Food for the Soul

Ba'sir prowled the halls of the temple of Mrísena. The mystics had grown accustomed to correlating the scowl upon his face with the depth of his foul humor. The white tigers and snarfs quietly sidestepped the enormous Felinari'i draped in layers of scarlet cloth.

The pantherine mage traveled beyond the white walls. He entered the maze garden where the flowers had disappeared, and only the evergreen shrubbery remained. Visions spiraled in his mind of a Felinaria. He had slept little since his last encounter with the jan'nirri Myr'an'dra. He was no closer to learning her secrets. He was also reluctant to call upon the one person who could give him the knowledge he required, for he found Ryndi, the Li'am'ra of V'sri'sar, equally bewitching.

He lowered himself onto a stone bench, and felt the soft ground beneath him give slightly under the massive weight that he carried. He paid little attention to the fact that morning and sunlight had synchronized again, having already become accustomed to the odd patterns of a world where a day lasted 48 Thunderan hours. Something dared to flutter past his shoulder. He turned, and glimpsed an in'risi. The green-grey creature alighted on a branch. As Ba'sir watched its languid movements, his sympathy grew for the tiny flier. The night of the first freeze will be your last, little one, and yet, you continue to do what you must. Surely you have more discipline and courage than I.

The in'risi positioned itself under a leaf. Its coloration matched the shrubbery well. Unless one had already marked its landing, one could have easily missed it. Ba'sir smiled broadly. "Thank you, little brother, for showing me the path. The city awaits!"

*****

The mage padded across the cobblestones, and headed for the temple of V'sri'sar. He skillfully dodged the great flow of people, manic in their pursuits. Being without an escort in the city meant he had broken the king's rule, a fact that concerned him not, for he was invisible. He had assumed his true form, a lean vessel of flesh, to assist his lightness of step. He had braided his long black-white mane, his mark of pride and status. So as not to constrict his movements, he wore only an ak'ti, although he would have preferred warmer clothing for an autumn day.

In the marketplace, vendors in their stalls sang the virtues of their products. The odors from the cooking pots wafted on a light breeze. Ba'sir prayed his stomach would not complain, and promised himself a fine meal after his mission.

King Lir had told his people of Tir'shan's expedition to the new world by proclamations posted around the city. Since that time, the moods of Felinari and Snarfri were unpredictable, and covered all extremes of emotion. The city had become a hotbed of debate and activity.

The panther ducked into an alcove between shops for a respite. The hushed tones of a female voice shattered his repose, for he instantly recognized the speaker. Myr'an'dra! he thought in alarm, certain that the jan'nirri would miraculously see through his spell. He flattened against the cold bricks.

Not far from where he stood, Ba'sir spied a red tiger male dressed in leather armor. His height and powerful form marked him as a northerner like his father. He glimpsed green silk. Gods be damned, he is blocking her from my view, he thought. Come around, Myr'an'dra. Let us see how you walk among the people.

As if doing his bidding, the jan'nirri moved to the tiger's right side and squeezed his arm. She wore the robe and mantle favored by eastern females. A filmy veil covered her nose and mouth, leaving visible only her almond-shaped eyes, dangerous green jewels. Despite his will and her coverings, his desire for her grew swiftly. He sunk his claws into his palm, hoping that pain would drive away his lust.

"I have reported to you all that I know," the pantheress hissed in annoyance.

"It is not enough," the tiger growled.

Ba'sir's reaction to the northerner's unique accent was instantaneous. Enemy! his mind cried. The enmity he held for the renegade mountain tigers had never died. They were ultimately responsible for the sacrifices that his father and other loyal northern tigers had made to protect the line of lion kings. He fought to restrain the howl of rage that threatened to erupt from his throat. Although he had learned from the mystics that some of the renegades had been brought to the ark ship by the will of King Claudus, he still wished for his dagger, and a chance at vengeance.

"What does the panther matter to you?" Myr'an'dra protested.

"He may interfere with our future plans. He must be removed."

She lowered her voice further until it was barely audible. "No! The asira'savi will stop me, and will be alerted to your designs. Wait for the new world, as you have already decided for your offering to your god. The task will be easier for me to accomplish there, for the new planet contains no asira'savi. Trust me!"

With a flick of her wrist, Myr'an'dra suddenly disappeared into the crowd, leaving the tigrine warrior bewildered, but furious. He spat a curse, then growled words. "Fri'sren a'sa, Tamil. Avra'sa Tsa'nir." He made a sharp, dismissive gesture, then pushed his way past a gathering of giggling females. The northerner crossed onto another street and vanished.

The desire Ba'sir felt for the jan'nirri died. He fervently hoped that the truths he had learned would make the condition permanent. She will kill me without qualm, he decided. And what do those red eff'ri'tran want? What sacrifice will they make of me, or am I wrong in this? Who may be in danger besides myself, the mage wondered. He did not wish to reveal himself to Ryndi, but he considered telling the priest all he had heard. The last words spoken by Myr'an'dra's contact sounded ominous. He racked his brain trying to recall the language of the enemy that his father had taught him so long ago.

Tamil. Tsa'nir. Those words sound like names. Ba'sir shook his head in frustration and denial. I must learn more first, then I can proceed, he decided, unwilling to relinquish his plan for the day.

Ba'sir emerged from his hiding place. Uneasiness suddenly gripped him. Reluctant to surrender to fear, he locked the feeling behind a wall of concentration, and slipped back into the throng.

*****

The mage sat on an icy stone step, and pondered his method of entry into the two-story temple he wished to breech. He could easily traverse the welcoming front portico behind him, but that action offered little challenge. He was certain that he could climb the multi-level walls at several points, but was unsure of what awaited on the other side. He cursed his lack of preparation. If you wanted to spy on the Li'am'ra, you could have at least discovered the location of her rooms before undertaking this mission, Ba'sir! he mentally chided himself. You're getting too soft to be a warrior!

The panther lazily watched the few people who walked unknowingly past him, and considered the value of a full reconnaissance of the perimeter before taking any action. The temple, a building situated back from the main thoroughfares, was a peaceful haven surrounded by modest stone dwellings and tall trees whose colorful leaves had yet to fall. The priests of the temple kept company with those, who although they might be content, possessed the least in worldly goods. Considering the nature of the worship that went on behind the walls, the mage considered the juxtaposition appropriate. When all is stripped away, only love remains, he mused.

The strains of a harp suddenly drifted past him. The mage listened intently, trying to pinpoint the source. He became distracted as the music entranced him. When the tune ended, he wished for more. Only then did he realize that he had heard the playing of a master. Intrigued, he raced toward the back of the building, the place from which the pleasing sounds had emanated, and encountered the tallest wall.

The perfume of summer flowers met him. There must be a garden, but how does it still bloom? he thought, fascinated by the paradox presented by flora and season. Conversation replaced the music. He recognized the delightful alto timbre of one voice as belonging to Ryndi, an o'lathi who possessed both sexes. He guessed the Li'am'ra's visitor was genuinely female from the higher pitch of her voice. So I have trapped the priest in her garden, he thought with satisfaction, a wicked grin stretching his mouth. Was it you who played, or your guest. That I must know!

The mage studied the wall. It would be difficult to vault to the top. Climbing would be easier, and it would pose no danger to him of falling or revealing his presence by unnecessary noise. With a nod, Ba'sir decided to test his jan'nirri skills against common sense.

Tiger strength and height gave him the advantage as he covered the distance of thirty feet in a prodigious leap. He landed silently on his toes on the thick bricks that comprised the broad wall. Ba'sir smiled. He had not interrupted the chatter of the two stretched out below him on a carpet of impossibly green grass. He reclined on the masonry, and hoped he would discover what he sought.

The Li'am'ra of V'sri'sar poked pieces of fruit in a bright blue bowl. Unsatisfied, she gently stroked the three magnificent purple stones set in a web of silver that adorned her neck. The gossamer sleeves of her violet gown fluttered delicately with each graceful movement. The gesture lent further credence to his strong belief that despite the incongruities of anatomy, the priest was more female than male. The snow leopard ran her hand over her long spotted mane, and lowered her grey-green eyes in fatigue.

The enchanting tigress, whose burgundy robe complimented her orange fur, adjusted her harp, and complained, "I won't leave until you eat something, Ryn."

The cleric sighed. "My troubles devour my appetite, fair one." The o'lathi pouted. "You should go, Taija. It grows cold. You are not mountain-born. Your fur is shorter than mine. I thank you for your gift of music."

"You insult my music, which should have driven away your unhappiness," the musician commented, her tone indicating that she would dismiss outright anything she considered nonsense. Her black eyebrows knotted fiercely in annoyance, which served to mar the perfect balance of her comely features in a comic manner. The Li'am'ra chuckled. The tigress cursed, which made the priest collapse into hearty laughter.

Harp in hand, Taija rose with the dignity of a noble. She huffed, "You are wicked!"

The priest stood. Reaching up, she placed her right hand on the taller female's shoulders. "My dear friend," Ryndi pleaded. "I meant no disrespect."

"At least tell me what troubles you so greatly that your acolytes summoned me," Taija demanded.

The Li'am'ra pointed to a stone bench. "Sit."

Taija countered by indicating the bowl, "Eat."

Ryndi asked, "Truce?"

A smile flitted across the harpist's face. "Agreed."

Now it should finally become interesting, Ba'sir decided, swinging his legs around so that they dangled over the wall. Any longer and my n'tun would freeze solid!

Slender Ryndi nibbled a small yellow fruit, keeping her promise to the harpist. As Taija sat and waited for her companion to speak, she fussed with the black sash that cinched her narrow waist, but accentuated her shapely hips. The Li'am'ra sighed when she finished eating. She lightly rubbed her abdomen. "So little, and yet it feels like a heavy rock inside me."

"It is your troubles that weigh you down, so it is best to lighten your spirits. You will feel better."

"When did the harpist become a mystic," the priest scoffed. Taija frowned, and Ryndi raised her hands in a gesture of peace. "I worry about King Lir. He is a fine noble, and will not worry about what the new world will bring him. He cares only for the people. However, there are those that would depose him. Another exodus might make his enemies bolder."

"You speak of the other two who sought the throne of Claudus?"

Ryndi replied, "No. Their power is not as consolidated as they would wish. They fight with others in their respective clans. It is King Sartren's people who most concern me. Once we no longer have the protection of the asira'savi, the mountain tigers will cause strife."

Taija folded her hands in her lap and studied them thoughtfully. She asked, "Do you have proof of their treachery, or does their history with us advance your theory?"

Ryndi glanced about, as if checking for an intruder. She whispered, "A jan'nirri not of their clan now assists them."

"Impossible!" Taija exclaimed. "They would never trust an individual not belonging to their people."

"This jan'nirri was released from service from the ruling panthers. Although other Asri'i exist, the last members of her particular clan died on Thundera's last day. You know of the dissension and prejudice amongst the remaining panthers that has plagued them on this world. No one would take her vow of service. She went to Lir, and the lion clans, but they have their own jan'nirri. They found no use for her other than as a guard."

Taija slapped her hand with her fist. "Those idiots!"

"Sartren's people were not so stupid. They approached her. She accepted their offer; they took her vow. Her skills in war and magic have grown."

"How can she still assist the crown?"

"She does not. She finally left the guard this spring, and became a dancer in the pleasure hall of the merchant Valdi, an excellent cover for one of her calling."

Taija pulled a thin blade of grass, and crushed it between her fingers. "That Valdi is allowed to do what he does..."

"The lion pays his tribute to the king as any other citizen, and he has acquired all the proper permits."

"That we sanction such activity!"

Ryndi sighed. "Pleasure without love. Taija, it has been with us since Homeworld. At least it is regulated and generates income for those in need."

The tigress opened her mouth in surprise. "How can you, the Li'am'ra of V'sri'sar, say such things! The sacredness of physical love is your domain."

"Comment does not equate with approval, my friend. It is reality. Lust. Addiction. Perversion. People are enamored of their vices. If they were not, they would have vanished from our culture long ago. At least the crown keeps a watch on such activity, and the laws help to contain it."

Taija shook her head in disgust. The jagged black stripes that patterned her shoulder-length mane of orange and white bristled.

Ryndi shivered. "The merchant and his 'wares' are not a problem. This jan'nirri is the danger, for she has played her part well. She has made the king's spies believe that she has sunk into the 'delights' that often accompany the life of a bri'sa'han. They have come to believe that she is no threat to the crown. In that, they are wrong. They have ignored the intelligence that I have passed on to them. The day will come when they regret such foolishness."

Ba'sir moved silently to his feet. I have learned what I have needed for now, he decided with satisfaction. No reason to turn to ice with the cold. The hairs on his neck suddenly rose. The mage turned swiftly, his trained body reacting to the whistling sound. A fine needle pierced his left arm. He quickly pulled the weapon free, and dropped it onto the stone.

The wound burned, and the flames traveled throughout his body. His vision blurred as he desperately searched the roofs and trees for his attacker. His thoughts whirled when he considered the possibility that his foe was as invisible as he. "Such tracking skills," he murmured in admiration. His footing failed. He lost consciousness before he landed on the grass.

*****

A soft voice tickled his weary mind; an angry one seared it. "You keep him here, Ryndi! Ba'sir is no longer welcome at Mrísena's hall."

"But I sent you word, Te'sara. You are here with him now. Because of his invisibility spell, the king does not know of his indiscretion."

"No matter! By violating the king's order, he could have endangered us all."

Feet stamped and a door slammed. A third voice commented, "I know nothing of this matter, but even I realize that Te'sara's words are true."

Light harp music soothed the raw spaces in the mage's brain. The mystic is indeed correct, Ba'sir conceded. Curiosity danced with the gentle notes. The emotion gave him the strength to open his eyes. Candle light insured that his escape from darkness was not jarring.

The deep breath he took alerted the females, for the pleasing music ceased, and the Li'am'ra came by his side. Before he could formulate excuses, the priest snarled, "You almost died, you fool! There was asnafrin on that throwing needle."

"Thank you, I am feeling better," Ba'sir murmured in a weak attempt at humor which was not aided by the sour feeling that grew within his stomach. The poison she had named should have killed him outright. He wondered which god had interceded on his behalf. Surely not Savar, he decided, for as a jan'nirri I have failed.

Ryndi wrinkled her nose in frustration. "You had no need to spy on me, mage. I would have told you all that I knew." She raised her arms above her head in exasperation. "I invited you to dinner!"

"I learned it just the same," the panther countered, wondering in turn what the musician sitting somewhere in the shadows had learned of him while the poison had robbed him of consciousness.

Taija commented, "Te'sara advised that Ba'sir rest."

"Tigers have always been known for their wisdom," Ba'sir remarked demurely, convinced that the Li'am'ra had passed along all of his secrets to the harpist.

"And panthers for their intrigue," Taija concluded wryly.

"Did you see who did this to you?" Ryndi interrupted.

"No." The admission pained him as much as the needle had.

"Was it possibly the jan'nirri of whom you spoke?" Taija asked Ryndi. The tigress came into the circle of soft light around the large bed upon which he lay. Her height and curvier figure made a satisfying contrast to the petite and slender snow leopard.

"Well?" Ryndi asked Ba'sir.

"No." The denial had issued from his mouth before he knew the reason why. His instincts filled the holes in his thoughts with certainty: Myr'an'dra was a jan'nirri, not a crude assassin. She would allow her victim to see her before he died. She would not resort to poison, but depend on her fighting skills.

"Then who?" Taija questioned innocently.

"Mountain tiger." The instant he had spoken, Ba'sir knew that he was correct.

"What do you know that I have not revealed?" Ryndi demanded.

The mage told the females of his market encounter.

"Perhaps an assassin now watches the jan'nirri," Taija guessed. "Tamil is a shorter form of the ancient name Ta'mil'ren. It means 'oppressor'. Tsa'nir matches no name with which I am familiar. Perhaps it is not a name at all."

"Or it is one which comes from the far north of our enemy. Although I am from the north, I never learned the dialect of the mountain demons," Ryndi remarked. "Clearly, danger grows. We must be vigilant, and try to discover what sacrifice they plan to make to their one god, whose name I will not mention within these walls."

"I must summon their language from my memory," Ba'sir commented in frustration as he tried to sit upright. The room spun, and he fell back, his head hitting the pile of pillows with a thump.

"You don't dance with asnafrin, and expect to rise," Taija scolded.

Ba'sir bit back a sharp remark despite his humiliation, for his eyes could not hold their focus. Ryndi lightly touched his arm with her right hand. Her flesh felt cool and inviting. Her other hand fingered the stones of her necklace. She chanted softly. Blue light limned the silver. It pulsed down her arm, and into her fingers. Warmth entered his body. The paroxysm stopped, but he grew sleepy. "Magic?" he asked, his deep voice faltering with somnambulance.

"Although we could not see you, we noted the impact your body had made upon the grass. I put the necklace on you, and called upon its power. It automatically cancelled your spell. Its magic preserved you until Te'sara could neutralize the poison, and the damage it had caused to your body," Ryndi replied.

"You owe an offering to V'sri'sar," Taija added sternly.

Ryndi arched a dark eyebrow in confirmation. Ba'sir pulled the bedcovers over his head. My doom will have to wait, he thought, drifting off to sleep.