Tyr Redux

by

Tiffany Park

Tyr screamed in rage as he fell down the endless chasm. The Abyss had fulfilled its end of the deal they had struck, but in doing so had twisted the terms and defied rational expectations. It had allowed Dylan Hunt and his mindless sycophants to shoot Tyr, sending him over the edge of the ravine.

Tyr would escape the Abyss's dimension of nightmares. Death was one way out. The only way, for him.

Down, down, down.

There was too much time. Time for regrets, for contemplation, for introspection and self-analysis.

Too much time...

Time to recall family, friends, and enemies. Time to examine the fine line that separated them. Sometimes nothing separated them at all.

"Will this cursed fall never end?" Tyr shouted to the universe at large. "Be done with it, already!"

The ground rushed up to meet him.

All thought, all sensation, ceased.

Nothing.

For an eternity, there was nothing.

Awareness returned gradually. Tyr felt himself floating upside down in a warm, wet cocoon. Fluid surrounded him, glowing with dark, reddish light. Sounds came to him muted and distorted by the liquid. From overhead he heard a deep, rhythmic beating. A strangely comforting sound. Lulled by that steady pulse, he let his mind drift into a semi-hypnotic state.

What a strange place this is, he thought absently. He pushed his feet against the cocoon's wall, then pulled them back. The cocoon stretched with him, out and in, like elastic. It snugged up against him, soft and warm. Cozy.

A strange place, but nice, he thought. He was safe here.

Safe? Where had that thought come from? Safe from what? He couldn't remember. Something had endangered him, he was sure, but he couldn't recall it now. How odd. He'd always had an excellent memory.

Disquiet threaded its way through him. And tension. Something was going to happen. Something important.

Soon.

The walls of the cocoon pressed in on him. The beating sound increased its tempo, faster and faster, becoming louder and louder. His formerly safe haven squeezed him tight, so tight he feared it would crush him.

In the midst of panic, he saw a new light. Brilliant, white, it pierced the red glow, called to him, welcomed him. He had to go to it. He had to!

The cocoon relaxed, then squeezed again, hard, pushing him toward the white light. It hurt; oh, how it hurt. He embraced the pain, knowing it would lead him to his destiny. His head was forced into a tight, wet channel. The tunnel to the light.

Infinity passed him by as the cocoon squeezed and relaxed, squeezed and relaxed. Pressing, pushing, forcing him into the tunnel. Slick, hot moisture eased his way. His head was engulfed, then his shoulders, then his torso. He felt a cool breeze at the very top of his head.

Then his head burst through the tunnel, out into the light. A maelstrom of chaos crashed into him as he entered Hell. Sight and sound and pain and cold and hot and wet and harsh iron reek. Colors, noise, the tunnel crushing him, crushing him, slime all around him, coating him, clogging his mouth and nose, choking him. Groaning, screaming, shouting. Hands grasping him, as the rest of his body finally slipped from the treacherous tunnel into the terrible light of this new nightmare reality.

He let out a roar of pain and anger, terror and betrayal, and was startled to hear a high-pitched wail. He tried again. Same result, only this time his cry was even shriller. For a while, he indulged himself, shrieking out his temper and frustration. He tried to strike out, but his arms and legs would not obey him. He couldn't even lift his head. His whole body felt heavy, strangely uncoordinated and terribly, terribly weak. He tired quickly, and let his eyelids droop shut.

He felt himself handled, wiped clean with a soft cloth and wrapped in a cozy blanket, and then held in gentle arms.

A woman's strong voice said, "You have a son."

A son? Tamerlane? Tyr forced open his eyes at that fragment of memory.

Unfamiliar giants stared down at him.

A woman's exhausted and pain-lined face loomed in close to his. "Hello, little one," she said. Despite her evident weariness, her voice was like celestial music. He couldn't help but be fascinated by it, by her. Her arms around him felt perfect, like Heaven. She spoke again: "I'm your mother."

His... mother?

Another woman, weary, but not drained to lassitude, leaned over him and the woman who claimed to be his mother. The second woman said, "You should both rest now." Her voice was the first he'd heard, the one who had announced his birth. A midwife.

"My son," murmured the tired woman who held him.

She cuddled him. It felt good. Warm and cozy. He stared up at her in wonder. This woman was his mother. His new mother.

No!

This woman was NOT his mother. She would never be his mother. His real mother was... was... He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember?

What was he supposed to remember?

In despair, he wailed.

"There, there," the woman comforted him. She bounced and rocked him gently, murmuring nonsense words to him. She was so warm. She smelled so good. He stopped crying and snuffled, relaxing into her embrace. He yawned.

Nothing mattered but the warmth, the arms cradling him against the soft body. His thoughts grew vague and misty, and drifted away. He didn't try to hold onto them. He was so sleepy. He made a little noise, a gurgling coo, and it seemed so natural, so right.

He looked up at the pretty lady who held him. Mother. He cooed again.

"Oh, he's so sweet," the midwife said. "Have you chosen a name for him?"

Mother smiled. "Ronon. His name is Ronon." She tucked the blanket closer around him. He snuggled deeper into her arms, and the last vestiges of Tyr Anasazi, out of Victoria by Barbarossa, faded away as he heard Mother say, "Welcome to the world, my little Ronon Dex."

*** end ***

July, 2005

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