Chapter 29 of Signal in the Sky
In A Magic World
By Purrsia Kat & Spaced Angel
The last of the winter snows were long gone and spring was claiming
Third Earth once more. Green buds were burgeoning on bare branches and the
meadows had become a sea of white and yellow as flowers flourished under the growing
heat of the sun. The return of life showed itself in the fawns that timidly
followed their mothers on the edges of the forest and the brightly coloured
butterflies that flitted from petal to petal. Light breezes lifted their slight
weight into the air and spiralled them upwards to rest on a rough window ledge
as they caught their breath. A second later, Slithe’s hand smashed down on them
and their brief existence came to an end.
Such was life, Slithe thought, examining the blue-red mess and tangle of
broken legs that had been plastered to his palm. So fragile and so easily
crushed, and no creature, however superior they thought themselves, could
escape that reality. A grim smile came to his features as he reflected that had
Ratar-O learned that lesson a little sooner, he would not be lying out in the
cold earth right now.
Even he had had to admit to a certain amount of shock when they had
discovered the bodies of Ratar-O and his aide, Ratagon. A good deal of nonsense
had been bandied about concerning their deaths. The double suicide theory that
the others championed had seemed unlikely to Slithe. As much as he detested the
rat, he had always grudgingly admired his survival instincts. Killing himself
because his family’s position at the top of the heap had been toppled seemed
out of character and it took Vultureman to prove it. Ever the logical one, the
vulture had confidently announced that Ratagon shot Ratar-O and then himself.
When pressed for evidence, Vultureman had been reticent, although if Slithe had
to guess, he would have said that the vulture had been listening outside the
door.
Whatever the truth, master and aide were buried together, since the
cretins he had ordered to dig the graves had been too lazy to make two holes.
Now, the barren earth that had become their home for eternity was showing life
of its own. Beyond the swampy land surrounding the Castle, sparse patches of
grass were starting to cover the mound, bringing with them meadow flowers.
There had to be a certain irony in that, not that Ratar-O would have
appreciated it. For someone who’d had little time for such trivialities as
flora when alive, at least now he had forever to appreciate them. Perhaps it
was some sort of divine judgement upon him. The flowers would stay, despite Jackalman’s
whining that it didn’t seem right. After all, Slithe had decided, who was he to
meddle with the wishes of a higher power? They had enough problems without
incurring the wrath of anyone else.
At least one set of problems had come to a satisfactory conclusion. With
the death of Ratilla and Plun-darr in the grip of civil war over who next
should take the crown, the fate of a few failed Mutants on Third Earth was no
longer of any interest. Slithe hoped not even the lure of the Sword of Omens
would draw them back. Not that Slithe took any responsibility for his perceived
lack of success in his original command. He would have liked to see anyone take
on the Thundercats and that sword of theirs and come out on top. For all
Ratar-O’s boasting about his superior intellect, he too had failed. Third Earth
seemed to have that effect on people. It bestowed its favours only on the
chosen few, a category which seemed firmly closed to any of Mutantkind.
Or did it, he had to wonder. It seemed to have a knack of protecting its
own, even those it had adopted. Not too long ago, he had faced the prospect of
being hauled back to Plun-darr to face charges of gross incompetence. He’d had
no doubt about the outcome, and yet the tables turned. Ratar-O was dead and he
was alive. If ever the question of their failure did again come to the fore,
Ratar-O had provided him with the best defence in the world. How could he, a
lowly commander, be expected to triumph against better armed forces in
difficult conditions when the grandson of the then king had also failed? At
least Ratar-O had proved himself useful for something, if not in the way he’d
expected.
Perhaps someone up there did like him, he thought, casting a glance
skywards as he licked the butterfly mulch from his palm. Slithe also considered
it fortunate that Grune once again made himself scarce around Castle Plundarr
after he again had failed miserably to bring Lion-O down. It made for one less
cook in the kitchen, a phrase that made Slithe wince as soon as the thought crossed
his mind. He’d never go back to being nothing, not like he’d been when he was
spooning slop to the mindless morons in the Plundarrian armies, and neither
Ratar-O nor Grune the Destroyer were going to change that.
It was about time his luck changed, he’d decided, and if at the expense
of the Thundercats, then so much the better. After all, wasn’t that cub
expected some time soon? If so, he’d have to think about how to exploit
Lion-O’s latest weakness. Just how much was that child’s life worth to him, he
wondered. Perhaps, the price of the Sword of Omens? Children and wives could be
great leverage, but then, if Lion-O was as foolishly loyal as his comrade
Panthro had been, he might just choose the Sword over his family. There was
only one way to find out.
With that thought in mind, he turned from the window just in time to see
Vultureman entering the room.
The vulture regarded him critically in his narrow eyed manner. “You look
happy, Slithe,” he said, turning the remark into a sneer. “Something you’d like
to share with the rest of us?”
“Not with you,” he growled in reply.
“Then what’s so funny or are you becoming half-witted in your old age?”
The annoyance rang clear in Vultureman’s voice and Slithe chuckled at the
effect he had upon him. “When I’ve made up my mind, you’ll be the first to
know,” he said as he waddled past him. “Until then, you’d be wise to keep out
of my way, bird brain. Things are going to be changing around here, yes.”
“I can hardly wait,” came the lacklustre reply.
Normally this lack of faith would have sent him into an apoplexy, but
today Slithe ignored it. Change was in the wind and he was sure it was blowing
his way. He could afford to tolerate that insolent cretin a little longer. When
he returned to Castle Plun-darr bearing the Sword of Omens in triumph, then
they would see who was in charge around here. Those who didn’t like it would
have to go. He for one would not be standing in their way.
***************
Velouria giggled and dabbed her tiny hand to her mouth.
“You’re thirsty?” Cheetara said, picking the child up and imitating the
action. Velouria copied her and smiled with delight when a bottle came her way.
She latched onto it and drank deeply, dimples showing in her cheeks as she
sucked the fluid into her mouth.
Cheetara watched her as she enjoyed her liquid lunch, pleased that they
were making some headway in the difficult business of communication. Velouria
was almost one and already showing a keen intelligence that Cheetara liked to
think she got as much from her as her brainy father. It had been Tygra’s idea
to try a form of sign language with her, mostly, she guessed, as a way of
relieving some of his guilt for his perceived failure to fashion a functioning
hearing aid for her.
Since then, Velouria had quickly learned that a simple hand signal could
get her what she wanted far quicker than all the crying in the world. Thirst
and hunger had been the first on her list, followed by tiredness and cuddles
and toys. All those were easy enough to understand, but Cheetara had been
initially puzzled when Velouria had put her hands to the sides of her head and
waggled her fingers. Only when Snarf entered the room and she wailed with
excitement did it become clearer. She wondered if Snarf entirely appreciated
the gesture and was happy to know that he himself had taught it to her.
Lost in her contemplation of her daughter, she almost jumped when a hand
came to rest on her shoulder.
“Don’t do that,” she chided.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Tygra. “She’s a thirsty
girl.”
“Where have you been? I thought you were having Velouria this
afternoon.”
He sighed and rubbed his eyes, making them redder than they had been a moment
ago. “Sorry, Cheetara, I was busy. I meant to, but I didn’t have the time.”
Time seemed to be a preciously short commodity lately. The redesign and
subsequent building of the Feliner had kept him away for too many nights. Her
reasoning that the Rat Star had not been seen since that horrible day at
For now, she smiled and leaned across to kiss him. “I forgive you,” she
said. “We missed you though. We’ve been having lots of fun this afternoon.”
“You have?” He sprawled on the bed behind her and traced a finger down
the line of her spine, making her shiver. “Tell me all about it.”
“We had a bath and made bubble monsters.”
“You did? That does sound like fun.”
Cheetara removed the bottle from Velouria’s mouth and wiped away the
dribbles of milk that escaped from the corners of her lips. “And then we looked
at the pictures in one of daddy’s books, didn’t we?”
“Oh?” said Tygra. “Which one?”
“’Legends of the Ancients’, I think it was,” she said, idly glancing
across the room to the desk where the heavy tome lay. “I had no idea what it
was about, but the pictures were pretty good.”
Tygra grunted. “Most of it is death and destruction.”
“Not suitable reading material for Velouria then?”
“No, not for her or you.” He grinned and sat up, snaking his arm around
her waist. “Cheetara, I know I’ve been distant lately, but I’m hoping that will
change very soon.”
She waited for him to explain.
“Felina and I have been going over the information she and Lion-O
gleaned about Mumm-ra’s past from that trip they took back in time. We think we
may have found something that could potentially destroy his power.”
Cheetara turned to face him. “You have? What?”
He paused. “It’s risky.”
“How so?”
He spent a long time straightening out the rumpled sheet on which he lay
before replying. “It would involve going to Mumm-ra’s pyramid.”
“Not you alone?”
“Oh, no, quite a few of us.” He bit his lip. “Although that would
probably include me, yes.”
“And me?”
He looked up. “Probably.”
She knew now why he had been so hesitant to tell her. Going to Mumm-ra’s
pyramid was not conducive to good health and long lives. Venturing into the
heart of evil always carried risks, even more so when they were considering
launching some sort of attack on him.
In the old days, she would not have given it a second thought, but
Velouria’s birth had changed all that. She had to admit to a feeling of anxiety
whenever they were parted for too long. Not that she doubted Snarf’s ability to
look after her daughter, but the nagging suspicion always plagued her that
Velouria would be better in her care. It was all part of the burden of
parenthood, she knew, and sometimes she wished for the less complicated, if
perhaps less fulfilling life, she had before she became a mother. It was not a
question of resentment, more of loss, one that she happily accepted for all its
doubts and worries. It was also one she despaired of Lion-O ever coming to
terms with in its entirety.
She was sure he knew his responsibilities, but he had yet to shed that
desire for recklessness that marked his early years on Third Earth. He was as
likely now as in the past to hurl himself into a volcano if he thought it would
solve the problem of the flaw in the Sword of Omens. This mission was yet
another instance of his state of mind. For someone who was weeks away from
becoming a father to twins, effectively trying to beard Mumm-ra in his den
smacked of foolhardiness in the extreme. Or maybe it was the next generation he
was thinking of, looking at it as having faith they now have the strength to
pull this off in the hopes that the children in the Lair know at least some
peace in their early years. Either way, Cheetara’s new outlook on life had her
torn more than ever between the two philosophies. She could almost hear Jaga’s
old, sage voice telling her ‘anything worth doing won’t be easy’. And he was
right, as usual.
“If it gets Mumm-ra off our backs for a while, then it has to be worth
it,” Tygra said when she voiced her concerns.
“Is it? Or is just…” She hesitated, biting back her word of choice. “Is
it stupidity?” Her initial concerns were winning out.
“That isn’t what you were going to say.”
She sometimes wondered how he knew her so well and at times was glad he
did. At other times, he could just be annoying.
“No, it was,” she said.
Tygra smiled. “You think this is reckless, don’t you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. We have too much at stake to throw our
lives away on a remote possibility, Tygra.”
“It’s not remote.”
“You know what I mean. I don’t like to say this, but I sometimes wonder
if Lion-O will ever grow up.”
His eyebrows raised a fraction. “You think Lion-O’s immature?” He smiled.
“Not that immature, Cheetara. He’s come a long way since we first landed here,
and part of the reason is because we’ve shown faith in him. He is also a
married man.”
“Barely.”
“Actually, I thought Lion-O and Felina had been getting along a lot
better lately.”
“I suspect it’s for appearances only.”
Tygra considered. “No, I think it’s genuine. Felina seems less
distracted and much more settled lately.”
She was prepared to take his word for that. The pair spent a good deal
of time together in the pursuit of knowledge, a fact which had made her mildly
jealous if only for the fact that it kept him from her side at night.
“She told you that?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, we never discuss such things, although we do
sometimes talk generally about her problems.”
The merest nudge of envy made her flinch. “Problems?”
“She’s concerned about the birth. She’s adamant she wants the Warrior
Maidens to assist with the delivery.”
For her part, Cheetara could wholly understand Felina’s wishes. Panthro might
well talk of tradition and what he thought was best, but he was hardly
qualified to advise on the intricacies of birth. As she knew all too well,
things could and did go wrong. She was eternally grateful that Willa had been
there the day of Velouria’s birth to save both their lives.
“I think she’s right,” she said. “Only a mother knows what’s best for
her.”
“I agree, but no one else does.”
Cheetara sighed. “And so Felina will have to suffer because the majority
must prevail.”
She felt Tygra’s gaze upon her and soon after followed the expected
question. “Why do I get the impression that was not just about her birthing
plans?”
“You’re right. I can’t help feeling that we failed them, Tygra. We all
had such hopes for them and it’s failed, hasn’t it? You must have noticed how
things have changed between them.”
He leant his head against her shoulder and nodded. “Yes. They’re friends
now, more than lovers.”
“And we pushed them into it.” She sighed again. “Don’t you feel
responsible? I do. Here we are, their elders, telling them we know what’s best
and tradition is a fine thing and now, with our pushing and shoving, their
lives as husband and wife is a façade.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“Well, perhaps we should.” She handed him Velouria and got up. “Perhaps
now is the time to act before something bad happens.”
“Like what?” he asked, shifting Velouria’s weight into a more
comfortable position in his arms. “I don’t think a divorce would help.”
When he finally looked over at her, she found she did not have an answer
for him. It was hard to put what she felt into words. Just lately the strangest
feeling had been nagging at her whenever she was with the pair, as though
something about their present relationship boded ill for the future. It made no
sense – she should be happy as anyone that they were at least getting along on
some level - and she had tried to dismiss it as irrational, but still it
persisted.
She scrubbed her hair away from her face and released a deep breath. “Oh,
I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading too much into it.”
Tygra got up and joined her by the window. “Let’s see how things are
after Felina’s had the twins. A baby changes everything, you know that.”
She smiled and brushed a stray lock of hair from Velouria’s cheek. The
child cooed and waved a chubby fist in her direction. He was right, of course.
She remembered long nights spent in discussion before Velouria’s birth about
how they would cope. It had brought them together, but it had been a strain,
too. Perhaps that was what she was seeing between the pair.
“I know,” she said. “Let’s hope for their sake it is for the better.”
“How could it be otherwise? A baby is always a blessing. Even,” he said,
tickling Velouria under the chin, “if they are extremely naughty, like you, my
little one.”
Velouria kicked her legs and a broad grin came her face.
“She’s happy,” Cheetara said, though she knew what Tygra was referring
to. Velouria had discovered the joys of self-mobility in the form of crawling
and sometimes even cruising along upright with the aid of whatever furniture of
fixtures were handy. And was she an ever-curious child. There was nothing she
wouldn’t get into and the speed with which Velouria could get herself in a
precarious, potentially dangerous position put Cheetara’s own super speed to
shame. It was all normal behavior, and Tygra was only joking, but Cheetara knew
in some ways it was more exhausting raising Velouria now than when she kept
them up all night.
“Of course she is,” Tygra said, “and so must you be.” He leaned across
and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, I’m sure things will work out just
fine.”
Cheetara watched him take Velouria back to her crib and wished that she
could share his confidence. The trouble was that nagging concern refused to go
away.
***************
“So this Mefeset guy,” Bengali was saying, “he’s Mumm-ra, right?”
As trying situations went, Lion-O had to count this up amongst his top
ten. With three of them crammed in the front seat of the Thundertank, things
were cosy at best. With most of the Thundercats involved on this mission, they
were already tight for space. The Thunderkittens had been only too glad to take
a back seat and annoy their elders when Bengali had said he would suffer from
travel sickness if he had to sit in the rear. They had done their best to
accommodate him up front, but it was making for an uncomfortable journey.
“But if he’s the same person, why did he change his name?” Bengali went
on. A slight pause ensued while he popped a small brown spherical nut into his
mouth from a bag he had with him and chewed it thoughtfully. “Doesn’t make
sense.”
“What doesn’t?” Lion-O said with a sigh.
“Why he changed his name. What’s the point?”
“It’s to indicate his change of persona,” Panthro explained, “from
withered corpse to…” He shrugged. “To a big headache for us.”
“Yeah, I suppose so. And we’re going to see Mumm-ra or Mefeset?”
“Hopefully, neither,” came Cheetara’s voice from the rear cabin.
Lion-O was aware of her objections, but was choosing to ignore them. He
knew that what he was doing was right. If they were to have any peace and any
life at all on Third Earth, a way had to be found to contain Mumm-ra’s growing
powers, if flat-out vanquishing him was impossible. He had hoped to have more
currency from exploiting Mumm-ra’s vulnerability of exposure to his own
reflection, but the cunning old sorcerer had quickly learnt from that
experience. With the loss of one avenue of defence, Lion-O had rapidly come to
two conclusions. One was a concern about just how powerful Mumm-ra was,
especially now that he’d somehow gained a powerful sword of his own, and the
other was to wonder what his other weaknesses might be. If he could be reduced
to a whimpering wreck just by the sight of his own reflection, Lion-O had had
to wonder what else might adversely affect him.
The only thing he knew for certain about Mumm-ra was what he had learnt
during the spell he spent back in time with Felina when they had discovered his
natural and equally unnatural origins. They had witnessed the demise and
transformation of Pharoah Mefeset into the sinister force for evil they knew
all too well as Mumm-ra. From those memories had come a faint glimmer of hope
and one that this mission was about to confirm one way or another.
“So, let me get this straight,” Bengali said. “We’re not going to see
him?”
“This isn’t a social call,” Lion-O said irritably. “If we do see him, he
isn’t going to be pleased to see us.”
“So, why are we going?”
Feeling a detectable rise of annoyance within his chest, Lion-O chose
not to answer that one. Everyone had been at the Council Meeting when he had
explained the mission. He did not feel inclined to repeat himself, even for the
new recruits who understandably had dealt little with the menace known as
Mumm-Ra.
“It’s like this,” said Panthro, taking up the gauntlet. “Lion-O and
Felina think that those big animal head statues Mumm-ra has in his pyramid are
somehow connected to his powers. Destroy those and old Mumm-ra will be as weak
as a kitten. At least, that’s the theory. Right, Lion-O?”
He managed a grudging grunt. “We saw them grow from the canopic jars
that held Mumm-ra’s organs. They are quite literally a part of him.”
“When you say his organs,” Bengali said cautiously, “you don’t mean like
his…” He made a vague gesture in the area of his stomach. “His internal
organs?”
“Yeah, all the mushy, stinky bits,” said WilyKit enthusiastically, sticking
her head up close to the open hatch that separated the front and rear
compartments. “They pulled ‘em out through his nose!”
“They did not,” said her brother.
“They did. They used a hook to pull his brains out. Felina said so!”
“Wrong!” said WilyKat. “A brain is too large to get through your nose.”
“They take it out in pieces, silly,” she said with a sigh and a roll of
her eyes.
“However they did it,” said Panthro, “those organs ended up in those
jars Lion-O saw and they became the statues we see today.”
“No wonder he’s got problems,” Bengali said, as another nut went into
his mouth. “He’s been on his own too long. He’s got no body.”
The Thunderkittens caught the joke and they laughed uproariously.
Squashed up against the sidewall of the Thundertank, however, Lion-O was in a
less generous mood.
“This is a serious mission, Bengali, and I’d appreciate more
professionalism from you.”
“Sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Well, don’t. And stop eating. This is no time for food.”
“Sorry,” he said again, “I was hungry.”
“Hungry? You’ve always got food in your hand.”
“He’s a growing boy,” said Panthro with a grin.
“I was a growing boy too,” Lion-O reminded him. “No one ever cut me any
slack.”
“We didn’t have to. You were too well behaved.”
“At least I never ate in the Thundertank.”
What could have lapsed into an awkward silence was broken when Bengali
proffered the bag under his nose. “You want one?” he asked.
The bag gaped open, a tempting array of bite-sized snacks showing
within, and Lion-O had to fight the urge to give into temptation. Instead, he
turned his mind to the other matter that had been bothering him.
“What are you going to do about the Sword of Omens?"
Bengali paused in his chewing and quickly swallowed the masticated contents
of his mouth. "I'm working on it. A weapon like that, well, you have to
approach it with respect. You can't just rush in and throw it on the fire and
hope for the best."
That at least was a sentiment Lion-O could agree with. "How serious
is it, this flaw?"
"It's minor."
"Could the blade break? It did once."
"Really?" Bengali's eyes were wide with curiosity. "Who
re-forged it?"
Panthro broke into a hearty chuckle. "You wouldn't believe us if we
told you. Let's just say he was someone we met in a volcano."
"Did you say 'in a volcano'?"
Panthro nodded.
"Sorry I asked. Whoever he was, he did a pretty good job."
"But it's not perfect," said Lion-O.
Bengali shrugged. "What is? Certainly I think I can make a better
job of it."
"Until then, it's still safe to use the Sword?"
"I don't see why not. According to you, the power derives from the
Eye of Thundera. Viewed like that, the Sword of Omens is just an elaborate
setting for the Eye."
His remark gave Lion-O pause for thought. As descriptions went, it was
accurate. The Eye of Thundera he had seen given to his ancestor, Leonus the
Wanderer, had been devoid of any trappings, being little more than a strange
ruby gem to those to whom it had been given. If that second excursion into the
past had taught him anything, it was that the histories of Thundera and Third
Earth had long been intertwined. He still recalled his feelings of amazement
when he had learnt that the Eye had been stolen from Mumm-ra's treasure room.
He was left with many questions, first and foremost about how it got there.
Certainly, his version of events had differed considerably with the written
history Felina championed.
In fact, she had been quite annoyed when he corrected her telling of the
tale of how the Eye of Thundera came to be given to Leonus. According to her
precious books, it had been a divine gift from the gods, bestowed upon the
worldly race of feline warriors in their quest for truth, honour, justice and
loyalty. When he had described what had taken place during his excursion into
the Book of Omens and found himself back at the dawn of their species, she had
seemed genuinely surprised and had started to besiege him with the same
questions he had pondered and had yet to come to any sort of satisfactory conclusion.
If he had expected her to provide him with the answers he sought, he was
sorely mistaken. Challenging her over this omission in the written legends, she
had gone on the defensive and hostilities had again resumed. They had not
lasted long however; Felina seemed weary of their battles and they had soon
fallen back into the familiar pattern of easy toleration. They still shared a
bed, out of necessity more than desire, but that was as far as it went. Giving
up on any pretence of romance in their lives to his mind had been a positive
step. The tension and stress of trying to maintain the facade had vanished and
although there were certain aspects of their relationship that he missed, in
particular the physical side of it, he had to admit that life was much easier
now that they were friends rather than partners. He still annoyed her, as
sometimes she did him, but how much simpler it was to forgive without the
burden of fearing for the future of their marriage.
Now it was at an end, all sorts of freedoms had opened up to him. Felina
still loomed large in his life, but free of the constant sniping and
quarrelling, he found himself able to turn his attention to things that he had
been neglecting. His relationship with the Sword was one of them. Many hours
spent with it had convinced him that a deeper knowledge of its intimate
workings and powers was not something to be feared. Rather, it was something he
longed to embrace. He could understand why Felina sought knowledge in her
books. The yearning for a greater understanding of the Eye was something his
soul craved with an intensity that he had once found frightening. He was
certain that it would swallow him up - something of such magnitude could do
nothing else - but what a price to pay for ultimate knowledge and access to
unrivalled power.
If this was what Mumm-ra experienced every time the Ancient Spirits of
Evil energised him with their powers, Lion-O could understand why he was
willing to endure life in such an unnatural form. It was like a drug; the
emptiness after it had gone always demanding greater satisfaction next time.
Filled with such desire, it was easy to forget the dangers as Mumm-ra had. But
the Eye of Thundera was different, Lion-O told himself. It was a force for good
and if he lost his soul to it, at least he would not be entering into the kind
of servitude to which Mumm-ra was enslaved. The power of the Eye of Thundera
spoke of deep goodness, of a well being that made him strive to give his best,
of power that he had barely tapped.
He had given the source of that power a great deal of thought over the
long winter months, on the grounds that it better to know what he was getting
into before finding himself in deep water. Chief amongst his concerns had been
the question of why Mumm-ra had had it in the first place. He was certain of
its intent to do good; that was without question. What then had the Ever-Living
Servant of Evil wanted with it? In fact, why did he still crave its return? He
had given into the doubts created by such considerations and for a time had
created some distance between himself and the weapon. They lived in a fickle
world. It was not too much a stretch of the imagination to believe that the Eye
was capable of using him, perhaps as it had once had Mumm-ra, and of switching
its allegiance when the time was right. Was that why it had been in his
treasure room, the last resting place of a power source that was no longer
content to work with its current partner?
Until those questions had been answered, he wasn't sure he would ever be
able to use the Sword of Omens with confidence ever again. He had hoped Felina
would have been able to settle his mind on the subject, but she had been unable
to provide him with the reassurance he needed. Just when he had convinced
himself he would never be truly able to trust the Eye again, Jaga had appeared
to lay his fears to rest.
As usual, Jaga had been brief and succinct. The Eye was not a trinket to
be claimed by whoever laid hands on it first, Jaga had declared. Mumm-ra may
have had possession of it, but he could never rule it or use its powers because
the Eye would not permit it. It had given its powers freely to Leonus for him
and his descendants to use in the cause of good, not because it had to, but
because it had chosen to. The Eye had chosen to bestow its gifts on Thundera as
much as it had chosen to reject the rest of Mutant kind. That fact, however,
would never stop either the Mutants or Mumm-ra from trying to retrieve the Eye
they thought was theirs by right. Little did they know they were doomed to
empty victories for a weapon that would never work for them.
For Lion-O, however, the notion that the Eye was capable of logical
thought had come as no surprise. He was sure that he had always been able to
detect an intellect when he was in harmony with its powers, as though whatever
it was, whether a higher being or ineffable mass, worked through him, guiding
his actions and opening his eyes to greater possibilities. Those things
sometimes still frightened him, as he often yet thought of it as having his
will overruled by this power. But even so, he now wondered if the Eye would
ever reject him one day, and he glanced down at where it rested, inside the
Sword of Omens at his side, and felt guilt – as if it was aware he doubted, feared,
craved and depended upon its powers all at the same time.
However, since Jaga had allayed his biggest doubt, he was keen to
embrace what the Eye offered. It had chosen them to wield its awesome powers and
it was not a responsibility Lion-O took lightly any longer. The obvious path to
this stronger bond seemed to lie with the Book of Omens. On several occasions,
he had seen it work in conjunction with the Sword to reveal to him things that
were pertinent to their situation. He had urged Felina to see if she could
discover anything in her books that spoke of a way for the bearer of the Sword
to use the book to increase this bond, especially in the light of Mumm-ra's
growing powers and invulnerability.
Lately, however, she had seemed tired and had yet to give him anything
solid to work on. Whenever he sought her out for answers, she was asleep or
resting and he had to tell himself to bide his time. She was still a few weeks
short of full term and he was sure that once the babies were born she would be
back to her old self. Certainly she was out of sorts, so much so that she had
not put up a fight when he had announced she would be staying at the Lair with
Snarf and Pumyra while the other Thundercats went on this mission. Her
participation in this enterprise would have been a great help from a
knowledgeable standpoint, but even she could see the wisdom in taking things
easy this late in her pregnancy. They had both come too far to let things go
wrong now.
Such thoughts were playing on his mind when he became vaguely aware that
a question had been addressed to him and someone was waiting for an answer.
Dragging himself back to the present moment, he found two sets of eyes upon him
and Bengali's jaws still grinding furiously.
"The plan?" Panthro asked again. "When we get
there?"
"We have to get in first," said Lion-O. "I expect Mumm-ra
will put up a fight, so some of us will have to distract him while the rest of
us destroy those statues."
"Excuse me for asking," said Bengali, "but why don't we
go when he's asleep? That way we can take him by surprise."
"And how do we know when he's asleep?" Lion-O said.
"Mumm-ra is active at all hours of the day and night."
"But he's a creature of the darkness, isn't he? You said so
yourself."
Lion-O nodded. "And creatures of darkness are best tackled at
night."
Bengali's expression spoke volumes about his indecision whether to say
what was on his mind. In the end, his courage won out. "Doesn't that mean
that's when he's at his most powerful? If so, why are we going at night?"
He gestured to the dark sky with its moonlit clouds. "Wouldn't it be
better to go during the day?"
"No," Lion-O said decisively. "I faced him at night
during my Anointment Trials without the Sword and won. Day or night, it doesn't
make any difference."
"At least the Mutants won't be there," came WilyKit's cheeky
voice. "Slithe is too busy getting his beauty sleep right now."
"And he sure needs it," said her brother. "He sure is one
ugly Mutant."
"Not all Mutants are ugly, WilyKat," came Lynx-O's calm voice,
somewhere deep within the rear cabin. "Unless you think we are too?"
"Not like him," said the kitten, grimacing. "Anyway, we
aren't Mutants."
"According to Lion-O, we were all called Mutants once," Lynx-O
went on.
"Except some of us evolved beyond our bestial origins," said
Panthro. "And some didn't."
Lion-O caught his implication. "Grune, you mean?"
Panthro grunted in reply.
"Have you ever considered," said Tygra, "that we might
not be as far evolved as him?"
"Don't talk nonsense," said Panthro.
"I'm not. It's a reasonable question. After all, we do not share
his tolerance for Thundranium. He seems to have a natural resistance to it that
we lack, or perhaps have not developed."
The Thundertank hit a bumpy patch of debris at speed, throwing its
passengers about. As an indicator of Panthro's mood, it was clear that he
didn’t like what he was hearing.
"Grune's a monster," he said. "He wants us all dead or
his prisoners. So before you go comparing us with him, you might want to
remember that. As for this so- called resistance of his, I don't believe it.
You want to know what I think?"
No one answered him, but he went on anyway.
“I think he's found some way of blocking its effects. I’ve always
thought the throwbacks had something up their sleeves they weren’t telling us.
Grune just used it to screw us over, not help us. But if he can resist it, so
can we."
"An intriguing prospect," said Tygra. "Perhaps next time
we run into him, we can ask him how he does it."
There was a level of sarcasm in his voice that Lion-O noticed did not
escape Panthro. "You might laugh, my friend," he said. "But I'm
telling you, he's got some kind of advantage over us that's got nothing to do
with his genes."
"Is that possible?" said Lion-O, looking through the hatch to
catch Tygra's eye.
He took a long, considered breath before answering. "Yes, I don't see
why not. Third Earth has much to offer, as we have found. It is not beyond the
realm of possibility that a substance exists that counters the effects of
Thundranium. If we discover what that it, theoretically it should be possible
to construct a device or even an elixir of some sort to give us a similar level
of immunity."
"Look into it once this mission is complete. Grune is likely to be
thorn in our side for some time yet and we need to even out the odds."
"Talking of the mission," said Panthro, "Mumm-ra's
pyramid dead ahead."
From out of the gloom, the massive edifice was rising above sands. The
lightning that usually played around the obelisks at each of its four corners
was absent, suggesting that its undead occupant was dormant. Lion-O had to admit
to a certain level of satisfaction at seeing this. Bengali's misgivings about
the timing of the mission had thoroughly annoyed him, not least because having
his judgement called into question never put him in a good mood. If Mumm-ra was
inactive, however, it seemed that he had picked their time of attack well.
"How do we get in?" asked WilyKit with her face once more
pressed to the opening. "It doesn't look like there's a door."
"Then we'll make one," said Panthro. "Brace yourselves,
Thundercats. Let's go shake that old bag o'bones up till his teeth
rattle!"
Never one for the subtle approach, and before Lion-O could protest,
Panthro had the Thundertank running on full throttle as it roared up to the
nearest wall of the pyramid. The front claws slammed into the stone and tore it
to pieces. Seeing it coming, Lion-O had managed to grab himself something to
hold onto and had to grit his teeth as Bengali's unsupported weight thudded
into his side, making his healed leg from the ordeal months earlier in the
tunnels ache in protest. A muttered apology was the best he could expect above
the noise of rending stone as the Thundertank crunched through the last of its
obstacles and stormed into the heart of Mumm-ra's tomb.
As entrances went, it was noisy enough to wake the dead and it had
exactly that effect. If Mumm-ra had not been aware of their presence before,
then he certainly knew about it now. As Lion-O exited the Thundertank, he heard
the telltale creak of the heavy lid scrapping the floor and the warning growl
of the Sword of Omens. This might be their last chance to capitalise on the
element of surprise, so he quickly gestured to the others to fan out around the
pyramid. By the time Mumm-ra emerged, the only Thundercat in sight was Lion-O
himself.
"Foolish cub," growled Mumm-ra, his eyes lighting with a
fierce red glow, matched only by that of the Eye of Thundera. "You dare to
come here?"
"I dare," said Lion-O.
"You think you can challenge me, here in my domain? Death will be
the price for your arrogance."
"Fine words, Mumm-ra. But I will triumph here today."
Mumm-ra laughed. "What is today but a blink of the eye of time?
Your days are numbered, Thundercat, but Mumm-ra lives forever!"
***************
An hour after the Thundertank stormed out of Cat's Lair, Felina found
that she was too tired to keep her eyes open another moment longer. The day had
been more exhausting than usual and she had sat through the Council Meeting
with her eyes teetering on the very edge of closing. Lion-O's plan was a good
one, although it had met with considerable opposition from Cheetara, who had
argued that the risks did not outweigh the possible benefits.
Felina could understand her misgivings. There was no certainty that this
mission would succeed and they could return having achieved little other than
severely upsetting Third Earth's resident demon. On the other hand, she could
also sympathise with Lion-O. As the date of the birth grew nearer, she found
herself growing more and more anxious. Panthro and his talk of plots did not
help matters. As determined as she was to have Warrior Maidens assist in the
delivery, he was equally adamant she should not. She had questioned him about
how he could be so sure that this plot he talked of involved stealing her
babies, when neither WilyKit nor WilyKat had mentioned that fact in their
report of what they had overheard. Nor could he give her any satisfactory
reason for laying suspicion at Arilla's door. As far as she was concerned, Arilla
was a friendly face in trying times and Panthro's attempts to keep her away
only made her more obstinate about wanting her presence.
Today, however, she was too tired to keep up the fight. She felt
restless and the dull ache that had been plaguing her stomach for most of the
day did not help matters. For a while she had been convinced that she was going
into labour prematurely, only to tell herself that she was being silly and
imagining things. It was too early for that, she reassured herself. This was
just another thing she had to endure in a pregnancy that seemed to be dragging
on forever. Soon, she told herself, soon it would all be over. There was just
the birth to get out of the way first.
She had refused Snarf's offer of help in getting to her room and had
sought sanctuary behind her closed door from his constant fussing. He meant
well, but it was too overwhelming. How many times did she have to keep telling
people she was fine? Just to prove it, she had even convinced Pumyra that it
was safe to leave her when a Wollo female came calling, begging for help after
a farming accident had left several members of the village desperately clinging
onto life. The news that a true healer now lived at Cat's Lair had spread like
wildfire and requests for assistance were growing by the day. Felina had sensed
that Pumyra was torn between staying, as she had been ordered, and going to
help. Since Lion-O was away, technically Felina had been left in command and
had used her prerogative to insist that Pumyra go and do what she could for the
stricken Wollos. Pumyra had clearly been grateful, as much as Felina was to
have one less person fussing over her and with Snarf attending to his laundry,
the Lair was blissfully quiet.
Left to her own devices, she could have done anything. She chose,
however, to make the most of Lion-O's absence and relish the rare opportunity
of having the whole bed to herself. Without him, she could have the pillows
just the way she liked them, not stacked up neatly into small towers as he
preferred. One was enough to support her head and she lay on her back, her
hands resting lightly on her stomach, listening to the sound of silence.
Another reason it was great to be alone were the shockingly erotic
dreams she’d been having lately. Laughable in reality given the state she was
in, but her dream world knew of no such hindrances. When she’d wake from one
such dream to look upon Lion-O lying beside her, Felina was sure he could read
it on her face what she’d been dreaming and it was embarrassing to say the
least, regardless if such things might be considered normal reactions to the
crazy hormone fluctuations her body was enduring – or so she’d read.
Although, she didn’t think that’d be a problem tonight, not with that
persistent ache to contend with. At least the twins were quiet, sparring her
any jarring kicks and turns, and she found herself wondering about their
peacefulness. Perhaps they were trying to give her a hint, she decided, and
followed their example. Sleep came to claim her and took her in its welcoming
embracing, gently sweeping away the aches and stresses of the day.
Then, into her safe haven, came uproar. The smell came first, of wood
smoke and the rancorous odour of burning flesh. At first she thought she was
having a nightmare, about the Emite village and that horrible fire. But when
the smoke assaulted her nostrils, bringing back consciousness with a voice that
yelled at her to wake up, she knew this was no nightmare. Her eyes flew open
and she found herself in a room filled with acrid black smoke that hung several
feet above the bed. She breathed it in and it swirled into her lungs, making
her choke. In the distance, she heard again that voice, sounding so familiar,
telling her she had to leave.
In the few minutes she had been asleep, clearly some disaster had befallen the Lair. Her first thought was for her babies, then for Snarf and Velouria, trapped somewhere in the burning building. Heaving herself from the bed, she called out his name, hearing only the crackling of flame-consumed materials in reply. She struggled to the door and looked out into a red-glowing corridor. Smoke hung heavily near the ceilings and wisps of grey we