It was a quiet morning, and for the first time in weary days uncounted,
a truly mild one as well. The sun shone warm and wet, there was little
breeze, and this time, Kalus knew, it was no illusion. Winter was on
the wane. If he had possessed a calendar, the day might have been
called March 12.
And though the inexorable changing of the seasons brought with it new
concerns and dangers, he resolved this day to feel some small
satisfaction in his victory over the Cold World. Perhaps victory was
not the right word, since the primal elements knew no intelligence, and
felt no pain. Still.....
Sylviana came out to join him on the ledge, which through the softening
snow, was once more discernible as the same from which she had first
surveyed the confines of her new existence, and the untamable world that
was to be the only home of her adulthood. Putting her hand through
Kalus' arm and nestling against him, both felt emotion stir inside
them, as sleeping dreams and fears alike, awoke to the possibilities of
the coming Spring.
The two looked at each other. And without speaking, both knew that the
mountains they had been forced to climb were too high, the valleys they
had endured, too abysmal and black. Somehow a quieter space must be
found, where they could rest and recover their spirits, and climb no
higher feeling than gentle warm affection and peace. Such, at least,
was their desire.
'I miss the tiger,' said Kalus quietly. 'I knew he would have
to go. But still.'
'I miss Akar,' she began. Then suddenly striking upon the heart
of her emotions. 'I miss my FATHER.' Tears welled in her eyes.
'He never knew, because I didn't. . .how much I loved him.' She
lowered her head and cried silently. 'How could I have been such a
fool?'
Feeling awkward, for all their time together, he gently took her hand
and rubbed it. For a time neither spoke. Then he said sincerely.
'If there is a God, he knows now.'
She looked up at him, so grateful, then embraced him with all the
mingled love and sorrow for persons and places forever lost, and others
found. He held her warmly, and after a time he added.
'At least the season is mild and safe. Perhaps the safest of the
year. We will be free to move about with less worry.'
'And a month from now?' she could not help asking. Then she
looked up quickly, hoping she had not repaid his kindness unfairly.
'It's all right,' he said, knowing her enough by now to read
this in her face. 'In a month I will think of something else. I ask
only this: that you don't punish yourself for what is gone, and what
can never be..... Don't worry for the future, at least today.'
'All right.' She turned toward him, taking both his hands in hers.
'Did I ever tell YOU, Kalus? That I love. . .you?' She looked
into his eyes, her spirit naked before him.
'Yes, my sweet Sylviana. Though you never said the words like this,
you told me many times. You showed me.' He struggled. 'You know
that I would die for you---' She put a finger to his lips.
'Live for me, instead.' And they quietly embraced.
A moment later, Sylviana saw beyond his shoulder the outline of what
appeared to be a stalking predator. The image yet unresolved through
her tears, it dropped slinking down into the gorge.
'Kalus. Something's coming this way.' He turned quickly, and
she pointed. He drew his sword, and put her behind him with his arm.
He was about to tell her to withdraw, when something in the shadowy
movements struck a familiar chord inside him. His eyes brightened, then
he smiled outright. Once more the mad happiness engulfed him.
'It's Avatar!'
'Yes.'
'And there's no trace of a limp. He's moving the way a great
cat should. See him climb!'
But as the striped form drew on, showing no sign of either fear or
recognition, she felt a tremor of doubt. Surely the tiger they had
known was not so large and supple. Yet as it slowed its movements and
broke again into sunlight, she recognized the eyes and striped markings
of their friend. Before she could ask, Kalus answered her.
'He's nearly full grown now. A few more months and no grizzly
will dare to stand up to him.' Looking at the powerful creature so
close at hand, she found this easy to believe. For all her familiarity
and trust, she could not help but feel a certain awe and fear. Even the
muscles in Kalus' arm tensed involuntarily, as it came to a halt
perhaps a dozen feet away. But the tension was not lasting. Sheathing
his sword, he spoke its name and began to advance toward it.
But at this the tiger turned away curiously, as if to retreat. Once
more he gestured and spoke to it, but upon trying to come closer the
result was the same.
'I think he wants me to follow him. I don't understand his
urgency, but I think that I should. Will you be all right?'
'Yes. Be careful. What about Alaska?'
'Keep her here with you, until I find out what he's trying to tell
me.' Turning one last time. 'I love you.'
'Go on, will you? And watch where you're going, you're going
to break your neck.'
'All right. Goodbye.' He slowly disappeared among the shadows of
the gorge.
*
The tiger had begun by leading him southward along the bottom of the
gorge. He kept waiting for it to turn away westward, or double back
upon its tracks, since the sandstone hills that formed the southern
border of his world were the unsleeping realm of the mountain cats. And
though the tiger was the match of any unaltered creature of the winter
forests, these powerful, saber-toothed throwbacks were not to be tested.
And at the point where the sandstone and granite ridges met..... He
could not even think about that. With every step he became more leery,
and whispered as loudly as he dared for the tiger to stop and turn back.
But to his utter dismay, it held fast to the deepening gorge until the
end.
Like a nightmare Kalus' felt his fears surround him, and all hope and
safety slip behind. The walls at either hand became too steep to climb.
His messenger and guide, who for its own sake he dared not abandon,
refused to heed his warnings. The shadows grew deeper, and up ahead he
began to describe, half in fearful imagination, half in stark reality,
the outline of the darkest shadow that yet lived in all the Valley.
Like a hole broken in the side of some ancient subterranean dungeon,
straight ahead of him, larger than natural life, he saw the yawning
blackness of the Commodores' cave. Only once before, as an
adolescent, had he observed it, from the high western wall. And when
the side-winding, forty foot reptile had sauntered out, tasting the hot
summer air with its tongue, he had run like the fleetest antelope,
oblivious to the singular (and dangerous) spectacle he made, his one
desire to be as far from the killing serpent as possible. His more
recent encounter had only galvanized his fears.
Yet here he was, after years of struggle on the brink of a personal
victory, with love and hope in sight, being drawn irresistibly to the
one place above all others that he was loathe to go. Indeed, it was the
peril of these Winter-sleeping creatures that made him most uneasy in
thoughts of the coming Spring.
His anger and fear merged into maddening exasperation, but still the
tiger plodded forward, heedless. It reached the dark overhang of
sandstone and gazed back at him. Yet again he repeated the gestures of
withdrawal, made unable by the consequences to speak. The tiger nodded
its understanding, or seemed to, but then to his horror and final
consternation, dove headlong into the grinning maw of death.
Once again Kalus was faced with the terrible choice: loyalty to one he
loved, or survival for himself. He stood trembling on the threshold,
frozen with fear and burning with inner conflict. He looked back upon
the sunlit world and thought of his home: of his woman, and the cub.
But what kind of home would it be if he abandoned his friend at greatest
need? Swallowing hard a cry of rage to deaf gods, he drew out the ready
steel of his sword, and plunged into darkness.
*
The hollow funnel of the passage had been worn flat by the years, and by
the constant passing of the inscrutable reptiles. Kalus saw and heard
nothing---only the pounding of his heart, and the gentle rasp of his fur
boots against the life-dry sandstone. He moved by sense of feel and
air, in times of doubt probing ahead of him with the sword. How far
ahead the tiger had gone he had no way of knowing. And more and more he
began to feel that if he must come upon the scene of its shadow-sprung
peril, he would at least come upon it after, and in silence. He
crouched lower and (if possible) stalked more quietly, advancing in a
state of warlike readiness.
How far he walked he could not say. But suddenly, or perhaps only made
sudden by the final acceptance of a half believed message from his eyes,
he became aware of a soft light in the distance. This morning-like glow
held fast at the edge of sight, and as he drew closer, began by slow
degrees to reveal its source. Ahead of him the funnel reached its
narrowest point, a squarish hole still broad enough for five men to pass
abreast, that opened into a deepening expanse. Coming toward the
rising, hard-rock lip of it, he went down on his belly, crawled forward,
and looked over into the heart of the thing he feared.
There are times when a man's worst fears are justified, and when he
cannot, with any hope of survival, confront them. But often through
patience, perseverance, and the fullness of time, the antithesis of his
life can be worn down, altered, or made in the end less terrible. And
while it is the height of foolishness for any man to laugh in the face
of death, neither must he deify the many smaller deaths of Fear.
There in the sunken center, the stage, as it were, of this vaulted
subterranean amphitheater, stood the tiger on a patch of sandy earth,
among a tangle of living scrub. A soft and warm light shone down on him
through a broad opening in the stone overhead. Nor was it a mere hole
to the world beyond. Through one of the many wonders of Nature, a vein
of crystalline quartz interceded, allowing the sun's light to pass,
while gathering and holding a fair measure of its warmth.
All these things he observed in the time it took for his eyes to adjust
to what seemed a blinding glare, though in reality it was many shades
lighter than the unfiltered sunlight. He had not yet seen the shadows:
the tiger was not alone.
There, stretched lengthwise amid recessions in the descending,
stair-like levels, as if the whole of a deceased family among the
layered shelvings of a crypt, a full score of the dreadful reptiles lay
sleeping. It was a sight to freeze the blood, but for one odd detail
which their considerable girth clearly illustrated. THEY DID NOT
BREATHE. Or if they did, it was so infrequently that in the
considerable time he watched he never saw it. No heave or swell of the
elastic ribs and dry, loose-fitting skin could be seen, even where an
entire flank stood out against the unshaded light from above. BUT
SURELY THEY WERE NOT DEAD. No sign of decay could be seen on them, nor
any apparent cause of death.
Sylviana had told him of the aquatic lizards of the Galapagos Islands,
who when diving for the sea vegetation which sustained them could hold
their breath for an hour or more, even stopping their heartbeat to do
so. But even this did not fully explain the phenomenon by which these
enormous, cold-blooded creatures could remain suspended for the nearly
six month period when the world outside became to them untenable, or
reveal the inner clock that told them to wake once more, and slowly
revive into a living state.
The tiger, who had discovered this place on that first, bitter wandering
from the man-child's cave, being drawn by its warmth and shelter, had
no need for such questions, and simply accepted the fact. He had
returned one time since, and in his animal way reasoned that these, like
all hibernating creatures, would not be stirring until the weather
turned warm. And now that the time had come for him to return again
northward, to the long forests where Winter hardly waned, he desired to
give some last gift to his friend, who had helped bring him back to the
world of the living. This gift was the magic of the green, budding
cactus which on that troubled night had opened his mind to show him that
his own feelings, as well as the strange company who had taken him in,
could be trusted. He looked up at the Kalus placidly, waiting for him
to come down.
Kalus stood regarding the scene some moments longer. Though he slowly
reasoned that the danger was remote, or at least not immediate, a den of
dragons, be they live, dead or sleeping, is not to be entered lightly.
And he could not imagine why the tiger had brought him here. At last he
began to descend, though warily, all the time watching the silent shapes
for any sign of movement or consciousness. There were none. He came to
the dry, earthy disc in the bowl's center, and approached the tiger.
His expression and body language were taut as he said. 'Why, Avatar?
Why, of all the places you have ever been, did you bring me here?'
In mute reply the tiger carefully took one of the buds in his teeth and
plucked it free, as on that night he had done, seeking the moisture and
sustenance within. Then began to chew, curling his lip and tongue in
reaction to the bitter taste. But the taste had been bitter on that
first night as well.
Kalus knelt to examine the plant, and the special part that his friend
had eaten. YOU BROUGHT ME HERE TO TASTE THE FRUIT OF A GNARLED DESERT?
he thought curiously. For so it seemed to him. But looking into the
deep, mysterious eyes of the tiger, and again at the strange plant he
had never seen, he wondered. Using the hunting knife he carefully cut
away several of the buds, placing them in his pouch. He was tempted to
put the last in his mouth, but something warned him off. Not until I am
free of this place, he thought, and the tiger seemed to understand.
Together they withdrew, to ride the dragon's wing.
*
The four of them stood again on the ledge, the cub jumping playfully at
the tiger's face. Avatar patiently eluded the mock biting, and
pushed her away with softened claws. Like Akar before him, he too found
it hard to leave them, and still harder to expression the affection and
gratitude he felt.
Retrieving the cub, Kalus knelt directly in front of him and gently,
cautiously stroked the great head. 'Don't worry,' he said.
'I understand your silence better than many who can speak. I know
you have to leave. And I'm proud, so very proud that I could help
you, and be a part of your life. I will never forget you.' He put his
face against its shoulder, and let a few tears pass. 'It's the
way of it, my friend. But wherever you go, a part of me will always
follow.'
The tiger stood still, confused, but he did not pull away. Again their
eyes met, and in that moment it seemed that the two worlds, animal and
man, could truly touch. The tiger pulled back slowly. Kalus raised
himself and took a deep breath.
'Goodbye,' said Sylviana. 'I know you can't
understand. . .but you gave back to me someone very dear.'
The tiger turned and retreated down the slope, as human eyes felt again
the bittersweet flow of mortal life.