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A cool breeze before dawn greeted Lord Lion-O in his tent at the cat's camp and woke him; the King rose to find the dying embers of the night's fire, sleeping kittens, a snoring snarf, an alert panther engaged in stretching exercises, an absent cheetah, and a missing tiger, who was not at his appointed place conducting the watch. Lion-O's blue eyes blazed in the dark of early morning as he looked around for Tygra.
"Panthro, where on Third Earth is Tygra?" Lion-O slid out from his tent to meet the General; his pet Snarf, awakened, followed behind him.
"Tygra? He said he had to run an errand. Asked me to take over the watch."
"An. . . an errand!" Lion-O sputtered. "What kind of. . . the watch was Tygra's responsibility. Which way did he go?"
"Not sure," the General replied. "He headed into the beech forest about an arn ago."
"Stay here, Panthro. I'm going after him. Stay with Panthro, Snarf." Lion-O commanded. The King ignored Snarf's mewls of protest and raced in the direction of the beech tree forest after his brother.
We have birds to get settled, we have a stone to find, equipment to fix. We don't have time for Tygra's nonsense, and I'm going to make sure he gets that through his thick skull, Lion-O promised himself. Lion-O headed west into the forest dodging tall beech trees and leaping over gooseberry bushes in search of the tiger. Could he have gone to find Cheetara? Still, he shouldn't have gone by himself, Lion-O scowled.
The King slowed as he reached a branch point in the forest, unsure where either path would lead. He looked at the ground and could not see clear tracks indicating the tiger's whereabouts. And he could not remember the direction in which Cheetara had run two nights prior. The Sword won't let me down at least, Lion-O thought. His large hands gripped the sword and elevated it to eye-level; he commanded it to give him Sight Beyond Sight to show him where his brother was located.
"What on Third Earth!" Lion-O shouted. The Sword showed Tygra submerged underwater. The tiger had taken off his armor and had left it on the shore of what appeared to be a lake to the north and west of the beech tree forest. He was swimming, appearing calm and without care, stopping to float on the surface with his head beneath the water, and then diving underneath. On the shore, there was a small fire burning; apparently Tygra planned to warm himself after his morning swim.
Lion-O growled with frustration. He was not sure where the lake was located, but it could not be far, and he would choose the path heading north. But before I go, Lion-O thought, I had better check to see where Cheetara is now. Raising the Sword, Lion-O saw what he believed was the cheetah, in what appeared to be a yellow-bluish blur rushing across cracked and arid plains.
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Under the light of the three moons, Cheetara pushed herself to continue running back to Avista City at high speed; she had been running for four arns, she imagined, and was making faster time than she had on her way out into the dry lands. She was tense with worry for WilyKat. What could have happened to WilyKat that caused him to be covered with blood, she wondered. And Tygra was sitting with him. Tygra. Cheetara grimaced. She remembered the one time in the past that she had seen Tygra as bloodied and vulnerable as WilyKat seemed to her now.
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"This is madness," protested the small cleric with the rose-colored eyes. The two hooded clerics rushed past the clerics' compound and hid themselves in the brush in front of the gates to the palace; the lanky snow leopard cleric and the small cheetah cleric-in-training remained cloaked watching the battle between the little tiger and the gang of boys. Then, they watched the young Prince run away toward his garden in the elm forest. "We should go after the Prince!" the small cleric had insisted.
"No, Cheetara," the older cleric advised her. "It is done. Leave Prince Tygra alone to absorb this experience. The generals have done well. When the boy's anger cools, he will seek out General Grune for practice sparring. Grune will teach him the ways of a warrior. This will surely steel the boy's claws."
Little Cheetara thought about the look on young Prince Tygra's face, savage and contorted by hatred and anger, she worried that his rage had turned inward.
"It's not done," little Cheetara said. "And those boys are still there at the gate waiting for him."
"Enough, Cleric!" The older cleric scolded her.
"No! Jaga should be told what happened to the Prince," little Cheetara growled. "I'll make sure of it."
"I command you. . . ." the older cleric began, but it was too late. His young charge had fled toward the palace gates. Jaga will be having lunch in the palace with the King today, little Cheetara thought. If I am going to interrupt their meal uninvited, I'll need to have some evidence.
A yellow wind swept past the lion with the rusty mane and carried away the blood-stained navy whip up toward the southern wing of the palace; cardinal-red droplets stained the path as it traveled.
"I have important business with the King!" the little hooded cleric proclaimed, using her most adult voice to get past the perplexed soldiers who guarded the path in front of her.
Follow the food, she thought. The little cleric had never been inside the south wing of the palace, and her nose would be her best guide to find Jaga dining with the King. Her tiny rapid footsteps echoed off the marble tiles, and she shivered looking up at the tall, brightly painted white walls that stood like snow-covered mountains, dwarfing her in their presence. The spicy scent of roasted palga bird stew wafted through the corridors, and the little cleric made her way toward it. Agitated voices carried outside of a crimson-colored dining hall, and she realized that she had chanced upon an argument, not a luncheon.
Whiskers! She froze with fear. How can he be here? And why? He looks awful. . . . Little Cheetara held her breath. Peering within the great red room, she saw Jaga seated next to King Claudus; the King faced the open door to the red room. Across from the King she saw him; an enormous lion sat draped in a royal blue robe with white diamonds and blue sapphires encrusted in the white fur around his collar. This lion looked back and forth between Jaga and the King. The ragged edges of the lion's claws gripped his chair. He bared his yellowed fangs, and his rose-colored eyes flashed with rage.
"You will reconsider your words, your Highness," the lion with the rose-colored eyes snarled. "Or you will prepare to receive a sea of refugee farmers. I will not tolerate having Thunderans on my lands if their leader is without honor and does not keep his promises. You have put this off long enough and I will have my answer now!"
"You will watch your tongue, Lior," King Claudus pounded his great fist upon the table, sending the palga stew flying. "I have given you my answer. The girl is unfit to be a queen for my son. She has no magic, and she has no abilities of note. These are complicated times, Lior. Though we mourn your daughter who was killed, the other one shall not follow in her place. It shall not be."
"- Perhaps, Sire, there is an alternative solution," Jaga suggested. "If not a queen, perhaps the girl would be suitable as a princess?"
King Claudus and Lord Lior sat in silence glaring at each other, pondering the jaguar's suggestion. Little Cheetara cowered at the entrance to the door, trembling in her hood and gown. Disaster would befall her if she were seen by any of the men; she could lose everything. Yet, she knew that she must deliver the whip. It is now or never, and I will simply have to be fast, she told herself before rushing into the room.
The men frowned as a yellow wind streaked across the dining room floor; the breeze was gone almost as quickly as it had come, but it had left something on the floor, a stained navy rope, or, what appeared to be a whip. The wind raced out of the room and turned down the hall to exit the palace, its eyes widened as it halted at the entrance. The lanky snow leopard had caught up to her, and his grey eyes were dark with fury.
"Jaga has it now," little Cheetara informed him before racing past him out of the palace doors.
"What is the meaning of this!" The King's footsteps pounded against the marble floors, and he waved the stained navy whip in front of the snow leopard cleric, who did his best to explain the matter.
Cheetara fled down the grass-covered path from the palace, bounded past the company of boys who waited at the palace gates, and hurried into the elm forest to intercept the Prince. Reaching his private garden, she slowed to look for him. Burgundy-colored rose bushes stood majestically alongside rows of lilies, day astrids, and a myriad of other blossoms, but the Prince was not there. Also missing, she noted, was the knife that the lion with the rusty mane had dropped onto the dirt. She remembered the look in the Prince's eyes as he had run toward the elm forest; along with his anger, she had seen his shame, and perhaps, his despair? I've got to find him fast, she thought. Where on Third Earth could he be?
The rose bushes were so beautiful and carefully arranged, they reminded Cheetara of a poem she had studied as a cub. And the poem had not ended well.
Cheetara's blood ran cold at the thought. I've got to get to the river's end. The cheetah took off in the direction of the source of the river that fed the Prince's garden. And there, where the river narrowed into a small stream, she saw the Prince, with a knife in his hand, pointed against his chest. Hooded and cloaked, little Cheetara approached the Prince slowly, softly and spoke:
"Her rosy cheeks did lose their blush as she lay
At the river's edge, her love's last breaths
The source of her resolve betray
The wraiths condemned to watery deaths
An end that bound with scarlet wreaths"
"Who's there," the little tiger's voice trembled.
"A cleric," she answered.
"Go away." A cleric was the last person Prince Tygra wished to see.
Little Cheetara moved closer to the Prince so that she could touch his shoulder.
"Please, Prince Tygra. Please release the knife."
The Prince did not answer her.
"Your Highness, please."
"You should go," he closed his eyes. "Go now, Cleric." The Prince pressed the knife to his chest and leaned forward. His feet touched the water at the edge of the riverbed, and crimson drops fell from the knife, forming red ripples in the water.
"Tygra," Little Cheetara grabbed him. The cleric feared she overstepped her bounds, but she could think of no other way to reach him. She removed her hood and sat next to him at the edge of the riverbank.
"Do you really believe that you've lost everything that matters to you? That life is without mercy? Without honor?"
"I don't know." The little tiger looked at her with shocked and reddened eyes. He jerked away from her and his tears fell. "Do you see mercy anywhere around us? Am I treated with honor or respect? The only mercy and honor I will ever know is that which I will give myself today. I refuse this life. I would die before I would live in humiliation this way. I am not afraid to die, Cleric. I am alone here. My life is worthless and without purpose, and I would welcome the chance to be with her. . . ." The Prince swallowed; his words trailed off. His knuckles tightened around the knife.
"I . . . I lost my mother, too, Prince Tygra. You're not alone in that." The Cleric reached out again and gripped the Prince's shoulders.
"You did." The Prince looked at the red droplets on the ground beneath his feet. "How?" he asked.
"Lizards killed her. My mother was so beautiful. She had magic. She was like a messenger of the gods. I wanted to perish when I lost her. But, I came to understand that I could only respect her memory by living my life with honor. Purpose. My lessons in the clerisy helped me create that purpose in my life. Like . . . a new destiny, sort of. As a cleric, I have found the life of honor and service that I have always wished for. I have truly found where I belong. If you will forgive my impertinence, your Highness, I believe that you will find your purpose, too. And where your purpose is, your honor dwells also."
"I am sorry that you lost your mother, Cleric," the Prince said.
"Thank you, your Highness. It has not been easy. But, I've felt better with time."
"Was it then that you started reading Kataro?"
"What?"
"The poem you recited. It's by Kataro," little Tygra peered at her curiously. "I've only seen her books in the royal library. And in the libraries of the high nobility. When did clerics start reading classical poetry?"
"I . . . I just like reading, I guess. . . " little Cheetara stammered. "I think Kataro's poetry is depressing anyway."
Tygra let out a weak laugh. "I suppose she was a bit dreary. But Kataro wrote of destiny, though. Do you believe people have a destiny?"
"In a sense," little Cheetara hedged her reply.
"So, what do you think my destiny is, Cleric?" The Prince asked. "Be truthful . . . I don't have one, do I?" His head bowed and a tear ran down his cheek.
"I . . . think that's why my other 'parents' didn't want me. You know I'm adopted, right? Everyone knows it. And I can't imagine why else they would just put me in a basket and send me away. They didn't even put me away properly. I guess I'm not meant to be worth much bother. I thought I was meant to be king. But I was wrong. The truth is, I have no destiny to speak of," the little tiger whispered.
Little Cheetara's heart pounded in her throat as she watched red drops fall from the knife into the stream. The red stains swirled fleetingly in the water. Cheetara followed them with her eyes, and she thought of sailing. She was reminded of times her family sailed together on the Great Lake of the East. She thought of comfort, and of her handmaiden, the lizard Zeda, who held her and soothed her when she had been afraid of the water. She remembered what Zeda said to calm her.
"Your Highness," Cheetara said in a small voice. "I had a friend, once, who spoke of destiny. She said, 'most cats believe that destiny is the lake and its currents, which draw us toward our fate. In reality, destiny is the ship that sails on the water. Our destiny is guided by the ship's captain - the captain, and her character.'
"What your destiny shall be, it is not for me to say, your Highness. But from what I can see of you already, you are a cat whose character shines with honor and courage, and you are gentle, and so kind. I . . . I can only imagine that your destiny has to shine as brightly as you do. You are already a great cat, your Highness. But you will never know how great you may still become, unless you live," she said, touching the boy's hand, pulling the knife away from his breast.
"And . . . just because your first parents didn't want you, doesn't mean you can't find new ones to love you. My parents didn't really want me, either. I wasn't what they were hoping for. But now I have Jaga. You have King Claudus. Sometimes, things work out the way they're meant to, you know?" little Cheetara said.
The Prince nodded. Slowly, he lowered the knife to the ground and reached up to touch the cheeks of the young cheetah.
"It is amazing that you found me here," the boy looked into the girl's rose-colored gaze. "You know, you're quite. . . "
"Fast?" Cheetara interrupted him. She had been told this so many times.
"No," the Prince began again. "You're. . ."
"Pretty?" The cheetah rolled her eyes.
"No! You're awfully sure of yourself. I wasn't going to say either of those things." The tiger frowned.
"Oh!" The cheetah blushed. "What, what were you going . . . "
"I was going to say that you were clever. Smart. Until now, even I hadn't noticed that the way I planted the roses were like the songs in Kataro's poems."
"Thanks," little Cheetara smiled softly. Smart. Hmmm, she thought. "Well, we could read the poetry together. Or some other poet?" she suggested.
"No," the little tiger grimaced and looked away from her. "You're not my cleric. You're supposed to protect your anonymity. You're not supposed to be unhooded before me like this while you're wearing your cleric's robe. You're not even supposed to be addressing me right now. You're new, so you don't know how things work."
"Oh!" The cheetah reached for her hood.
"Wait," The Prince said. "Thank you, Cheetara. Ah, I mean . . . that's your name isn't it, Cleric?"
"Yes, your Highness. We could still be friends, though, couldn't we? I'm not to address you cloaked in public. But perhaps we could find moments. . . ." The cleric asked, donning her hood.
"Sure," the Prince said, through pursed lips. "But if it doesn't happen, I won't fault you. You'll find that as a cleric, your friendship isn't always yours to give. You're going to be pretty busy."
"I'm a pretty fast reader. I think I'll find the time," the little cleric bragged.
The Prince smiled gently. "We'll see. Perhaps you can help me find my destiny, Cleric."
"Perhaps, your Highness," the little cleric blushed behind her hood. The Prince shook his head and stood, and together the two walked back past Tygra's garden toward the palace gates. So regal . . . the cheetah cleric had thought to herself, watching the little tiger beside her. His tears had dried, he had buried his sadness, and he walked with his head up; though his body was bruised, his erect spine lent a dignified and stately air to his steps.
Young Tygra had seemed so vulnerable back then; she had never again seen him so exposed as he was on that day. Cheetara was terrified that the same look of fear, shame, and despair was the look she had seen on WilyKat's face in the mirage she created in the desert. She increased her speed; the memory of Tygra's ordeal heightened her sense of urgency to rejoin the rest of the ThunderCats.
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