From her cross-legged position upon the floor of their bedroom, she stared up at her brother, lifting her hands to him. Between them stretched a loop of string, woven between her fingers in a complex but age-old pattern. It was the start of a game a few Wollo children had taught her. Ironically, its name was no longer remembered.
Her twin paid her no heed. He lay on his stomach upon his bed, propping his head up with his elbows, absorbed in a large, musty book opened in front of him.
“Kat,” she tried once more, louder and noticeably more querulous.
He glanced up with a start and blinked a couple of times, his expression far away as though a part of his mind still lingered in a realm of dreams. “What?”
“I’m bored. Come on, let’s play.”
His gaze strayed toward the window, and the damp and overcast scenery it framed. It was still raining; no wonder she was touchy. “All right,” he relented, shifting slightly and leaning over the edge of the bed to pinch and loop his fingers through the string, creating a different pattern between his own hands.
“What’s so interesting in that old book, anyway?” she questioned, continuing the exchange of string and fanciful designs. “All this time we’ve been stuck inside, you’ve been burying your nose in it.”
“Thunderian history,” he answered hesitantly, mentally anticipating her response.
Wilykit was not one to disappoint.“I really don’t understand you sometimes,” she declared, her nose scrunching slightly in distaste. “Don’t we have to hear enough about that already?”
“The adults never told us about this stuff.”He stared at her intently.
She returned the gaze with a curious one of her own.“What kind of stuff?” she asked in a gentler tone, momentarily forgetting about relieving the string from his hands.
He wriggled off of the bed and sat down across from her, his back resting against his former perch. In the meantime, he was careful to keep the loops of string from slipping off his fingers. “Well, here’s one thing: a real long time ago, the ThunderCats were sort of like a police force, making sure that everybody obeyed the Code of Thundera at all times. Some of them— the Inquisitors— were specially assigned to track down anybody who broke it and then punish them publicly, to make an example out of them.”
“Punish them?” Her voice had fallen to an anxious but eager half-whisper, her eyes remaining locked on his even as she fumbled with the string. “How?”
“However they wanted.” Wilykat cast a nervous glance toward the door of their room, closed and yet somehow vulnerable. “First, they’d start breaking bones until the prisoner admitted his crime. Then, they’d usually think of something fitting to do to him— like, cutting out his tongue if he had told a lie. Then after that, if they decided the prisoner’s offense was severe enough... they’d pour oil on him and light him on fire.”
Taking in her startled expression for a few moments, so humbled from its usual haughtiness, he could no longer restrain himself. He cracked a grin and began to laugh. His sister was less than amused. “You jerk!” she exclaimed, freeing one hand from the bond of string to slap him on the shoulder. “Thought you had me going, didn’t you?”
“Hey! I wasn’t kidding! It’s just—”
“Oh, just admit it already. That book doesn’t say anything like that. You were trying to scare me.” She folded her arms and closed her eyes.
He reached behind himself and pulled down the heavy old book. “Well, here. Why don’t you see for yourself?” he offered, holding it out to her.
She opened one eye inquisitively, then the other. “Hmph. No thanks.” She stood, tossing the unwound string carelessly to the floor.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know.” She stepped toward the door and disappeared beyond it.
He looked after her for a moment or two, debating whether to follow, but eventually decided against it. When his sister was in such a restless mood, it was often best to keep one’s distance. Especially after she had been witnessed in one of her more vulnerable states.
A part of him regretted the laughter, all the more so since she did not believe him because of it, but he also knew that, in a way,
it had been necessary. His sister had been too proud to recognize it for what it was— a defense mechanism, his own way of coping with difficult things. He had laughed at her momentary weakness, but not because he had found it humorous. It was because it had
disturbed him, making the short tale he had related to her all the more sinister.
Sinister, and yet tantalizing. Driven by a strange but universal eagerness to know more despite or perhaps because of the gruesome details, he cracked open the old tome— one borrowed from Tygra’s collection that had so far gone
unmissed— and returned to his reading.
* * *
Kit wandered aimlessly, stepping automatically down corridors and around bends as her mind vacationed elsewhere, deciding what might be done within the confines of her home to keep busy until a sunnier sky returned. She could always go and help Snarf with some odd job or another, but at the time she was loath to assist in any sort of housework, and felt instantly fatigued and annoyed just thinking about it. The adults were all likely busy with this or that, things they did not need or want her help with, and her brother would only be interested in telling her more stupid ghost stories, as many as might be crammed within that nasty old book. She supposed she was on her own for the time being.
Thoroughly out of ideas, she settled herself to explore.
Brain resumed command of body, and she decided to search through as many rooms as she could, excluding the ones whose doors were
locked...
...but not necessarily the ones from which she and her twin were told to keep away. What could be the harm of just looking? she told herself, a surge of adrenaline tearing through her system as she approached the first and closest forbidden door.
She reached for the opening mechanism, her fingers hovering within inches of it.
No, not yet. I’ll save it for later.
Wilykit rarely exercised self-discipline, content instead to satisfy each and every whim as it came to mind. Yet, at the same time, she both loved and hated a feeling of suspense, with a mounting thrill she was just strong enough to restrain for a time, and a seething, underlying impatience that somehow made the experience that much greater. So she resolved to wait a while before entering that room— she had already waited so long; what was another few minutes?— and instead occupied herself with the scenery and contents of several other chambers along the same stretch of hallway.
Each was cast in the same general gloom as the outdoors, or was kept even darker, reminding her of a few spelunking excursions she had taken with her brother, only there was more to these particular chambers than stalactites and the occasional subterranean pool. Her eyes drifted over books, papers, various
artifacts of her homeworld. She dug through storage crates filmed over with dust and discovered more of the same, along with photographs, shredded notes, large rocks, and fragments of metal. Bits and pieces of Thundera. So much to want to hang on
to. That’s how it is when you have to move on, she mused absent-mindedly. But
it’s tough to know what’s right to keep sometimes. There’s a lot that you’re better off leaving behind.
Her brother’s story entered her thoughts. She fought off a shiver.
Had it been any other idea, she may have been so caught up in the rummaging that she would have forgotten it. But the thought of her big adventure for that afternoon had planted itself like a seed in the back of her mind, a seed
that eventually sprouted and had at last grown tall, imploring her to take notice. She decided she had waited long enough, and quickly but carefully returned the items to their boxes, repositioning them as well as she could remember. Satisfied that no one would know of her intrusion, the girl dashed out for parts unknown.
Skidding to a stop before the door, she first put an ear to it and listened for a few moments, opening and proceeding within only after she was certain that no soul rested beyond it. All was cast in darkness, as there were no windows to feed the chamber the sickened gray sunshine that filtered through the thinning storm clouds. She fumbled along the wall to her left for a switch, then tried for one to her right instead. At last, her fingers slipped against one, and the blackened room was suddenly awash in cold white light.
Wide-eyed, she reached behind herself to slide the door shut, unwilling to separate herself from the sight of what filled the large chamber. Undoubtedly it was one of Panthro’s projects, past or present, rejected or ongoing. It seemed to be a vehicle of sorts, a chrome monstrosity with little of the elegance of his earlier designs. Its broad, convex glass canopy had been
polished to a mirror shine, reflecting much of the light from the ceiling, along with her own timid form, slightly warped and distorted. Noticing as much, she straightened herself to her full height with a defiant air, taking a few tentative steps forward.
She could see no wheels, and so guessed that it flew. Oblique wing-like projections
from the sides of the craft confirmed the suspicion. Studying their design, she frowned; they seemed animalistic— bony frames with thinner sheets of metal stretching between them like webbing. Almost like—
A bat?
The girl’s eye was drawn upward to her image in the metal and glass more than once. Through the canopy, she could make out faintly the outline of the cockpit. She had a sudden desire to get a good, close
look at it. There would be no suspense this time. She immediately began running her fingers along the border of glass, seeking some sort of release latch. Finding none, she pushed upward experimentally, and to her delight the canopy rose with little effort, stopping and locking in place once it reached the extent of its hinging range.
The cockpit was largely unfinished. A single chair had been installed within, but far enough to the left side of the craft to suggest that it would one day have a partner. Many control panels were complete, while some had yet to be installed, multicolored jumbles of wire hanging loose like spilt entrails. Kit observed all of this from the right side of the vehicle, straining on her tiptoes to obtain a better view, but was as yet unsatisfied. Placing her hands along the rim of the cockpit, she vaulted up, leaning over the rim on her midsection as she prepared to slide herself inside.
All at once, however, something gave. Inexplicably, the right side of the incomplete machine groaned and buckled under her slight weight, dropping with a violent jolt. Wilykit gave a startled cry, losing her grip and falling backward. She landed painfully on her back, to her great fortune. The sudden collapse also brought down the thick canopy like the blade of a guillotine, which slammed into place violently enough to produce several jagged cracks along its base.
Horrified, the girl barely gave a thought to her aching joints or her near escape from something far worse. She dragged herself to her feet and tore from the room, forgetting even to turn the light off behind herself, a fear
greater than that of death spurring her onward.
* * *
Wilykit struggled to lessen the tremble in her hands as she picked up the cup of water Snarf had set out for her and put it to her lips. She barely felt the liquid stream
into her mouth and down her throat, even though it had been so parched just a moment before. From her seat at the kitchen table, she tried to concentrate on the nursemaid as he bustled about, attending to this and that, but he soon became a blurred red splotch in her vision as her eyes defocused and her mind wandered.
Maybe he won’t— no, he’ll notice, all right. Well, I can’t repair the
thing. Maybe I could jam up the lock on the door... no, then he’ll get even angrier and know it was me. Well, maybe he’s not working on it anymore. Maybe he’s taking it apart so he can use the parts on something else... yeah... but, oh gosh, what if he isn’t?
“Wilykit?”
She snapped to attention and found Snarf raised up upon the tip of his tail, glancing at her curiously. “Uh... yeah?”
“I asked if you wanted more water. It seems you’re awfully thirsty today. Maybe you should have another glass just in case you’re dehydrated, and I’ll—”
“No, I’m fine now, really.” She forced a smile.“Just a little... tired, I guess.”
“Is that so? Well, helping old Snarf with some chores ought to perk you right up!” He scampered over to a nearby corner, picking up a small broom that rested there and turning back to her. “If you wouldn’t mind sweeping around
the—”
“Snarf? Have you—”
Normally, any interruption at that point in time would have been a welcome one to the kitten. When she watched Panthro enter the kitchen, however, she could have melted with fright. The mechanic wore a stern expression, fiery and yet reserved, that clearly meant business— and woe to the wretched creature that dared get in his way.
He stalked toward the snarf and suddenly flaccid girl, training his glare on the latter. “Never mind. I see one of them’s right here.”
“What’s going on, Panthro?” Snarf wished to know, his tail tapping nervously against the cold floor tile.
He was ignored as the elder ThunderCat trained the whole of his intimidating aura on Wilykit. “What have you been up to today?”
“Uh...” She struggled to find words. “I was with Wilykat, then... I, uh, made my way here.”
“And what exactly were you and Wilykat doing?”
“Nothing! I mean, we were—”
“Did you go anywhere new today, for a little fun?”
“N-No, of course n—”
“Listen very carefully. Did you, or did you not, wander into any rooms which I have specifically told you never to enter?” His voice remained level, his demeanor unchanged except for a dramatic flash of anger in his eyes.
Despite her remarkable strength of will, Wilykit was on the verge of breaking. When Panthro was hell-bent on discovering something, no one had a chance of holding out for
any real length of time. Her instinct of self-preservation kicked in, rapidly scanning her possible alternatives in a desperate attempt to avoid the panther’s ire...
That is when she hit upon it. A wonderful idea. A terrible, wonderful idea.
Her panic began to subside quickly, and her expression soon became one of tranquil innocence. “Well, I sure didn’t,” she spoke as she looked her interrogator straight in the eye, amazed at how smooth she sounded. “But I can’t say the same for Kat. He said he was bored and was gonna go look for something to do. I just came here.”
“She has been here for some time now, Panthro,” Snarf chimed in hesitantly with a low purr.
“Is that so?” He glanced between them suspiciously, searching for the least sign of
faltering or nervousness, but found none. “I may be back,” he called flatly over his shoulder as he turned and left the room at a furious clip.
“Hmm. Strange...” Snarf eyed Wilykit askance. “I sure hope neither of you
has done anything you’ll regret.”
“No, I know Wilykat wouldn’t have gone anywhere he shouldn’t,” she replied generously.
“Well... here,” he replied, handing her the broom. “Let’s make sure you stay out of
trouble— for the rest of the afternoon, at least. When you’re done in here, go sweep the dining room and the Council chamber. Oh, and the foyer
could use it too, and maybe also...”
She tuned him out at length, standing and beginning to sweep under the table. A strange and satisfying fire burned in her heart and surged through her veins. She congratulated herself on her quick thinking, and on the subsequent revenge she would soon wreak.
That oughta teach you to scare me. Let’s see how you like it.
TRUTH