By Any Other Name

The most pathetic patient that a mystic can treat is a Thundercat with a bad cold. His regal head elevated on several plump pillows, his muscular body covered only by a very thin sheet, my bedridden Tygra scarcely possessed the energy to give me a proper greeting. A husky whisper was all that remained of his rich baritone; his breathing mimicked a Thundertank in disrepair.

Placing my hand on his forehead, I easily marked the persistent fever that had plagued him for three days. I knew, however, that within two days, his suffering would pass, and permanent immunity against Balkin Fever would result. I also realized that, at this particular moment, no amount of rationalization on my part would convince my ill mate of the benefits of a purely natural approach to healing. I read an unintended plea for solace in what little could be seen of his membrane-obscured eyes. I might have weakened, but for my stern inner voice. Tygra's strength will take him through this crisis, she declared confidently, much to my disagreement.

Arranging myself, a chair and a teacup next to his bedside, I said to my stricken lover, "Kitra will soon bring you some broth, but you must drink this tea now while it is still hot. In this way, the herbs will be more effective on that nasty cough."

The look on his face suggested that I had proposed to him that he might consider mating with a mutant. Struggling to rise, Tygra sputtered a weak but emphatic, "No," before sinking wearily back into the soft cocoon of linen and pillows with a dramatic sigh. The stubborn line of his jaw informed me that I had better do some quick thinking if I hoped to get him to drink. True, the tea tasted like clothing worn for several days in wet weather, but the green remedy worked quite well.

Shaking a finger under his fine nose, I growled, "Very well. If you are going to behave like a spiteful kitten, I'll get Snarf to keep you company for the day!"

"You win, tigress." The soft concession was unfairly tinged with longing. Tygra's desperation sang to my gift for healing. Keeping the mystic channels closed against the instinctive drive to open was difficult. With the assistance of extra pillows, I banished temptation by concentrating on placing him in a position more conducive to drinking.

My stalwart tiger drank the proffered tea without complaint, but his closed eyes and wrinkled nose signaled his distaste. After setting the emptied cup on his nightstand, I cleaned his lips with a dampened cloth respecting his fussiness on matters concerning his personal grooming. "I suppose I should say 'thank you'," he rasped when I had finished my ministration. The "but I won't-" remained unspoken.

"Poor kitten," I purred as I fingered the silky fur shielding his ears. Despite his illness, his desire burgeoned with each stroke. Before the situation could intensify (and I was very tempted to encourage it), Kitra entered the room, a steaming bowl of Berbil broth held between her hands.

"Is he any better, White, or is he going to yell at me again like he did yesterday after he drank that foul tea?"

"Oh Tygra, you didn't?" There was more than a hint of disapproval in my voice. The tiger's downward glance condemned him. Satisfied that the young cat had indeed spoken the truth, I told her, "Please be patient with Tygra. Although he does not believe it, he will get better very soon."

Turning my attention to Tygra, I said icily, "She deserves an apology, architect." A tiny flash of rebellion sparked his eyes, but escaped Kitra's notice.

With as much good grace as his sour mood allowed, he muttered, "Sorry, Wilykit."

"Tygra! Are you sure the you're all right? You haven't called me that name since I changed from kitten to catling!"

The young one's genuine surprise drew forth a chuckle from Tygra. His merriment, however, gave way to consternation when a fit of coughing seized him. Pounding the pillows, he wheezed through gulps of air, "Name!...What's in a damn name, Kitra!...By the ten winds of the holy mountains,...I still don't know how White was blessed with such a ridiculously obvious name!"

Our eyes met. What Tygra had said, Tygra finally heard. He quickly covered his mouth with both hands.

"No offense taken. Are you ready for some broth?" It was an impassive response to brush away a thoughtless remark, but even I noticed the hurt within my words.

"But I would really like to know...about your name, I mean."

As you have said, it is--"

"Please!" The sincerity of his plea (along with an exclamation of "Tigers!" from Kitra) melted my resolve.

"Do you promise to eat this broth, when I finish my story?" His solemn nod showed that he accepted my decree. "Fine. Kitra, set that bowl here on the nightstand, then settle yourself at the edge of the bed if you wish to hear this tale." The youngling gleefully complied. I discovered to my amazement that I had the full attention of both tiger and cat.

"My parents had produced three sons, but no daughters. When the mystic, Tilzi, told my mother to expect a female cub from her fourth pregnancy, she and father were quite pleased with themselves. My birthday was to consist of many celebrations in my honor.

"But none took place. On the day that I was born, every tiger in the village dressed for mourning."

"Mourning?" A bewildered Kitra exchanged glances with Tygra. He shrugged lamely in reply to her question.

"Yes, mourning, for you see, when I was born, I was completely white: not a single stripe anywhere."

A gasp from Tygra alerted me, but he did not fall victim to another bout of coughing. Instead, it was the scientist within him who had understood the significance of what I had said, and had reacted with dismay. He explained, "Kitra, remember your basic lessons in biology: albinism is ultimately lethal in Thunderans!"

"But surely, Tygra, her blue eyes would have told them otherwise, I don't see how--" The catling paused under the scrutiny of Tygra's arched eyebrow. Her teacher folded his arms across his chest, and waited patiently for his former pupil to arrive at a correct solution. "How could I be so stupid! Of course, a cub's eyes don't open for 30 suns! By the gods, White, what happened next? They didn't leave you to die like some clans do...did they?"

"By the more civilized laws of the white tiger clans, my parents were obligated to care for me until death came. The wise elders predicted that my demise would take but a week's time."

The youngster's fears allayed, I continued. "My mother, Sum'ri'san, removed me from the village. She went deep into the surrounding wood. It was the only time that she and my father, Casaphi, had ever fought. Powerful empath that he was, he could not bear to hold me, or to love me, knowing that death would soon claim me. It was his inattentiveness and the morbid atmosphere of the village that drove Sum'ri'san into the forest.

"My mother was not an empath, but she had love to give, and believed that her daughter should not be denied love's touch because of some cruel circumstance. Her special telekinetic ability lessened her hardship. In the tiny cave where she had found refuge, Sum'ri'san alone joyed at my birth.

The days passed, but miraculously, I survived. Then, father came. Despite his pain, he believed that he had wronged us. He joined Sum'ri'san in her death watch and her many prayers to Mrísena.

"One cold morning, my father heard a horrible scream. Fearing that my death had finally occurred, he raced to mother's side. She was weeping and shaking uncontrollably. The shattering of her quiet demeanor unsettled my volatile father, but he gathered his courage and held her in his arms. Every tear she shed was a blow he accepted, but to his astonishment, he realized that the tears of Sum'ri'san were those of joy not sadness. Gazing down upon me, he beheld my stormy blue eyes, which were so much like his own, and not the eyes of an albino. Casaphi roared his happiness, whereupon my mother scolded him for scaring me."

My story was not yet finished, but the teary distress on Tygra's face made me hesitant to continue. Kitra's persistence spurred me onward.

"So what happened next! I'll bet the other tigers were stunned."

"Baffled is a more appropriate word, Kitra. After all, I was still unmarked. Because of this mystery, a messenger was dispatched to the western mountains, the great temple of Mrísena within the village of the mystics, his destination. Tilzi wished to call upon the special gifts of one of their number."

"They sent Servalla, didn't they?" Tygra asked with the sad conviction that what he had said was true. "And my mother read your aura."

"Do you know this tale better than I, architect?" I said trying to ease the bittersweet feelings that the memory of Servalla always evoked in Tygra.

"No," he said timidly between coughs, "please continue."

"Very well. As Tygra has guessed, Kitra, Servalla did read the energy fields surrounding me. You know that future potential can be detected quite early by a mystic gifted with the aura sight as Servalla was."

"And Tygra is!" Kitra quipped a little too proudly.

A gentle cuff by Tygra on Kitra's wrist told me that he was improving sufficiently not to tolerate a saucy remark from a feisty, young Thundercat. I suppressed a tinge of unwanted jealousy at the attention Tygra gave her and proceeded.

"After examining me thoroughly, Servalla announced that despite my jarring lack of stripes, I was obviously a plump, healthy cub, and that although I would probably make an excellent weaver, my parents should not desire this. She predicted that when I opened to my gifts in adolescence, I would become a fine mystic, if early potential was any indication of future development."

"Wait! Didn't you have a choice on becoming a mystic?" Kitra demanded.

"Yes and no, young one, but that is a tale for another day. As for my naming, everyone in the village, my parents included, was dreadfully embarrassed, even though they had made an honest mistake. The village elder was superstitious, and considered my lack of a name most inauspicious. He insisted that the error be remedied without delay. A celebration and a naming ceremony were hastily arranged for the next day.

"Throughout the autumn evening, my parents labored over a list of names trying to arrive at the perfect one for me. After everything they had endured, they desperately wanted the elder's immediate approval of their choice. Neither wanted the old one to chose for them. Despite the tremendous respect he was afforded by everyone in the village, Tai had a preference for selecting unusual names, a thought that terrified my parents. The distracting tide of kinsmen offering gifts, congratulations and unwanted advice only made their work more difficult.

"At dawn, I was brought to the naming circle. Old Tai waved his staff and said the ancient words, 'What name do we call forth and bind into the one?'"

"One what?" Kitra asked.

"The one great clan name containing all the names of those born in the village, Kitra."

She mumbled petulantly, "I don't understand. Why is that so important?"

I was not about to explain to her the intimacy all white tigers shared by virtue of their telepathic power, or how the entire clan celebrated and welcomed the opening of this gift when an individual passed from kittenhood to adolescence. I answered too coolly, "Trust that it is important."

"And so?" Tygra interrupted diplomatically.

"My parents had no answer, Tygra. Although they had prayed to Mrísena when their efforts had failed, even the goddess had not supplied them with a name. Angry, frustrated and weary, my father roared impulsively, 'TALITHA!'"

Chuckling, Kitra remarked, "Just like the people around Cats' Lair, they also named you 'the white one' in their own language, and their word, 'white', stuck."

"Yes, and so much so that, except for Tygra, and even he rarely, everyone in Cats' Lair now calls me 'White', and not 'Talitha'."

Annoyance must have colored my voice for Tygra started to say, "If it bothers you so--"

"Oh no," I lied. "Anyway, to continue, father shocked even himself with his outburst, and mother, it is said, never made him forget it. You can imagine everyone's surprise when Tai said, 'Excellent choice! Now, on to the feasting!'"

The slight smile on Tygra's face and Kitra's laughter pleased me. For so long, we had woven only sad stories. At least the tale of my naming was a mildly amusing one, and its telling had perked up my patient.

"So, Talitha," Tygra said with a deliberate emphasis on the "I" to irritate me, "when do I get something more to eat than broth?"

"Kitra please note: the patient is improving; level of obnoxious remarks increasing hourly."

"And cold broth too," he added after a sample. Kitra tasted the soup and concurred.

"I can see that I cannot win. Please, Kitra, ask Snarf to prepare some shiny fish for this poor cub."

Between giggles, she chirped,"Right, White," and dashed from the room.

"That suit you, my lord?"

Holding my gaze, Tygra whispered, "I prefer when you cook it, dearest." Flustered by his reference to the meal I had served on the night of my first joining, I capriciously stuck a cloth under his nose, and ordered him to blow. He complied with resounding success.

Light applause suddenly filled the air. "I'd say B flat, White. Guess he's feeling better."

"When did you sneak in, Panthro?" I said to the grey warrior as he approached Tygra's bed.

"Ah, long enough to hear about the--"

"That's it! He is all yours, panther!" I pressed the soiled cloth against the startled Thundercat's hand, and strode purposefully toward the door.

A whisper floated past my ears. "Think she might be convinced to make me some of that fish, Tygra. Hear tell it was very good." A muffled chuckle from my mate turned on him, and his coughing began anew.

Mrísena is just. Crossing into the hallway, my back to the males, I declared loudly, "You might need a second cup of tea, Tygra."

"No! Not that! Come back here WHIIIITE-"

As the closing door blanketed my mate's protests, I thought happily, Every Thunderan should be as lucky as I. How wonderful it is to be a mystic, and help the sick on their way to recovery.

Whistling a cheery tune, I headed for the kitchen, my mind carefully cataloguing the ingredients necessary for brewing a particularly strong cup of healing tea.