Breaking the Code

Part Two: Honour

Chapter Seven

"You had no right to do this!" Cheetara protested, shrugging away the two guards who had brought her to this place. No, not brought, she thought bitterly. Dragged was a better word. By the time she had recovered enough to realise what was happening after that terrible ceremony back at the Lair, they were already well on the way to the official residence of their Leader. From that point, she had fought and struggled, but they tightened their grip and lifted her feet from the ground, taking away the advantage of her speed. They carried out their Leader's order to the letter, only releasing her once they were safely inside Histor's home. Their duty done, they bowed and retreated to a respectful distance, leaving Cheetara glaring after them.

"Ah, that's better," said Histor, sighing with satisfaction. "Home at last. Space travel does not sit well with me any more. Too many years in the ether has made me appreciate a solid floor beneath my feet. And you, my dear," he said, turning his attention to Cheetara. "I'm sure you're glad to be home too. Isn't this place exactly as you remember it?"

Cheetara had to smother the urge to tell him that his memory was woefully faulty. In her father's day, the residence of the Leader had been warm and inviting, a place of happy memories. Even though there had often been sadness in the old cheetah's eyes, he had made sure that his daughter was surrounded by love and laughter, to make up for the one thing missing in her life, namely her mother. Cheetara had been a babe in arms when Tiara had died, but Cheetarn had made sure that she was never forgotten. The pictures he had treasured were long gone, consumed in the fires of a dying planet. At least he had been spared the sight of that, Cheetara thought. It would have broken his heart.

As would what had since been done to his home. According to the custom of her people, what had been fit for one generation was deemed good enough for the next. The cheetahs had recreated their lost town down to the last blade of grass. Its accuracy was unsettling. It seemed strange to see unfamiliar faces emerging from houses whose occupants had been known to her since cubhood. At the Leader's official residence, the fabric of the building had been retained, but Histor had stamped his own mark on the interior by stripping it down to the bare essentials. In the large room that opened out from the main entrance, there was just one large table, surrounded on all sides by hard wooden chairs. To the rear of the chamber, a wide staircase swept up to a balcony level. Other than this, there were no ornaments, no rugs, no pictures, no unnecessary sentiment. Cheetahs were renowned for embracing the uncluttered life, but even by their standards, this was cold and impersonal. Cheetara shuddered to think what the rest of the house would be like.

"Come, my dear," he said, beckoning to her from the chair he had taken at the head of the table. "Do sit down. I want to talk to you."

"About what?" she retorted.

He assumed a kindly expression. "About what just happened."

"What's there to say?" she muttered. "I've been... been..."

"Divested as a Thundercat." Histor tried a sympathetic smile, which sat ill with the gleam of excitement in his yellowing eyes. "I know. It's hard to believe, especially after all you've done for Thundera and Lord Lion-O."

Something in his tone made her look at him sharply. "I did what I had to, Histor, no more."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, of course. I know that. We all understand. It must have been difficult for you, a young noble lady, being forced to endure such a lifestyle."

"Lifestyle? You mean, fighting the Mutants?"

Histor's eyebrows twitched. "Yes, there's that, and other things, which we won't dwell on now."

"What d'you mean, 'other things'?" she demanded. "Let's get this straight. Nothing ever happened that I'm ashamed of and, if you think it did, then that's your problem. I'm leaving."

She was halfway to the door, when his calm voice stopped her in her tracks.

"And where would you go?"

Until he said it, she hadn't actually given it much thought. The first word on her lips was 'home', but quite where that was now, she no longer knew. Being thrown out of the Thundercats meant having to leave the Lair. With its doors closed to her, she was homeless.

"This is your home now," Histor went on. "Please, treat it as such, my dear. Although I'm sure your time with us will be short. Now you are free of your obligations, you'll be wanting to settle down and have a family of your own."

For a brief moment, a night beneath the stars suddenly seemed preferable to spending time under Histor's roof. Now he had her at a disadvantage, he would not waste the opportunity to press his case about what he expected of her. It had begun already. Marriage, families, titles, heirs and successors. She had heard it all before. Then she had ignored it. It would harder now, especially, as Histor had pointed out, she was free of her 'obligations'. Inwardly cursing Lion-O for putting her into this situation, she turned back to Histor and tried to act a good deal more confident than she felt. "Actually," she said, "I'm not sure what I want at the moment."

The old cheetah nodded sagely. "Of course. You've had a terrible shock. Poor child. I know how much being a Thundercat meant to you. But everything changes, as the elders say. We have to make the best of our lot." He nodded to a servant who had emerged from one of the open doorways. "There'll be time for this later. Rest now, my dear, and we'll talk when you feel better."

The servant moved to the foot of the stairs and respectfully waited for Cheetara to join him. Trailing in his wake, she followed him up to the higher level of rooms and along the landing to a door that stood slightly ajar. Indicating that she should enter, he gave a curt nod and left. She wandered into the room, glancing round at her new surroundings with dismay. As bedrooms went, it was spartan. Like the rest of the house, furniture had been kept to a minimum. A wardrobe stood to one side of a double bed and beside that was a single chair. The mattress hardly moved when she tested her weight on it. Her back would have something to say about that in the morning.

"Oh, my dear Cheetara!"

While her attention had been elsewhere, a middle-aged female had bustled into the room and now stood with pained expression and outstretched arms.

"Come here," she cooed. "You poor, poor thing!"

Cheetara resisted the invitation and instead took a moment to assess the newcomer. Behind her back, it was said that even when Histor's wife, Cheetina, was happy, she looked annoyed. Once quite attractive, years of scowling had marked her face with deep lines. But it was a resentment that was well justified. Cheetina's family had been minor nobility, fallen on hard times. When their Leader's eye had turned to marriage, her family had had no qualms about marrying her off to a male old enough to be her grandfather. The hope had been that he would give her a cub and promptly die, leaving her brothers to act as regents for the infant.

Fate, however, had thwarted their plans. The longed-for cub never came, as Histor was found to be sterile. Then, despite his advanced years, he had remained stubbornly fond of life, even surviving the destruction of Thundera. Somehow he had managed to outlive the ambitions of his wife's family, of whom only her younger brother, Castor, remained. His greedy eyes had also turned to the leadership and he bided his time a little too impatiently for the removal of the only impediment to his succession. That alone was enough to make anyone wary of Cheetina. She had extra reason to hate this interloper into her home because Cheetara represented the only threat to her brother's claim. Unless, of course, she could convince Histor that they would make the perfect couple.

"I heard what happened," Cheetina said. "I'm so sorry. Such a terrible thing. You were so happy at Cat's Lair, weren't you?"

Cheetara nodded, but before she could speak, Cheetina went on.

"Still, it must be a relief to be away from there. It couldn't have been very nice, fighting all those horrible Mutants. You could have been killed. Imagine that." A slight change in her tone, which until then had been all simpering sympathy, suggested she had imagined it, often and not without considerable relish. "Now then, let's get you comfortable," she said. From the wardrobe she took a night gown and placed it on the bed. "You be putting that on and getting into bed. I'll go and get you a little something to help you sleep. Back in a moment."

With that, she hurried away, leaving Cheetara staring after her. At the back of her mind, her sixth sense was starting to tingle. Something is not right about this place, it warned her.

"Yes, I know," she muttered. "What do you want me to do about it?"

There is danger here, it insisted. You must leave.

"And go where?"

She wandered over to the window and stared out into the gathering gloom. The night air was already cold and laced with the promise of rain to come. From the collection of houses in the streets below, lights shone out, illuminating the way for people still out at this ungodly hour. If the tales of the elders were to be believed, the hours of darkness heralded the arrival of any number of faceless horrors. Until two years ago, that evil did have a face of sorts. Mumm-ra had since been vanquished, but his place in the night had been taken by a more constant menace in the form of opportunistic thieves and robbers. A night out on the streets was not to be recommended.

Resolving to make other arrangements in the morning, she changed into the night gown Cheetina had left out for her. The orange dress she had worn the night before was tossed into the wardrobe out of sight. Its first and only wearing on the worst night of her life meant she never wanted to see it again. Slipping under the bed sheets, she lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how she had come to this. The memory of the last few hours continued to torment her and she shut her eyes in a vain attempt to block it out. Behind her eyelids Slithe's grinning face danced still. Unconsciously, her hand wandered to her chest, finding a space where once there had been a proud insignia. The grief she thought she had under control came welling up as tears that rolled down her face and wetted the pillow.

"There, there," came Cheetina's voice. The bed moved slightly as she sat down beside her. "Don't cry. It'll be all right, you'll see. As for them, well, shame on them for doing such a thing to you. For the good of Thundera! Not for your good, was it?"

Cheetara blinked and looked at her, surprised to hear what sounded like genuine sympathy in her voice.

"Picking on you like that," Cheetina went on. "It's deplorable. And fancy letting those commoners stay. Really, my dear, I did tell Histor off most severely when he told me what had been arranged."

"He did?" Cheetara said, pushing herself up on one elbow. "When? I thought they went straight to Cat's Lair after they arrived back."

Cheetina's cheeks coloured. "I was there of course. He told me then. Now," she said, hastily moving on before Cheetara could question her further. "I've got you a little hot milk with just a touch of honey." She held out the glass with its creamy-white contents. "Come on now, just a little sip. It'll make you feel so much better."

Cheetara reached for it, then hesitated. Once more came the warning voice of her sixth sense. She has every reason to hate you, it said. Don't trust her. Heeding it, she shook her head.

Cheetina seemed a little disappointed, but shook it off with a nonchalant shrug. "Well, suit yourself." She took a sip of the milk and licked her lips. "Mmm, delicious. Sure you don't want any?"

Her misgivings seemed suddenly very silly. There couldn't be anything wrong with the milk if Cheetina had been willing to drink it. Her concern had seemed genuine enough earlier. Perhaps the stories were wrong. After all, she was really making an effort to be nice.

"Thanks, I think I will," she said, taking the offered glass. She could feel Cheetina's eyes on her as she downed the contents, although by the time Cheetara handed her the empty glass, she was smiling kindly.

"Now you settle down and go to sleep," she said. "It'll do you the world of good."

"I do feel tired," Cheetara said, breaking off in a hearty yawn. Sleep suddenly seemed very tempting. She gave into it and flopped back onto the pillow. "I'll just shut my eyes for a while..."

"That's right, my dear, you sleep," Cheetina said softly. "Everything will seem better in the morning."

Her touch was light on Cheetara's brow as her fingers traced down and closed her eyelids. Sleep took her in its gentle embrace and she knew no more.

***************

"Haven't these people heard of cushions?" Jageena grumbled. Several minutes of uncomfortable squirming ended with her rising from the chair and proceeding to pace about the room. Feeling the vexation burning off their leader, her two attendants wisely said nothing and kept their heads down. It did not save them from her wrath.

"You, Jagia," she barked at the youngest. "Go and find out what's happening. I didn't come all this way to sit here all night."

The girl nodded meekly. Before she could get there, however, the door opened. Histor entered and nodded respectfully to his guests.

"Lady Jageena, it was good of you to come," he said, stooping to kiss her hand. "Everything is prepared. My wife will show you up."

Jageena snapped her fingers at her two attendants, who grabbed their things and hurried after her. Outside, Cheetina was waiting at the bottom of the stairs and curtseyed when she saw her.

"My lady," she said, "we are honoured you have seen fit to perform this most important undertaking for us."

"It's not that we doubt her, of course not," said Histor. "But there have been rumours."

"So I have heard," said Jageena.

"There must be no question mark hanging over her suitability for marriage. My lady, we need to know, either to allay or confirm those suspicions, mighty ones help us all."

"I will do my best," said Jageena.

"Once again, we thank you. We await your judgement."

Cheetina indicated for Jageena to join her and together they started up the stairs. "If I may be so bold as to speak, Divine Mistress," she said. "When my dear husband talks of your judgement, he does of course mean a favourable one."

They had reached the landing, where Jageena paused. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'm sure you know the regrettable problem that our House faces when my dear husband passes away." She glanced down into the room below where Histor sat writing at the table. "I'm afraid he is not long for this world," she said, sighing. "Every day I see his strength fail him a little more."

Jageena smiled thinly. The cheetah's words rang hollow. "There are elixirs that might help him," she said, watching her reaction with interest.

"Oh, no, but thank you anyway," Cheetina said hastily. "Nature should be allowed to take its course. I only mention it in as far as it affects us now."

"I see. You fear what will happen when he dies?"

Cheetina nodded. "My brother has a claim on the succession, but it is not as secure as we would like. When Histor leaves us, we fear for the wellbeing of our House should others oppose his selection as leader."

"You would like to improve his chances by having him marry Cheetara?"

"Quite so. Whoever marries her is assured the leadership, for she is her father's heir. If she were to be disgraced, well, I'm sure you can imagine what will happen."

"Then you wish her to be found unsullied, no matter what the truth?"

A gleam came into Cheetina's eyes. "That would be preferable, yes. Oh, I have no doubt that she has kept herself pure. I believe her when she says that she refused their advances. She was, after all, a Thundercat, and their honesty is beyond question. However, the rest of our people are not so trusting. That is why we asked you, Divine Mistress, to perform the examination. Your word is held above all others."

"And yet you would have me lie?"

"For the greater good."

"In exchange for what?"

Cheetina gave a low bow. "The undying loyalty of the House of Cheetahs, once my brother is installed as leader."

Jageena considered for a moment. This she had not anticipated, but it suited her purpose well enough. Such support would be useful in the future. Even if what she suspected about Cheetara was true, there was no reason to tell Cheetina.

"Very well," she said. "We'll see what can be done."

Cheetina beamed and led the way down the corridor. Opening the bedroom door, she stood aside, allowing Jageena and her attendants to go inside.

"It is exactly as you stipulated," she said.

"You don't mind if I check?" said Jageena. She went over to the bed and picked up the sleeping cheetah's hand. It flopped back onto the bed without any sign of muscle control. "Good. This may take some time. It is always harder to tell in one of older age. But the Ancients will guide me to the truth."

"Whatever that might be," said Cheetina.

"Quite so." She waited while it slowly dawned on the cheetah that that had been her cue to leave. Cheetina excused herself and left, closing the door behind her. When Jageena was certain they were alone, she stripped back the sheets and stared down at the figure on the bed. The drugged milk had worked beautifully. When she awoke, Cheetara would know nothing of what had taken place until her beloved family told her what they ordered done to her. Or rather what they thought they had had done to her. No one would ever know the truth of what was to pass here this night.

"Are you going to stand there all night?" she snapped at her attendants. "Let's get this done before they start wondering what's taking so long. This close to triumph, I will not be denied now!"

***************

The hand that connected with the back of his head sent him reeling. He staggered, desperately trying to keep his balance. Momentum carried him on and downwards, sending him sprawling on the floor. Fear got him back on his feet in seconds and, cringing, he looked up into a stern and disapproving face.

The tiger glared down at him, a mixture of disgust and scorn twisting the lines of his face into an uneven frown. "Keep up, you skulking little devil," he said, raising his hand to deliver another blow. The cub dodged feebly out his reach, only to receive a smack across the back of his legs. He winced and tried to contain the tears that had risen to his eyes.

"Don't let me catch you crying, boy," came the reproving voice. "I'll not have a son of mine bawling in the streets like a newborn kitten. You're a disgrace, Tygra. What are you?"

"A disgrace, father. I'm sorry, father."

"Sorry, indeed," came the contemptuous reply. "Look at you, whimpering like whipped pup. Why can't you be more like your brother?" He strode away to where his other son stood, grinning meanly. "Come, Tyree," he said, taking the cub's hand. "At least I can be proud of one of my boys."

Father and favoured son walked away together, leaving Tygra to follow in their wake. Curious eyes that lit upon his brother were averted when they saw him. Blessings bestowed on those ahead were not conferred on him. But for a matter of minutes, he might have been up there with his father. But Tyree had been born the first of the male twins of Leader Tygrean. As such, he was his heir and recipient of his father's unconditional love. The other cub, smaller in weight and more delicate in constitution, had been assigned the status of 'spare' and treated as such. If his seven years had taught him anything, it was that he was of little consequence in his father's eyes.

So now he kept up, but kept his distance as they wended their way through the streets of the tiger settlement. On the outskirts of the community, a low building loomed ahead, its special status setting it apart from the rest of the town.

"Here we are," said Tygrean, coming to a halt. "The last home of the mentally disturbed. Here you will see torment beyond your wildest imaginings. Many of the souls within these walls are our own people. Your hearts should grieve to see them. But here they are and so must they remain. This is the price we pay for possessing the greatest gift of all the Houses of Thundera. What is that gift, Tyree?"

The cub beamed up at him. "The power of the mind, father."

"Exactly. The power of the mind. More formidable than the strength of the body, or the quickness of the wits, or the other meaningless talents our feline brethren profess to have. And yet we are denied our right to rule." His gaze fell fondly on Tyree. "But one day, my son, you will reclaim that glory and with it the throne of Thundera."

"I will, father!"

"Yes, you will, and then all Thundera will know our power and might."

"Yes, father. But why are we here?"

Tygrean's gaze wandered back to the building and his eyes grew dark. "It is important that you know this place and always remember it. For with power comes a price. The price we pay is insanity. Yes, our powers are great, yet some amongst our number are not strong enough to wield them effectively. It costs them their minds. And an insane tiger is a danger to all around him. For their safety and ours, they must be confined within these walls, where we pray that one day a cure may be found."

"I will remember, father," said Tyree, standing tall and proud as if already shouldering the mantle of leadership that Tygrean's death would one day place on him. "When I am Lord Leader of my people, I will not forget those held in here."

"And you must not. For one of them is your uncle, my brother."

"There is madness in our family?" the cub asked.

Tygrean nodded. "My brother was neglectful of his gift in his youth. Like a coward, he was able to hide himself from other's eyes, yet when it came to the higher art of producing illusions, he was weak. When our father died, the leadership was contested between us. He tried to defeat me. I was forced to use my powers against him. I saw his mind start to disintegrate under the strength of my greater will. My brother lost more that day than the contest," he said, a haunted look coming into his eyes. "Something you would do well to remember, Tygra, for you take more after him in your abilities than mine."

"Yes, father," said the cub, bowing his head under the weight of Tygrean's stern gaze.

"It is good that you accept your limitations. Learn now that you can never beat your brother and you will have a contented life."

"Yes, father."

"And you, Tyree," said Tygrean, turning his attention back to the cub at his side. "Understand that not all your brethren share your powers and act kindly towards them. For you, my son, have no rivals."

"Yes, father," said Tyree, puffing up his little chest with pride at his father's love and praise.

"Now, tell me, do you fear what you will see here?"

"No, father, I have no fear."

Tygrean nodded approvingly. "What about you, Tygra?" he said, not even bothering to look his way.

"I am not afraid, father."

"Of course you are," he snorted. "Do not shame me here, boy. Be brave like your brother."

He led the way towards the building, Tyree's little hand clasped firmly in his own. The doors opened at his call and gave way to a bright interior. Whatever monsters Tygra feared this place held were clearly not those of the night. Several white-coated tiger physicians were waiting as they entered the chamber. One stepped forward and bowed before the distinguished visitors.

"How is my brother?" Tygrean asked him.

"Comfortable enough," came the reply. "His mind enters the last phase of the Madness. We fear that death is imminent."

"Then he will have his peace at last. Take us to him."

The tiger bowed again and led the way down a corridor. Strange noises issued from behind firmly closed doors and occasionally a howl would rend the air. Deeper into the complex, they passed across a covered gallery that half-circled the walls of an open space. In this enclosure were a number of inmates, mostly tigers, in various states of mental decline. One elderly tiger sat counting his toes from left to right and back again, while another stared blankly at the wall. In the corner, a panther ground his bloody fists into the floor, watched by a younger lynx, who urged him on enthusiastically. But it was the lone figure in the centre of the chamber who commanded Tygra's attention. A tiger, possibly in his third decade, unkempt and yet still firm of muscle, stood silently, eyes shut. Tygra fell behind the others as he paused to watch him, fascinated by his apparent serenity in the midst of chaos. The tiger must have felt the weight of his stare for suddenly his eyes snapped open and he lifted his head to look up at him. Red irises, like the coals of the fire, seemed to burn into his soul and transfix him to the spot. An age seemed to slip by as those eyes held him, until a sharp rebuke from his father brought him back to reality with a start.

Trying to shake the image of those eyes from his mind, he rejoined the others and continued behind them until their guide came to a door and stopped. Drawing out a hefty set of keys, he fiddled with the lock until, with a click, the door opened. Moving inside the room, Tygra gazed upon the wreck that had once been his uncle.

Behind a glass wall, a lone tiger sat on the floor, tightly bound hand and foot. Thus denied movement, his only recourse was to sway his upper body back and forth in a slow, rhythmic fashion. On every fifth beat, he would push forward a little more and strike his head against a wall splattered red with the blood of his bleeding brow.

"Observe my brother," Tygrean said solemnly. "When first I brought him here, he claimed that he heard voices and was tormented by the dead. Ever since that day, I have watched his decline to this."

Tyree gulped. "How ill is he, father?"

"His mind is lost. He does not know who he is, nor can he recognise any of his former acquaintances. This is the punishment for his pride. And your punishment too, Tygra, if I hear that you are still failing at your lessons," he said, slapping the cub round the back of the head for emphasis.

"I do try, father," he said in a small voice.

"Try!" Tygrean snorted. "And yet still you fall behind the others of your class, boy. You will never amount to anything. I can only pray to the souls of our ancestors that they will take pity on you and grant you a quick and easy death. Come, Tyree, I wish you to see the new extension I am sponsoring for the benefit of these unfortunates." So saying, he started from the room. Tyree paused long enough to stick his tongue out at his brother, then darted away after his father. Tygra followed, noting how quickly the attendant slammed the door to the cell behind him and hurried away to catch up with the asylum's generous benefactor.

Left behind, with little attention paid to his absence, he took his time in retracing his steps down the corridor and back along the gallery. Keeping his eyes fixed firmly on his feet, he became aware that he was being watched. Glancing down, he saw those same fiery eyes staring straight at him.

"So, they've left the runt behind," the tiger jeered.

"No," Tygra said, suddenly wishing he wasn't quite so alone.

"Ha! I saw them pass by here. Our glorious leader and his golden boy. Well, did we entertain them? Was our show good enough, I wonder? You, cub, what do you think of us?"

Several of the other inmates stopped what they were doing and looked at him curiously. "I think you're all crazy," he said, trying to sound a lot braver than he felt.

The tiger laughed at his efforts. "From the mouths of babes! Here, brothers, the truth that all those accursed healers keep from us! At last, a clear diagnosis." His eyes flashed fire and once again settled on Tygra. "Want to know something, cub? The one thing that every single person who comes here misses. Oh, they sigh and sympathise, but they never understand. Do you want to know what that is? Do you?"

At Tygra's nod, a broad grin spread across the tiger's face. Suddenly, he leapt at the wall, using it to spring higher into the air and somersaulting until he landed lightly on his feet yards from where Tygra stood. Terrified, he backed away, but the tiger was quicker and grabbed him by the collar of his tunic.

"I'll tell you what it is, but you have to keep it a secret, understand?" The tiger shook him to make his frightened nod more emphatic. "Then hear me, little one. We aren't mad. None of us are. Up here," he said, tapping his head, "it's all crystal clear. It's the body that's weak. Look at that panther. His body withered under injury and they say it turned his mind. He sees his enemy in that floor and punches his face every day. He knows his purpose, but his eyes deceive him. Do you understand, boy?"

"Y-yes," he whimpered.

"I don't think you do," the tiger growled. Tightening his grip around Tygra's neck, he hauled him out over the edge of the gallery. "Now, boy, if I drop you, you'll die, but they won't do anything to me, because they say I'm mad. But I know exactly what I'm doing. It's my arms that hold you out there, not my mind. It's my hands that will let you drop, not my mind. Now do you get it, you stupid runt?"

"Yes!" Tygra cried. "I do, I do!"

The fury died in the tiger's eyes, and he brought him back to the safety of the gallery and set him down. Smoothing down his collar, he smiled and patted him on the head. "Now, tell me again, what is the deceiver?" Suddenly, his face creased with pain and a terrible cry issued from his lips. He crumpled and fell senseless to the floor far below. Landing with a sickening thud, he twitched once, then moved no more.

The guard who had stunned him raced over to Tygra and demanded to know if he was all right. He could only nod in answer. Satisfied, the guard pushed him aside and hurried to join his fellows who were trying to restrain the now screaming inmates below.

Tygra watched them, hearing the tiger's words echoing in his mind. "The body," he murmured. "The body is the deceiver..."

And yet now, years later, standing before another such low building, with the same bright interior, Tygra found himself doubting the words of his memory. The tiger had been wrong. The mind was the deceiver. It had turned against him, robbing him of judgement and control. Sometimes it would allow him clarity and, for a few precious hours, he would be his old self. Then, just as suddenly, it would cast him back into the shadows. No, that tiger had been wrong. The mind was all-powerful. As it decayed, it dragged the body down with it.

He looked down at himself, seeing the trembling in hands that were once firm. At the back of his mind, the storm clouds were starting to gather. It would not be long before he, like that tiger of his memory, was thrown back into the pit of despair. For the few hours he had been granted sanity, he had lived a nightmare. All at once, he had found himself back on Thundera, being forced to surrender his insignia, being stripped of his Thundercat status and what remained of his dignity. After that, what had he left? So, while he still had clarity and resolve, he had gone to hand himself over for confinement. As his father had promised, his punishment had come at last. He was sensible enough to recognise the symptoms, and honourable enough to know what he had to do.

Before he could move, however, his tormentor came back to mock him.

< Why don't you go in? > he heard a voice whispering in his ear. < What room is there for you amongst the sane, Tygra? Accept your fate. Surrender to the Madness. Find out for yourself whether it is the mind or the body that deceives. >

"Go away," he groaned, pressing his fingertips to his temples. Every day, it became harder to deny, harder to ignore. It intended to claim him, to see him locked in a cell like his uncle, banging his head up against the wall in a desperate attempt to rid himself of the demons that ran free through his mind. And even as he stood here, the darkness came rolling in, clouding his senses until he was left with one lone thought.

"Third Earth," he murmured. "Must get back. Have to get back..."

And with that, he turned and walked away.

Continued

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