Requiem

By Nakur Chanur.

The mornings are getting colder here. Of course I know that it's nothing
of the sort, but at least if I can convince myself of that, I can also
deny my advancing age. It's not that I mind so much, but sometimes it's
hard to pull myself out of bed anymore. This morning proves to be the
exception, though.

I padded across the stone room to a hanging mirror. Now I know what you
are thinking, Why am I not back at the fortress with the others? The
fortress has fallen. There, how's that? No, I don't mean that it was
destroyed or that Tygrishawk dropped a load of grenades on it or
anything. Just I'm not there anymore. In fact, no one is. Oh, the
building still stands I suppose, and if you were to go down into it you
might find some interesting things, but anything of true value has been
gone for at least the last twenty years, after Peachy finally died. With
her gone there was no reason to continue the upkeep. Over the course of
a few weeks we moved the contents of the libraries to the new University,
there was far too much knowledge there to let it go to waste.

I paused to let the first glimmer of daylight warm my hide. This setup
here isn't all that bad I supose. The Council did their best, but let's
face facts, the world has moved on. Even from up here on the cliff face
I can see that. Below me sits the city of Omens. A smallish city of as
cities go, but one none the less. The population has really grown over
the last century or so of development. I had a small part in it
naturaly, not as big of a part to keep my ego happy, but a part, yes. We
simply keep dieing off. Now there are only the two of us who know and
remember the founders.

Soon to be just the one. I visited with him yesterday and frankly, I'll
be a bit suprised if he lasts the month. Nothing can be done about it,
the best medical minds on the planet have seen to his care and they all
agree. It's time. Even those skilled at sorcery say the same. (And don't
you go thinking about Mumm-ra. Old bandage-butt isn't up to the task
anymore after the Mutants died out in their third generation).

After brushing out the beard (And cursing the amount of gray there,
every week there's just a little more of it.) I settled in at preparing
myself some breakfast. I still had a haunch hanging in my pantry here
from earlier in the week and I carved off a smallish piece to warm in
the oven. I do count myself greatful to the council for seeing after my
needs. I shudder to think of the idea of me trying to hunt anymore. Left
to my own devices, I would have starved to death shortly after the last
of the fortress group died. But I'm sure you didn't come here to listen
to me ramble on about my own problems, so we'll cut to the chase. (Now I
know I've been living near the humans for to long, I'm starting to talk
like them.)

As I sat down for breakfast, I heard a snuffing at the door, followed by
a polite series of scratches. Delighted to have visitors, I left my meal
sit and threw the door open wide. A pair of tigers stood on my doorstep,
brother and sister, waiting for some sort of greeting. The pair was clad
in their own fur, as such cats usualy are, with the insigina secured
tightly around their necks.

"Welcome, Thundercats. And to what do I owe the honor of your arrival
here?" I asked, wondering what in the Gods would cause this pair to be
out at such an early part of the morning.

"Sir." The male stepped forward addresing me formaly. "We have come on
an urgent matter at the behest of the council." He looked at his sister
as if to gain courage to continue. She sighed and took up the narative.

"Chanur, Fianna of Arwin was taken a turn for the worse." She said,
carefuly watching me for some sort of overblown response she undoubtly
expected. When she received none, the tigress continued, eyes downcast.
"We don't expect him to live past the sunset. We have been assigned to
provide you with an honor escort to the Lair."

"Well then, I suppose we shouldn't keep them waiting." I answered
evenly. "Please come in. I need a few moments to dress for traveling." I
stepped back and the two Thundercats entered my home, the male pausing
long enough to close the door behind him against the chill morning
winds.

"Please make yourselves comfortable. Is there anything I can get for
you? Something for breakfast perhaps?" I enquired, moving to my bedroom
for a change of clothing."

"We have eaten already, thank you." The male answered. I left the
bedroom door open just a crack so I could hear them as I dressed. I slid
off the sleeping robes and dressed in my finest rust silk pair of
breeches.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names." I asked politely, pulling a long
cloak from a hook.

"I am Tigaria and my sister is Torra." The male answered as I pulled the
cloak around my neck.

"I thought I noticed a family link there." I called for behind the
closed door. "I also think there might be another. Are the two of you
related to Thundara Tiger in any way?"

"She was a distant realitive." Answered Torra. "She would have been a
4th generation grandmother.

"I thought so." I answered, opening the door wide. "You seemed large for
a bengal female.

"I am." She said, taking the complement in stride. I noticed Tigaria on
his hind legs, snuffing at the wall mount for my AP.

"Would you care to see it?" I asked stepping over and removed the gun
from the wall. He looked up at me sheepishly and nodded. I placed it at
his front paws and continued. "By now, it's very old tech, but it's one
of the few things I have that came from home with me." I shrugged as he
picked up the gun and held the sights to his eye.

"Tough to use." Tigaria answered lightly as he passed the AP back. "I
note the sights are a little off."

I glanced down at the weapon. The tiger was right, I just hadn't
noticed. Other then cleaning I hadn't brought it down in over three
years. I replaced the gun and turned toward my guests.

"Let's go then." I said crossing the room as my escort fell in beside
me. I was not looking foreward to this.

The journey to the Lair was uneventful. We passed through the city as
most of the residents were beginning the morning duties. Small shops
were opening and a restaurant counter selling fresh fruit was moving in
full swing. Overhead, a single Claw held station, waiting in case of
trouble.

I took my time passing through. I didn't get into the city too often and
never with such an impressive escort. A few of the residents stopped to
stare, having never seen an author before. Indeed, just the mere fact
that I was in the city spoke volumes about the condition of Fianna. The
local news service had kept the residents briefed on his health over the
last few weeks. A few daring souls had even set up a method of wagering
on the time and date of Fianna's passing. I found the whole thing
deplorable.

I took the under of course.

The Thundercats at my sides moved silently, almost so well that I nearly
had forgotten that they were there, only reminded of them when Torra let
out a low growl at a human who looked as if he might approach me. I
personally wouldn't have minded the contact, but had no time at the
present moment for such trivial matters of small talk.Ahead loomed the
Lair, solid and somber as always. I had always wondered about the style
of building used by the Thunderaians and once done some heavy research
into the subject. Turns out that the use of the Cat's head design was a
relatively new development over only the last thousand years or so.
Prior to that it was a much simpler fortress, much like the castles of
First Earth. I chuckled at what a certain Thundercat designer I once
knew would have thought of it.

I hadn't visited the Lair itself in almost five years and took note of
the changes in the appearance. A pair of aircraft hangers had been added
into the cliff face on the sides, the blast doors open to the morning
air. The drawbridge had been widened to accommodate the larger
transports the Thundercats now used.

I continued foreward with my escort, remembering when the only mode of
ground transport was the Thundertank. Panthro might have been proud of
the job done with it. The Tank sat in splendor, next to the Feliner and
the first Thunderclaw in his old garage. The trio of equipment had been
retired and restored as an exhibit of the past. I remember the Lair
historian, Thundercat Ocelliot, fussing about, trying his best to make
sure every tool and part was exactly as Panthro would have wanted it. He
sat with Fianna, Thunderwolf, and myself, picking our brains about the
details.Fianna tended to remember the most about it, he and Panthro had
been rather close. Thunderwolf mostly remembered drinking stories about
being with the blue panther. I really didn't have much ti contribute on
the matter, the only real contact I'd had with him was the rare sparing
match.

A transport passed us on the left, loaded down with young kids and what
looked to be an incredible amount of camping equipment. Off to the wilds
for a learning session. As we crossed the bridge, my attention turned to
a group of cheetahs. A single Thundercat stood among them directing the
morning exercise. I noted a light sheen of sweat on the smallest of the
cheetahs as I passed. She looked up and cast a quick smile our way
before she took off in an easy lope with the others. When I say easy
lope, I mean easy for a cheetah. Anyone else would have tired extremely
quickly.

We continued over the threshold and up the stairs to the waiting open
doors. Inside, A lone Thundercat waited, eyes somber. This panther was
the more common gray, with a slight dappling along the neck, suggesting
a jaguar relative some where in the past.

"Ho, Felis." Called out Torra as we entered. "We bring Na Chanur, as
requested."

"I can see such." Answered the panther. He rose from his post and
offered a hand to me in condolence. "I'm sorry this meeting was under
such poor circumstances."

I grasped the outstretched hand and returned the gesture. "I'm sorry as
well. Just how bad is he?"

Felis averted his eyes. "It is bad, Chanur. We sent for you as soon as
the healers agreed. He was little time left among us." The panther began
up the hallway to the lifts and I fell in with him. My former escort
remained at the door, content to take the post my newest escort
abandoned.

We reached the lifts and he turned to stare at me. I refused to back
down. He stared a moment longer and then shuddered.

"See something green?" I inquired, rancor dripping from my voice.

"Sorry Chanur. It's not often that one meets his Gods."

I shivered in shock. "I'm no God, Felis. Just a writer. One who has been
content to sit and watch as events play out to the final breath."

"But you could call back the others!" He protested as the cab arrived
and I stepped in. "I understand your powers here are nearly limitless?"

'I can and they are." I responded, holding open the doors as he followed
me in. "But anything I create now would be hollow." The doors closed and
the lift moved smoothly up. "With Fianna dying, there would be no one
left to read anything written." Felis looked at me in shock. "Don't look
at me like that, cub." I snapped. "I have no reason to change anything.
I'd be just as content to let things continue on as they are after I'm
gone."

The lift slid to a stop at the infirmary level and I walked out,
leaving the panther to stare at my back. A single healer looked down the
hall to me and simply pointed to a closed door. I paused outside it, not
exactly knowing what to expect. While I had been present at the deaths
of others in this realm, this one seemed more permanent somehow, as if
on some base level this one marked a turning point I dared not pass back
over. After the others died, I always felt a twinge of guilt. Now I was
to be alone here.

I Pushed open the door to see the Caninoid laid out on the bed. A series
of small wires were connected to shaved parts of his fur. A simple
blanket covered him to the waist and his belt and buckle were draped
over the baseboard. My breath caught at the sight of how much weight the
dog had lost. His hind legs, while not sticks, were no where near the
person I remembered from as little as six months ago. His breathing was
labored, the chest hitching at every inhalation. I crossed the room and
took his paw in mine. Content simply to hold it I watched, suddenly
knowing that this time there would be no last words, no long good-byes
this time.

My time here had become a deathwatch.

Fianna died shortly after mid-day.

He simply slid off the edge of the world, silent like a whisper. One
moment the his chest stopped moving and the next he was gone. I even
fancied that I felt the passage of his sprit. (who knows, I just might
have.)

I stood there in silence and watched the dust motes float in the air
above him. The whole room took on an empty quality, as if the world
stopped for a brief moment to note his passing. I wasn't sure how I
felt. Fianna and I had matched wit for more years then I could remember.
His passing was a mixed curse, I suppose. The sunlight continued to
stream through the single window, staining a long stripe over the stone
floor. I paused to stare out on the mid-day sunshine wondering how the
Gods dared to allow him to pass on such a otherwise wonderful day. Below
me, I heard the crisp clash of weapons on the training grounds, the bark
of the instructor clear over the sounds of battle. The world moves on, I
thought to myself.

The healer opened the door on us, pausing as she looked my way. I shook
my head briefly, and she retreated, closing the door behind her. She
knew what had happened here. No panic was necessary, no one yelling for
more help or more drugs. Death was a known quantity here, not welcome by
any means, but understood.

I stood there holding watch over the body, reluctant to send the next
phase into motion. I knew what would happen the moment I left the room.
Word would spread, and the nightmare would continue. My thoughts and
feelings did not matter, only that the public and the Council knew.

That's what broke the spell. My duty to the others remaining remained
relevant, and the one thing I would not stand accused of is failure in
my duties. Screwing up my courage, I strode to his bedside and rolled
the body over, removing the sword slung there. Even on his deathbed, the
caninoid had refused to release it. How he slept with it on his back
I'll never know. I took a moment to study the blade and the carvings on
the hilt. Never would I stand and hear the history of the sword,
recounted by a friend slightly drunk and somber. Satisfied, I pulled the
belt from the headboard and removed the palm computer from its pouch.
This was his true weapon, the one we feared more then the sword. Many a
prolonged revenge and plot device had come from the screen of this
thing, and only a few could hope to command its power. I wisely left it
closed, not wanting to find out if he had some final riff waiting.

I left the room then, nodding at the group gathered a respectful
distance down the hall. No doubt they had been waiting from the moment
the healer came in to check on the machine's alarms. With head held
high, I strode to the lifts, on my way to the council chambers to
personally announce Fianna's death. The sword, I was content to carry at
my side, the computer in my other paw.

I arrived at chambers unsuprised to see the entire Council waiting,
undoubtedly called when the healer had intruded. Lord KIanar rose
respectfully from his chair as the other seated members did as well.
Thundercats all, they ranged in size and strength, even including a
single human in their midst. Above the collected assembly, the paintings
of the founders stared down, all framed in black. From the center stared
Ted Wolf and marching away from his left and right the frames contained
other authors, some well known to the public at large, others relative
unknowns who were remembered only by the inscriptions and archives.
Below the authors hung the pictures of the first Third Earth
Thundercats, the painting of Lion-o hanging directly under Wolf. Beside
him hung Tygra on his right and Panthro on his left, nearly all framed
in black.

All except two. Fianna's painting had been removed from the wall and
was resting on a floor stand below where it would have hung. Mine
remained on the wall in gold as the others had before their deaths. I
took my seat and the others sat down.

"Lord Klanar," I addressed him formally. "I have the duty to report the
death of Fianna of Arwin." The table responded with a low murmuring as
the others quietly discussed this news among themselves. "I bring proof
in his weapons." I placed the sword and the computer on the table for
all to see.

"Did he die well?" Asked another Thundercat, a snow leopard named
Tamore. Klanar held his hand in the air, the spots standing out in the
bright light.

"We will have time to discuss that later." The jaguar cut him off. He
addressed me personally. "Chanur will you drape the frame?"

" I will." I rose, and as the other Thundercats watched, draped black
bunting over Fianna's picture. I then collected the weapons off the
table. "I need access to the sword chamber. These need to be secured."

"At once." Klanar answered. "Tamore, you will accompany him?"

"Of course." The snow leopard answered, rising from his chair. "I would
be honored." we left chambers, with the entire group talking in hushed
tones. I caught a slight undertone of unease, followed by some concern.

We arrived at the sword chamber and Tamore opened the coded lock. The
door opened to reveal the Sword of Omens on its rack. Surrounding it
were the weapons of others, each in their own rack along the walls. I
walked directly to the empty one and placed Fianna's sword over the
arms. A second shelf below accepted the computer exactly. This done, I
allowed a single tear to flow down my cheek as I inspected the other
weapons archived here. A pair of throwing Knives. A pointy stick. A
trident. A stone knife. Two whips. I stared, never before thinking just
how many had gone before me.

Tamore placed his hand on my shoulder. "Come, friend." He said. "There
is something more."

Tamore brought me to his quarters on one of the lower levels. I noted
the style he had decorated in was very subdued compared to some of the
other Thundercats I'd known over the years. Quiet colors, recessed
lighting, the decor of someone who takes his life seriously. My
estimation of him rose immensely.

"I want you to have these." The panther quietly intoned. He crossed the
room and pulled from a closet two items. I recognized the first
immediate.

"Fianna's axe." I noted with a critical eye, taking the weapon from him.
"I'd thought this had been lost on his quest for the sword?"

Tamore turned his eves to mine. "It was. I went looking." The look alone
was enough to silence me. I knew enough of the tale to know that the
panther's hunt had been a hard one. Again, I found myself admiring his
abilities and staunchness. I hefted the axe and swung it through the air
slowly, marvelling at the balance. If I had ever needed to chose a hand
weapon, I could have done much worse.

"I will make sure this is buried with him." The panther nodded and
thrust the second package at me, as if he feared the contents. I pulled
off the cover and stared at the cover in surprise. Fianna hadn't written
his last story with the pocket computer. On the leather bound cover was
embossed a single word in gold script.

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

Late that night I sat in my cliff-face home, listening to the winds howl
at the glass. I was comfortable enough with a fire going and a full
belly, with only the nagging doubt in my mind of just what that tale
contained. I didn't fear the tale myself, as the remaining author here I
could counter anything he had written. What bothered me was the fact
that I alone was to be the last to read his work.

Tomorrow the Thundercats will bury the body. I of course will be in
attendance, if only to lay the axe at his side. Certainly that alone
will raise eyebrows, the axe being thought lost for years. I don't care,
that weapon belongs with him. I've seen the plot there on the hill and
can truthfully say that he'd be happy there with the missus there at his
side.

I refuse to allow his legacy to die.

I opened the book and began to read.

End