Sons of Man
Part Three : Legends
He awoke on a soft, warm bed, surrounded by
pillows and a thick comforter. The bed was located in a simply-furnished room,
with thick red carpet and light tan walls. His soiled and ruined clothing was
gone. Someone had bathed him, for his fur was clean and freshly scented. This
examination made him aware that his abdominal pain was gone as well.
He then turned his attention to how his arm
had been treated. He slid it gingerly out from beneath the covers, marvelling
at the lack of pain he was experiencing. Once the arm was exposed, this marvel
was explained, and replaced by a greater one.
His arm was uninjured. The burn was gone,
covered with healthy skin. The expected bald patch resulting from scarring was
likewise absent, replaced with thick fur. He flexed and stretched the limb,
wondering if the entire episode had been a dream.
He was suddenly gripped by a dire need to
urinate, driving all other thoughts from his mind. He left his bed and found
the restroom adjoining to the main chamber, seperated by an automatic door that
slid into the wall as he approached. He relieved himself, then went to the sink
to wash up. He splashed warm water onto his face, brushing it away with his
hand, then looked at his reflection in the mirror.
He froze. He leaned slowly forward over the
sink, a deep and primal fear making his heart thud painfully in his chest.
His eyes were green, like his father's. They
had always been green, all his life. But they were no longer green. They were a
deep blood red, flecked with gold. As he gazed into them, he could see the
golden flakes shift and move within the iris like living things.
A sound of a door reached him from the main
chamber. He walked to the door, too stunned to care about caution or stealth.
In the main room Tawn-Ya, wearing a simple
white bathrobe, was setting items in covered dishes onto a small table by the
bed. She too was cleaned up and obviously feeling better, for she went about
her task almost merrily, humming off-key to herself. She heard his tread on the
carpet and turned to face him, her smile broad and cheerful, her eyes the same
as his.
"Oh, you're awake," she said
brightly.
Jaga fainted.
********
"So when do I meet this hostess of
ours?" he asked.
"Soon," she said. "A couple of
hours. Try the fish, it's delicious."
Jaga took a bite, nodded. He was still trying
to absorb what had happened. Tawn-Ya had been contacted by an entity calling
itself "Bast-Et", who had in some manner preserved her life, even
after the ape Vertok had injured her so horribly. The same method had been used
to heal them both, another method to convey them to this place of shelter. Only
one hour had passed since Jaga had lain helpless witness to what he'd believed
to be Tawn-Ya's murder.
"Tell me again why this creature helped
us?" he asked.
"She," Tawn-Ya said, emphasizing
the pronoun. "She knew us in ages past, long before man took to the stars.
Her resemblance led primitive man to think her a cat goddess, and they
worshipped her as such. She spent so much time in the comany of cats, she
developed a fondness for us. You might say she looks at us as her foster
children."
Jaga took another bite of fish. It was called
a "salmon steak", and it was distractingly tasty.
"What about our eyes?" he asked as
he chewed.
"A part of her power. She invested something
into our bodies, something that preserves life and speeds healing. The change
to our eyes is an outward sign of it's presence." She paused, then reached
out and took the fork from Jaga's hand and set it down on the tray. She took
the hand and pulled, prompting Jaga to face her. He looked into her eyes and
swallowed noisily. Tawn-Ya slid closer. She leaned forward, her lips brushing
his. Abruptly he turned away and slid backwards across the bed, coming to lean
against the headboard. His expression was strange; he would not look at her.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Jaga sat still and silent. He wanted to
speak, opened his mouth to speak, but could not find the words he sought. She
watched him, absorbing his distress, sorting it with that curious wisdom of her
gender. After a moment she crawled across the bed and knelt on the mattress at
his feet.
"Do you remember when we were in the hut
at the ruins?" she asked him softly. Without waiting for a reply, she
continued. "You told me your getting hurt wasn't my fault, because you
chose to get involved. You knew the risks and chose to take them. And you said
if you could do it all again, you'd still have done it."
"We both know I owe you my life several
times over, and I think that's why you're holding yourself back. You're afraid
I feel obligated to thank you somehow," she said.
Jaga said nothing. He just looked at her. She
crawled forward until she was straddling his legs. She leaned close to him,
placed her hands on either side of his face, and spoke softly to him.
"Tonight, when you go, I am not. Bast-Et
is returning to the stars, and I am going with her. My family is gone now, I
have no reason to stay, and she has promised to show me wonders like no mortal
has seen in a thousand lifetimes."
"You are the finest, bravest, most
selfless person I've ever known. I never knew what 'valiant' was until I met
you. I do not know if I will ever see this world or another of my kind again,
but before I go, I would lie with you, Jaga. Not because of debt, but because I
know in my heart I will never love anyone else in the same way I love
you."
She rocked back on her knees, her eyes never
leaving his. She untied the belt of her robe, letting it fall open. She took it
from her shoulders and let fall away behind her, sitting naked and exposed
before him. For a long moment, Jaga did nothing except gaze upon her. Then he
reached up, placed his hand gently on the back of her neck, and with a
quavering sigh, drew her to him.
********
He was back in his uniform, which had been
cleaned and repaired by the unseen agents of this mysterious host of theirs.
Tawn-Ya was beside him, clothed in a simple tunic and trousers, the same shade
red as her eyes. They walked down the quiet, empty corridor from the room
they'd shared these last two heavenly hours. Jaga remembered how Tawn-Ya had
awakened him from his light doze with a whisper of "It's time." He'd
not needed to be told time for what.
Jaga noticed the architecture of the
structure as they went. The walls and ceiling were a uniform beige, very
tranquil. The floor was covered in a low -pile red shag carpet. There were few
doors, archways appearing to stand in greater favor with their hostess. Those
doors they did pass through were automatic, gliding soundlessly open at their
approach, closing when they were safely passed.
The place was comfortably warm, and there was
a scent on the air that he could not name, but appealed to him strictly on an
instinctive level, giving him an irrational urge to find the source and rub his
face in it.
They came at last to a double door marked
with the insignia Jaga had come to recognize as the seal of Bast-Et. The doors
swung open to admit them as they neared. The main hall had a high vaulted
ceiling and walls from which hung rich tapestries of fabrics he could not name.
The floor was a brightly colored mosaic of irregularly-shaped tiles,
multicolored as a tray of gemstones. To the front of the chamber was a dias
topped buy a large throne, seemingly hewn from a single gigantic block of
obsidian. It was decked with large, soft-looking pillows and cushions, all a
rich burgundy.
Atop these sat Bast-Et in elegant repose. She
was nude, as appeared to be her custom. Her body was covered with a dense coat
of rich golden fur, paler over her breasts and stomachw. Her legs, folded on
the seat beside her, were long and slender. The leonine head that graced her
neck wore a look of perpetual serenity, of unshakable confidence and complete
inner peace.
The glory of her extended far past the
physical, however. From her radiated an aura of power that was almost tangible,
terrifying in it's potency. Her eyes glowed like smoldering coals as they
turned towards the speechless Thundercat warrior. They met his, held them, and
into his mind poured a stream of sensation. Pride, affection, pleasure,
acceptance, one after the other, buffeting Jaga's soul.
If the beauty of her had taken his voice
away, this communion with her brought him to his knees. The wave swept past,
and Jaga found he could think and breathe again. There were tears on his face,
and he could not remember how they'd gotten there. He did not remember weeping.
His heart was filled with a passion for this creature such as he'd never
experienced before. To live for her would be honor; to die for her, glory.
There was so much he wanted to ask her, but
did he dare?
Speak, my warrior, he heard within his mind. My children need have no
fear of me.
"Are...," he said haltingly, his
voice a hoarse croak. "Are you a god?"
He sensed amusement in the reply. Once
your ancestors called me such. I and my brethern encouraged this, since it made
the work of civilising them easier. But no, I am not a god. Men called me
Bast-Et, and by such I shall be known to you.
He began to speak again and found he
couldn't. He knew what he wanted to say, but the words refused to form. An
emotion he could neither recognize nor name filled him and began to spill in
clear streams from his eyes. He choked, and the choke became a sob. His hands,
then his whole body began to shake. And still he could not speak.
Bast-Et rose from her seat with a movement so
smooth and fluid it seemed to defy gravity. She stepped down from the dias and
approached the Thundercat warrior. He watched her come, trembling, transfixed.
She extended her hands to him, palms up. Tentatively, Jaga reached up and took
them. She pulled him to his feet and to her body, cradling him in her arms. She
stood a full foot taller than he, and as she held him, the stress broke, and
Jaga began to weep in loud, agonized sobs.
She held him, stroking his hair, letting the
pain and fear flow out of him to dampen the fur of her breast. Finally the
storm began to subside, but still they remained together as she caressed and
soothed the trembling warrior.
"We're dying," Jaga said in a
hoarse whisper.
I know, came the reply.
"Save us."
We will, she said. Together.
********
Barely an adult, Claudis had become Lord of
the Thundercats when his father was assasinated a year earlier. Intelligent,
compassionate, inheritor of his father's strategic genius, Claudis had retained
his throne and held the remnants of his people together, averting a civil war
that would surely have been the end of them.
Today, the young lion king wondered if it
were all in vain. Looking out the window of the city hall, onto the street
below, he gazed up the ruined buildings of Tigris City, and the ruined bodies
of her defenders. Marching up the street were ranks of Monkian troopers, led by
their commander, the infamous gorilla Vertok. The battle was nearly over. The
city was crushed, the population was being processed for slavery, and the most
of the remaining defenders were assembled, along with their visiting Lord, in
the fortified town hall. They would not last long.
Claudis watched the enemy advance, feeling a
numbness inside him, like a soldier who knows he's been dealt a mortal wound.
With Tigris in their possession, the Clannad would be able to fan out, taking
other settlements and cities, establishing an ever-greater presence, until they
ferreted out and destroyed every last Thundercat.
He wondered what his fate would be, slavery
or death. He checked the charge on his laser rifle and mentally calculated how
many shots he had before it was spent. He needed to make certain he had one
left for himself in the event he survived the attack.
He looked back outside, and raised his
eyebrows in suprise. A single figure had exited a nearby alley and was now
walking unhurriedly towards the Mutant lines. Although the form was wrapped in
a heavy cloak, Claudis could tell by the gait it was a Thundercat.
Claudis shrugged mentally. To each their own
suicide, he supposed.
********
"Hey, take a look at this," a
Monkian trooper said to the primate beside him in the front line. He gestured towards
the lone figure moving towards them, swathed in a thick cloak.
"This one must want to die," the
other replied. "He's got nothing but a sword."
"You can have the sword," said the
first. "I've got one already. But that fancy glove is mine." So
saying, he shouldered his plasma rifle and fired.
********
Jaga charged forward with blinding speed,
leaving the vacated cloak in the air alone for an instant before plasma fire
disintegrated it. Before the Monkians understood what was happening, he was on
top of them.
His senses expanded, his metabolism
skyrocketed. He could see in all directions at once, could guide the sword with
a thought, could feel the sword guide him. A perfect union of weapon and
warrior, they struck in all directions, cutting through both armor and flesh
with equal ease.
Panicked, the pimates began to fire at the
whirling engine of death in their midst. Some of their shots went wide,
striking others of their own kind. Those that were on target were detected by
the otherworldly blade, which prompted Jaga to dodge or deflect as needed,
sending the primates' volleys back at them, no less lethal for the change of
target. The stink of charred hair and flesh filled the air.
The troopers attempted to fall back as their
formation disintegrated, but the swordsman pressed in on them. As he broke
through their lines, the primates attempted to surround him and close with
maces and short swords, only to be struck down in even greater numbers, their
weapons sheared and broken.
********
As his men retreated, Vertok shoved and
pushed his way to a position where he could see the enemy warrior who was
wreaking such havoc. He waited till the Thundercat was facing away from him,
then fired his hand blaster at the back of the warrior's head. In the space of
time that the ape's finger closed on the trigger, and the plasma burst departed
the muzzle of the blaster, the warrior's gloved left hand passed between weapon
and target, deflecting the burst away and into the body of a Monkian closing
from the rear, blowing a hole through the creature's gut.
Vertok stared in amazement. How could he
know I was here? he thought. Then the warrior turned and faced him.
"You!" Vertok blurted out as Jaga
slashed his way towards him. The ape roared with insensate fury, raising his blaster
and emptying it ineffectually at the advancing warrior. He froze as the
Thundercat was suddenly in front of him. He saw blood-red eyes that blazed
brilliant gold. Then his head flew from his shoulders, and he saw nothing
again.
********
The Monkian soldiers fell back and began to
send volleys of plasma at the Thundercat. Jaga danced away from the center of
fire and passed his sword in a swift arc in front of him, completing the
movement by holding the weapon aloft. The mutants reoriented and continued to
fire. The bursts of destructive energy they launched at him struck an invisible
field of energy left in the wake of the sword's passing. The burst were
rebounded back outward, striking the front ranks of the mutant troops, cutting
the primates down.
"Ho!" Over the din of battle rang a
loud cry, echoing from dozens of mouths. Charging out of the town hall was a
small force of Thunderans, weilding their laser rifles, cutting into the mutant
flank, throwing the remaining forces into disarray.
Their attention divided, the mutant fusilade
on the swordsman faltered. Instantly, he stormed into their ranks, leaving a
trail of dead and dying monkians in his wake.
Somwhere a retreat was sounded, and the
primates began to withdraw. As they fell back, the swordsman fought his way to
the ranks of his people. As the warriors began to give pursuit, the swordsman
signaled him to wait.
The weapons were still; most were depleted of
charge. The Monkians backed warily away from the Thunderan line, their weapons
snapping up to orient on the swordsman who had snatched victory away from them
as he strode confidently to the middle of the lane and turned to face their
direction. He slashed the sword at his feet, once, twice. When he'd finished,
it had shrunken to the size of a dagger. This he raised in a sort of salute,
gazing levelly at the mutants through the circles formed by the ornate
crossbar. Then his eyes flared gold and he snapped the sword directly to his
right, the blade metamorphosing from dagger to short sword.
"Thunder!"
The word rolled across the city like the
force it named. Throughout Tigris, the fighting between mutant forces and
isolated pockets of Thunderan resistance halted as all eyes turned skyward. The
warrior drew the blade across his body in a guarding stance. The weapon
transformed again, from shortsword to broadsword.
"Thunder!"
The word shattered windows for blocks around,
driving mutant and Thunderan alike to their knees, weapons forgotten, hands
clapped over their ears. The warrior thrust the weapon two-handed into the air,
catching the fading light of the sun on its shining blade. The weapon enlarged
again, becoming a longsword.
"Thunder!"
The earth shook, cracking the pavement of the
streets. Those beings still on their feet stumbled and fell, their terrified
cries lost in the roar of sound. The warrior continued to hold the sword aloft,
and now he echoed the ancient battle cry of his people from time immemorial.
"THUNDERCATS...HOOO!" he cried, and
the cat's-eye jewel embedded in the sword's hilt opened into the image of a
roaring feline profile. The jewel then erupted in a glory of laser-like crimson
radiance that washed across the darkening sky, transposing the image miles-wide
across the heavens. The glow of that image was accompanied by a mighty roar, as
though all the great cats that had ever lived voiced together their praise of
their decendants.
The Thundercat population saw and heard all
of this, did not recognize it, but knew it was for them. From across the city
came a great answering cry of “HOOO!”, torn from the throats of every living
Thundercat there.
The mutants, to the last, threw down their
weapons and fled in abject terror.
********
Jaga held the sword high for several minutes,
then lowered it, extinguishing the signal. He returned it to dagger form,
removed the claw shield and sheathed the weapon inside it. He pressed the glove
to his thigh, where it remained, adhering to him by it's own power.
The lion youth removed his helmet and said
"Nice work. That's quite a sword."
Jaga stared for a moment before realization
set in. "My Lord!" Jaga exclaimed, and dropped to one knee, bowing
his head. "M'lord, this is an honor..." Jaga stammered as the other
soldiers gathered in a circle around their king and their hero..
"May I see it?" Claudis asked.
"See what?" Jaga asked, looking up
in bewilderment.
"Your sword?" Claudis said with a
chuckle.
"Oh, of course," Jaga said. He slid
the sword from it's sheath and passed it hilt-first to Claudis.
The Thundercat Lord took th weapon and held
it up, examining it. It was a highly reflective metal alloy, silvered to nearly
white. The cat's eye gem was large and fluid, hypnotically beautiful.
Claudis turned his attention to Jaga.
"Who gave you this weapon?"
Jaga hesitated for a moment, then said,
"Someone who has not forsaken us."
Claudis canted his head at this cryptic
statement, but did not press for more. He looked around at the assembled
soldiers, all of whom gazed at Jaga with an awed expression on their faces. He
looked back at Jaga, met the warrior's eyes, held them.
It would be written by historians centuries
later that among the many gifts Claudis had inherited from his father, the most
useful and versatile was an almost psychic ability to look at a person and
divine the true depths of their character and nature. Every success of Claudis'
reign could be traced eventually to that ability to understand his fellowmen.
It would also be written about a friendship
that shaped the destiny of a people, and eventually, a galaxy; of two
only-sons, whose love for each other was as strong as that any brothers had
ever shared. So strong that as the ruler lay dying, his world crumbling to
fragments, he would entrust the life of his only child to that same blood-brother,
in a desperate bid to reach a distant, half-mythical haven called Third Earth.
Claudis extended the sword over Jaga's head.
As though it read his intentions, the weapon grew to it's fullest extension,
the cat's eye gem opening, a low growl emanating from it.
“Speak your name,” he said.
“Jaga, my lord.”
Claudis lowered the sword to rest on Jaga's
shoulder. "Jaga of Puma Clan, in recognition of you courage and prowess,
as well as the unique gifts granted you by your mysterious patron, I, Claudis,
Lord of the Thundercats, do this day bestow upon you a new office. From this
day forward, you will be called Jaga, First Lord Defender of Thundera. Where
you go, I am with you. You will speak with my voice, act in my name."
“Do you swear your mind, your heart and your
life to the defense of this Thundercat people, and to the service of your
lord?"
"I do," said Jaga solemly.
"Then rise, Lord Jaga, and let our hope
rise with you."
TBC
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