#1 JUL 12, 2007 · 18 yr ago
Chapter 30 of Signal in the Sky
[center]Trouble With Dreams
By Purrsia Kat & Spaced Angel[/center]
A/N: Special Thanks to Lyonnarra for helping name one of the twins.
There are many dreams.
In a universe of infinite variety, there should be dreams of everything and everyone, of success and failure, of tears and joy, of love and loss.
Yet all around lay dreams in pieces, all so similar in tale. Like stars in the firmament, they shone brightly for a while, the strength of their light filling all with hope, only to burn and fail. What happens to those, do you think, who have seen their dreams shattered? Do they ever dream again?
[center]*********[/center]
Cold, like the snows of Hook Mountain, and alone in a bleak, barren desert, the pyramid of the greatest sorcerer Third Earth had ever seen still stood, although its soul was broken – as broken as the day weeks before when then Thundercats dared invade the ancient abode. Within its stony heart, a mighty statue remained in pieces, smashed by its own weight when it could no longer repel the force applied against it. Even before when the Pyramid had crumbled in, the statues stayed intact merely buried under so much rubble, its defenses able to protect it. Before that, when Lion-O had boldly challenged Mumm-Ra unarmed in his final Anointment Trial and destroyed the mummy’s sarcophagus, it was surmountable in a short time. This, however, was so much worse for with it had sparked the collapse Mumm-ra’s powers and all the hopes and schemes of the Ancient Spirits of Evil.
In this dark cavern, habited now only by the breezes that lifted cobwebs from their corners, the Spirits brooded on the fate of their chosen one, entombed within a dull sarcophagus of chiselled stone in an effort to recover from this latest blow. Not for the first time did they question their choice of servile. He had promised so much in return for the use of their powers; a planet at their bidding and all the slaves they could ever need to fulfil their every desire. For thousands of years, they happily worked together to wreak havoc around this world, almost annihilating it once, and without much direct use of force. With the Thundercats, Mumm-Ra had been forced out of hiding, forced to come out and leave the security of his home after the Mutants proved to be useless foils, and it had weakened him even as the Spirits tried to enhance his powers to keep up. It had proved a bad investment. How hollow such promises seemed now.
All it had taken were a few off-worlders for Mumm-ra’s fine words to crumble like so much sand between his fingers. A litany of failures counted against him, too numerous to count. Time and time again, he had tried his hand and lost against those who called themselves Thundercats. They had given him power beyond all comprehension and he had squandered it. For the one to whom they had given life ever-living, his mortality had ultimately been his downfall.
How his weakness had been discovered was a mystery they had time to ponder. The Thundercats had come into Mumm-ra’s domain, intent on deliberate destruction. This had been no chance victory. They had known to target the statues containing the last remnants of his humanity that lay buried deep within their structures. A single pillar had fallen and with it Mumm-ra’s slim hold on this world. He had been reduced to a decaying mound and had sought refuge in his sarcophagus, crawling there like a sot unable to use his scrawny legs to carry him there. The only thing the Spirits had in their favor was the tireless compassion of their enemy, which was the only way they could account for the felines’ unwillingness to bring down all four statues and rob Mumm-Ra of his oft-boasted title of Ever-living. It would take time before he was able to emerge to battle his foe again. Perhaps, even, a very long time. And that it seemed, was good enough for the Thundercat Lord.
But the Ancient Spirits could afford to wait. For beings as old as time itself, the long days of Mumm-ra’s recovery would pass in the blink of an eye. Not so for the Thundercats. Years would pass and they would age. When Mumm-ra did challenge them again, it would be a very different story, one where evil would triumph over their goodness and that accursed Sword of Omens, with its Eye of Thundera. The Eye, which was full of powers Mumm-Ra and the Spirits themselves could never coax to life, and yet they were obsessed with possessing it. Perhaps it was a simple matter of having it so that the Thundercats did not. Yes, maybe it could never be used for evil intent, but without it in their corner the Thundercats were less of a threat to evil the world over. And it was for that reason that the Spirits would one day again push Mumm-Ra to claim it, blind it, and be rid of it once and for all. After that, the ‘Cats themselves would be easy prey and they could amuse themselves by driving the accursed felines to a miserable extinction.
With that certainty, the Ancient Spirits were content to bide their time. Mumm-Ra had let them down, more than once in fact, but there was still something left to cling to. After all, some dreams were worth the wait.
[center]********[/center]
Others, however, did not have the luxury of time on their side.
In the dark forests that sheltered Willa and her Warrior Maidens, a woman was running for her life, away from the home she had known all her life. Her fear was for her very existence, forfeit now for her crimes. No crime in her eyes, but her leader had taken a very different view. For her, there would be no quick, dignified exit. Instead, she had been thrown out as an outcast, exiled from her home and family. No one would help her. No one would dare give her shelter. It was as though with those few words, she had ceased to exist.
Except of course, she still lived and breathed. Gasped was closer to the truth, for she had been running for over an hour and her lungs were burning from the strain of the exertion not to mention the nearly crippling stitch in her side. An hour before, she’d just left the area where she’d met Monkian for what was likely the last time, and heard a noise that started her on a sprint of a lifetime. But she could not stop, her will to live and survival instincts pushing her forward. Behind her followed death, in the form of vengeful souls who believed in a harsher form of punishment than that which their leader had pronounced. Some day she was sure an arrow would find her and put an end to this game of cat and mouse. Until then, she ran and kept running, trying to stay one step ahead of her pursuers.
And while she ran, her thoughts turned to what might have been. She once had dreams too, dreams that one day Willa would no longer lord over her sisters and lead them down the path to destruction. In day and darkness, she had plotted and sought other’s help in achieving her goal. So much for comradeship, she thought bitterly. They had disowned her, disavowed any knowledge of her plotting. She had expected no less, for she would have done the same had one of her conspirators been caught out instead. And yet, the cold logic and truth of it didn’t quell her bitterness in the least. But now, she had bigger concerns if not more basic. In the forest, survival was everything. The rule of nature weeded out the weak and the wise gravitated to the strong. It was a brutal truth she had upheld all her life. The biggest shock had been when she had found that it applied beyond her arboreal home.
She had never credited Monkian with many brains beyond that which got him through daily life. Any plan he had ever formulated against the Thundercats had come from her information. She had fed him useful titbits to use against Willa and her allies and he had wasted precious chance after chance. No wonder the Thundercats thrived, not so much because they were superior in strength or numbers, but because their enemies were so blatantly stupid. It didn’t surprise her, then, that the Thundercats concerned themselves more with Third Earth’s resident devil than with their pursuers from off-world.
She had not been expecting anything different from Monkian when she had demanded that he make good his end of their bargain. Providing the Mutants with information had proved costly, she’d told him. If he’d only capitalized properly on her first few tips, she reasoned, she wouldn’t have had to keep going back to the well and get herself found out. That bald Thundercat ran his mouth to Nayda about her and in turn, Nayda planted the seed of suspicion in Willa’s ear and it was all down hill from there. Now she wanted the refuge of Castle Plun-darr – he owed her at least that much. To her shock, he had flatly refused. She had not credited him with the intelligence to argue, but he was implacable in his opposition. Her usefulness had effectively ended when she was sent into exile. Monkian’s interest had ended there. It was that cut and dried for him. She was on her own.
Only strict self-control had stopped her throwing herself at him and raining a torrent of blows on that smirking face. That would have been to hand him exactly what he wanted. Even stripped of her status, she was still a Warrior Maiden at heart. She would never show weakness in the face of adversity. She had not broken down when her sentence was pronounced and was determined not to in front of that sneering ape.
Instead, she had left him with something to think about, a promise that he had not heard the last of her. He had laughed and goaded her beyond endurance, then turned his back on her. The thought of the mess an arrow could make between his shoulder blades was an irresistible temptation, but one she fought down. Like Willa, she believed that death was too easy a punishment. On that point at least, they did agree. When it came to revenge, it was best done with careful planning and consideration, not in the heat of anger when its heady flavour was gone all too quickly. Monkian would pay for abandoning her, as her sisters would pay, but not now, not while she was being pursued like an animal through the forests of her childhood.
Running, it was going to be a way of life for her for a long while, she thought, as she paused briefly to wipe her damp brow. In the short term, thoughts of revenge would have to wait. There would be other opportunities, she told herself, if she survived. It was at such a dire time in her life that she couldn’t really pinpoint how it all really got started, this path to treachery and exile. The beginning however, didn’t seem to matter as much as the outcome she’d always wanted and this – this wasn’t it. No, she was determined that this wouldn’t be the end of it, that they’d not seen the last of her and likely this is what her pursuers also feared. They’d be wise to watch their backs and not get too comfortable. Not while she still breathed.
So, with one dream in tatters and another beginning to burn brightly in her soul, she kept running, confident that when she stopped, then would be her time. Then Monkian would pay. Arilla never forgot and she most surely never, ever forgave.
[center]************[/center]
If Arilla could have spanned the distance between Third Earth and the Mutants’ home world, Plun-darr, she would have found that the similarities outweighed the differences.
Here a world found itself in the grip of civil war, between Mutants who fought for the right to rule. The death of Ratilla and his heir apparent, Ratar-O, had sounded the death knoll for the hopes of ratkind that their kin would continue as the rulers of Plun-darr. With a strong hand removed from the tiller of power, chaos had descended. Reptilians fought jackals, who plotted against the apes, who struggled against the vultures. From a distance, no one knew who would prevail, least of all the watchers from Third Earth, who listened to the reports from the world that despised them for their failures and had left their fate in the lap of the gods.
Not that Slithe was complaining. As he had predicted, internal strife meant that anyone who mattered on Plun-darr had forgotten about him – and the Eye of Thundera - and were too busy with their own affairs. If civil war wasn’t bad enough, there were wars to be fought on Plun-darr’s moons, a remnant of Ratilla’s ambitions to bring the unruly satellites under total Mutant control. It was whispered that he had been mad to even try. The inhabitants of the moons were a strange bunch, evolved to deal with the particular conditions on their planets. If reports were true, the people of the ice moon were capable of spitting ice and fire, while another planet with dense gravity had produced a race of lumbering giants.
Neither seemed particularly appealing to Slithe. Had anyone bothered to ask his opinion, he would have said it was a distraction from the true goal of Mutantkind, to wipe the accursed race of Thunderians from the memory of the universe and take back what was theirs by right, the Sword of Omens. Or rather, the Eye they tried for centuries to hide within the hilt. Foolish felines, to think an adornment such as that would keep any of the Mutants from recognizing what was rightfully theirs. Though he had to admit, placing it within a weapon was a great way to guard it and utilize its powers at the same time.
With the Sword of Omens in the right hands – his if he had his way – the moon dwellers could be eliminated without even having to break a sweat. Slithe’s reptilian eyes glossed over a bit as he stared out the window of the war room in Castle Plun-darr and envisioned himself returning home with the Sword, triumphant, powerful and the beleaguered planet’s new ruler. He’d deliver them from the moon dwellers with ease as doing it the hard way was a waste of resources and time.
His eyes refocused as his thoughts turned to the more immediate issues facing him. As it was, he was kicking his heels on this forsaken dustbowl on the edges of known universe. Third Earth had promise, but he could have wished for better minions and less strenuous opposition. He kept telling himself that the Thundercats prevailed only by the grace of the Eye of Thundera, but lately his thoughts were turning to his own lot. The Eye had not built the Lair for the Thundercats; they had done that themselves by stint of their own merit and help from those Berbil creatures. What did he have? A creaking wreck ambitiously called Castle Plun-darr that had looked dilapidated when the cement was still wet between its stone walls. Even the Wollos had better homes than he had.
It was the fault of his underlings of course. Vultureman was the upstart of the group, always questioning his leadership, always criticising, as if he ever came up with any good ideas of his own. When he did, it was usually to tout some new invention that failed when it was most needed. It was a pleasure to see the arrogant bird fail, but Slithe had been finding it less amusing as their failures racked up against them.
Some blame he knew lay at his own door, though he’d never admit it to the others. Several weeks ago, he’d had a plan, one that he was sure would bring Lion-O to his knees and the Sword of Omens to his scaly hands. It was brilliantly simple – snatch the newborn brats and demand the Sword for their safe return. It was a dream he had fostered privately, keeping it a secret from the other Mutants. If anyone were to claim the Eye of Thundera, he was determined it would be him alone. Then came the news that Felina had delivered her twins early and another dream came crashing down. His plan to draw her out closer to her time, and keep her until she bore the cubs – whether by nature or by force - was ruined. Now she was kept tucked away in the Lair, where she and the cubs would remain safe.
He consoled himself with the thought that there would be other chances. There were some long years ahead where the cubs would remain small and vulnerable and they had to leave that fortress sometime. Besides, what was he to do with two wailing cubs? Better to let them age a few years and snatch them when they had grown out of the messy, noisy stage of childhood. A couple of years, he told himself, were not too long to wait.
It was long enough, however, to have to listen to that maniac Grune and his continual ravings. Another one who would have done well to learn a little humility, he spent his time ranting and cursing the Thundercats to hell and back. Slithe had assumed this fury stemmed from his last few defeats at their hands, most notably the beatings round the head he’d took helmet notwithstanding. But just lately he had noticed that it ran deeper. He knew what it was to be on the losing side and knew the anger that came with it.
But Grune was different. He spoke with a vehemence that told of years of festering resentment. Slithe had tried to probe its cause but was met with sullen silence. Clearly, there was a history between Grune and the Thundercats. If this was colouring Grune’s actions in the present, then Slithe knew the anger he carried would continue to defeat him into the future. Dispassionate distance was needed in dealing with the Thundercats. Outright fury they could deal with; cold logic confused them.
On his better days, Mumm-ra had displayed signs that he was capable of the latter. For that, Slithe had to admit to a grudging respect. The fact he always failed was testament to his over-confidence. All it took was one slip of concentration to give the Thundercats the chance they needed. There was much to be learned from Mumm-ra if only Grune would stop brooding over his own failures and look to the less than illustrious past of his so-called allies.
As much as he loathed Grune’s presence, however, Slithe had come to the conclusion that now was not the time to throw him out into the cold. He had knowledge of Thundercat ways that might come in useful in the future and then there was that secret feud, which could be capitalised on, depending on which way the grievance went. As bleak as the future seemed, there was always a little hope, even from the most unlikely sources. And Slithe was never one to turn away an advantage just because it got on his nerves. He could tolerate Grune a little longer, just until he got his hands on the Sword of Omens.
For that dream, he could put up with anything.
[center]***********[/center]
Within the astral ether, there stood one who could have easily sated Slithe’s curiosity about Grune and his history with the Thundercats. In fact, he was quite the catalyst behind most of Grune’s rage and hatred.
Jaga, dubbed ‘The Wise’ by his followers, had his own doubts, fears, hopes and dreams even in this afterlife. His wasn’t so much a life that was over but rather, he’d simply embarked on a new form of existence. The old wizard had seen much and walked a long time among the living, and he continued to keep tabs on the young protégé he’d promised his friend Claudis he’d protect and guide to adulthood. True, Lion-O was grown thanks to a twist of fate, but Jaga couldn’t bear to completely cross over to the spirit realm. If he did, then that would mean he could no longer commune at all with the living world and he still felt Lion-O needed his occasional guidance or encouragement.
The mantle of Lord was hard on the boy, and it pained Jaga to watch him struggle both mentally and physically against those who would like to see him standing by Jaga’s side on the astral plane. Lion-O had nobody to turn to that truly understood what he was going through as Lord. But Jaga, he had once led the Thundercats as interim Lord after Claudis was stricken blind, and by reaching out to Lion-O from beyond he could provide something none of his well-meaning living comrades could – understanding. Even if he could only muster the strength and concentration to appear to Lion-O briefly at times, it seemed to help the lad cope and that alone made it worth the tiring effort. Jaga swore he would not go to his ultimate rest until that need no longer needed to be filled.
Although, it was lonely in the between-realms limbo he existed within. Certainly, he could travel the universe watching and observing countless worlds. And indeed, sometimes he had if only to assuage his boredom and feed his yet-strong thirst for knowledge. However, he observed most life in the universe was bogged down in the same struggles, were uplifted by most of the same joys and good didn’t necessarily triumph over evil by virtue alone. Of course it helped to have righteousness on one’s side, but that alone never guaranteed survival and this worried Jaga most of all.
The legacy he left and all he’d help build were constantly in danger. So much was plotting against the small band of Thundercats marooned on Third Earth. If it wasn’t age-old enemies, it was a new one or some unfortunate circumstance threatening their chance to thrive. Of course, Jaga knew there were other Thunderians that survived the home world’s demise. Furthermore, there were those that made it all the way to their destination planet and had been working to rebuild what they once had on Thundera. This gave him some hope and comfort for his kind to survive even if the band of nobles tragically did not.
No, if they were lost it would be more of a personal tragedy for Jaga. He not only had a child among their number, but he’d been close with them all. They had all looked up to him when he was alive, and he still recalled Cheetara’s tears on their damaged flagship when he made the decision to be the one to forgo suspension. Certainly, he’d dreamed of starting over with them, to be able to properly shepherd Lion-O into adulthood before he left them, but it was not meant to be. He’d lived long enough to know when it was wise to cling to one’s dreams and when one had to realise it was best to let go. It was wiser to let go. So, the best he could do from where he was now was expending effort to guide Lion-O, if only for precious few moments, and hope things worked out for them in the end.
Otherwise, he found he could manipulate Felina somewhat through her dreams. Most recently, he put her through that harrowing birth alone in the country for her better good. The Mutants and Arilla were making a safe delivery less probable, and if she’d been allowed to go into early labor at the Lair surely Arilla would have been asked to be involved. Sometimes he felt it was better to let things be and happen as they were meant to be, which was why he sometimes let Lion-O puzzle out a problem on his own. But that was too big a risk, and even he couldn’t predict far enough into the future to know if the Thundercats would ever be able to rejoin their brethren on the other planet, the next generation couldn’t be risked. In his estimation, inspiring that dream and helping her out to that remote location seemed the best option at the time, though it tired him fiercely. He wouldn’t be able to do much else for some time, but watch.
It was funny, he sometimes mused, that he had the reputation for wisdom. Perhaps it seemed well earned to others or simply a matter of the sum of his years. He had culled much knowledge from his long life and all he’d witnessed, including mistakes he’d made along the way. He also had a certain level of omnipotence in his current position that came in handy at times when Lion-O needed a timely tip to save the day, and it no doubt went a long way to impress even from beyond. But, if only he’d had such foresight when he’d tossed the Sword of Plun-Darr into that molten chasm on Thundera. If he’d known then when he knew now, he surely wouldn’t be carrying the burden of being responsible for their flight from Thundera in the first place. He, in effect, had been the ender of all their dreams.
Ironically, he didn’t realise this was the cause of their planet’s destruction until he gained the perspective of the astral plane, so it was just as well. However, he wondered if it would affect the others left behind to learn of this. If they knew, would their opinions about his so-called wisdom and the Thundercats’ ability to rule as a whole would be swayed unfavourably? The mess with Grune, really, paled in comparison to that folly. It had ended his personal dream to be with Leonda and raise Felina with her, and it also destroyed a friendship he thought he’d had with Grune. It was horrible, the whole ordeal, but losing all of Thundera that was his most grievous error. Lion-O’s struggles were great in their own way, but Jaga had his own issues to reconcile. It was difficult to be put up on such a pedestal that people lose sight of the fact that he was only Thunderian and not immune to the weaknesses of the flesh or bad decisions in general.
Jaga was wise enough to know it did little good to torture oneself over the past. You learn from your mistakes and move on. But like Mumm-Ra, all he had was time, and infinite time gave a man a lot of time to think and to second-guess himself. Perhaps, his willingness to hang around and reach out to Lion-O and Felina was his way of making up for all his own regrets, remnants of missteps he’d made while alive. He wondered now, whether or not the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the birth of his grandchildren would be another thing that would come back and haunt them all. Maybe his interference merely served to perpetuate those same regrets and missteps, and he had once again placed himself as the crusher of another’s hopes and dreams. Only time would tell. Until then he’d continue his lonely vigil, watching and waiting in the astral mists.
[center]****************[/center]
So much for the broken dreams, but what of those whose dreams come true? Are they happy with a dream fulfilled or are they bereft and lost in purpose? Is it still possible to dream? Is it still possible to know happiness?
It was a question Cheetara had asked herself a hundred times as the long night slipped quietly by. She had stared at the black expanse of ceiling until her eyes hurt from the strain and still she could find no rest. Her nagging doubts persisted and tormented her unconscious hours. Her dreams would find her locked in a world she no longer recognised, where Mutants ruled Third Earth and Grune acted as their grand tormentor. A child cried and blood lapped down steps, a widening scarlet lake that coloured everything it touched and bathed her dreams in the red glow of death.
The sheer force of her emotions would make her wake up screaming and she would seek comfort in Tygra’s arms. He would hold her and reassure her that everything was all right. She desperately wanted to believe him, but her mind reeled with images that no longer confined themselves to her dreams. Waking or sleeping, they tormented her. She could trace their outlines in the shadows that crept from the corners of the room as darkness fell and in the eerie shapes cast by clouds moving across the moon. She was as much afraid to stay awake as she was to sleep and so another night was passing which would leave her exhausted the following day. As much as others in the world longed for their dreams to come true, Cheetara sorely wished that at least this one of hers never did.
There seemed little point in remaining where she was for another round in the night. The only thing that had kept her there in bed was Tygra’s arm sprawled possessively across her chest. Moving would disturb him from the peaceful slumber that she had grown to envy. He did not carry his worries into the dream world as she did, but left them behind for the light of day. Cheetara only wished she could sleep as easily, and was sorry for the first time since the new recruits arrived that she hadn’t her own room to retreat to. At least then, she wouldn’t jar him out of his peaceful slumber if and when she did close her eyes only to wake thrashing and crying out.
For now, however, the pressing need to break the spell of the darkness drove her to slip away from his embrace. Grabbing a gown, she crept from the room and out into the muted light of the corridor. The demons retreated and the shadows slunk back into their crevices.
Out here, her fears seemed so silly. While they had Lion-O and he wielded the Sword of Omens in their defence, what had she to fear? Her kind had always put their faith in the reigning Lord and the Eye of Thundera. It had seen Thunderians through centuries of treacherous enemies and hardship. The future was secure with the two adorable cubs that Felina had bravely borne alone. Even Mumm-ra was out of the way and despite his curse, she believed Lion-O when he said that it would take the old demon a long time to regain his powers. They’d triumphed over the toughest enemy a band of Thundercats ever faced. The dream had been realized and they had a true chance at a peaceful existence. So what had she to fear from these nightmarish images that, she had to admit, the meaning or significance of which was uncertain? Really, it was just that lingering, nagging feeling that set it apart from a routine nightmare.
Her internal dialogue of reasoning restored her battered faith as she made her way down the empty hall. She was silly, really, to put so much onto a lingering feeling. A lot could happen in a long time. If the past had taught her anything, it was that the universe was capable of infinite possibilities. If someone had told her years ago that she would see her world die and live to battle Mutants and demons on a distant planet, or that other Thunderians would be found on Third Earth, she would have laughed. It was true that anything was possible and that had a reassuring ring about it, even as it spoke to just as much uncertainty. The trouble was it was accompanied by the concern that good and evil came in equal measure. How did that old saying go about all good things coming to an end? If that were true, then these times were to be enjoyed as much as possible.
Forcing her concerns to the back of her mind, she made her way down to the kitchen, in need of something hot to drive away the chill of the night. A few feet from the door, she heard the sound of voices. Obviously Bengali and Pumyra were also having trouble sleeping and, curious, she paused to listen to what they had to say.
“It’s different,” she heard Bengali saying. “It’s not what I expected.”
Pumyra gave a soft snort of laughter. “What did you expect?”
“Glamour, I suppose. You know what it was like on Thundera. Thundercats always had a certain swagger about them. Everyone looked up to them. I don’t feel like that, Pumyra. I feel…” There was a slight hesitation before he continued. “I feel ordinary.”
“You’re still the same person, Bengali. You haven’t changed just because you’ve got that insignia.”
“And that’s my point. I should have changed, but I haven’t. I get overwhelmed by it all. And Lion-O doesn’t like me.”
Again she laughed. “That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t he like you?”
Cheetara could almost hear the grin in the tiger’s voice. “Because I’m young and handsome.”
“Really?” came Pumyra’s lightly sarcastic reply. “What makes you think he isn’t?”
“Oh, come on. He’s old and he’s married, I’m young and single. I could have my pick. If I were on Thundera, women would be fighting over me.”
“Or throwing up over you. Besides, he’s only a few years older than us. Hardly what I’d call old.”
“You can laugh,” he said, sounding just a little offended by her flippancy, “but I was considered something of a catch.”
“Then we are very privileged to have you here today, with your awesome Thundercat power of devastating handsomeness,” Pumyra said. “What have we done to deserve such a great honour?”
“Yes, you are lucky. The ladies can’t resist these baby blues.”
Pumyra chuckled. “If only Mumm-Ra and the Mutants were females, you could defeat them all single-handedly.”
The sound of laughter told Cheetara that both were taking this teasing in good humour. It also confirmed what she suspected, that they had been friends long enough to be at ease in each other’s company. She could remember times like that with Tygra, when they first met during their training as Thundercats. Sure, he’d been shy around her at first, but she actually found that refreshing from many of Thundera’s upper social elite, who, unlike Bengali’s mock boasting, really did think they were a natural gift to women. It didn’t take long for them to feel comfortable together and eventually, that friendship and closeness blossomed into a beautiful love. One that hadn’t faded a bit through all the years and trials they’d faced together. If her experience was anything to go by, then she wondered if they too would see their relationship evolve to something deeper. If it did, she couldn’t think of a better foundation than a solid friendship, which was something Lion-O and Felina had sorely lacked, she realized.
As their laughter died down, it seemed like a good time to disturb them. When she entered the kitchen, both looked up and matching guilty blushes came to their cheeks. Cheetara only felt slightly guilty for eavesdropping.
“You’re both up late,” she said casually, pouring herself a drink from the still warm kettle.
“Couldn’t sleep,” said Pumyra. “It sounds silly but I still can’t get used to sleeping in a bed.”
“You didn’t have beds on the island?”
“Sort of,” said Bengali. “Grass isn’t as soft as a mattress though.”
“That’s true,” said Cheetara.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” Pumyra asked.
“No,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve got a few things on my mind.”
“Oh.”
It was the kind of reply that indicated either embarrassment or not knowing what to say next. They knew about her sixth sense in only vague terms and it was clear that they had taken her comment as meaning something ominous.
Anxious to allay their concerns, Cheetara managed a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing serious,” she lied.
“Oh.” This time Pumyra’s tone was possessed of greater strength, as though the depth of her misgivings had eased. “In that case, I can make you a sleeping draught if you want.”
Cheetara held up her hand. “Thanks, but no. Really, I’m all right. Good night.” If there was one thing she knew from experience it was that drugs or alcohol always made her dreams infinitely stranger and more intense, and she’d had enough of both already. No enhancement was needed.
Both looked a little relieved that she was going and she did not take it personally. In many ways, they were still strangers to her and, try as she might, it troubled her that she had not been able to shake the barrier that existed between them. Now that she had heard their concerns, she understood the problem better. A quiet word with Tygra and Panthro – and especially Lion-O - about building up their confidence as Thundercats would make the world of difference. It had to be hard for them, going from commoners to Thundercats overnight, while trying to figure out their place in that time-honoured clique. Cheetara sympathized and vowed to help do something about it.
The warmth of her drink was calming the rage in her mind to manageable levels as she made her way back upstairs. Passing the door of Lion-O and Felina’s room, she heard noises from inside that sounded like the sort of conversations she and Tygra had had when Velouria was a newborn. As tempted as she was to offer her help, there had been a tacit agreement amongst the inhabitants of the Lair not to interfere unless the couple expressly asked for it. Parenthood was to be endured and enjoyed, not smothered by other well-meaning people. It was only after becoming a parent herself that she realized how truly unsolicited advice could be more an affront than helpful.
So she went on her way only to hear the door open behind her and the sound of footsteps.
“Cheetara, you’re up,” Lion-O said.
His voice had an appeal to it that made her know what his next question was likely to be.
“If you’re not busy, Felina needs a hand.” He stopped and corrected himself. “I mean, we both could use some help.”
“Glad to give it,” she said pleasantly.
“Good. I have to go. Felina’s in there.”
With that, he hurried away down the corridor. A wail immediately started from inside the room through the open door, along with a hushed whispering. Cheetara looked in to find Felina on the bed, a crying baby juggled in each arm, desperately trying to calm them down.
“Sorry,” she said. “Did we wake you?”
“No, I was up anyway,” Cheetara assured her while clicking on a nearby lamp. “Do you need a hand?”
Felina’s tired face flushed with gratitude. “Would you? I don’t know what’s wrong with them. They won’t stop crying. Lion-O’s gone to get Snarf.”
“Has he?” said Cheetara, raising an eyebrow. No wonder he had been in such a hurry. “Here, let me.”
She took a baby from Felina and cradled her in her arms. Happy memories returned of a time when Velouria was this small and this perfect as she bent and placed a soft kiss on the babe’s forehead. Cheetara breathed in deep, savoring the one-of-a-kind newborn scent. Though her own daughter was almost a year old, it seemed like only yesterday when she was a crying, red-faced bundle like this. The baby seemed content with the presentation of a new face for a moment, before lapsing back into a string of urgent cries. Cheetara shifted the child in her arms and propped her up on one shoulder. A few stern pats on the back and a big burp later, the baby settled down again, her tiny eyelids struggling and failing to keep open.
“How did you do that?” Felina asked. “I swear I’ll never understand these two.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Cheetara said, knowing from personal experience the truth of that statement. “The trick is, you can’t be too afraid to really pat them. You’re probably not doing it hard enough to get the gas out.”
“I hope I get the hang of it. I could use some sleep though. I can’t remember the last time I slept longer than a couple of hours.”
“It gets better. Believe it or not, you will sleep again. Is Lion-O helping?”
Felina grimaced. “Where he can. He’s not much use when they’re hungry.”
Cheetara supposed she was right, given Felina’s choice to nurse the twins. “I suppose he’s not.”
“Who isn’t?” said Lion-O as he returned with a sleepy-eyed Snarf in tow.
“Don’t worry about it,” dismissed Cheetara. “You shouldn’t have woken Snarf. Everything’s under control.”
“Weeow, I don’t mind,” said Snarf, rubbing his eyes. “It’s always a pleasure to look after these two. I offered to sleep in the nursery so everyone can get some sleep, but they won’t have it.”
Lion-O flashed a tired smile. “It’s a nice offer, and believe me, I’m more tempted every day to take you up on it. For now, we feel better having the twins sleeping in here with us, and well, if they wake up crying we’re going to be disturbed anyway.”
“Besides,” Felina added, while seeing if gas was also her son’s issue by trying Cheetara’s trick on him. “Mumm-Ra and the Mutants have been quiet lately. Even Grune hasn’t made his presence known. We want to use this peaceful time to focus on family.”
It seemed her efforts worked too well, for accompanying Leon’s loud burp was a flow of warm, sour-smelling liquid that ran down the back of Felina’s nightgown and dripped onto the bed. The baby, at least, seemed relieved.
“Ugh, is there ever going to be a time when I’m not going to smell like curdled milk?”
Cheetara chuckled as she passed her bundle to Snarf so she could assist Felina in cleaning up. Lion-O was too tired, apparently, to react faster than she had. “In the future,” Cheetara gently suggested, “put a towel over your shoulder just in case this happens.”
Felina nodded and accepted Cheetara’s assistance with gratitude.
Snarf happily took the baby from Cheetara’s arms and cooed at her. “There’s my Jonca. There’s a pretty one. You’re going to be just like your daddy, snarf, snarf.”
Cheetara had to agree with that statement. The little girl had been born with a thick crop of hair that was already showing the flame colouring of Lion-O’s own mane. When Snarf passed daughter to father, the similarities were even more striking. Lion-O cradled the child and kissed her tenderly on her forehead. This close, his mane touched hers and the two seemed to mingle. To Cheetara’s eye, the great mass of red grew as so many writhing tentacles, reaching out beyond their limited confines to spread across the bodies of their hosts and down to the floor. It seeped out from them, a lake of liquid blood-red hair, possessed of its own glow that filled the room with scarlet light.
As in her dreams, it claimed all it touched. Unable to move she watched, as her friends were soaked in its essence until all around her were coated in the red ichor that reached out to her with bulbous fingers and threatened to engulf her as well.
“Cheetara, are you all right?”
Snarf’s voice, high with concern, broke through the nightmare. The world was restored to normal and Cheetara blinked several times to find Lion-O and Felina watching her anxiously.
“I’m, uh, fine,” she said, feeling the cold sweat that had soaked her clothes. She could only imagine the kind of expression she must have been wearing to merit such concern from them.
“You don’t look it,” said Lion-O. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She swallowed the lump that had risen to her throat and tried to maintain a smile. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I have to go.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Snarf.
“No, thank you,” she said a little too quickly. “Help them put the cubs to bed.” She registered the look of surprise and consternation on the other’s faces and decided that now was not the time to explain. “I’ll be all right. See you in the morning.”
She made it out of the room and into the safety of the lit corridor. The door closed behind her and she leant against the wall, desperately drawing breath into starved lungs.
It was too much. Her dreams were creeping into her mind while she was awake, dashing what hope she had to brush them off as nothing to worry about. What were they trying to tell her? Nothing good, she was sure. Visions of blood did not bode well, but they were too vague for her to know what to do about them. The only time she’d had a similar experience were the nightmares she’d had as a little girl. They came on one summer with a vengeance and went away, leaving her at peace for a while. It was only several years later she fully realized their meaning when she lost her parents in the Mutant wars. She didn’t need to see their bodies to know what had befallen them – she’d seen it years before, in her nightmares. And in a strange way, though the dream didn’t help her save them from their fate, they did help her steel herself ahead of time for that devastating moment.
All she could do now was to put her faith in Lion-O and the Sword of Omens as she had always done. Surely, it couldn’t mean that one of them had their days numbered though, she supposed, it was always possible with the dangers they faced. They were strong; they were survivors. If anybody could beat the odds against them, it was the Thundercats. With Mumm-Ra removed as an imminent threat, they were safer than ever. Weren’t they?
For the more immediate future, she sought the comfort of Tygra’s arms she knew would be waiting for her back in their room, and fled to him on light feet. There was no sense in scaring everyone, for who knew if and when anything would happen, or what and to whom. No, Felina herself had said it – this was a peaceful time to be enjoyed and relished. Until she knew differently, that comfort had to be enough.
[center]******************[/center]
[center]There's nothing that I wanna do
More than get alone and be with you
Trouble with dreams is they don't come true
And when they do they can't catch up to you
You don't need a thing from me
But I need something big from you
'cause you know I've got
An awful lot of big dreams
I'm walking down a lonely road
Clear to me now but I was never told
Trouble with dreams is you never know
When to hold on and when to let go
If you let me down it's alright
At least that leaves something for me
'cause you know I've got
An awful lot of big dreams
This is the life that I must lead now
Crossing fingers and wiping brow
Trouble with dreams is you can't pretend
Something with no beginning has an end
You don't need a thing from me
But I need something big from you
'cause you know I've got an awful lot of big dreams
--Trouble With Dreams, The Eels[/center]
[center]Trouble With Dreams
By Purrsia Kat & Spaced Angel[/center]
A/N: Special Thanks to Lyonnarra for helping name one of the twins.
There are many dreams.
In a universe of infinite variety, there should be dreams of everything and everyone, of success and failure, of tears and joy, of love and loss.
Yet all around lay dreams in pieces, all so similar in tale. Like stars in the firmament, they shone brightly for a while, the strength of their light filling all with hope, only to burn and fail. What happens to those, do you think, who have seen their dreams shattered? Do they ever dream again?
[center]*********[/center]
Cold, like the snows of Hook Mountain, and alone in a bleak, barren desert, the pyramid of the greatest sorcerer Third Earth had ever seen still stood, although its soul was broken – as broken as the day weeks before when then Thundercats dared invade the ancient abode. Within its stony heart, a mighty statue remained in pieces, smashed by its own weight when it could no longer repel the force applied against it. Even before when the Pyramid had crumbled in, the statues stayed intact merely buried under so much rubble, its defenses able to protect it. Before that, when Lion-O had boldly challenged Mumm-Ra unarmed in his final Anointment Trial and destroyed the mummy’s sarcophagus, it was surmountable in a short time. This, however, was so much worse for with it had sparked the collapse Mumm-ra’s powers and all the hopes and schemes of the Ancient Spirits of Evil.
In this dark cavern, habited now only by the breezes that lifted cobwebs from their corners, the Spirits brooded on the fate of their chosen one, entombed within a dull sarcophagus of chiselled stone in an effort to recover from this latest blow. Not for the first time did they question their choice of servile. He had promised so much in return for the use of their powers; a planet at their bidding and all the slaves they could ever need to fulfil their every desire. For thousands of years, they happily worked together to wreak havoc around this world, almost annihilating it once, and without much direct use of force. With the Thundercats, Mumm-Ra had been forced out of hiding, forced to come out and leave the security of his home after the Mutants proved to be useless foils, and it had weakened him even as the Spirits tried to enhance his powers to keep up. It had proved a bad investment. How hollow such promises seemed now.
All it had taken were a few off-worlders for Mumm-ra’s fine words to crumble like so much sand between his fingers. A litany of failures counted against him, too numerous to count. Time and time again, he had tried his hand and lost against those who called themselves Thundercats. They had given him power beyond all comprehension and he had squandered it. For the one to whom they had given life ever-living, his mortality had ultimately been his downfall.
How his weakness had been discovered was a mystery they had time to ponder. The Thundercats had come into Mumm-ra’s domain, intent on deliberate destruction. This had been no chance victory. They had known to target the statues containing the last remnants of his humanity that lay buried deep within their structures. A single pillar had fallen and with it Mumm-ra’s slim hold on this world. He had been reduced to a decaying mound and had sought refuge in his sarcophagus, crawling there like a sot unable to use his scrawny legs to carry him there. The only thing the Spirits had in their favor was the tireless compassion of their enemy, which was the only way they could account for the felines’ unwillingness to bring down all four statues and rob Mumm-Ra of his oft-boasted title of Ever-living. It would take time before he was able to emerge to battle his foe again. Perhaps, even, a very long time. And that it seemed, was good enough for the Thundercat Lord.
But the Ancient Spirits could afford to wait. For beings as old as time itself, the long days of Mumm-ra’s recovery would pass in the blink of an eye. Not so for the Thundercats. Years would pass and they would age. When Mumm-ra did challenge them again, it would be a very different story, one where evil would triumph over their goodness and that accursed Sword of Omens, with its Eye of Thundera. The Eye, which was full of powers Mumm-Ra and the Spirits themselves could never coax to life, and yet they were obsessed with possessing it. Perhaps it was a simple matter of having it so that the Thundercats did not. Yes, maybe it could never be used for evil intent, but without it in their corner the Thundercats were less of a threat to evil the world over. And it was for that reason that the Spirits would one day again push Mumm-Ra to claim it, blind it, and be rid of it once and for all. After that, the ‘Cats themselves would be easy prey and they could amuse themselves by driving the accursed felines to a miserable extinction.
With that certainty, the Ancient Spirits were content to bide their time. Mumm-Ra had let them down, more than once in fact, but there was still something left to cling to. After all, some dreams were worth the wait.
[center]********[/center]
Others, however, did not have the luxury of time on their side.
In the dark forests that sheltered Willa and her Warrior Maidens, a woman was running for her life, away from the home she had known all her life. Her fear was for her very existence, forfeit now for her crimes. No crime in her eyes, but her leader had taken a very different view. For her, there would be no quick, dignified exit. Instead, she had been thrown out as an outcast, exiled from her home and family. No one would help her. No one would dare give her shelter. It was as though with those few words, she had ceased to exist.
Except of course, she still lived and breathed. Gasped was closer to the truth, for she had been running for over an hour and her lungs were burning from the strain of the exertion not to mention the nearly crippling stitch in her side. An hour before, she’d just left the area where she’d met Monkian for what was likely the last time, and heard a noise that started her on a sprint of a lifetime. But she could not stop, her will to live and survival instincts pushing her forward. Behind her followed death, in the form of vengeful souls who believed in a harsher form of punishment than that which their leader had pronounced. Some day she was sure an arrow would find her and put an end to this game of cat and mouse. Until then, she ran and kept running, trying to stay one step ahead of her pursuers.
And while she ran, her thoughts turned to what might have been. She once had dreams too, dreams that one day Willa would no longer lord over her sisters and lead them down the path to destruction. In day and darkness, she had plotted and sought other’s help in achieving her goal. So much for comradeship, she thought bitterly. They had disowned her, disavowed any knowledge of her plotting. She had expected no less, for she would have done the same had one of her conspirators been caught out instead. And yet, the cold logic and truth of it didn’t quell her bitterness in the least. But now, she had bigger concerns if not more basic. In the forest, survival was everything. The rule of nature weeded out the weak and the wise gravitated to the strong. It was a brutal truth she had upheld all her life. The biggest shock had been when she had found that it applied beyond her arboreal home.
She had never credited Monkian with many brains beyond that which got him through daily life. Any plan he had ever formulated against the Thundercats had come from her information. She had fed him useful titbits to use against Willa and her allies and he had wasted precious chance after chance. No wonder the Thundercats thrived, not so much because they were superior in strength or numbers, but because their enemies were so blatantly stupid. It didn’t surprise her, then, that the Thundercats concerned themselves more with Third Earth’s resident devil than with their pursuers from off-world.
She had not been expecting anything different from Monkian when she had demanded that he make good his end of their bargain. Providing the Mutants with information had proved costly, she’d told him. If he’d only capitalized properly on her first few tips, she reasoned, she wouldn’t have had to keep going back to the well and get herself found out. That bald Thundercat ran his mouth to Nayda about her and in turn, Nayda planted the seed of suspicion in Willa’s ear and it was all down hill from there. Now she wanted the refuge of Castle Plun-darr – he owed her at least that much. To her shock, he had flatly refused. She had not credited him with the intelligence to argue, but he was implacable in his opposition. Her usefulness had effectively ended when she was sent into exile. Monkian’s interest had ended there. It was that cut and dried for him. She was on her own.
Only strict self-control had stopped her throwing herself at him and raining a torrent of blows on that smirking face. That would have been to hand him exactly what he wanted. Even stripped of her status, she was still a Warrior Maiden at heart. She would never show weakness in the face of adversity. She had not broken down when her sentence was pronounced and was determined not to in front of that sneering ape.
Instead, she had left him with something to think about, a promise that he had not heard the last of her. He had laughed and goaded her beyond endurance, then turned his back on her. The thought of the mess an arrow could make between his shoulder blades was an irresistible temptation, but one she fought down. Like Willa, she believed that death was too easy a punishment. On that point at least, they did agree. When it came to revenge, it was best done with careful planning and consideration, not in the heat of anger when its heady flavour was gone all too quickly. Monkian would pay for abandoning her, as her sisters would pay, but not now, not while she was being pursued like an animal through the forests of her childhood.
Running, it was going to be a way of life for her for a long while, she thought, as she paused briefly to wipe her damp brow. In the short term, thoughts of revenge would have to wait. There would be other opportunities, she told herself, if she survived. It was at such a dire time in her life that she couldn’t really pinpoint how it all really got started, this path to treachery and exile. The beginning however, didn’t seem to matter as much as the outcome she’d always wanted and this – this wasn’t it. No, she was determined that this wouldn’t be the end of it, that they’d not seen the last of her and likely this is what her pursuers also feared. They’d be wise to watch their backs and not get too comfortable. Not while she still breathed.
So, with one dream in tatters and another beginning to burn brightly in her soul, she kept running, confident that when she stopped, then would be her time. Then Monkian would pay. Arilla never forgot and she most surely never, ever forgave.
[center]************[/center]
If Arilla could have spanned the distance between Third Earth and the Mutants’ home world, Plun-darr, she would have found that the similarities outweighed the differences.
Here a world found itself in the grip of civil war, between Mutants who fought for the right to rule. The death of Ratilla and his heir apparent, Ratar-O, had sounded the death knoll for the hopes of ratkind that their kin would continue as the rulers of Plun-darr. With a strong hand removed from the tiller of power, chaos had descended. Reptilians fought jackals, who plotted against the apes, who struggled against the vultures. From a distance, no one knew who would prevail, least of all the watchers from Third Earth, who listened to the reports from the world that despised them for their failures and had left their fate in the lap of the gods.
Not that Slithe was complaining. As he had predicted, internal strife meant that anyone who mattered on Plun-darr had forgotten about him – and the Eye of Thundera - and were too busy with their own affairs. If civil war wasn’t bad enough, there were wars to be fought on Plun-darr’s moons, a remnant of Ratilla’s ambitions to bring the unruly satellites under total Mutant control. It was whispered that he had been mad to even try. The inhabitants of the moons were a strange bunch, evolved to deal with the particular conditions on their planets. If reports were true, the people of the ice moon were capable of spitting ice and fire, while another planet with dense gravity had produced a race of lumbering giants.
Neither seemed particularly appealing to Slithe. Had anyone bothered to ask his opinion, he would have said it was a distraction from the true goal of Mutantkind, to wipe the accursed race of Thunderians from the memory of the universe and take back what was theirs by right, the Sword of Omens. Or rather, the Eye they tried for centuries to hide within the hilt. Foolish felines, to think an adornment such as that would keep any of the Mutants from recognizing what was rightfully theirs. Though he had to admit, placing it within a weapon was a great way to guard it and utilize its powers at the same time.
With the Sword of Omens in the right hands – his if he had his way – the moon dwellers could be eliminated without even having to break a sweat. Slithe’s reptilian eyes glossed over a bit as he stared out the window of the war room in Castle Plun-darr and envisioned himself returning home with the Sword, triumphant, powerful and the beleaguered planet’s new ruler. He’d deliver them from the moon dwellers with ease as doing it the hard way was a waste of resources and time.
His eyes refocused as his thoughts turned to the more immediate issues facing him. As it was, he was kicking his heels on this forsaken dustbowl on the edges of known universe. Third Earth had promise, but he could have wished for better minions and less strenuous opposition. He kept telling himself that the Thundercats prevailed only by the grace of the Eye of Thundera, but lately his thoughts were turning to his own lot. The Eye had not built the Lair for the Thundercats; they had done that themselves by stint of their own merit and help from those Berbil creatures. What did he have? A creaking wreck ambitiously called Castle Plun-darr that had looked dilapidated when the cement was still wet between its stone walls. Even the Wollos had better homes than he had.
It was the fault of his underlings of course. Vultureman was the upstart of the group, always questioning his leadership, always criticising, as if he ever came up with any good ideas of his own. When he did, it was usually to tout some new invention that failed when it was most needed. It was a pleasure to see the arrogant bird fail, but Slithe had been finding it less amusing as their failures racked up against them.
Some blame he knew lay at his own door, though he’d never admit it to the others. Several weeks ago, he’d had a plan, one that he was sure would bring Lion-O to his knees and the Sword of Omens to his scaly hands. It was brilliantly simple – snatch the newborn brats and demand the Sword for their safe return. It was a dream he had fostered privately, keeping it a secret from the other Mutants. If anyone were to claim the Eye of Thundera, he was determined it would be him alone. Then came the news that Felina had delivered her twins early and another dream came crashing down. His plan to draw her out closer to her time, and keep her until she bore the cubs – whether by nature or by force - was ruined. Now she was kept tucked away in the Lair, where she and the cubs would remain safe.
He consoled himself with the thought that there would be other chances. There were some long years ahead where the cubs would remain small and vulnerable and they had to leave that fortress sometime. Besides, what was he to do with two wailing cubs? Better to let them age a few years and snatch them when they had grown out of the messy, noisy stage of childhood. A couple of years, he told himself, were not too long to wait.
It was long enough, however, to have to listen to that maniac Grune and his continual ravings. Another one who would have done well to learn a little humility, he spent his time ranting and cursing the Thundercats to hell and back. Slithe had assumed this fury stemmed from his last few defeats at their hands, most notably the beatings round the head he’d took helmet notwithstanding. But just lately he had noticed that it ran deeper. He knew what it was to be on the losing side and knew the anger that came with it.
But Grune was different. He spoke with a vehemence that told of years of festering resentment. Slithe had tried to probe its cause but was met with sullen silence. Clearly, there was a history between Grune and the Thundercats. If this was colouring Grune’s actions in the present, then Slithe knew the anger he carried would continue to defeat him into the future. Dispassionate distance was needed in dealing with the Thundercats. Outright fury they could deal with; cold logic confused them.
On his better days, Mumm-ra had displayed signs that he was capable of the latter. For that, Slithe had to admit to a grudging respect. The fact he always failed was testament to his over-confidence. All it took was one slip of concentration to give the Thundercats the chance they needed. There was much to be learned from Mumm-ra if only Grune would stop brooding over his own failures and look to the less than illustrious past of his so-called allies.
As much as he loathed Grune’s presence, however, Slithe had come to the conclusion that now was not the time to throw him out into the cold. He had knowledge of Thundercat ways that might come in useful in the future and then there was that secret feud, which could be capitalised on, depending on which way the grievance went. As bleak as the future seemed, there was always a little hope, even from the most unlikely sources. And Slithe was never one to turn away an advantage just because it got on his nerves. He could tolerate Grune a little longer, just until he got his hands on the Sword of Omens.
For that dream, he could put up with anything.
[center]***********[/center]
Within the astral ether, there stood one who could have easily sated Slithe’s curiosity about Grune and his history with the Thundercats. In fact, he was quite the catalyst behind most of Grune’s rage and hatred.
Jaga, dubbed ‘The Wise’ by his followers, had his own doubts, fears, hopes and dreams even in this afterlife. His wasn’t so much a life that was over but rather, he’d simply embarked on a new form of existence. The old wizard had seen much and walked a long time among the living, and he continued to keep tabs on the young protégé he’d promised his friend Claudis he’d protect and guide to adulthood. True, Lion-O was grown thanks to a twist of fate, but Jaga couldn’t bear to completely cross over to the spirit realm. If he did, then that would mean he could no longer commune at all with the living world and he still felt Lion-O needed his occasional guidance or encouragement.
The mantle of Lord was hard on the boy, and it pained Jaga to watch him struggle both mentally and physically against those who would like to see him standing by Jaga’s side on the astral plane. Lion-O had nobody to turn to that truly understood what he was going through as Lord. But Jaga, he had once led the Thundercats as interim Lord after Claudis was stricken blind, and by reaching out to Lion-O from beyond he could provide something none of his well-meaning living comrades could – understanding. Even if he could only muster the strength and concentration to appear to Lion-O briefly at times, it seemed to help the lad cope and that alone made it worth the tiring effort. Jaga swore he would not go to his ultimate rest until that need no longer needed to be filled.
Although, it was lonely in the between-realms limbo he existed within. Certainly, he could travel the universe watching and observing countless worlds. And indeed, sometimes he had if only to assuage his boredom and feed his yet-strong thirst for knowledge. However, he observed most life in the universe was bogged down in the same struggles, were uplifted by most of the same joys and good didn’t necessarily triumph over evil by virtue alone. Of course it helped to have righteousness on one’s side, but that alone never guaranteed survival and this worried Jaga most of all.
The legacy he left and all he’d help build were constantly in danger. So much was plotting against the small band of Thundercats marooned on Third Earth. If it wasn’t age-old enemies, it was a new one or some unfortunate circumstance threatening their chance to thrive. Of course, Jaga knew there were other Thunderians that survived the home world’s demise. Furthermore, there were those that made it all the way to their destination planet and had been working to rebuild what they once had on Thundera. This gave him some hope and comfort for his kind to survive even if the band of nobles tragically did not.
No, if they were lost it would be more of a personal tragedy for Jaga. He not only had a child among their number, but he’d been close with them all. They had all looked up to him when he was alive, and he still recalled Cheetara’s tears on their damaged flagship when he made the decision to be the one to forgo suspension. Certainly, he’d dreamed of starting over with them, to be able to properly shepherd Lion-O into adulthood before he left them, but it was not meant to be. He’d lived long enough to know when it was wise to cling to one’s dreams and when one had to realise it was best to let go. It was wiser to let go. So, the best he could do from where he was now was expending effort to guide Lion-O, if only for precious few moments, and hope things worked out for them in the end.
Otherwise, he found he could manipulate Felina somewhat through her dreams. Most recently, he put her through that harrowing birth alone in the country for her better good. The Mutants and Arilla were making a safe delivery less probable, and if she’d been allowed to go into early labor at the Lair surely Arilla would have been asked to be involved. Sometimes he felt it was better to let things be and happen as they were meant to be, which was why he sometimes let Lion-O puzzle out a problem on his own. But that was too big a risk, and even he couldn’t predict far enough into the future to know if the Thundercats would ever be able to rejoin their brethren on the other planet, the next generation couldn’t be risked. In his estimation, inspiring that dream and helping her out to that remote location seemed the best option at the time, though it tired him fiercely. He wouldn’t be able to do much else for some time, but watch.
It was funny, he sometimes mused, that he had the reputation for wisdom. Perhaps it seemed well earned to others or simply a matter of the sum of his years. He had culled much knowledge from his long life and all he’d witnessed, including mistakes he’d made along the way. He also had a certain level of omnipotence in his current position that came in handy at times when Lion-O needed a timely tip to save the day, and it no doubt went a long way to impress even from beyond. But, if only he’d had such foresight when he’d tossed the Sword of Plun-Darr into that molten chasm on Thundera. If he’d known then when he knew now, he surely wouldn’t be carrying the burden of being responsible for their flight from Thundera in the first place. He, in effect, had been the ender of all their dreams.
Ironically, he didn’t realise this was the cause of their planet’s destruction until he gained the perspective of the astral plane, so it was just as well. However, he wondered if it would affect the others left behind to learn of this. If they knew, would their opinions about his so-called wisdom and the Thundercats’ ability to rule as a whole would be swayed unfavourably? The mess with Grune, really, paled in comparison to that folly. It had ended his personal dream to be with Leonda and raise Felina with her, and it also destroyed a friendship he thought he’d had with Grune. It was horrible, the whole ordeal, but losing all of Thundera that was his most grievous error. Lion-O’s struggles were great in their own way, but Jaga had his own issues to reconcile. It was difficult to be put up on such a pedestal that people lose sight of the fact that he was only Thunderian and not immune to the weaknesses of the flesh or bad decisions in general.
Jaga was wise enough to know it did little good to torture oneself over the past. You learn from your mistakes and move on. But like Mumm-Ra, all he had was time, and infinite time gave a man a lot of time to think and to second-guess himself. Perhaps, his willingness to hang around and reach out to Lion-O and Felina was his way of making up for all his own regrets, remnants of missteps he’d made while alive. He wondered now, whether or not the extraordinary circumstances surrounding the birth of his grandchildren would be another thing that would come back and haunt them all. Maybe his interference merely served to perpetuate those same regrets and missteps, and he had once again placed himself as the crusher of another’s hopes and dreams. Only time would tell. Until then he’d continue his lonely vigil, watching and waiting in the astral mists.
[center]****************[/center]
So much for the broken dreams, but what of those whose dreams come true? Are they happy with a dream fulfilled or are they bereft and lost in purpose? Is it still possible to dream? Is it still possible to know happiness?
It was a question Cheetara had asked herself a hundred times as the long night slipped quietly by. She had stared at the black expanse of ceiling until her eyes hurt from the strain and still she could find no rest. Her nagging doubts persisted and tormented her unconscious hours. Her dreams would find her locked in a world she no longer recognised, where Mutants ruled Third Earth and Grune acted as their grand tormentor. A child cried and blood lapped down steps, a widening scarlet lake that coloured everything it touched and bathed her dreams in the red glow of death.
The sheer force of her emotions would make her wake up screaming and she would seek comfort in Tygra’s arms. He would hold her and reassure her that everything was all right. She desperately wanted to believe him, but her mind reeled with images that no longer confined themselves to her dreams. Waking or sleeping, they tormented her. She could trace their outlines in the shadows that crept from the corners of the room as darkness fell and in the eerie shapes cast by clouds moving across the moon. She was as much afraid to stay awake as she was to sleep and so another night was passing which would leave her exhausted the following day. As much as others in the world longed for their dreams to come true, Cheetara sorely wished that at least this one of hers never did.
There seemed little point in remaining where she was for another round in the night. The only thing that had kept her there in bed was Tygra’s arm sprawled possessively across her chest. Moving would disturb him from the peaceful slumber that she had grown to envy. He did not carry his worries into the dream world as she did, but left them behind for the light of day. Cheetara only wished she could sleep as easily, and was sorry for the first time since the new recruits arrived that she hadn’t her own room to retreat to. At least then, she wouldn’t jar him out of his peaceful slumber if and when she did close her eyes only to wake thrashing and crying out.
For now, however, the pressing need to break the spell of the darkness drove her to slip away from his embrace. Grabbing a gown, she crept from the room and out into the muted light of the corridor. The demons retreated and the shadows slunk back into their crevices.
Out here, her fears seemed so silly. While they had Lion-O and he wielded the Sword of Omens in their defence, what had she to fear? Her kind had always put their faith in the reigning Lord and the Eye of Thundera. It had seen Thunderians through centuries of treacherous enemies and hardship. The future was secure with the two adorable cubs that Felina had bravely borne alone. Even Mumm-ra was out of the way and despite his curse, she believed Lion-O when he said that it would take the old demon a long time to regain his powers. They’d triumphed over the toughest enemy a band of Thundercats ever faced. The dream had been realized and they had a true chance at a peaceful existence. So what had she to fear from these nightmarish images that, she had to admit, the meaning or significance of which was uncertain? Really, it was just that lingering, nagging feeling that set it apart from a routine nightmare.
Her internal dialogue of reasoning restored her battered faith as she made her way down the empty hall. She was silly, really, to put so much onto a lingering feeling. A lot could happen in a long time. If the past had taught her anything, it was that the universe was capable of infinite possibilities. If someone had told her years ago that she would see her world die and live to battle Mutants and demons on a distant planet, or that other Thunderians would be found on Third Earth, she would have laughed. It was true that anything was possible and that had a reassuring ring about it, even as it spoke to just as much uncertainty. The trouble was it was accompanied by the concern that good and evil came in equal measure. How did that old saying go about all good things coming to an end? If that were true, then these times were to be enjoyed as much as possible.
Forcing her concerns to the back of her mind, she made her way down to the kitchen, in need of something hot to drive away the chill of the night. A few feet from the door, she heard the sound of voices. Obviously Bengali and Pumyra were also having trouble sleeping and, curious, she paused to listen to what they had to say.
“It’s different,” she heard Bengali saying. “It’s not what I expected.”
Pumyra gave a soft snort of laughter. “What did you expect?”
“Glamour, I suppose. You know what it was like on Thundera. Thundercats always had a certain swagger about them. Everyone looked up to them. I don’t feel like that, Pumyra. I feel…” There was a slight hesitation before he continued. “I feel ordinary.”
“You’re still the same person, Bengali. You haven’t changed just because you’ve got that insignia.”
“And that’s my point. I should have changed, but I haven’t. I get overwhelmed by it all. And Lion-O doesn’t like me.”
Again she laughed. “That’s ridiculous. Why wouldn’t he like you?”
Cheetara could almost hear the grin in the tiger’s voice. “Because I’m young and handsome.”
“Really?” came Pumyra’s lightly sarcastic reply. “What makes you think he isn’t?”
“Oh, come on. He’s old and he’s married, I’m young and single. I could have my pick. If I were on Thundera, women would be fighting over me.”
“Or throwing up over you. Besides, he’s only a few years older than us. Hardly what I’d call old.”
“You can laugh,” he said, sounding just a little offended by her flippancy, “but I was considered something of a catch.”
“Then we are very privileged to have you here today, with your awesome Thundercat power of devastating handsomeness,” Pumyra said. “What have we done to deserve such a great honour?”
“Yes, you are lucky. The ladies can’t resist these baby blues.”
Pumyra chuckled. “If only Mumm-Ra and the Mutants were females, you could defeat them all single-handedly.”
The sound of laughter told Cheetara that both were taking this teasing in good humour. It also confirmed what she suspected, that they had been friends long enough to be at ease in each other’s company. She could remember times like that with Tygra, when they first met during their training as Thundercats. Sure, he’d been shy around her at first, but she actually found that refreshing from many of Thundera’s upper social elite, who, unlike Bengali’s mock boasting, really did think they were a natural gift to women. It didn’t take long for them to feel comfortable together and eventually, that friendship and closeness blossomed into a beautiful love. One that hadn’t faded a bit through all the years and trials they’d faced together. If her experience was anything to go by, then she wondered if they too would see their relationship evolve to something deeper. If it did, she couldn’t think of a better foundation than a solid friendship, which was something Lion-O and Felina had sorely lacked, she realized.
As their laughter died down, it seemed like a good time to disturb them. When she entered the kitchen, both looked up and matching guilty blushes came to their cheeks. Cheetara only felt slightly guilty for eavesdropping.
“You’re both up late,” she said casually, pouring herself a drink from the still warm kettle.
“Couldn’t sleep,” said Pumyra. “It sounds silly but I still can’t get used to sleeping in a bed.”
“You didn’t have beds on the island?”
“Sort of,” said Bengali. “Grass isn’t as soft as a mattress though.”
“That’s true,” said Cheetara.
“You couldn’t sleep either?” Pumyra asked.
“No,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve got a few things on my mind.”
“Oh.”
It was the kind of reply that indicated either embarrassment or not knowing what to say next. They knew about her sixth sense in only vague terms and it was clear that they had taken her comment as meaning something ominous.
Anxious to allay their concerns, Cheetara managed a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing serious,” she lied.
“Oh.” This time Pumyra’s tone was possessed of greater strength, as though the depth of her misgivings had eased. “In that case, I can make you a sleeping draught if you want.”
Cheetara held up her hand. “Thanks, but no. Really, I’m all right. Good night.” If there was one thing she knew from experience it was that drugs or alcohol always made her dreams infinitely stranger and more intense, and she’d had enough of both already. No enhancement was needed.
Both looked a little relieved that she was going and she did not take it personally. In many ways, they were still strangers to her and, try as she might, it troubled her that she had not been able to shake the barrier that existed between them. Now that she had heard their concerns, she understood the problem better. A quiet word with Tygra and Panthro – and especially Lion-O - about building up their confidence as Thundercats would make the world of difference. It had to be hard for them, going from commoners to Thundercats overnight, while trying to figure out their place in that time-honoured clique. Cheetara sympathized and vowed to help do something about it.
The warmth of her drink was calming the rage in her mind to manageable levels as she made her way back upstairs. Passing the door of Lion-O and Felina’s room, she heard noises from inside that sounded like the sort of conversations she and Tygra had had when Velouria was a newborn. As tempted as she was to offer her help, there had been a tacit agreement amongst the inhabitants of the Lair not to interfere unless the couple expressly asked for it. Parenthood was to be endured and enjoyed, not smothered by other well-meaning people. It was only after becoming a parent herself that she realized how truly unsolicited advice could be more an affront than helpful.
So she went on her way only to hear the door open behind her and the sound of footsteps.
“Cheetara, you’re up,” Lion-O said.
His voice had an appeal to it that made her know what his next question was likely to be.
“If you’re not busy, Felina needs a hand.” He stopped and corrected himself. “I mean, we both could use some help.”
“Glad to give it,” she said pleasantly.
“Good. I have to go. Felina’s in there.”
With that, he hurried away down the corridor. A wail immediately started from inside the room through the open door, along with a hushed whispering. Cheetara looked in to find Felina on the bed, a crying baby juggled in each arm, desperately trying to calm them down.
“Sorry,” she said. “Did we wake you?”
“No, I was up anyway,” Cheetara assured her while clicking on a nearby lamp. “Do you need a hand?”
Felina’s tired face flushed with gratitude. “Would you? I don’t know what’s wrong with them. They won’t stop crying. Lion-O’s gone to get Snarf.”
“Has he?” said Cheetara, raising an eyebrow. No wonder he had been in such a hurry. “Here, let me.”
She took a baby from Felina and cradled her in her arms. Happy memories returned of a time when Velouria was this small and this perfect as she bent and placed a soft kiss on the babe’s forehead. Cheetara breathed in deep, savoring the one-of-a-kind newborn scent. Though her own daughter was almost a year old, it seemed like only yesterday when she was a crying, red-faced bundle like this. The baby seemed content with the presentation of a new face for a moment, before lapsing back into a string of urgent cries. Cheetara shifted the child in her arms and propped her up on one shoulder. A few stern pats on the back and a big burp later, the baby settled down again, her tiny eyelids struggling and failing to keep open.
“How did you do that?” Felina asked. “I swear I’ll never understand these two.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Cheetara said, knowing from personal experience the truth of that statement. “The trick is, you can’t be too afraid to really pat them. You’re probably not doing it hard enough to get the gas out.”
“I hope I get the hang of it. I could use some sleep though. I can’t remember the last time I slept longer than a couple of hours.”
“It gets better. Believe it or not, you will sleep again. Is Lion-O helping?”
Felina grimaced. “Where he can. He’s not much use when they’re hungry.”
Cheetara supposed she was right, given Felina’s choice to nurse the twins. “I suppose he’s not.”
“Who isn’t?” said Lion-O as he returned with a sleepy-eyed Snarf in tow.
“Don’t worry about it,” dismissed Cheetara. “You shouldn’t have woken Snarf. Everything’s under control.”
“Weeow, I don’t mind,” said Snarf, rubbing his eyes. “It’s always a pleasure to look after these two. I offered to sleep in the nursery so everyone can get some sleep, but they won’t have it.”
Lion-O flashed a tired smile. “It’s a nice offer, and believe me, I’m more tempted every day to take you up on it. For now, we feel better having the twins sleeping in here with us, and well, if they wake up crying we’re going to be disturbed anyway.”
“Besides,” Felina added, while seeing if gas was also her son’s issue by trying Cheetara’s trick on him. “Mumm-Ra and the Mutants have been quiet lately. Even Grune hasn’t made his presence known. We want to use this peaceful time to focus on family.”
It seemed her efforts worked too well, for accompanying Leon’s loud burp was a flow of warm, sour-smelling liquid that ran down the back of Felina’s nightgown and dripped onto the bed. The baby, at least, seemed relieved.
“Ugh, is there ever going to be a time when I’m not going to smell like curdled milk?”
Cheetara chuckled as she passed her bundle to Snarf so she could assist Felina in cleaning up. Lion-O was too tired, apparently, to react faster than she had. “In the future,” Cheetara gently suggested, “put a towel over your shoulder just in case this happens.”
Felina nodded and accepted Cheetara’s assistance with gratitude.
Snarf happily took the baby from Cheetara’s arms and cooed at her. “There’s my Jonca. There’s a pretty one. You’re going to be just like your daddy, snarf, snarf.”
Cheetara had to agree with that statement. The little girl had been born with a thick crop of hair that was already showing the flame colouring of Lion-O’s own mane. When Snarf passed daughter to father, the similarities were even more striking. Lion-O cradled the child and kissed her tenderly on her forehead. This close, his mane touched hers and the two seemed to mingle. To Cheetara’s eye, the great mass of red grew as so many writhing tentacles, reaching out beyond their limited confines to spread across the bodies of their hosts and down to the floor. It seeped out from them, a lake of liquid blood-red hair, possessed of its own glow that filled the room with scarlet light.
As in her dreams, it claimed all it touched. Unable to move she watched, as her friends were soaked in its essence until all around her were coated in the red ichor that reached out to her with bulbous fingers and threatened to engulf her as well.
“Cheetara, are you all right?”
Snarf’s voice, high with concern, broke through the nightmare. The world was restored to normal and Cheetara blinked several times to find Lion-O and Felina watching her anxiously.
“I’m, uh, fine,” she said, feeling the cold sweat that had soaked her clothes. She could only imagine the kind of expression she must have been wearing to merit such concern from them.
“You don’t look it,” said Lion-O. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She swallowed the lump that had risen to her throat and tried to maintain a smile. “I’m just tired, that’s all. I have to go.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” asked Snarf.
“No, thank you,” she said a little too quickly. “Help them put the cubs to bed.” She registered the look of surprise and consternation on the other’s faces and decided that now was not the time to explain. “I’ll be all right. See you in the morning.”
She made it out of the room and into the safety of the lit corridor. The door closed behind her and she leant against the wall, desperately drawing breath into starved lungs.
It was too much. Her dreams were creeping into her mind while she was awake, dashing what hope she had to brush them off as nothing to worry about. What were they trying to tell her? Nothing good, she was sure. Visions of blood did not bode well, but they were too vague for her to know what to do about them. The only time she’d had a similar experience were the nightmares she’d had as a little girl. They came on one summer with a vengeance and went away, leaving her at peace for a while. It was only several years later she fully realized their meaning when she lost her parents in the Mutant wars. She didn’t need to see their bodies to know what had befallen them – she’d seen it years before, in her nightmares. And in a strange way, though the dream didn’t help her save them from their fate, they did help her steel herself ahead of time for that devastating moment.
All she could do now was to put her faith in Lion-O and the Sword of Omens as she had always done. Surely, it couldn’t mean that one of them had their days numbered though, she supposed, it was always possible with the dangers they faced. They were strong; they were survivors. If anybody could beat the odds against them, it was the Thundercats. With Mumm-Ra removed as an imminent threat, they were safer than ever. Weren’t they?
For the more immediate future, she sought the comfort of Tygra’s arms she knew would be waiting for her back in their room, and fled to him on light feet. There was no sense in scaring everyone, for who knew if and when anything would happen, or what and to whom. No, Felina herself had said it – this was a peaceful time to be enjoyed and relished. Until she knew differently, that comfort had to be enough.
[center]******************[/center]
[center]There's nothing that I wanna do
More than get alone and be with you
Trouble with dreams is they don't come true
And when they do they can't catch up to you
You don't need a thing from me
But I need something big from you
'cause you know I've got
An awful lot of big dreams
I'm walking down a lonely road
Clear to me now but I was never told
Trouble with dreams is you never know
When to hold on and when to let go
If you let me down it's alright
At least that leaves something for me
'cause you know I've got
An awful lot of big dreams
This is the life that I must lead now
Crossing fingers and wiping brow
Trouble with dreams is you can't pretend
Something with no beginning has an end
You don't need a thing from me
But I need something big from you
'cause you know I've got an awful lot of big dreams
--Trouble With Dreams, The Eels[/center]
♥ 1 LIKE