Did he ever cut us any slack for illness?"
Tygra gave him a look of exasperation, but Panthro ignored it. To his mind, giving in to sickness was a sign of weakness. Once an exception was made, it opened the door to all sorts of abuses. First a headache, then a slight twinge in the back, then a funny feeling in the stomach, then no weapons practice at all. Slave-driver he might be, but it was for her own good, he told himself.
"He's right," Cheetara said, as if to confirm his thoughts. "I'll manage."
"If you're sure," said Tygra. She gave a small nod. "Do you want me to be 'Mutant'?" Again she nodded. He shot Panthro a look of concern and sighed. "In that case, I think I'll take an axe."
He went over to the rack and selected his weapon. A finely-tooled, doubled-headed piece, it was more elaborate than a training session demanded, but at least it was authentic. Following the destruction of Thundera, the royal flagship had fallen pray to waiting Mutant ships and had been boarded. After Lion-O's sudden appearance with the Sword of Omens, their attackers had beat a hasty retreat. The axe had been part of the debris left in the Mutants' wake. Its owner was probably still grieving for its loss.
Pushing thoughts of the past aside, Panthro turned his attention back to the matter in hand. Cheetara and Tygra were circling, each trying to anticipate when the other would strike. The rules were simple. Try to simulate actual combat as closely as possible with the objective being to make your opponent yield. No quarter was to be given unless asked for, which was not often, given the sheer stubbornness of the parties concerned, but it was there if needed. As Lion-O had said, these training sessions were not about hurting anyone.
All the same, despite his insistence, Panthro was starting to have misgivings. When the attack did come, Cheetara was slow to react. He caught his breath as the axe swung in her direction. She managed to get out of its downward trajectory with only a hair's breadth to spare. Then she pulled herself together and rallied. Her staff blocked the next blow and the next, although Tygra was relentlessly driving her back before the murderous slice of the weapon's reach. She hit the wall before realising it was there. The shock of the blow seemed to stun her into inaction. In a second, Tygra had tossed away the axe and snatched her staff from her hands. Pressing it against her neck, he pinned her to the wall.
"Yield!" he growled.
"Let me go!" she protested, vainly trying to fend him off.
"When I'm winning?" he said, tightening his grip on her to press home his advantage. "Never!"
"Aren't you the one who always says never give up?"
Tygra grinned. "And how do you suggest you get out of this?"
"Looks like he's got you," said Panthro, secretly pleased that the fight was at an end. As sure as he was that Tygra knew what he was doing, some of those potentially lethal slices had come too close for comfort. Even though he knew his friend was pulling his punches, Cheetara was still having trouble keeping up. Now, he felt a twinge of guilt as he saw her hang her head and give a small nod. She hated to lose, especially when he knew that they were closely matched in ability. On good days, he had known the pair to battle it out until tiredness alone brought the match to an end. For Cheetara to give up so easily must mean that she was feeling unwell indeed. He guessed that Tygra had noticed it too and had forced an end to the contest.
He watched as the tiger relaxed his grip on the staff. As the pressure was removed from her neck, Cheetara suddenly came to life. With a fierce roar, she pushed Tygra in the chest, snatching the weapon away from him as he fell back in surprise. The staff swept round and took his feet from under him. He crashed to the ground and, seconds later, Cheetara was on top of him, straddling his chest, with her staff forsaken for the deadlier axe, which she held above her head.
"Now you yield!" she roared.
Tygra's hands moved to the thighs squeezing his ribcage and tried to push them away. Cheetara let out a snarl as she tightened her grip, making her captive gasp.
"Cheat!" he panted. "You surrendered!"
"Did anyone hear me say that?" she shot back. "Your mistake, tiger. Now yield, unless you want to lose your head!"
The hairs rose on the back of Panthro's neck. Something in her voice made the crazy thought flash through his mind that this was no idle threat, that she actually meant it.
"Cheetara," he began uncertainly.
"Shut it!" she barked. The eyes she turned in his direction blazed with yellow fire. A chill ran through him. She was in the grip of a berserker rage. Every warrior instinct he possessed was screaming at him to intervene, but before he could, Tygra gave in.
"You win," he said, raising his hands in defeat.
Cheetara gave no indication that she had heard him. She seemed frozen, except for the slight tremble that had started in her arms. Somewhere in the background, the Sword of Omens roared a warning, but Panthro was already racing across the mats. Time seemed to slow, not nearly slow enough for the heavy axe suddenly shook violently and with its weight brought itself and its wielder down. Still too far away to help, he could only watch as the weapon fell straight towards Tygra's head. Inches from his face, the tiger caught it and with the other hand tried to support Cheetara's limp body.
"What in the name of Jaga's going on here!" Panthro yelled, dashing to his side. "You all right, Tygra?"
His face had paled and he looked shaken. A small nod was all he could manage as Panthro pulled Cheetara aside and set her down on the mat beside him.
"That was close," said Lion-O, who had rushed over to join them.
"You said it," muttered Panthro.
"What's wrong with Cheetara?"
Tygra shook his brush with death aside and pushed himself up. "She's breathing," he said, passing his hand over her parted lips. "Let's get her to the infirmary." He scooped her up in his arms and hurried away with Lion-O and Snarf following closely behind.
Panthro watched them go, feeling torn between being there by her side or trying to make himself useful elsewhere. To see a fellow Thundercat ill was bad enough, worse still when it was a friend. And then there was the guilt. This is your fault, whispered his conscience. You pushed her too hard, it said accusingly.
"How was I to know?" he growled under his breath. The feeling he was being watched made him lower his gaze to where two pairs of anxious eyes were staring up at him.
"Will Cheetara be all right?" WilyKit asked in a small voice.
He had to swallow hard before he could answer the kitten. "She'll be just fine," he said, inwardly flinching at the tremor he heard in his own voice.
"She didn't look very well," said WilyKat.
Panthro looked back to the now empty doorway. "No, she didn't," he murmured. "Pray Jaga that we're wrong, kittens. Pray very hard indeed."
--o0o0o--
A long day had slipped into the grey embrace of twilight. Shadows crept from corners to reach out with gloomy fingers towards the sleeper in the bed and the watcher at her side. He had sat with her since Tygra had finished his initial examination and pronounced that rest was needed. That was several hours ago and still she had not stirred. Her hand in his was unnaturally limp and, were it not for the reassuring rise and fall of her chest, he could have sworn that her life had slipped away. That one so fast should now be so still troubled him deeply, on a level beyond the concern he should have felt for an ill friend. In the many hours that had passed, he had tried not to analyse those feelings. Of course Cheetara would recover; she had to. A life without her was unimaginable.
The chamber grew suddenly bright and drew his attention away from his lonely vigil. He looked to the door where light from the corridor spilled in and cloaked the figure that was crossing the threshold in gloom. Tygra crossed to the bed, pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.
"Any change?" he asked in a hushed voice.
Lion-O shook his head. "No. Any luck finding out what caused it?" In the dark, he could just make out the deepening creases in the tiger's forehead. Not good, he decided.
"Best guess is that it's some kind of psychic shock," Tygra said.
"Guess?" he echoed. "Is that the best we've got?"
"Right now it's all we've got. Panthro wondered if this was another episode like the time she was in contact with that alien spacecraft."
Lion-O let his thoughts drift back to the events of that day. He had been afraid for her safety then too. Strange choice of word, he thought. Why afraid? Why not just plain worried? But no, afraid had been an accurate description then. Not now though; now, if he was honest, he was terrified. Given release through acknowledgement, fear clamped icy hands round his stomach and twisted it into knots.
"Are you all right?" Tygra asked. "You've gone very pale."
"Yeah, fine," Lion-O said with difficulty. "I was just thinking. That spaceship and Cheetara, well, this is different."
"I know. At least then she was partly conscious. Anyway, Panthro's seeing if the long-range scanners have picked anything up. It's a long shot, but..."
"It's worth a try," Lion-O finished for him. "Anything to save her." Despite the darkness, he could feel Tygra's keen gaze upon him and finally looked over at him. "What?"
"We're doing all we can, Lion-O," he said gently. "But it's important that we don't let ourselves get distracted by unnecessary sentiment."
"Unnecessary...! How can you say that?" Lion-O yelled. "Don't you care?"
To his annoyance, Tygra remained calm in the face of his outburst. "Of course I care. Cheetara is one of my oldest and closest friends. To lose her would be like losing part of myself. But wailing and tearing my mane out will help neither her nor me. I know how I feel about her, and knowing helps me understand and contain unproductive emotions."
Lion-O shot him an angry glare. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Tygra drew a deep breath and, sitting back in his chair, closed his eyes. "Why are you here?"
The frankness of the question threw him. Anger was replaced by confusion. Lion-O looked from his fellow Thundercat to the still cheetah and back again. "I... don't know what you mean," he stammered. "I'm here to... keep an eye on her, that's why."
"You've been here all afternoon. Snarf said you refused his offer to take over. So I ask again, why?"
"Because..." The lie he had concocted died in his throat. Instead he found himself speaking from the heart. "Because I don't want her to die. Because I don't know what I'll do without her."
Tygra's smile was reflected in his eyes when he opened them and looked over at him. "Better," he said. "Do you remember during the Anointment Trials, Lion-O? I said you would face your greatest fear. You did, and conquered it. But you will find in life that we exchange one set of fears for many others. We must master them before they master us. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"That sitting here, getting upset, isn't helping Cheetara?"
"If being with her could bring her back to us, we would all be doing it," said Tygra. "Meanwhile, Panthro needs a hand, if you feel up to it."
"You'll stay here?"
"I want to check on her condition and run a few tests. Depending on what I find, I might move her back to the infirmary. Just so you know if you come here and find that she's gone."
"And if anything happens..."
"You'll be the first to know," Tygra said. "Now go, and get something to eat. Can't have the Lord of the Thundercats passing out from lack of food."
Lion-O relinquished his hold on Cheetara's hand and got to his feet. He made it to the doorway, only to stop and look back. To leave felt like betraying her. All his fine promises to help her, to save her, and yet he was walking away. Only the touch of Tygra's hand on his shoulder finally brought him back to reality and forced him from the room. He set off towards the Control Room, taking with him a soul as heavy as the gathering storm clouds in the skies above Cat's Lair.
--o0o0o--
The large bag was almost full. Still room enough for the particle analyser, Tygra thought. He looked up to where the grey device nestled on the uppermost shelf. Inwardly, he cursed. It was going to be a devil to get it down. Tidiness had its uses, but today it was proving to be a nuisance. Everything he needed seemed to be well out of his immediate reach. Nor was time on his side. Getting the ladder would take too long, especially as Panthro was waiting downstairs and growing ever more impatient by the minute. As it was, he already expected the panther to appear at any moment and drag him out by the mane.
Deciding that a little pain was preferable to a tongue-lashing, he pushed the stool over to the wall and clambered up on it. Normally, the top shelf was comfortably within his reach. Today, however, as he stretched up, a nagging ache started in his side and grew to new levels of discomfort with every inch higher that he raised his arm. The pain was crippling, making him gasp for breath and causing sweat to bead on his brow. He was forced to give up the unequal task. The analyser would have to remain on its cosy shelf, from where it mocked him for his failure.
"I'll get you yet!" he said to the disdainful device with its laughing coloured button eyes and its wide, grinning data slot mouth. One supreme effort later, it was in his trembling hands. In a second, he had gone past pain into stomach-churning, nauseating agony. Fire and ice coursed through his injured side, making him clutch at his ribs in an effort to quell their torturous reproach for such ill treatment. He collapsed down onto the stool and let the aching world swirl before his eyes.
The fever passed, reducing his body's complaints to a dull whisper. A few seconds of blessed peace were allowed to him before a deafening roar shattered the silence. The door flew back and Panthro stormed in, fairly quivering with rage.
"What in the name of Thundera are you doing?" he yelled. "We're waiting for you down-- what's the matter?"
Tygra smiled to himself. Typical Panthro, he thought. From demon to concerned friend in less than a heartbeat. "I'm all right," he said. "Just a bit dizzy."
"Dizzy, my foot," the panther retorted. "You're as pale as a unicorn and sweating from every pore."
"I said, I'm fine." He got to his feet and tried to act nonchalant. Panthro was not so easily deceived. From his position by the door, he studied him critically and frowned.
"What's wrong with your side?" he asked.
"Does nothing get past you?" Tygra muttered. "It's a couple of cracked ribs, that's all. Nothing too serious."
"I see," said Panthro. "And when were you going to mention this?"
"It's not important. It won't slow me down."
"It'd better not. 'Specially as I hear Lion-O's not coming with us."
The tone of the panther's voice suggested that he was waiting for an explanation. Ignoring him for the moment, Tygra carefully placed the hard-won device in the bag and zipped it shut. When he looked up, Panthro was still staring at him, expectation evident in his arched eyebrows.
"Because it's better if he stays here," he said.
"Why?" Panthro shot back.
"If I said that he would be more use here--"
"And what if we run into trouble? There's no saying what we'll have to deal with out there. Just because you've got your doubts doesn't mean I'm wrong!"
Tygra sighed wearily. He was tired, hurting, stressed and in no mood to engage in another pointless debate about their mission. When Panthro had discovered that a meteorite had crashed into Hook Mountain several days before, a new mood of hope had swept through the Lair. Panthro was convinced that it was the cause of Cheetara's distress. Tygra had been equally convinced, and still was, that it was not. The argument had raged between the two, until Snarf had suggested that no harm could come from finding out whether it was or not. It was after all, he had pointed out, the best lead they had, and hadn't Cheetara been ill before when that spaceship came out of nowhere and interfered with her sixth sense? With a convincing argument like that, Snarf had won the day, and Tygra had found himself outvoted. He had been tempted to point out the obvious differences between then and now. But, with nothing more positive to offer, he had held his tongue. As Snarf had said, nothing would be lost in checking out this lump of space matter. Nothing, except time, and he was still unsure how much of that precious commodity remained to his ill friend.
Telling Panthro that, however, would only vex him even more. A nerve already twitched in the burly panther's jaw and his arms were folded a little too tightly to convince Tygra that he was anything other than silently fuming. A different tack would be needed if he wanted to avoid a punch on the nose.
"The plan is a good one, Panthro, but I still think caution is needed," he said, being diplomatic. "I have a nagging suspicion that this whole thing could be a trick."
"For what purpose?"
He shrugged. "To lure us away from the Lair perhaps. The Mutants know how we're likely to react, having had one experience like this before. We leave the Lair and they sneak in while we're gone. You know how devious they are. Which is why I think Lion-O should remain here, to protect Cheetara and our home."
The light of confrontation died down in Panthro's eyes and Tygra could tell that he was at least half convinced by his argument. "And if there's a trap waiting for us?"
"Since when can't we cope?"
Panthro gave a small snort of laughter. "Point taken. I'm half hoping those pesky Mutants are up to something. I'm itching to punch someone's lights out, and Slithe would do just fine right now." He ran a hand over his head and sighed. "All right, tiger, you've won. It's me, you and the Thunderkittens. Are you ready?"
Tygra gestured to the bag. "Do you mind taking this for me?"
"Just this once," Panthro said, heaving it over his shoulder. "Wanna tell me how you got that injury?"
"Cheetara squeezed me a bit too tight in yesterday's training session."
The smile on the panther's face broadened into a knowing grin. "Between those strong thighs of hers, you mean. Some guys would pay serious money for an experience like that."
"Lucky me," Tygra grunted. "Sore ribs for free."
Panthro chuckled. "But seriously, are you up to this?"
"I'll manage. Just let me grab a painkiller."
"You've got two minutes, then we've leaving, with or without you."
"Oh, you're all heart," Tygra muttered to the panther's retreating back.
--o0o0o--
Rain lashed against the windows, adding to the rivulets already streaming down the glass. Lion-O stared out into the gloom. The storm had arrived earlier than expected. Luckily, the Berbils had their own early warning system for detecting bad weather and, with their harvest safely gathered in, they had battened down the hatches to sit out the deluge. Which is where every sensible creature is right now, Lion-O thought ruefully, except us. Sensible or not, he was having to fight the growing urge to rush out into the rain and follow the others to Hook Mountain. They had yet to signal to tell him that they had found the meteor, and worry was turning his already-agitated insides to mush. What if something had happened to them? But then the Sword of Omens would have warned him, he told himself. Whether they could find the meteor was another matter. This weather certainly would not be helping.
An overwhelming feeling of restlessness eventually drove him from the window. As he wandered down the corridor, he noticed how unnaturally quiet it was. Where there should have been the sounds of kittens' laughter or Panthro steadily cursing some troublesome of machinery or Snarf singing to himself, there was now silence. Like its inhabitants, the Lair brooded over the fate of the ill Thundercat within its walls.
Finding himself at the door of her room, he hesitated. Out in the corridor, he could comfort himself with the possibility that Cheetara's condition might have improved. Once the door slid back, he knew that the illusion would be shattered. Resigning himself, he opened the door and entered the chamber, only to stop in his tracks. The weak sunlight had been unable to dispel the lingering shadows of night, but it was enough for him to make out the empty bed. Hope soared. If she was up, then she must be better! Then, he remembered Tygra's words of earlier about taking her to the infirmary. With a heavy heart, he trudged out of the room and headed downstairs. Perhaps sitting with her did not achieve anything, but he had to do something, if only to quell his feeling of helplessness. Being with her would make him feel better, if nothing else.
A thin sliver of light showed beneath the infirmary door, confirming that the room was in use. He went inside, only to find another empty bed. The drawn back sheets showed that it had been occupied and only recently vacated from the warmth he could feel on the pillow. Again, faint hope ignited, only to be quashed by reality. If she was up, then where had she gone? Why had she not used the communicator to tell him that she was awake? Plagued by the feeling that something was very wrong, he dashed from the room and out into the corridor. But which way to go, he wondered. As he hesitated, the smell of baking bread wafted under his nose. The kitchen! She was probably hungry. Yes, he reassured himself, that's where he would find her. He flew towards the open door and his sudden entrance almost gave Snarf a fit.
"Weeow, don't do that, Lion-O," the little creature scolded, patting his chest to calm his fluttering heart. "I'm too old to be leapt out on, snarf, snarf."
"Snarf, I'm sorry, but this is important," Lion-O said, interrupting his flow. "Is she here?"
Snarf frowned. "Who?"
"Cheetara."
The frown turned into a look of dismay. "Oh, Lion-O, you know full well she's in the infirmary--"
"No, she's not. The bed is empty. She's not here? You've not seen her?"
"I've not seen anyone," Snarf said. "Where's Cheetara gone then, if she's not in bed?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Lion-O muttered. "Right, we search the Lair, top to bottom."
"Or you could use the internal sensors," Snarf suggested.
"Or I could do that, yes."
Snarf gave him a concerned look. "Are you feeling all right? You seem a bit out of sorts."
"My friend is ill and she's gone missing!" he retorted, banging his hand angrily against the doorframe. "How am I meant to be feeling?"
"I worry about you, that's all," Snarf called after Lion-O as he turned and left.
As he headed back towards the stairs, he felt a cool breeze on his face. It made him pause and wonder at its origin. He could have sworn that he had not felt it when he came this way earlier. He licked his finger and held it up. The breeze played with his damp fur and he followed its lead along the corridor towards the entrance hall. As the stairs came into view, he could hear the fury of the storm outside and almost smell the rain. When the corridor opened out into the hall, he found it was not his imagination. The main doors had been thrown wide open, long enough for a sizeable puddle to gather on the floor. The wind caught his mane and dashed it across his face as he hurried over and stared out into the grey veils of rain. Away from the dripping walls of the Lair, grasses had been crushed by the weight of water and trees stripped of their leaves by the merciless winds from the north. And, out in the distance, in the midst of the devastation, there was a glimpse of a ghostly figure in white.
Yea gods, Lion-O thought, surely that isn't Cheetara? But someone had opened the doors. Without thinking, he ran from the safety of the Lair out into the storm. Rain lashed his cold body and flattened his mane. Fingers of lightning lit the sky and reached down to touch the earth with fire, making the ground rock beneath his flying feet. He battled on, but not fast enough, for up ahead, he saw the swaying figure crumple and fall. Panic pushed him on until he was sliding to a halt by her side. She lay as she had fallen, still and apparently lifeless. Her skin was cold to his touch as he cradled her in his arms and gently pushed her sodden mane back from her face.
"Cheetara, don't be dead," he begged. "Please come back to me."
At his words, her eyelids flickered and opened. She gazed up at him, but whether those unfocused eyes comprehended what they saw, he was not certain.
"Thank Jaga," he whispered to her. "You're alive. I'll take you back to the Lair."
Her eyes widened slightly and she weakly gripped his arm. "No," she croaked. "I'm so hot."
"Cheetara, you're freezing."
Her hand wandered to the neck of her nightdress and she tugged at it, as if trying to rid herself of the garment. Lion-O stopped her and held her hand tightly.
"You're ill. I have to get you back home."
"So hot," she murmured. Her eyes closed and her grip on his hand fell away. In his arms, she went limp and her head lolled to one side.
He called her name, shaking her a little roughly, anything to bring her back to wakefulness. With no sign that she had heard him, he probed her neck. The light pulse fluttered beneath his fingertips like the soft wings of a butterfly. She was slipping away, and there was nothing he could do. He gathered her up and held her close to his breast while he wet her mane with his tears.
"What's the matter with you, boy?"
The gruff voice intruded into his grief and made him look up. A Tabbot was gazing down imperiously at him from the back of his mule. A gaudy umbrella kept his head dry, although the feather on his hat that peeked out from beneath the protective covering had fallen victim to the foul weather.
"Any reason why you're sitting out in the rain, bawling like a whipped brat?" the Tabbot asked.
"My friend," Lion-O managed to get out. "She's dying. I don't know what to do."
"Struck by lightning, was she?"
"No, she's ill and we don't know what caused it."
The Tabbot blew his nose loudly into a large handkerchief and took a moment to consider its contents. His soaking mount shifted uneasily beneath him and brayed pitifully. "Ill, you say?" the Tabbot said. "Might be that I can help you. It'll cost you, though."
"Please," Lion-O said. "Whatever you ask."
"That pretty sword you're carrying."
"The Sword of Omens?" Lion-O gasped. "No, I--"
"I thought you just said whatever I asked. Well, that's my price."
Lion-O looked from the Tabbot's fleshy face down at Cheetara. She lay so peacefully in his arms that he might have mistaken her condition for sleep. Her life for the Sword of Omens, the source of the Thundercats' power. The price was high. But at that moment, he knew that he would gladly give up everything he possessed, his life if need be, to save her.
"You can have the Sword," he said. "But only if you do help her."
The Tabbot nodded. "Fair enough. You hold onto it until we get to my home. Follow me." He dug his heels into the mule's sides and the creature limped away.
Lion-O trailed behind, trying to keep his footing on the slippery ground. His clumsy gait did not cause Cheetara to stir. She slept on, and he was alarmed to see that her lips were turning blue.
"Hurry," he called. "My friend doesn't have long."
"Not far now," said the Tabbot.
He jerked on the mule's reins and the creature set off at a trot down a track that led deep into the forest. The dank smells of rotting leaves crushed underfoot accompanied their passing and, although protected from the worse of the deluge by the tree cover, large drops of water fell from branches down onto their heads. As what little remained of the grey light was finally lost to the verdant growth overhead, a small hut appeared out of the gloom. A thin plume of smoke rose from a single chimney and the windows glowed with inner light.
Pulling up outside, the Tabbot eased himself off the mule, which then scampered away to its stable. "My humble home," he said, gesturing to the hut. "Come on in." He led the way into a bright, warm interior, rich with the heady smell of wood smoke. The Tabbot pulled the hat from his head and tossed it onto a chair near the fire. With a mighty sweep of his arm, he cleared the table of clutter and indicated that Lion-O should set his charge down. He laid Cheetara gently on the wooden surface and looked up to find that the Tabbot was waiting with hand outstretched.
"Aren't you going to heal her?"
"Business first," said the Tabbot. "Hand it over, boy."
Lion-O took the Sword from his side. A moment of doubt made him hesitate, then he placed it firmly in the Tabbot's hand. "You'll make her better?" he said, as he watched him stow the weapon safely away in a large chest.
"I'll try," said the Tabbot. "It depends on how ill she is and how much energy my healing crystal has." He had removed a small pouch from the chest and was delving into it. A glow emanated from the podgy hand he withdrew and opened to reveal a blue-green globe on his palm. "That's real power, boy," he said, his eyes lit with the sparkling rays from the crystal. "Keep your mystic swords and wands. I'll have this little miracle any day."
He crossed to the table and proceeded to let his hand hover the length of Cheetara's body. By the time he had returned to her head, his brow was deeply furrowed.
"Her condition is critical," he said. "I will not be able to help her. You may have your sword back."
"No, wait!" Lion-O said. "Why can't you help her?"
The Tabbot sighed and shook his head. "Ah, me, it's a sad thing to see a pretty wench like this die, but there's nothing I can do. As I feared, the crystal does not have enough energy."
"Is there any way you can get more energy for it?"
Overly hairy eyebrows rose almost to his bald crown. "One of the first principles of the universe is that energy cannot simply be created, or destroyed for that matter, boy. I can't just 'get more energy', as you put it. It must be drawn into the crystal and then redistributed."
"And where do you get this extra energy?"
"I usually use a little of my own," said the Tabbot. "But your friend's condition is grave. Enough energy for a whole life? No, I would not risk it. It would surely cause my death."
"Then take my energy," said Lion-O.
The Tabbot eyed him with surprise. "The risk--"
"Is worth it. Besides, I am bigger and stronger than you."
"An interesting proposition," the Tabbot mused. "This female means that much to you?"
Lion-O lowered his gaze to Cheetara's face. So beautiful, he thought tenderly. When did you become so dear to me, he wondered, and why have I never realised it until now? "She means everything to me," he said softly. "I... I love her."
"May you survive to tell her that," said the Tabbot. He held out the glowing globe to him. "Take it in your hands. The crystal will do the rest. Having already assessed her condition, it knows how much energy is required."
Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Lion-O took the offered globe. There was no fear as he held it in his palm. The memory of the time he gave his strength to Jaga to aid him in his victory over Grune banished any doubts about whether he would come through this to see Cheetara alive again. With a final nod to the Tabbot, he placed his other hand on top of the globe. The sensation was not unpleasant, akin to being tickled with a feather. As it drew deeper of his energy, he began to feel light-headed and yet weary at the same time. The room seemed to have started to sway and he tried to keep up with its merry dance. His legs finally failed and pitched him onto the floor. He sprawled, but still somehow managed to hold onto the globe. It glowed fiercely, its colour changing from blue to mauve and on through the spectrum to crimson as it drank from him. Ever decreasing circles of black crept from the edges of his vision and still he held on. To save Cheetara's life, he would give every last drop of his strength, if needed, he vowed. Whether he lived or died seemed no longer important. The fear of letting her down, that she should die through his failure, was greater now than any regard for his own safety. And, despite the sheer hurt of it and the deafening roar of reason, imploring him to end this torment, still he held on.
Control deserted him and he ended up on his back, looking up at the smoke-blackened rafters. The Tabbot wandered into the line of his rapidly-dimming vision and stared down at him. The smile that twitched the corners of his mouth crept into a grin and grew ever broader until a chuckle issued from his thin lips. Then, to Lion-O's consternation, the swathes of material loosely gathered about his portly body began to disintegrate, revealing blue skin beneath. As demonic laughter rattled the very walls of the stuffy hut, the Tabbot's body melted away until Lion-O found himself staring up in horror at the familiar and unwelcome figure of Mumm-ra.
"Foolish cub!" he boomed. "How easily you have fallen into my trap!"
What remained of his strength yelled at him to do something. But Lion-O found he could neither move nor speak. The globe seemed firmly stuck to his hands and he had not the energy to fight it.
Mumm-ra saw his weak efforts and laughed. "Pathetic," he sneered. "After all our struggles, I expected more. Yet you gave up your precious Sword of Omens and your life without a fight. For what? Love?" He snorted and his eyes began to take on an eerie red glow. "In truth, when I concocted this little plan, I though it would be the Thunderkittens who would fall into my grasp. Instead, to my delight, I get the Lord of the Thundercats." Mumm-ra chuckled and dropped down to kneel at his side. He plucked the globe from Lion-O's hands and regarded it with satisfaction. "I was going to let you die, but how much better that you should live long enough to know the fate that will befall your despicable friends. Especially," he added with relish, as his eyes wandered to the table, "what I intend to do to the love of your life!"
Lion-O tried to speak, but his lips refused to form the words. He could only stare up at his tormentor as the sorcerer's hand came up and hovered over his face. Gentle blue rays drifted down upon him. The remaining fight in his soul was crushed and suddenly sleep seemed like a very good idea. His weary eyelids slowly closed and darkness overwhelmed him.
How will the Thundercats get out of this one?
Find out in Part Two!