Chapter 30 of Signal in the Sky
Trouble With Dreams
By Purrsia Kat & Spaced Angel
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?
*********
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, 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, this 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. 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. 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 their 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 Thundercats’ 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. 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.
********
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. But she could not stop. 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 had been caught out instead. And yet, the cold logic and truth
of it didn’t quell her bitterness in the least. But now, 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 had told him. If he’d only made good 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. To have done 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. 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. 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.
************
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. 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 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.
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. 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 till he got his hands on the Sword of Omens.
For that dream, he could put up with anything.
**************
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, rather, he’d simply embarked on a new form of existance. 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. 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 within 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 always 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.
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, and even 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 flag-ship when he made the decision to be the
one to forgo suspension. Certainly, he’d dreamed of starting over with them,
being 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. So,
the best he could do from where he was now is expend 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 at least 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 is
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. At least, inspiring that dream
and helping her out to that remote location seemed the best option at the time.
It was funny, he sometimes mused, that he had the reputation for wisdom.
Perhaps it seemed well-earned to others. 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.
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 effect the others’ left behind to
learn of this – if 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. 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 you are 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 – 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
was merely served to perpetuate those same regrets and missteps. Only time
would tell. Until then he’d continue his lonely vigil, watching and waiting in
the astral mists.
****************
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 had 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. 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 your 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 be 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.
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.
“You’re both up late,” she said, 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 the 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 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 a help.
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, 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. 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 a year old, but 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 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.
“I hope so. 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,” said 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. But we are their parents and well,
if anyone should be up all night with them, it should be us.”
“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.”
Snarf declined to argue the point, and instead 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 settle the
cubs.” 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
vengence 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.
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.
END, Era One.
******************
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
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