Faith and Blessings (a crossover)
Note 1: To all readers: this is a self-insertion, more or less. I post for pleasure and write what I know. If you do not care for self-insertion fiction, that is fine, just know that you were forewarned. Note 2: This short piece is part of a rather large story I have in pieces all over my hard drive. It is the only fully completed "self-contained" chapter. It falls somewhere in the middle of the 'epic' story, but is not necessary to enjoy (I hope). Further notes occur after the story. FAITH AND BLESSINGS (a crossover chapter) Mumm-Ra the Ever-Living ground what was left of his teeth together in supreme annoyance. That wretched girl and the ThunderCats had once more pulled off the next to impossible feat of surviving his latest attempts on their lives. The child was worse than the twin Kittens, the very thought of whom rankled him every time he saw them out on their space boards, playing tag, or doing something “helpful” with their neighbors. The aged mummy knew more now about the human teenager than he had before, however; he knew that she was some type of shape-changer; that she and that bird-companion of hers were always psychically linked; and that she worshipped the One God in the ancient (certainly now defunct) Christian tradition. That information was something useful, at least. “Ancient Spirits of Evil, provide this servant of yours the means to dispose of the human and owl who are guests of those mangy, insufferable ThunderCats.” A dry, cold wind hissed into the pyramid as one of the statues, the most damaged one, glowed with a putrid yellow haze. children to know Him.> “How disgusting,” Mumm-Ra spit out the words. In his cauldron, the image of another Black Pyramid, another Mumm-Ra appeared, equally hideous, equally disgusted. The pair of dread servants of the Ancient Spirits of Evil regarded each other speculatively through their respective cauldrons. It was fairly disconcerting to see each other (not that either undead priest would ever say so), each the exact duplicate of the other in form, function, power. . . “Well, other-self? Since we must work together to rid the world of these impudent upstarts if we are to get any relative peace at all. . .” The pair of Mumm-Ras finally determined that the one with the “human ThunderCat” (what a terrible thought and a worse reality!) was the more threatened and therefore was the correct channel for Set’s twisted Dark Glory. The Mumm-Ra of this reality, the one of fewer ThunderCats, would formally cast the incantation in exchange for loss of magical protection on his home; only the ThunderCats were ever idiot enough to challenge the Black Pyramid without general invitation. The pair of ever-living Dark servants would have to wait until the dark of the moon to perform the realities’ spanning enchantment, which would involve a pair of cursed Gates set at the edge of the innocent Unicorns’ habitation to a single place: the Ancient Egyptian underworld where souls lost themselves, generally in confusion, torment, or being eaten by demons and the multiplicity of possible divinities would hamper the two female monotheists’ journey. What a deliciously simple way to manipulate the world. There would be no escape, in either reality, for either female. . . “Vengeance is mine,” murmured the Dark priest, echoing the words of a God he hated as he slipped again into his sarcophagus to wait for the proper time to enact it. + * + : I don’t suppose,: Frances thought blearily to Bright Owl as she opened her eyes, : that you got the signature of that spell?: The pair of them had been heading toward the Gather-glade in the Forest of Unicorns on the fifth day of First-month but a flare of light, Mumm-Ra’s demented laughter, a sense of absolute disorientation, and a rush of magical power at the edge of the Forest itself had interrupted those plans. I did,> Gwydion replied dryly. A Gate-curse keyed to any who worship the One, sending them from the physical world into the spirit-realms: specifically to the Duat of Ancient Egyptian belief.> : Does Mumm-Ra think he has power here?: No. He--demon-self and human-ka—knows that he has less power here than the youngest child (why do you think he fears death so keenly that he bargained for immortality?) but as a priest, even a dark one, he can open the gateway between the worlds. It may be the overconfidence of the Dark or the first awakening of the true-soul of Setna, prince of the Two Lands, that set the gate so.> “I’m just grateful to God that I know about this version of soul-journey. Reaching the Hall of Two Truths might be difficult but it’s not the worst place or event we’ve been through.” It is entirely possible that He sent us here, in fact, probable.> : Should I feel honored or terrified by His immense confidence in our skills?: A bit of both might be appropriate,> her soul-brother replied, morphing from owl to human before reaching out a hand to help Frances stand. She wobbled briefly, caught herself, and shoved her spectacles on her nose-bridge more firmly. Golden eyes met blue-gray as a shout—a woman’s cry of alarm—sounded in the air. “Turn left and go straight; I’m right beside you,” commanded Gwydion. Frances launched herself forward in the correct direction, sprinting through the tall papyrus fronds at a swift, bouncing, heavy-footed lope. The woman the pair was approaching was now rigid. The human’s fear was quite apparent, radiating off the female like heat from a lamp. Two things were close to the stranger that might incite the response, the first of them a true threat, being a gargantuan king cobra; the second was a hawk-headed human-figured male in a wooden boat set at the river-edge who was just too far away from the serpent to do any good. Owl’s clawed feet and silent speed slammed straight into the throat area of the reptile. The attack was just enough to over-balance the beast and send its head snapping backward; the rest of the snake followed in a parabola into the dark, rushing current of the river. White feathers drifted down as Gwydion Bright Owl, shape-shifter and Partner to a shape-shifter, landed easily on a niche meant for a lantern at the prow of the boat. Frances skidded to a stop beside the woman. “Oh my God, oh my God. . .Where am I? Where did that mummy send me?!” “A place he would hate to be, ma’am,” Frances replied evenly, feeling like a tour guide somehow. “This place is his culture’s version of the underworld. As a priest—once—the ‘immortal’ (I use that term loosely) can open a path here, but once here, his spirit would have serious trouble if he was even allowed entry in the first place.” She grinned. “I doubt highly the part of Mumm-Ra that is demon would want to face the weighing of the heart in the Hall of the Two Truths, which is where everyone heads.” “Is God here? My God?” “Where isn’t He?” the teenager countered. “Who else could possibly judge the heart? Just because the Egyptians had many gods doesn’t mean they weren’t aware of Him, just that most were not prepared to relate without intermediary agents. . .” “I prayed for help, you know,” the woman said. “I recognize you and the owl as an answer, but not. . .not a hawk-headed man in a linen kilt in a boat that I’m pretty sure is. . .I’m dreaming this, aren’t I?” The lady stopped, confused. “Have I fallen asleep in the Forest of Unicorns? No, that can’t be. . .I’m still dreaming, though, right?” “Horus, called the Lord of the Two Horizons, a major deity in most of the former Egyptian religion. I would say that he is an answer to a prayer for help: he’s our boatman. If it is easier, think of the ancients’ gods as angels of the Most High. They answer to God, always have, except the ones who turned. . .and as we both are under the protection of Christ, no one of those who did that really want to mess with us. Nope, no dream, since I was awake when I arrived here. I’m Frances Marion by the way.” “Linda Hurst, human ThunderCat. Don’t ask; it’s a very long story.” “If it’s anything like mine, where monsters attack my second hometown from outer space, where not only the time-space continuum but dimensional reality as well refuses to stay linear where I am concerned, and evil sorcery affects every cell in my body in a physically dramatic way, then your story should be very good indeed.” “What year and city are you from?” “Nineteen nineties, Anno Domini. I’m originally from a town near two rivers in the East, but Angel Grove California is where I was currently residing. I was reading about the Panama Canal and ended up on Earth’s future self because Mumm-Ra decided he needed a servant. I refused, because of child labor laws, lack of education and sheer principle, to accept his offer.” “A vortex, in my case, dragged me to the future where Mumm-Ra decided to create hell on earth using my need to get back home via enhanced opti-crystal technology as a spring-board. Then, I married a ThunderCat, Bengali. Then we adopted his sister’s child five years later; I became a ThunderCat at that time. Then Mumm-Ra decided to show up again about a decade later. This was his latest strike against me and my family.” “Well, the only way out is through, Mrs. Hurst.” “Oh geez, not the dreaded “Mrs. Hurst” bit!” Linda chuckled awkwardly, taking a look at her bespectacled younger companion. “Linda, I go by Linda. Since you’re sure this boat ride and this ferry-man is the only way around this place, I’ll follow you. I do, however, reserve the right to disembark or speak my mind if I feel uncomfortable with any of you.” Frances inclined her head. “I’ll try to remember, Linda. God’s blessing be with you, Horus. . .I’m sorry we kept you waiting.” *God’s favor rest with you both. You have a human’s grasp of time and patience, page of Arthur, servant of the Christ. I can wait forever, you know. Madam ThunderCat, I am at your service, for your Lord is mine also; ask in His name. . .I am sure you know the rest of the line. Linda blinked, sighed, and gave a nod. Horus helped the older woman into the boat before turning his single eye toward the female shifter. *Anubis said He met you in the Pyramid of the demon-priest in the one place that he could not go or scry, feather-child. “We did,” Frances affirmed, stepping carefully into the watercraft. “It was the only area covered with writing or anything else, except the central chamber which has those awful statues, one of whom I’m pretty sure is Set, though that one is so messed up I could only guess. Is there a balance to the Onyx Pyramid?” *There is: the White Pyramid of Mumm-Rana the Good, a priestess chosen to serve Good the same way that the cursed one does the Dark, save with a few differences: Mumm-Rana is free to return to the Field of Reeds at any time; she serves out of love, not fear; and she works in partnership with the Good, not as a slave. The four statues in her pyramid are Bast the joyful, Hathor the abundant, Thoth the scribe, and Nepythys the compassionate. “The ones in Mumm-Ra’s pyramid turned away from the Father?” *They did, choosing to forget they are creations of the One. What is the verse the writer of the final “good news” in your sacred texts says? “‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were created through him and without him was not anything made that was made.’ Verses one through three in the King James translation. . .Ouch! That’s a monumental thing to deny.” *Yes. And when human mortals forgot such things or said in their confusion or terror that we who are but messengers are the One God, trouble came knocking. So He chose a people to instruct and be an example, and the rest is more or less history as you ladies both understand it from religious education. “So you consider yourself what?” Linda questioned the god-form. “From what you say, you know and acknowledge you are not what I assumed you would think yourself.” *A messenger, Linda, a servant, a prince of the Host; that is what I am. Any one of us with sense knows those things and serves accordingly. I give fair warning now, children of the Most High, that during this trip, the servants of evil will attempt to hinder our progress toward the Hall of Two Truths. I will be concentrating on poling the barque through the River, avoiding as much trouble as possible but you may wish to call to your sides those who will best defend you in this place. Linda and Frances shared glances before bowing their heads briefly in silent prayer. Seconds later, a shimmer of light announced the arrival of a person in this spirit-plane, a man dressed in a military uniform of the United States. “Permission to come aboard?” the spirit requested. *Granted. Frances moved aside to permit the blessed spirit to stand beside Linda, saying nothing; her smile, brief, of welcome, said everything. Linda turned to the younger woman and asked, “Did you get an answer?” “Yes, Linda, I did. Wait.” The look on the human ThunderCat’s face was shocked then mutinous; the woman was spluttering indignantly at the injustice of the response this innocent girl had just received. Frances shrugged, raising a silent eyebrow toward Owl’s feathered form. :What gives?: That, feathers, is one parent’s reaction to a perceived wrong done a child; unlike our family, where self-advocacy is backed up by family, in Linda’s, the parent will step in if the matter is a case of ‘bullying’ or unfairness.> : God just told me to wait and she thinks that’s unfair to me?: Yes. As impatient as we might be, Linda—when under stress— apparently has an even shorter fuse.> “Before we shove off, a reminder to everyone aboard. Please keep hands, feet, and all objects inside the boat at all times during the trip; also remember monster-feeding is highly discouraged.” Frances laughed, for standing in the shallows behind the boat stood Rocky DeSantos, Red Ape Ninjetti; the Power Ranger’s civilian spirit-self glowed with warm red. Just as Adam Park had given counsel the night she had told stories to ghosts and as Aisha Campbell had leant her physical support against both a game-hunter and an array of weird monsters, so the young Latino man who loved life was here in this spirit-realm to help out. “Thanks for the reminder, Rocky.” “De nada, Frances. Remember ‘Creo’ is the whole point of the journey, to live by faith. Help will always come to those who ask. Try and make it to Movie Night; we’re watching EXCALIBUR. Adios.” Then the boat was shoved further into the current by strong hands. When Linda chanced to glance back, she saw only a shaggy baboon with reddish not gray fur. Frances had a loopy grin on her face and a light in her eyes which had not been there before. When the giant crocodiles began to gather around the barque, some actually sliding beneath the watercraft, Frances watched with avid fascination. The biggest one opened wide jaws and hit the boat with its tail. The boat wobbled; water sloshed into the bottom and the live humans had to steady themselves. “There are at least twenty of these!” “Sure, this place is the Nile in spirit; the Nile has crocodiles: big, curious, hungry crocodiles.” “What do they eat?” “Anything that falls in the river,” Frances replied evenly. “Be glad that the crocodilians are pleased enough to show themselves to us. The nice reptiles may be providing escort services and protection against worse things that live here or by the banks; beast-company is preferable to what can arise.” *What is arising, children. This is the first gate we must pass: the gate of Fear and its guardians. The gate was no laughing matter: snakes coiled up and down the gateposts which were cedar trunks sunk into the river mud; creatures with wings, eyes, claws, twisted faces, and all manner of deformities brandished weapons at those approaching; and the gate-portal itself yawned darkly threatening. “Remind me not to ask what lives here,” Frances muttered to her brother Owl before the boat plunged in between the cedar posts. Darkness covered everything briefly then a sickly light began to burn, drawing all eyes toward it. The shape that the light took was that of a huge green monster, fire whirling around it while it waved a huge scythe and bleated to the sky. Linda froze. Frances swallowed bile down. “I am Mongor!” bleated the monster. “I am everything you fear! I am above you, below you, to each side. . .” Linda held the hand of the United States officer in a white-knuckled grip in the same rigid silence as when facing the cobra before. Whatever the human ThunderCat was seeing or recalling was absolutely private, unique to her alone, just as Frances’s experience was narrowing to a point where all she was able to hear and comprehend was the green demon waving the scythe. Frances felt her stomach knot, twist and plummet. Every word the creature spoke brought up memories, terrible memories of all times she had ever been truly terrified, truly panicked (just, thank God, not the Grey Memory yet): the day the wind had blown across the bleachers with her on top of them; the day her family had been injured by Dark sorcery; the time she had gotten lost in a store; the day before summer camp the first year. Other memories crowded in right after those, compounding themselves, multiplying until every nerve felt frayed. Shutting her eyes as vertigo slammed into her senses made the experience no worse or less scary than usual. The boat caught her knees, provided a measure of physical contact that broke into, for a few seconds, the mini-movies on instant mental and emotional replay. Trying not to retch, the girl wondered if motion sickness was possible when everything was apparently standing still. “Creo,” crackled the fire. I believe. Golden song followed the whisper of the fire, steady familiarity. Frances listened briefly to the words Gwydion was enunciating in the melody, waited a whole verse plus one heartbeat and joined in, making the solo suddenly a shaky two-part round. Owl was human—when he had morphed didn’t matter—for he helped Frances wobble to her feet again, blinking back tears. : S-sorry.: You have nothing to apologize for, love,> Owl murmured gently in her mind, brushing his hand through Frances’s dark brown hair while never ceasing the melody for an instant. Fear is like grief: it hits at odd times in strange ways.> : N-no kidding. . . I can hear Alcock. . .Alcock. . .no B-Bentras telling me I will go mad every year until. . .until I Heal the circle he shattered. What if, what if I can’t?: “You will heal and be healed,” Gwydion replied firmly. “I was there, remember? I am still here; I will not leave. . . Remember too what Arthur told us when he made us formally part of the House Pendragon: Though all the world change, know that I love thee.” “This is the promise given between parent and child,” Frances whispered, swallowing hard against a lump in her throat, “sibling to sibling, true friend to true friend, God to every particle of the Creation. If you forget, listen. Someone will tell you again.” “Creo,” popped the flames again, even as they circled the goat-demon. I believe. Mongor was cavorting, a sneer on his long face. Frances watched him with an almost clinical detachment now, able to think beyond the horrors presented simply by the grace of other memories, other people, and the pleasure of God. “Wonder what fear fears?” she asked pensively. “After all, there are certain types of fear that do not go away because of song or laughter.” Fear fears faith. Faith says in effect that you trust something higher than you, no matter how terrified you are. Courage is an extension of faith.> “Creo,” the girl whispered, feeling the Spanish word shimmer inside her mouth like cinnamon sugar. I believe. Indeed you do.> Frances grabbed for the pole as it was nearly slashed from Horus’s grip by the scythe-wielding goat. The instant the wood touched her hands, it changed into a canoe paddle; the River shimmered, turning iron gray and choppy. Neither Gwydion nor Horus was in evidence and the spirit of the officer was merely a mist-like presence. Frances checked behind her to find Linda looking fairly pole-axed by the sudden change. “Grab the paddle in the bottom of the boat,” commanded the teenager. “I’ll assume, for the minute, that you know how to whitewater canoe?” “My husband certainly taught me to steer a watercraft!” “Good. Life jacket on tight?” “Yes.” “Great. Get down in the bottom of the boat and paddle hard; it smells like storm weather and the pull-out is about five miles downriver, according to Pete and Chunky.” The River was now lined with deciduous trees, deep brown mud, and the sound of cows drifted from farms. This was definitely not Egypt. Linda winced at the sound of thunder, followed by a terrific flash of white. “Let’s go!” On calm water, five miles would be nothing; even on moderately rapid water a journey of that distance would present no trouble. Unfortunately, stormy weather on a river meant choppy waves (rivers did have them), the dangers of lightning strikes, bad visibility if rain decided to join in, variance in wind speed, and a total reevaluation of canoeing skills. Linda was realizing very quickly that she had no idea how to manage. Frances was completely happy; she knew this River and had raced a storm before. With a fierce laugh, the shifter called encouragement to her steers-woman, “Just keep paddling! Don’t bother about anything else! Whee!” The twenty minutes or so spent hustling across rough water in a canoe handled by one crazy teenager and one grimly praying adult felt as long as an eternity. The canoe sloshed dangerously, riding lower in the water than Linda felt was safe; however, there was nothing to do except paddle madly and trust, muttering beneath her breath about strangling Mumm-Ra. “I don’t think that would help with the bandaged one, him being undead,” Frances said, angling the canoe toward the left bank where at least one other canoe bobbed. “It’s not the official pull-out, but this will have to do; we’re swamped, you’re upset and exhausted and I’ve got severe visibility issues. That blot is another canoe, yes?” “Yes,” Linda agreed. Finally, after another five harrowing minutes, the canoeists were at the bank. Frances leaned out of the boat to grab the bailers’ twine being passed to her thin, strong hands, loop a section onto the prow, linking it to the other boat. By the time she was finished mooring the vessel, Linda was already up on the bank, dripping wet, shivering, and angry. The shape-changer waited a few moments, then, with the aid of friendly hands was lifted bodily onto the slippery bank and helped to solid earth under trees. “That was well-stood, both of you. I wish I could say that will be the end of the River adventures.” The voice could have been female, maybe; neither saw the speaker clearly. “It is not. There is a River on Third Earth named Despair. . .” The world faded and reformed again. : Have I mentioned yet how annoying this is? Which Third Earth?!: Linda’s, I presume. Because the River is integral to the geography of this part of the astral realms but is not known to the principals, the Duat can only use what we bring to the test.> : Meaning if it was just me, it might decide to function as the spirit-Nile?: Perhaps, though my understanding is that that is not the River we know best.> Frances looked down at herself and found, to her delight, that she was in diurnal raptor shape, a bit larger than she was used to. Spreading a wing, she made certain the feathers were in flight-order; folding that one, she checked the other before rousing, rattling the feathers back into place, and launching up to catch the warm wind. Oooh, she thought privately as her eyes looked beneath the surface of the water to see swimming shapes, freshwater shark. : Yummy roc-fish!: Frances declared, bobbing her head toward the sharks in the water below her wings. Well, soul-sib,> Owl’s voice flowed into her mind. Shall we hunt?> + * + “Yep, about once every twenty years or so, the Old Lady of the River gets a mate and spawns children,” the Wollo told the ThunderCats and Mrs. Hurst. “Then she dies. That’s what Black Widow Sharks do. When the babies arrive, they eat her. Then, they start hunting: each other, other beasts, and the unwary along the banks. Around about early summer, though, young rocs from the mountains—generally one alone, this year looks like two—come down and fish for young sharks, which by now are of a size to eat our children until there’s only one female left to the River.” “So that’s usual?” “Yes, sir, Master Tygra. But no one, not even aged Brodo of venerable memory and reputation has ever seen or heard of a roc saving a being from yon River or its hungry shark-fish, yet not four hours a-gone, Terea our midwife saw a baby unicorn fall in and the two rocs fly over, grab it in their feet and drop the colt on the bank. Baby was scared but has only little scratches on its hide, not gouges.” The rain that had been going on for days pounded on the Lair roof harder than before. The Sword at Lion-O’s hip growled ominously. In minutes, Panthro, Lion-O, Bengali, Linda, and Pumyra were in the ThunderTank headed toward the River of Despair at top speed. The scene they approached was chaos: Vultureman and Monkian on Skycutters had captured both of the ThunderKittens in net bags and had dropped them into the raging waters. Lightning raced the sky white, blinding everyone, and the boom of thunder jarred sensitive eardrums. “Bl-blasted Mutants! They’ve gotten away!” roared Panthro. “I’m far more concerned about the Kittens’ safety than the Mutants,” Pumyra snarled. “Now turn on the low-beams of this vehicle and help start looking for those net bags!” “Cheetara, head downriver,” commanded Lion-O urgently. “Bengali, you and Linda help Pumyra in any way she requires. When we find the Kittens, they are going to need medical attention and I’d rather have the Tank set up now for that eventuality.” “Right,” they replied. Linda swallowed hard against a tightening in her chest as Lion-O followed after the cheetah at a slower, but no less deliberate pace. A quarter hour later, the entire rescue team met up again at the Tank, sopping wet, shivering, and with only the broken space boards to show for their labor. Pumyra passed out thermal blankets, hot sweet honey-bush “tea,” and sent Bengali and Panthro out to search the same area again, especially points in the bank where overgrowth could have caught the bags, even on a night like this. Lord, please help us find and save the Kittens, prayed Linda, trying not to give in to the clawing certainty rising in her mind that the twins would not be found even alive. It would break the heart of these my friends to lose them. It was the only prayer the woman could think at the moment as her hands worked pouring water from the hot-pot into the bowl of crushed aromatic leaves she had gathered scant minutes before. It was a slow way to make “tea” but it was the best that could be done on short notice. “I don’t believe it!” she heard Bengali shout. “Everyone, come see! The rocs. . .!” Everyone tumbled out in time to see two absolutely humongous birds, bigger than harpy eagles that hunted monkeys, dancing in the white fire of the lightning; from one clawed foot each dangled a net bag in which could be seen the limp forms of the ThunderKittens: Kat in one bag, Kit in the other. Lion-O watched this air mail arrive, slicing the wet ropes from bird claws and the Kittens’ limp forms once the raptors were close enough to make a drop-off without killing the young, more than half-drowned, cats. “Thank you,” the young Lord told the birds, rain, tears or both running in rivulets down his face. Linda shivered as she looked at the raptors that would grow big enough to eat elephants and wondered at them. Did they understand what they had done was something special, extraordinary? A prayer portion, spoken softly in her mind alone, was her answer. : Make me a channel of Your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love./ Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is despair, hope. . .: In the next lightning flash and rain-burst, the birds were gone as silently as they had arrived, leaving questions, answers, and work to be done. The River changed . . .becoming again the River where two living humans stood in a boat in some Otherworld, poled by an ancient, ever-young falcon-headed god who was nonetheless a servant of the One. Calm water slid under and around the watercraft, shining amber with bright yellow-green flashes. “Lord of all life, was that real?” Linda’s voice was rasping as though from a throat raw from screaming or disuse. *Yes, it was. Every pilgrim brings to the journey a test they fail or pass before the heart is officially weighed. It is very real, every second of it.* “I liked hunting roc-fish with Owl,” Frances said conversationally. “Maybe when I get back to my version of Third Earth we can do that?” There is a distinct possibility of that,> Bright Owl responded. We might not be doing any more than simple hunting.> “Yummy.” There were other Gates, other tests, but these did not pry into memories, at least neither female thought so. Both women were bone weary by the time the boat pulled up to the last stop, a great building or hall at whose doors waited a ThunderCat spirit (though here fully visible without the blue, semi-transparent haze) known by reputation as Jaga the Wise. Linda was not yet sure how she felt about him but Frances gave a happy non-verbal chirp upon noting the jaguar’s presence. “I’m so glad you don’t have a problem meeting a dead ThunderCat on his terms,” muttered Linda. Frances blinked at the older female, confused. “These aren’t ‘his terms,’ Linda, they’re God’s. The elder is here because we both need him: you are one of his people by marriage and adoption—I imagine since you have the badge, the Eye chose you? Yes? Well, Jaga is the guardian of the Eye of Thundera in the mystical sense as well as Lion-O’s mentor, so he probably knows why the choice was made—and I happen to be a minor from another reality who needs an intermediary getting from point A to point X without messing with time-space, memories, or states of being too badly.” “Still, you aren’t alarmed by this at all and I am, despite everything in my life, not prepared to risk my hard-won securities by having anyone challenge my belief.” “Your belief in God isn’t being challenged; no one is asking you to change your faith,” Bright Owl chided, catching the mooring rope flung by a baboon on shore with capable ease. “The rules lain down in the book of the prophet Micah: ‘This is what the LORD requires: do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God’ haven’t changed a millimeter and won’t. How the rules apply, through what medium they appear, and your response to those rules do alter. Again, you are being asked to evaluate an unfamiliar situation in light of what you know.” The human ThunderCat shut her eyes, blocking out everything but the sound of her own breathing, her own heartbeat, her own memories. She stood in the Council Room, alone with Lion-O, her liege Lord, trying not to squirm under his calm regard. He was quiet a few more moments before speaking carefully as though to a child. “In regards to Jaga, he is first and foremost an upholder of the Code; the fact that he is dead and venerated by us does not cancel out the first. Second, he advises or gives information, only taking direct action in the spirit-realms or the mortal ones in dire situations. I am still Lord here; Jaga is a trusted and beloved counselor. Anyone else he comes to is equally free to make a decision contrary to his advice. Third, I have never called his spirit to aid us but once and that against a foe as incorporeal as himself; always, otherwise, he has come to me without any sort of ritual or incantation.” Linda blushed, feeling embarrassed that she had spoken out today about the matter of Jaga’s spirit-presence. But she had to know; her peace of mind had been shattered by the revelation that a spirit of a Thunderian was considered a valid and valued member of the Court. It was not something the human was quite ready or willing to accept without assurances. Her liege lord seemed to understand this. . .In fact, Lion-O had dismissed the Council to handle the matter now rather than later. “I do not ask you to understand or even like the fact that my best counselor is a ghost only visible to me usually, Linda; I do ask that you trust both your God and me that my teacher would never knowingly ask you to go against your conscience or the Code in any matter.” The scene changed to the Tower of Omens, on a night when the moon was dark. “You keep referring to the ‘heart of the Code,’ Lynx-O, when you talk to the children. Isn’t it integrity?” “Integrity is a byproduct of the Code’s precepts, Linda. The ideals of the Code are as points on a compass; they are both fixed and changeable. While you might define the Code’s heart as love with a capital letter—and you would be right--, when a Thunderian speaks of the same center-point, it is a jaguar-Nation word which sums it best: halshen. In Common, the closest translation is ‘blessing’ or ‘benediction.’ Your religious teaching and vision are different than a Thunderian’s, but they are halshen. No one who follows and embodies the Code will ever challenge that fact.” The woman opened her eyes, fingers absently tracing the ThunderCat insignia on her clothes. It seemed to her that the jaguar was watching her, an amused smile in his face despite how stern it still appeared. Apparently, he too was willing to wait while the former Mrs. Hurst made up her mind. Frances was already out of the barque, along with her companion, the now human Bright Owl (when had that happened and why hadn’t she—Linda--noticed?). “Hey, Linda! Are you planning a party or plotting how you’re going to handle Bandages?” “Neither!” the ThunderCat called back. “I’m mastering a fear and debating a point of theology!” “How about ditching the theological question for the next twenty seconds and counting your blessings instead?” replied the teenager. “While these people around us can wait forever technically, I can’t. I’m hungry and I’m sorry but way-bread just will not do.” The mention of hunger brought to the fore the fact that Linda herself had missed a meal today herself. That, more than anything, decided her. She disembarked, splashing unceremoniously through the shallows to the bank. Jaga reached out a clawed hand to the woman, who took it, aiding her up the bank. Mr. Hurst joined them, his uniform not even soaked. While Frances thanked the boatman, and invited him to stay for lunch (they were getting lunch? Where? When? How?) which the god-form politely refused, Linda could not make up her mind about the ThunderCat before her or how she should respond. Finally, the woman settled for shrugging helplessly and reaching out again to introduce herself. She expected cold at the touch; there was warmth instead. Calm golden eyes regarded Linda with a great deal of amusement, pride and approval. “Halshen, Linda.” “The same be with you.” “Oooh! Duck breast, dried cherries, mango cubes, butternut squash risotto, and chocolate! And mint tea!” “Perhaps we should ask before diving in, feathers?” “My lord? Linda? Sir? Might I begin the decimation of the food supply?” “Clean hands?” demanded Linda automatically. Silence, the sound of hands being dipped in water, scrubbed with something, dipped again and dried, presumably on the side of a shirt followed. “Yes ma’am, clean hands.” Linda glanced down and saw a large picnic spread out on the grass before the hall: some of it the things Frances had exclaimed over, but a good portion of it was also Third Earth specialties like candifruit muffins, oat-honey-nut balls, roast fleet-bounder with an odd pickled relish that wasn’t half-bad, and some of the fare was just odd, presumably from Old Thundera. “I am not going to ask,” the woman said pointedly to no one in particular. “Does anyone mind if I ask the grace?” “Not at all,” the others chorused. Soon, somehow, Linda wasn’t sure how (except that there were two teenagers at the meal) the entire repast was completely gone. A chime sounded, shivering in the air. Linda’s husband stood up; the others followed suit. Frances sensed the entire realm shimmering as Jaga, Linda and Mr. Hurst faded out of the Duat, each called home and Home as the peal vibrated in the air. Maybe it was she and Owl that were moving out as well? It was entirely possible. Timelessness moved into time-flow, merging from one space to the next as the bell finished ringing. “Now,” Frances asked her soul-brother as she opened her eyes to see the Gather-glade of the Forest of Unicorns at last, “are you sure you got the signature of that spell? I dearly want to bless it and its caster into oblivion if God wouldn’t mind.” I did. He does not. Let us see what halshen can be worked in this time and place.> ___________________________________________________________________ * Author’s notes: Thanks to Azmom to graciously allowing me to use her characters Linda and Mr. Hurst. She also provided me all but one of Linda’s “quips” since I can’t write bad jokes. Rocky DeSantos and all recognizable Power Rangers references are copyright Saban Entertainment and whoever else owns the rights. Below is a glossary of unfamiliar terms in general in-story appearance order (they are explained in text, mostly, but for the record (and yes, all of these are real words and official spellings) here they are again: Ka: one of the personal souls of an individual in Ancient Egypt; this was the spirit “double” of the dead individual Duat: the Ancient Egyptian Underworld, which basically looked like Egypt; travel was strictly by boat. Inside the Duat, the goal of the journey was the Hall of Two Truths where the heart of a person was weighed in a balance against the plume of Truth. Blessed spirits (those who passed the heart test) resided in the Field of Reeds; those who failed had their hearts (and therefore their very selves) eaten by a monster called the Devourer. Barque: alternative spelling for ‘bark,’ another word for boat Creo: Spanish, first person conjugation of the verb creer ‘to believe’ De nada: Spanish phrase, “You’re welcome”