Lion-O sat on his bunk, his feet planted on the cool flooring, his head a hairsbreadth from banging into Tygra's bunk above. The Book of Omens weighed down his hands, as heavy as a paving stone, in his lap.
"Jaga," he said.
Jaga did not answer. Lion-O hadn't expected him to. Not like this, with the Book closed and locked. Not when he more than half hoped his old mentor hadn't been paying attention to his blunders since he'd passed the Trials. Not when his voice shrank, smothered by both sullen resentment and guilt-riddled anxiety.
The Feliner rang with the kind of stillness that only came with absolute isolation. He'd shut himself away from the beautiful views of minotaur country. The snow-capped, lavender mountains; the clumps of full, green trees; the insects buzzing in the heat like winged jewels; the endless fields, golden brown. The tall, heavy grain bespoke a prosperous people at peace with their neighbors, content with their small corner of nowhere.
That was how Thundera should have been, he thought unhappily. Instead, the cats had persecuted the other races, refusing to let their prosperity and the authority it brought slip through their razor-sharp claws.
Lion-O rubbed his thumb over the gold detailing of the Book's red cover. The jewel replica, like those the ThunderCats used to wear on their clothing and armor, filled him with a mixture of pride and a sort of queasiness behind his sternum. The domed red jewel represented so much more than he'd been taught, and not all of it good.
Would things have been different if the cats had not taken the War Stone for themselves? If they had not revered the power it had lent them?
Lion-O tightened his fingers, pressing his claws into the Book's covers. Was it wrong to think this way? The War Stone was as much a part of him as his name. He couldn't cast it aside, would not. Yet the Spirit Stone, he planned to return to the elephants, if he lived long enough to stop Mumm-Ra. It had been safe with them, for they had never felt the need to use it. Forgetful, they were, yes, and slow like the drip of water that created marvelous crystal castles underground, but they were happy. It hadn't been until the quickfire ThunderCats had entered their village that they'd woken from what seemed like a long sleep. Anet had not hesitated to join the battle for Avista. Some of Lion-O's guilt stemmed from that one small change in the elephant leader.
Maybe things had to change more than he'd thought. More than any of them had thought.
Could the cats evolve? If they couldn't, would they survive?
Would their pride—his pride—let them join the other races on their level, a level that he still saw as lower than the one he had believed was a basic right, because he had been born a cat? Elephant Village, for instance, was little more than a few run-down huts and a cracked, vine-covered fountain sinking into the hillside. When compared with what Thundera had been—he grumbled at the ache that pinched his insides at the thought.
The Book's jewel was dark, unresponsive. He thought about the life he had been forced to leave behind. Cat's Lair could not have existed, as he knew it, cocooned in quiet like this. As the center of Claudus's empire, it had seethed with activity at all hours of the day. As the crown prince, he'd never been left alone, not truly, not even when he desperately needed to be.
Lion-O let the Book sag. He raised his head, listening. Nothing but the hum of the Feliner's air systems. He didn't remember his friends deciding to leave him here and go out searching for answers without him. Come to think of it, he didn't remember saying anything about needing to be alone. Somehow, they'd known. They'd respected his unspoken wish.
Had it been Panthro? Possibly. The old general had served Claudus for years. He must have picked up a thing or two about royal moods.
Lion-O might have credited Cheetara for the thoughtful gesture, back when they'd first met. She'd kept popping up, initiating conversations, draping herself into his personal space, seeming interested in everything he did and said. Cheetara was better at reading Tygra's thoughts than his these days, however. Which was as it should be. Lion-O barely felt a twinge thinking about her.
It must have been Felline, then. Lion-O smiled faintly down at the Book, his black mood lifting a fraction. Felline and that quiet way of hers, those big eyes and bigger ears soaking up everything going on around her. He had once seen her pluck a Stinky Sticky Bomb right out of WilyKat's hand on the upswing before the kitten could lob it at Tygra's head—who had had it coming, in Lion-O's opinion, for pushing the eject button and blasting Kat from the Feliner's pilot's seat, which had sent Kat crashing into a prickleberry bush—and Kat had actually spent about thirty seconds looking for where it had gone before realizing what she'd done.
Lion-O let his smile grow a little. Yeah, it must have been Felline. He'd be a fool to waste the opportunity she'd given him. Better get the worst over with.
He opened the Book. The pages, as usual, were blank. Smooth, crisp, and white. Judgmental, or so he saw them.
"Jaga," he said, louder and more firmly than before.
A blue glow lit up the empty white pages like a monitor screen powering up. Words began to scroll across them, horizontally, vertically, forward and backward and crisscrossing, blue on white, too rapidly for him to read more than a word or a phrase here and there. The ghostly, blue-hued image of his old mentor's spirit stood up from the chaotic record of the past, cloaked and helmed as he had been the last time Lion-O had seen him alive.
Six inches tall, Jaga opened his eyes, sorrowful and wise and digitally-rendered blue. He appeared to be standing in glowing blue water. When he saw Lion-O hovering above him, his aged, bearded face crinkled in a knowing smile.
"I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me, Lion-O," he said in his deep, slow, achingly familiar voice.
Lion-O sighed, knowing full well he deserved the rebuke. At the very least, he would avoid reasons and excuses. He owed the old cleric that much, so all he said was, "I'm sorry, Jaga."
"But?" Jaga prompted in his patient way. "You would not have awakened me without reason. What troubles you, my king?"
"Do I have to say it?" Lion-O asked, unable to squelch the petulant whine in his voice. He couldn't help it. Jaga had been a permanent fixture of his youth, sharing the responsibility of his education with Claudus, providing that kindly-listening ear when Claudus's temper got in the way. "A lot has happened. It's . . ."
He hesitated, searching for the right words to describe the last few weeks. A fiasco? Definitely. A total failure? That didn't cover it by half. Proof he could never be the king he'd always assumed, in the arrogance of his pampered life, he would be?
He kneaded his forehead, biting back a whimper. "Complicated."
"As anticipated," Jaga said calmly. "You do not have to retell your story to me. Not as you imply. There is another way. Relax your body, King Lion-O. Relax your mind. Close your eyes and remember. Let your memories flow toward me."
As Jaga's voice went on, so soothing, Lion-O did his best to do as instructed. He first closed his eyes to block out any possible distractions. Then he tried to let his thoughts flow. He struggled for a minute or so. Thoughts, unlike speech, could flow just like the text in the Book, sideways, up and down, forward and back, plowing right over every other thought that cropped up.
What happened? he asked himself, struggling to marshal the millions of thoughts constantly bouncing around his skull. How did it start? When?
He let the tension drain from his scowling face. Then his neck. His shoulders. His breath. The Book between his hands grew warm, like metal under the sun.
So, naturally, he opened his eyes. The lines of text, renewed, scrolled from his thumbs, in direct contact with the Book's pages, toward Jaga's miniature ghost over the center fold. The text swirled like the winds of a tornado. Jaga's cloak seemed to break into streams of text which spiraled from his indistinct feet to his collar. His head floated eerily above this phenomenon. Serenity ruled his expression. This, then, must be how the Book had recorded the events of centuries ago, detailing how Lion-O's ancestors Leo and Panthera had brought down the Ever-Living, and the birth of the blades.
Watching, he caught snatches of his own thoughts made digital.
Prefect Horus. Ha!
The birds were better off with Vultaire.
Felline will help them. I have to let them go.
Felline! Felline's not breathing! No! I can't let her die!
I'll kill them. All of them.
Even Pumyra.
Never Pumyra.
Doesn't she know I loved her? What is wrong with her?
What has Mumm-Ra done?
NO! The Sword of Omens!
~*-&-$%-# *-*~!
Nothing there for what happened next, just a string of nonsense that practically screamed in pain. Lion-O flinched away from it. A perplexed rumple appeared between Jaga's shaggy brows. The lines of text jerked and fizzed as though losing the signal, and then steadied when Lion-O got over that particular emotional hump and let the memories roll forward.
Hattanz-O. Teacher. Friend. He can't help.
The Hammer of Thundera! Could it possibly exist?
It must. It does exist. All is not lost.
Who is the master? A tiger!
Why does he remind me so much of Tygra?
He doesn't have the Hammer.
Why is he all over Felline like that?
He doesn't have the Hammer.
Stop it. She doesn't like it.
HE DOESN'T HAVE THE HAMMER.
What do I do now? How can I fix this? How can I make this right?
The flow of text slowed as though losing power, blinked a few times, and then went dark. Jaga's cloak reappeared, opaque and glowing blue as before. His ghostly fingers tightened on the haft of his staff. He looked up at Lion-O soberly.
"It seems," he said, "that we have much to discuss."
Lion-O repressed a groan with difficulty. This was exactly why he'd consulted with Jaga—to talk. To seek the advice of the wisest cat he knew. No matter how much he'd rather be doing anything else. So, as the king he craved to be would do, he settled in for a long, hard, and overdue talk with his mentor.
A/N: It occurred to me that this chapter felt like it was dragging - because it is! It's pretty long, word-wise. Still have a way to go, though! I've done my best to clean it up and focus it a little. Your thoughts are welcome!
Reviewer Thanks! allurascastle (twice!), KelseyAlicia, Atea1793, St4r Hunter, The Night Whisperer, Darwin, AndrianaWarrior7, Heart of the Demons, Seeds of Destruction, Blacktiger93, and FallingStar5027. I love you guys so much! Bear with me, okay? Writing this is kinda rocky for me right now. But I'll figure it out, especially with all of you cheering me on! THANK YOU!
Forever Yours,
Anne