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He was rudely ripped away as a group of wildebeest crashed into him, bearing him off into the dust.
“DAD!” Simba screamed, horrified. He searched the ground desperately, his eyes continually drawn by the passing wildebeest. Nothing. And nothing. And still nothing. Oh gods, where was he?!
Mufasa’s legs hurt, his heart pounded, and his lungs were about to burst. He managed to see an exit. "Oh gods!"
A rumbling roar tore at the air as he launched himself through the air, slamming into the rock wall of the gorge and driving the air from his lungs. He paused a minute, then scrabbled his way up the slope, fighting for purchase. He began to slip down ever so slowly, and desperately fought the pull of his own weight. "Help me! God help me!"
Taka paced slowly along the gorge wall, observing the turn of events. This was not supposed to happen, not at ALL. Not only had Simba escaped injury, but his oaf of a brother had fought his way clear of the stampede and was making his way to safety even now.
A whisper spoke in his brain. “And what happens when he finds out about the surprise that he was supposed to have?”
“I don’t know,” Taka muttered.
“Yes you do. He’ll finish you. You have to kill him NOW, before it’s too late!”
“No! I’ve messed things up enough already.”
“Would you rather die? This goes far beyond banishment, imbecile. This is treason. Kill him!!”
Taka stood uncertainly at the edge of the cliff, watching as Mufasa dragged his way up, unaware of the shadow which pooled behind him, black as midnight despite the dust which obscured the sun’s rays. He felt a sudden urge to plunge into the herd below and end this insane dance once and for all. No more pain.
“Scar!!”
Snapping out of his reverie, he looked to see Mufasa just below him. The huge muscular legs scrabbled desperately for purchase, finding none.
“Brother!! Help me!”
“Ohh, so now it’s ‘brother,’” Taka thought, a red haze of hatred obscuring his vision. “Fat lot of good all that strength does you now, eh?”
“Scar!! Please!!”
Taka glared at the lion below him. He had a vivid memory of Mufasa’s rage as he shouted, “Is that a challenge?”
At the time, he’d meekly said, “Oh, I wouldn’t DREAM of challenging you!” Now he not only dreamed it. It was within his grasp. For a while he enjoyed the feeling of power. He gloried in the turn of the tide.
Taka lunged down, burying his claws knuckle deep in Mufasa’s forelegs. Mufasa shrieked in pain as he felt the needle sharp claws tear into his flesh. Warm blood began to run down his legs as he stared into Taka’s face, uncomprehending.
Taka’s face split into a grin. Slowly, viciously, he intoned, “Long live the king.”
Mufasa looked pleadingly at Taka. Only then did he realize that Taka hated him and wanted him dead. His jaw trembled.
He was ripped from the wall and flung outwards, the sky and ground exchanging places rapidly, a shriek of horror following him down, down into the living torrent.
The air blistered and rippled nearby, several wildebeest shying away as Mano plunged into the canyon, crying out soundlessly as he saw Ahadi’s son vanishing into the stampede. He ran towards the spot, passing through several animals.
He padded up slowly, peering through the swirling dust as the last of the wildebeest shot past. Tears sprang to his eyes as he saw the magnificent body lying in a bloody sprawl at the base of the tree which had borne Simba up long enough for Mufasa to rescue him. Mano saw that Mufasa was mortally wounded. He came close and nuzzled the torn face, which responded slowly. Mufasa painfully lifted his head, eyes dawning with recognition as he saw the white lion standing before him. The silver-blue eyes looked kindly into his amber ones as he felt the pain slip away.
“Sleep, my friend.” Mano kissed his cheek and bore the great head to the ground with his paw. There was a moments hesitation, then the broken body breathed its last and was still.
There was an electric feeling of anticipation in the air, and suddenly Mufasa’s Ka was before him, whole and magnificent, untouched by pain or worry. The shook himself uncertainly, feeling the tingle upon his skin of the spirit which stood before him. He lowered his head and extended a forepaw. “Incosi Mano. I touch your mane.”
“I feel it.” Mano nuzzled him gently. “You must come with me.”
Mufasa moved to join him, but was stopped short as he beheld his son coming through the dusty air, crying his name. “Simba! I must go to him! I must go to him!”
“No!” Mano restrained him with a paw. “You must NOT go to him. You have gone down the left fork, and he is headed down the right. But I will find a way out for him.”
CHAPTER 38: AMONG THE DUNES
CHAPTER 39: ASLEEP ON THE JOB
CHAPTER 40: ALONE
CHAPTER 41: FRIENDS IN NEED
“Pumbaa, come ON,” Timon groaned. “The ground’s as dry as a bone, now; we’re not gonna find any more bugs out here.”
“I don’t know...” Pumbaa’s voice was filled with doubt. “We found that beetle a little while ago, remember?”
“‘A little while ago?!’ That was two hours ago! I’m fried!” Timon continued to gripe as the foraged listlessly among the cracked and dried flats. A brief rain had sprung up this morning, the dry ground greedily soaking up the moisture and driving the insects out in droves. The meerkat and warthog had delighted in this banquet, at least until the sun emerged again. The insects had vanished with the water, the ground drying into the haphazard mosaic that lay before them, baked hard now in the glaring sun.
Sighing, Timon leaned down to try again when faint movement caught his eyes. He skittered up Pumbaa’s back to perch atop his head, shading his eyes in the glare.
“H-Hey!” Pumbaa, laughed. “That tickles!”
“Hush!” Timon squinted. “A-HA! Buzzards!”
Pumbaa grimaced. “Ewww! I hate buzzards.”
“Pumbaa!” Timon tapped his friend’s head reproachfully. “We do not speak ill of those who might show us where to find some goodies.”
“Huh?”
“They might be giving us a pointer on where we might locate a leftover culinary delight!” Timon’s stomach growled in anticipation.
“Awwww!” Pumbaa looked downcast. “I was hoping they might show us where to find some food.”
The meerkat sighed. “Just head thataway.”
Pumbaa trotted off obligingly, heading towards the circling birds, who were beginning to descend, a sure sign that whatever they had been stalking was about to expire. Fresh meat! Timon shook the rough mane on Pumbaa’s shoulders with glee. “Oh boy oh boy! We’re gonna eat right today, pal, just you wait!”
Pumbaa halted suddenly, nearly sending Timon overboard. “Why do I have to wait?! Who says YOU eat first?!”
“No, no! Just forget it and head for the buzzards before they get the good stuff!” Timon seized Pumbaa’s ears and flicked them, kicking his heels into the warthog’s neck. “YAHHHH!!!”
Pumbaa accelerated, a horrendous war cry of his own issuing from his mouth as the two charged into the pack of jostling birds, sending them scattering in disarray, feathers flying as they squawked an indignant protest back at the two. Ignoring this, the duo checked around themselves for any malingerers, then relaxed, Timon chuckling at the sight.
“I love it!” Pumbaa snorted in mirth. “Bowling for buzzards!”
Timon guffawed. “Gets ‘em every time!” He proceeded to brush himself off as Pumbaa examined the carcass that lay at their feet. “Uh-oh. Hey Timon! You better come look. I think it’s still alive.”
The meerkat drew up involuntarily. “Yeesh!” Steeling himself, he meandered over, trying to look nonchalant. After all, Pumbaa WAS watching.
“Allrighty, whatta we got here?” Bending low, he sniffed the air carefully. The scent filled his nostrils; something exotic, but vaguely familiar. But alive, he could tell that much. Shrugging, he wriggled under the paw that covered the creature’s face and strained, lifting...
...and saw the soft furry features, the whiskers, and the tip of one ivory fang protruding over the lower lip. His blood ran cold as he dropped the paw, staggering back in terror.
“Jeez, it’s a LION!”
CHAPTER 42: GAZELLE EYES
CHAPTER 43: ATTENDANCE IS REQUIRED
Meanwhile Fabana, Shenzi and Banzai moved among the hyenas. They spread the word to all: “Important Clan meeting at high moon. Attendance is required.”
Amarakh was having a playful wrestling bout with her husband when Ber came by. “Roh’mach, do you have a moment?”
She looked up, peeved. “Can’t I have a life of my own?”
“I’m sorry, My Lady. I’ll ask you tonight at the clan meeting.”
“I didn’t call a clan meeting.”
“Well everyone else says you did. And that it’s very important.”
“Who told you?”
“Fabana.”
Amarakh sighed, kissed her husband, and said, “I’ll be back in a minute. Remember where we were.”
The Roh’mach went around looking for Fabana. She expected to trace down the source of the rumor and find out who dared to mock her. She was in for a great surprise when she finally found Fabana.
“Fay, what’s this about a clan meeting? Who told you?”
Fabana straightened with pride. “Roh’kash herself.”
“What??” Amarakh’s hackles raised. “Let me scratch my ears. I must have wax in them.”
“No, My Lady. Tonight at high moon, The Lord herself is going to address us on a matter of great importance.”
“If you say so,” Amarakh said dubiously. “Let’s just say I hope She shows up for your sake. Otherwise, I’m going to be pretty put out with you, hon.” She softened her tone. “I know it’s been hard on you raising that family of yours alone. Especially the way Jal died. I’ll think of something important to say. Maybe I’ll just make something up. I don’t want you being made a fool of. We’ll discuss this later, OK?”
“I’m not seeing things. There are witnesses. Shenzi, Banzai and Ed all saw her.”
“Look, Fay. We’ve been friends all our lives. But this is ridiculous. You go around promising God to these folks, all I can say is you had better deliver!”
There was a large pointed crag in the elephant graveyard called Makh’pil Baru, or “Moon Claw,” for at exactly high moon the shadow of its point would touch a boulder named Ul Khalil, or “The Springhare.” In living memory it had always been the signal to start a clan meeting.
Also by long custom, the Roh’mach did not discuss business before mid moon. Everyone usually had some idea what was going to be covered in advance, and this time as always there were rumors being spread through the crowd. Amarakh politely turned away questions, but she was clearly uncomfortable.
“It’s not too late,” she whispered to Fabana. “Please don’t go through with this. I’m trying to help you. You know I’m your friend.”
“I know.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
The dance of the heavenly bodies was progressing. The point of the shadow drew close to Ul Khalil. By then, everyone was in a state of great anticipation.
Amarakh was silent, her mind working quickly to think of something to say. Shenzi was looking rather smug, certain that what happened would be the crowning glory of her short life. Banzai was proud of his sister and sat erect, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and looking gravely serious, trying not to grin broadly. Ed, as always, was Ed.
The point of the shadow crept to the edge of the rock. As everyone watched with bated breath, the black triangle crept across the stone and finally reached the exact center.
The quiet was unearthly. No one spoke or even dared to move.
Then the shadow passed the center of the stone and approached the far side.
“Thank you for coming,” Amarakh said. “My main reason in calling you here was to sort out a crime that had been committed against one of our prominent families. But since the guilty party has confessed and agreed to make reparations, I think it wise not to dredge it up again.”
“Who, Roh’mach?” someone asked.
“I prefer not to say.”
“Was that it?” another one asked.
“Pretty much. The wildebeest herd is on the move again, but most of you know that by now. I’m sorry the hunt had to be spoiled by this little fiasco.”
“When is God coming?” one of the females asked.
“Yes, when is she coming, Amarakh?” Korg asked.
“We were told God was coming!” Ber said. “So where is she??”
“Who said God was coming??”
A clamor arose. Clearly, there were a lot of disappointed hyenas who were not sure who to be upset with, but Amarakh was as good a target as any.
“Calm down everyone,” the Roh’mach said. “We’ll all see Roh’kash at the moment of our death. Think, all of you! Think! Why would God want to call a clan meeting with us? It makes no sense!”
Amarakh was suddenly aware of her shadow grow long and prominent before her, a great golden light filling the air around her with luminance and bathing the hyenas before her as they fell to the ground, ears flattened back and heads between paws. Amarakh trembled. She swallowed hard and turned around....
“Roh’kash!!” The Roh’mach fell to the ground and howled in fear. “Mercy! Mercy, Lord!”
“DAD!” Simba screamed, horrified. He searched the ground desperately, his eyes continually drawn by the passing wildebeest. Nothing. And nothing. And still nothing. Oh gods, where was he?!
Mufasa’s legs hurt, his heart pounded, and his lungs were about to burst. He managed to see an exit. "Oh gods!"
A rumbling roar tore at the air as he launched himself through the air, slamming into the rock wall of the gorge and driving the air from his lungs. He paused a minute, then scrabbled his way up the slope, fighting for purchase. He began to slip down ever so slowly, and desperately fought the pull of his own weight. "Help me! God help me!"
Taka paced slowly along the gorge wall, observing the turn of events. This was not supposed to happen, not at ALL. Not only had Simba escaped injury, but his oaf of a brother had fought his way clear of the stampede and was making his way to safety even now.
A whisper spoke in his brain. “And what happens when he finds out about the surprise that he was supposed to have?”
“I don’t know,” Taka muttered.
“Yes you do. He’ll finish you. You have to kill him NOW, before it’s too late!”
“No! I’ve messed things up enough already.”
“Would you rather die? This goes far beyond banishment, imbecile. This is treason. Kill him!!”
Taka stood uncertainly at the edge of the cliff, watching as Mufasa dragged his way up, unaware of the shadow which pooled behind him, black as midnight despite the dust which obscured the sun’s rays. He felt a sudden urge to plunge into the herd below and end this insane dance once and for all. No more pain.
“Scar!!”
Snapping out of his reverie, he looked to see Mufasa just below him. The huge muscular legs scrabbled desperately for purchase, finding none.
“Brother!! Help me!”
“Ohh, so now it’s ‘brother,’” Taka thought, a red haze of hatred obscuring his vision. “Fat lot of good all that strength does you now, eh?”
“Scar!! Please!!”
Taka glared at the lion below him. He had a vivid memory of Mufasa’s rage as he shouted, “Is that a challenge?”
At the time, he’d meekly said, “Oh, I wouldn’t DREAM of challenging you!” Now he not only dreamed it. It was within his grasp. For a while he enjoyed the feeling of power. He gloried in the turn of the tide.
Taka lunged down, burying his claws knuckle deep in Mufasa’s forelegs. Mufasa shrieked in pain as he felt the needle sharp claws tear into his flesh. Warm blood began to run down his legs as he stared into Taka’s face, uncomprehending.
Taka’s face split into a grin. Slowly, viciously, he intoned, “Long live the king.”
Mufasa looked pleadingly at Taka. Only then did he realize that Taka hated him and wanted him dead. His jaw trembled.
He was ripped from the wall and flung outwards, the sky and ground exchanging places rapidly, a shriek of horror following him down, down into the living torrent.
The air blistered and rippled nearby, several wildebeest shying away as Mano plunged into the canyon, crying out soundlessly as he saw Ahadi’s son vanishing into the stampede. He ran towards the spot, passing through several animals.
He padded up slowly, peering through the swirling dust as the last of the wildebeest shot past. Tears sprang to his eyes as he saw the magnificent body lying in a bloody sprawl at the base of the tree which had borne Simba up long enough for Mufasa to rescue him. Mano saw that Mufasa was mortally wounded. He came close and nuzzled the torn face, which responded slowly. Mufasa painfully lifted his head, eyes dawning with recognition as he saw the white lion standing before him. The silver-blue eyes looked kindly into his amber ones as he felt the pain slip away.
“Sleep, my friend.” Mano kissed his cheek and bore the great head to the ground with his paw. There was a moments hesitation, then the broken body breathed its last and was still.
There was an electric feeling of anticipation in the air, and suddenly Mufasa’s Ka was before him, whole and magnificent, untouched by pain or worry. The shook himself uncertainly, feeling the tingle upon his skin of the spirit which stood before him. He lowered his head and extended a forepaw. “Incosi Mano. I touch your mane.”
“I feel it.” Mano nuzzled him gently. “You must come with me.”
Mufasa moved to join him, but was stopped short as he beheld his son coming through the dusty air, crying his name. “Simba! I must go to him! I must go to him!”
“No!” Mano restrained him with a paw. “You must NOT go to him. You have gone down the left fork, and he is headed down the right. But I will find a way out for him.”
CHAPTER 38: AMONG THE DUNES
Beyond the gorge lay the thorns, and beyond the thorns lay the land where even thorns would not grow. It was the desert, the place of lost hope.
The wind blew slowly but steadily across the face of the dunes, carrying a light misting of sand with it as it blew into Simba’s face, making him squint, his eyes burning. There were no rich earthy smells of life--it was the sterile smell of solitude.
A faint whistling sound caught his ears, and as he topped a rise, he saw the skull of a small animal, bleached white in the sun and picked clean by vultures. No jackal would come to that forsaken place. Simba blinked at it for a moment, peering into the eyesockets, and seeing the clean white interior polished by the grit-laden wind. He could see himself lying there. Perhaps his turn would come over the next dune, or beyond that range....
He padded slowly down the soft face of the dune, floundering in the soft sand for a moment before regaining his footing. The hot wind gusted again, driving needles of grit into his face and bringing no relief from the heat. “I deserve it,” he thought. He couldn’t imagine what being trampled to death was like, but surely it had to be worse than lying on the sand to sleep and never wake up. “Dad, come for me when I die. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Simba shook his head and gasped, breathing rapidly. Struggling through the sand, he began to run, mindlessly fleeing the thoughts that tore at him, wishing he could only find a place to lay for a moment and rest. Heart pounding, he fled across the featureless face of the desert, just one more golden speck in that vast sea of sand.
The ground abruptly firmed beneath him, and he was scrambling across the hardpan, the bed of a long forgotten lake, now rough and unyielding in the sun’s merciless onslaught. He slowed, panting hoarsely, unable to continue at the rapid pace, padding slowly across the ground. The heat hammered at him from the firm sand, the imbedded salt deposits glittering like a spray of diamonds caught in the earth. The glare blinded him, and he slitted his eyes, paws quietly pat-a-pattering against the hardpan.
And then something glimmered far ahead.
Simba sat, shading his watering eyes with a forepaw as he fought to see, his thirst-swollen tongue hanging limply from his mouth. It shimmered invitingly, a quicksilver gleam at the edge of his vision.
Water. Oh gods, WATER!!
He rose and padded towards it rapidly, then began to trot. Soon he was running, his tired and dangerously overheated muscles running off some unknown inner reservoir, the sweat-matted fur on his forehead flying as he ran, oh gods it would taste so good, he wouldn’t even slow down, he would just sprint full tilt into it, splashing happily as he drank, he would roll in it, he would....
He slowed, his eyes gaping in disbelief as he saw the edge of the water begin to recede from him, the shoreline backing away as he came closer. Padding to a stop, he gaped at the glimmering lake ahead, wondering what was happening. His mouth fell open and he uttered a dull croak. “Uh?”
High above him, an answering croak returned from a soaring vulture. Its mate heard and responded. Soon they were joined by a third, and then others as the avian sentinels began to circle in cold anticipation.
Simba stood unaware of this, his mind trembling on the edge of awareness. He broke into a shambling run again, moaning as the waterline receded again...again...small islands of sand appeared in the water, slowly growing in size till there were only remnants of the sparkle that had deceived him.
The cub arrived on the spot where the beautiful lake had been to see only more sand. Dry, hot sand. He had discovered the how cruel the desert could be. His jaw began to tremble as tears came to his eyes.
Running was no use. Soon he would be back with his father. He stumbled on a few more steps, then toppled, the hard desert floor catching him with a dull thud. Simba laid on the sand, paws stirring weakly in restless motion as the heat drew at him. Tears cut clean courses through the dusty fur on his cheeks as he lay quiescent, unable to fight anymore, waiting for the end to come. “Mother!” he cried weakly. “Mother!”
A terrible weight clutched at his chest as he thought of her. He would never see her until her time came in the years to come. Nala was always such a good friend. Did she know he was dying? And after Scar told the pride of what he had done, would she even care? Sarafina was always so kind to him, like an aunt. And Uncle Scar--oh how disappointed he had looked! His brother lay dead. Simba’s father. Sarabi’s husband. “Mother!” He sobbed again.
A soft lioness voice called to him. “Take heart, my son.”
Against all hope, could his mother have heard him? He looked up and saw nearby a cloud white lioness on the sand. “Come to me. You are in need. I can help you.”
“I’m seeing things again! You’re not real!”
“If I’m not real, how do I do this?” She let out a puff of breath and in moments a cool breeze swept over Simba. It felt wonderful.”
Simba stared, awestruck. “You’re real! You’re really her! Minshasa!”
She smiled. “You know me? Then you must know I won’t hurt you.”
Simba struggled to his feet and stumbled over to her. He fell before her, face down. Tears began to run down his face. “Please help my dad! Do one of your miracles! He’s in the gorge back to the east! Please make him come back! He’s dead, and it’s all my fault!” He sobbed until he shook.
“Your father is with God. It is too late to help him.”
“Are you here to take me too?”
“Not this time.” She purred. “I am in my milk. You are a little old for this, but I think it would be all right this once.”
Simba dragged himself to her side. He snuggled up against her belly, nuzzling the soft fur in obvious embarrassment but desperate for sustenance. He fed slowly, feeling strength returning to his limbs, the trembling muscles relaxing at last. He lay quietly, eyes half closed, lulled by the sound of Minshasa’s breathing and the steady beat of her heart, the sounds evoking memories from far back in a haven of comfort, safety and love.
Presently, he looked up, milk running down his chin. Minshasa cleaned him off with her tongue, then began to groom him. He purred.
“What can I do, Minshasa? Where can I go?”
“Follow the setting sun. It will take you to a safe place.”
“But can’t I stay with you?”
“No, son.”
“Please?”
“No, Simba. Your destiny lies to the west.”
“You know who I am?”
“Yes, and what’s more, I know why you’re here.”
He looked down. “Oh.”
Tears streamed down her face. “Simba, my precious little boy!” She nuzzled him and he came and huddled against her comforting bulk, sobbing brokenly. “Poor little child! So much grief, so much pain!”
“All my fault!”
She began to groom him, her warm tongue washing away his tears in its rough caress. “Poor little Simba. So tired, little Simba. So tired.”
Simba yawned, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I am kind of tired.” He yawned again.
“So tired,” she repeated like a meditation. “So tired. Sleep now. Yes, sleep. Sleep soundly, and when you do, forget you saw me here. Forget, Simba. Forget everything but this: follow the setting sun. It will take you to a safe place.”
Simba surrendered to the enchantment, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Minshasa bent and gripped the cub in her jaws tenderly, lifting him easily enough. Turning, she trotted away westward, paws kicking up gentle spurts of sand as she moved. A few moments later, her outline shimmered slightly, and she became faintly translucent, Simba following suit. She began to pick up speed, paws moving rapidly over the ground, yet not disturbing the sand in the slightest. Minshasa ran steadily, tirelessly, heedless of the mortal constraints of fatigue and thirst as she flew across the desert surface. And the cub in her jaws slept soundly. Having been drawn into the twilight world between Ma’at and the spirit realm, he also felt no thirst or hunger, but passed the moments in the gentle cradle of sleep.
Minshasa continued onward well into the night, the moon’s glow welcome but not necessary. As she breasted yet another dune, she slowed, tensing. Pacing forward, she felt a tingling sensation pass over her body. She stopped, stretching out with all her senses, physical and otherwise, then nodded slowly. She had passed beyond the edge of Melmokh’s malign influence. Heaving a sigh of relief, she turned to continue onward and froze.
Standing atop the dune in front of her sat a solitary lion, his pure white fur gleaming mellowly in the moonlight. He looked at her silently as she slowly padded over to him, laying Simba down gently and then looking at him, her eyes pleading.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. We cannot interfere any more. Melmokh cannot reach him this far away, and Simba must make his own path from here."
"Mano, we cannot just leave him! Too much depends on him!"
He looked at her sternly. "Would you cripple him, springing to his side whenever he faces trials?” His voice softened. “No, my love. It must be this way.” He kissed her gently. “He must face his destiny. All we can do is to keep the balance. Aiheu will not forsake him."
"I know. But look how small he is. He cannot survive by himself."
“I have arranged that,” Mano said gently. “Someone who can understand him and who will love him.”
“Husband,” she cooed, nuzzling Mano. But she quickly turned back to the cub. She trembled as she looked at Simba lying on the sand. Bending down to the cub, she kissed his cheek softly. "Your feet tread a stony path, one you must follow to its end, my child. But do not despair--it leads back to Aiheu."
With one last glance, the two walked away to the west, fading slowly from sight, becoming transparent, then slowly discorporating, their outlines dancing in the moonlight like motes of dust. A light wind skidded across the desert floor, swirling the dust into a haphazard pattern to conceal their tracks.
The wind blew slowly but steadily across the face of the dunes, carrying a light misting of sand with it as it blew into Simba’s face, making him squint, his eyes burning. There were no rich earthy smells of life--it was the sterile smell of solitude.
A faint whistling sound caught his ears, and as he topped a rise, he saw the skull of a small animal, bleached white in the sun and picked clean by vultures. No jackal would come to that forsaken place. Simba blinked at it for a moment, peering into the eyesockets, and seeing the clean white interior polished by the grit-laden wind. He could see himself lying there. Perhaps his turn would come over the next dune, or beyond that range....
He padded slowly down the soft face of the dune, floundering in the soft sand for a moment before regaining his footing. The hot wind gusted again, driving needles of grit into his face and bringing no relief from the heat. “I deserve it,” he thought. He couldn’t imagine what being trampled to death was like, but surely it had to be worse than lying on the sand to sleep and never wake up. “Dad, come for me when I die. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
Simba shook his head and gasped, breathing rapidly. Struggling through the sand, he began to run, mindlessly fleeing the thoughts that tore at him, wishing he could only find a place to lay for a moment and rest. Heart pounding, he fled across the featureless face of the desert, just one more golden speck in that vast sea of sand.
The ground abruptly firmed beneath him, and he was scrambling across the hardpan, the bed of a long forgotten lake, now rough and unyielding in the sun’s merciless onslaught. He slowed, panting hoarsely, unable to continue at the rapid pace, padding slowly across the ground. The heat hammered at him from the firm sand, the imbedded salt deposits glittering like a spray of diamonds caught in the earth. The glare blinded him, and he slitted his eyes, paws quietly pat-a-pattering against the hardpan.
And then something glimmered far ahead.
Simba sat, shading his watering eyes with a forepaw as he fought to see, his thirst-swollen tongue hanging limply from his mouth. It shimmered invitingly, a quicksilver gleam at the edge of his vision.
Water. Oh gods, WATER!!
He rose and padded towards it rapidly, then began to trot. Soon he was running, his tired and dangerously overheated muscles running off some unknown inner reservoir, the sweat-matted fur on his forehead flying as he ran, oh gods it would taste so good, he wouldn’t even slow down, he would just sprint full tilt into it, splashing happily as he drank, he would roll in it, he would....
He slowed, his eyes gaping in disbelief as he saw the edge of the water begin to recede from him, the shoreline backing away as he came closer. Padding to a stop, he gaped at the glimmering lake ahead, wondering what was happening. His mouth fell open and he uttered a dull croak. “Uh?”
High above him, an answering croak returned from a soaring vulture. Its mate heard and responded. Soon they were joined by a third, and then others as the avian sentinels began to circle in cold anticipation.
Simba stood unaware of this, his mind trembling on the edge of awareness. He broke into a shambling run again, moaning as the waterline receded again...again...small islands of sand appeared in the water, slowly growing in size till there were only remnants of the sparkle that had deceived him.
The cub arrived on the spot where the beautiful lake had been to see only more sand. Dry, hot sand. He had discovered the how cruel the desert could be. His jaw began to tremble as tears came to his eyes.
Running was no use. Soon he would be back with his father. He stumbled on a few more steps, then toppled, the hard desert floor catching him with a dull thud. Simba laid on the sand, paws stirring weakly in restless motion as the heat drew at him. Tears cut clean courses through the dusty fur on his cheeks as he lay quiescent, unable to fight anymore, waiting for the end to come. “Mother!” he cried weakly. “Mother!”
A terrible weight clutched at his chest as he thought of her. He would never see her until her time came in the years to come. Nala was always such a good friend. Did she know he was dying? And after Scar told the pride of what he had done, would she even care? Sarafina was always so kind to him, like an aunt. And Uncle Scar--oh how disappointed he had looked! His brother lay dead. Simba’s father. Sarabi’s husband. “Mother!” He sobbed again.
A soft lioness voice called to him. “Take heart, my son.”
Against all hope, could his mother have heard him? He looked up and saw nearby a cloud white lioness on the sand. “Come to me. You are in need. I can help you.”
“I’m seeing things again! You’re not real!”
“If I’m not real, how do I do this?” She let out a puff of breath and in moments a cool breeze swept over Simba. It felt wonderful.”
Simba stared, awestruck. “You’re real! You’re really her! Minshasa!”
She smiled. “You know me? Then you must know I won’t hurt you.”
Simba struggled to his feet and stumbled over to her. He fell before her, face down. Tears began to run down his face. “Please help my dad! Do one of your miracles! He’s in the gorge back to the east! Please make him come back! He’s dead, and it’s all my fault!” He sobbed until he shook.
“Your father is with God. It is too late to help him.”
“Are you here to take me too?”
“Not this time.” She purred. “I am in my milk. You are a little old for this, but I think it would be all right this once.”
Simba dragged himself to her side. He snuggled up against her belly, nuzzling the soft fur in obvious embarrassment but desperate for sustenance. He fed slowly, feeling strength returning to his limbs, the trembling muscles relaxing at last. He lay quietly, eyes half closed, lulled by the sound of Minshasa’s breathing and the steady beat of her heart, the sounds evoking memories from far back in a haven of comfort, safety and love.
Presently, he looked up, milk running down his chin. Minshasa cleaned him off with her tongue, then began to groom him. He purred.
“What can I do, Minshasa? Where can I go?”
“Follow the setting sun. It will take you to a safe place.”
“But can’t I stay with you?”
“No, son.”
“Please?”
“No, Simba. Your destiny lies to the west.”
“You know who I am?”
“Yes, and what’s more, I know why you’re here.”
He looked down. “Oh.”
Tears streamed down her face. “Simba, my precious little boy!” She nuzzled him and he came and huddled against her comforting bulk, sobbing brokenly. “Poor little child! So much grief, so much pain!”
“All my fault!”
She began to groom him, her warm tongue washing away his tears in its rough caress. “Poor little Simba. So tired, little Simba. So tired.”
Simba yawned, barely able to keep his eyes open. “I am kind of tired.” He yawned again.
“So tired,” she repeated like a meditation. “So tired. Sleep now. Yes, sleep. Sleep soundly, and when you do, forget you saw me here. Forget, Simba. Forget everything but this: follow the setting sun. It will take you to a safe place.”
Simba surrendered to the enchantment, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. Minshasa bent and gripped the cub in her jaws tenderly, lifting him easily enough. Turning, she trotted away westward, paws kicking up gentle spurts of sand as she moved. A few moments later, her outline shimmered slightly, and she became faintly translucent, Simba following suit. She began to pick up speed, paws moving rapidly over the ground, yet not disturbing the sand in the slightest. Minshasa ran steadily, tirelessly, heedless of the mortal constraints of fatigue and thirst as she flew across the desert surface. And the cub in her jaws slept soundly. Having been drawn into the twilight world between Ma’at and the spirit realm, he also felt no thirst or hunger, but passed the moments in the gentle cradle of sleep.
Minshasa continued onward well into the night, the moon’s glow welcome but not necessary. As she breasted yet another dune, she slowed, tensing. Pacing forward, she felt a tingling sensation pass over her body. She stopped, stretching out with all her senses, physical and otherwise, then nodded slowly. She had passed beyond the edge of Melmokh’s malign influence. Heaving a sigh of relief, she turned to continue onward and froze.
Standing atop the dune in front of her sat a solitary lion, his pure white fur gleaming mellowly in the moonlight. He looked at her silently as she slowly padded over to him, laying Simba down gently and then looking at him, her eyes pleading.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry. We cannot interfere any more. Melmokh cannot reach him this far away, and Simba must make his own path from here."
"Mano, we cannot just leave him! Too much depends on him!"
He looked at her sternly. "Would you cripple him, springing to his side whenever he faces trials?” His voice softened. “No, my love. It must be this way.” He kissed her gently. “He must face his destiny. All we can do is to keep the balance. Aiheu will not forsake him."
"I know. But look how small he is. He cannot survive by himself."
“I have arranged that,” Mano said gently. “Someone who can understand him and who will love him.”
“Husband,” she cooed, nuzzling Mano. But she quickly turned back to the cub. She trembled as she looked at Simba lying on the sand. Bending down to the cub, she kissed his cheek softly. "Your feet tread a stony path, one you must follow to its end, my child. But do not despair--it leads back to Aiheu."
With one last glance, the two walked away to the west, fading slowly from sight, becoming transparent, then slowly discorporating, their outlines dancing in the moonlight like motes of dust. A light wind skidded across the desert floor, swirling the dust into a haphazard pattern to conceal their tracks.
CHAPTER 39: ASLEEP ON THE JOB
After a discrete pause to allow the new king to try to compose himself, Zazu respectfully requested an audience with Taka to discuss a personal matter. The lion readily agreed, and the two wandered off to a quiet corner of Pride Rock where they could talk undisturbed.
“Now then, my loyal friend.” Taka summoned up a smile and nodded to the hornbill. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, Sire...I’m rather loath to breach the subject at a time like this...”
“Oh come come, we’re all friends here.”
“Well...” Zazu rubbed his primaries together nervously. “Back in the gorge, I was going to fly away and summon some more help to rescue the young prince-”
Taka dropped his head. “God rest his soul,” he said quietly.
“Indeed.” Zazu cleared his throat, wondering if it might not be such a bad idea to drop the subject altogether.
Finally, Taka lifted his head, eyes bright. “I’m sorry. Do go on.”
“Well, I must have struck something...because I don't remember what happened.”
“Oh, my, yes!” Taka looked distressed. “Gods, Zazu, I’ve been terribly remiss; I remember finding you lying there on the ledge! ARE you quite all right?”
“Why...yes, Sire.”
“Excellent!” Taka breathed a sigh of relief. “At least you did not suffer any grievous injuries. Heaven knows there’s been enough of that today.” He looked at Zazu shyly. “You know, my brother didn’t think of you as his servant. He used to refer to you as “Little Brother” when he spoke of you.”
“He did?” Zazu was clearly caught off guard.
“Bezraak the Fish Eagle was keen on getting the job. Mind you, he was stronger, sharper sighted, and a prince in his own right. He would have looked impressive perched next to Mufasa when visitors came by. If he’d made the right administrative decision, my little friend, there would have been no contest. But you had something Bezraak did not have.”
“What was that?” Zazu asked, greatly interested.
“Mufasa’s heart.” Taka put a paw across his eyes. “He turned Bezraak down because you always tried so hard to please, and because you took such good care of him when we were growing up. He loved you, truly loved you.”
“Oh!” Zazu’s head bowed and his tail feathers drooped. “May the gods bless him! I loved him too, but one doesn’t say such things to one’s betters. But he’s gone now, and I’m saying it.”
“That’s fine. Now about us.” Taka licked his paw and used it to groom his dark mane. “I see no reason why the we should be at odds all the time. Frankly, I’m in no great rush to call Bezraak. It would be a slap in the face of my dear brother. I’ve lost enough today--I don’t want to lose you too.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, but....”
“But?”
“Well, I feel a little uncomfortable, Scar. I mean, Sire.”
“In what way?”
“I’m sure it’s just me. But you know, I know Pa’haal of the Wildebeests, and I’d like to have a word with him. Just to settle my mind. You understand, don’t you Sire?”
“Oh, I understand perfectly.” He gently patted Zazu on the head, who cringed but tried to smile. “Why don’t you come outside. I’ll call together the lionesses, and we’ll have a frank discussion, no holds barred. I’ll send Uzuri to find Pa’haal. And even though I can’t stand him, I know Rafiki is no liar. We’ll have him do whatever that thing is he does at times like these to see if every word I said is not the AB-solute truth.”
“Oh, I didn’t call you a liar, Your Majesty.”
“I didn’t say you did, now did I? But if I didn’t lie, I shouldn’t be afraid to be put to the test, now should I? And I promise you that no one leaves till everyone is completely satisfied. Will that help?”
“Yes, Sire.” He preened self-consciously. “I must say you’re being awfully big about this. Anyhow, I thought you’d want me to be forthright about my feelings. You know, clean slate and all?”
“Clean slate. I like that.”
“Then you’re not angry?”
Taka half laughed. “Well, not angry.” He looked at his claws and groomed his mane again. “Maybe a little disappointed. Since we’re being so open and forthright with each other, I know I’m moody and a little temperamental, but I do have my good points. No one ever takes note of those, however.” The lion examined him with his best gazelle eyes, waiting for Zazu to melt down and call the whole idea a lot of rot. Zazu did look away with some shame, but he made no move to cancel the inquest.
Behind Taka’s calm face, he made a firm resolve to do what he must do to survive. Besides, he was sick of being nice to Zazu.
The two rose and headed back toward the lionesses, who were still assembled at the foot of Pride Rock, deep in their grief. Clearing his throat, Taka called their attention.
"We have a small problem to address. Our friend Zazu was supposed to protect Simba, you know. I mean, it WAS his job, or I would have been looking over the boy myself. But we TRUSTED him!”
Zazu shifted nervously.
Taka brought his forearm over his eyes and cried, “What a mistake! What a foolish mistake! It seems one of the lionesses, and I won’t reveal which one, found him ASLEEP ON THE JOB!”
Zazu recoiled. "W-What??"
"Let’s get to the bottom of this serious charge, Zazu. Where were you when my brother and nephew were being trampled, eh? Sleeping again?!!"
"Sire! I would never presume to sleep on duty! Besides, I WAS there; you saw me!"
"Rubbish! I did NOT see you because you were NOT there! Are you going to add lying to the other charge?” He looked around. “Is there ONE of you that can vouch that he was on the job? Did ONE of you see him? Come on, I’m giving you a chance to speak out freely!” He looked around for effect. “If just ONE will say they saw him with Simba, I’ll give Zazu the benefit of the doubt.” He examined the faces one by one. “Will no one speak in his defense?”
“You know I was there!” Zazu said, scandalized. “Tell them, Sire! Tell them!”
“I will NOT lie for you, you pathetic ball of fluff! Only your past record keeps me from killing you here and now!"
Zazu began to shake as all attention focused on him. "But I-"
The lionesses glared at Zazu. “How COULD you!” Sarabi said in a tear-choked voice. “That’s not like you, Zazu! You knew he was never to go there! I thought you loved him! Why, Zazu?? Why??”
Taka bared his teeth. "Listen to the anguish of a wife and mother! Had you been watching Simba as you were supposed to, he wouldn't have wandered into the gorge, would he?"
"Y-Yes, but-"
"And my brother wouldn't have had to go after him, would he?"
"N-No, but-"
Taka leaned close. "And IF you had done your job, they wouldn't be DEAD, would they??!!"
"S-Sire, please....” He whispered just low enough for Taka to hear: “I didn’t think you hated me that much!”
“You have no idea.” Taka stared at him with eyes like red coals. “So you wish I were a rug so when I got dirty, he could take me out and beat me??”
“Spare me!” Zazu shrieked. “Just let me go! Let me go and I’ll never trouble you again, I swear!”
"Shut up," Taka said, his voice dripping with contempt. "In view of your past service and the love which my brother held for you, I will not have you killed."
Zazu sighed, trembling, but jerked in alarm as a pair of hyenas took up station on either side of him.
"Instead, you will be confined for the rest of your life, where I can keep an eye on you as you reflect on your guilt and hopefully find forgiveness and mercy in Aiheu. For you shall NEVER find forgiveness nor mercy in me, not in this lifetime or a hundred lifetimes!" Taka leaned forward until his nose touched the hornbill's beak, his voice dropping to a murmur that only Zazu could hear. "And should you start any more trouble, I'll pluck out your feathers one by one and shove you in the waterhole to drown. Understand?"
Too terrified to speak, Zazu nodded rapidly.
“Now then, my loyal friend.” Taka summoned up a smile and nodded to the hornbill. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well, Sire...I’m rather loath to breach the subject at a time like this...”
“Oh come come, we’re all friends here.”
“Well...” Zazu rubbed his primaries together nervously. “Back in the gorge, I was going to fly away and summon some more help to rescue the young prince-”
Taka dropped his head. “God rest his soul,” he said quietly.
“Indeed.” Zazu cleared his throat, wondering if it might not be such a bad idea to drop the subject altogether.
Finally, Taka lifted his head, eyes bright. “I’m sorry. Do go on.”
“Well, I must have struck something...because I don't remember what happened.”
“Oh, my, yes!” Taka looked distressed. “Gods, Zazu, I’ve been terribly remiss; I remember finding you lying there on the ledge! ARE you quite all right?”
“Why...yes, Sire.”
“Excellent!” Taka breathed a sigh of relief. “At least you did not suffer any grievous injuries. Heaven knows there’s been enough of that today.” He looked at Zazu shyly. “You know, my brother didn’t think of you as his servant. He used to refer to you as “Little Brother” when he spoke of you.”
“He did?” Zazu was clearly caught off guard.
“Bezraak the Fish Eagle was keen on getting the job. Mind you, he was stronger, sharper sighted, and a prince in his own right. He would have looked impressive perched next to Mufasa when visitors came by. If he’d made the right administrative decision, my little friend, there would have been no contest. But you had something Bezraak did not have.”
“What was that?” Zazu asked, greatly interested.
“Mufasa’s heart.” Taka put a paw across his eyes. “He turned Bezraak down because you always tried so hard to please, and because you took such good care of him when we were growing up. He loved you, truly loved you.”
“Oh!” Zazu’s head bowed and his tail feathers drooped. “May the gods bless him! I loved him too, but one doesn’t say such things to one’s betters. But he’s gone now, and I’m saying it.”
“That’s fine. Now about us.” Taka licked his paw and used it to groom his dark mane. “I see no reason why the we should be at odds all the time. Frankly, I’m in no great rush to call Bezraak. It would be a slap in the face of my dear brother. I’ve lost enough today--I don’t want to lose you too.”
“That’s very kind of you to say, but....”
“But?”
“Well, I feel a little uncomfortable, Scar. I mean, Sire.”
“In what way?”
“I’m sure it’s just me. But you know, I know Pa’haal of the Wildebeests, and I’d like to have a word with him. Just to settle my mind. You understand, don’t you Sire?”
“Oh, I understand perfectly.” He gently patted Zazu on the head, who cringed but tried to smile. “Why don’t you come outside. I’ll call together the lionesses, and we’ll have a frank discussion, no holds barred. I’ll send Uzuri to find Pa’haal. And even though I can’t stand him, I know Rafiki is no liar. We’ll have him do whatever that thing is he does at times like these to see if every word I said is not the AB-solute truth.”
“Oh, I didn’t call you a liar, Your Majesty.”
“I didn’t say you did, now did I? But if I didn’t lie, I shouldn’t be afraid to be put to the test, now should I? And I promise you that no one leaves till everyone is completely satisfied. Will that help?”
“Yes, Sire.” He preened self-consciously. “I must say you’re being awfully big about this. Anyhow, I thought you’d want me to be forthright about my feelings. You know, clean slate and all?”
“Clean slate. I like that.”
“Then you’re not angry?”
Taka half laughed. “Well, not angry.” He looked at his claws and groomed his mane again. “Maybe a little disappointed. Since we’re being so open and forthright with each other, I know I’m moody and a little temperamental, but I do have my good points. No one ever takes note of those, however.” The lion examined him with his best gazelle eyes, waiting for Zazu to melt down and call the whole idea a lot of rot. Zazu did look away with some shame, but he made no move to cancel the inquest.
Behind Taka’s calm face, he made a firm resolve to do what he must do to survive. Besides, he was sick of being nice to Zazu.
The two rose and headed back toward the lionesses, who were still assembled at the foot of Pride Rock, deep in their grief. Clearing his throat, Taka called their attention.
"We have a small problem to address. Our friend Zazu was supposed to protect Simba, you know. I mean, it WAS his job, or I would have been looking over the boy myself. But we TRUSTED him!”
Zazu shifted nervously.
Taka brought his forearm over his eyes and cried, “What a mistake! What a foolish mistake! It seems one of the lionesses, and I won’t reveal which one, found him ASLEEP ON THE JOB!”
Zazu recoiled. "W-What??"
"Let’s get to the bottom of this serious charge, Zazu. Where were you when my brother and nephew were being trampled, eh? Sleeping again?!!"
"Sire! I would never presume to sleep on duty! Besides, I WAS there; you saw me!"
"Rubbish! I did NOT see you because you were NOT there! Are you going to add lying to the other charge?” He looked around. “Is there ONE of you that can vouch that he was on the job? Did ONE of you see him? Come on, I’m giving you a chance to speak out freely!” He looked around for effect. “If just ONE will say they saw him with Simba, I’ll give Zazu the benefit of the doubt.” He examined the faces one by one. “Will no one speak in his defense?”
“You know I was there!” Zazu said, scandalized. “Tell them, Sire! Tell them!”
“I will NOT lie for you, you pathetic ball of fluff! Only your past record keeps me from killing you here and now!"
Zazu began to shake as all attention focused on him. "But I-"
The lionesses glared at Zazu. “How COULD you!” Sarabi said in a tear-choked voice. “That’s not like you, Zazu! You knew he was never to go there! I thought you loved him! Why, Zazu?? Why??”
Taka bared his teeth. "Listen to the anguish of a wife and mother! Had you been watching Simba as you were supposed to, he wouldn't have wandered into the gorge, would he?"
"Y-Yes, but-"
"And my brother wouldn't have had to go after him, would he?"
"N-No, but-"
Taka leaned close. "And IF you had done your job, they wouldn't be DEAD, would they??!!"
"S-Sire, please....” He whispered just low enough for Taka to hear: “I didn’t think you hated me that much!”
“You have no idea.” Taka stared at him with eyes like red coals. “So you wish I were a rug so when I got dirty, he could take me out and beat me??”
“Spare me!” Zazu shrieked. “Just let me go! Let me go and I’ll never trouble you again, I swear!”
"Shut up," Taka said, his voice dripping with contempt. "In view of your past service and the love which my brother held for you, I will not have you killed."
Zazu sighed, trembling, but jerked in alarm as a pair of hyenas took up station on either side of him.
"Instead, you will be confined for the rest of your life, where I can keep an eye on you as you reflect on your guilt and hopefully find forgiveness and mercy in Aiheu. For you shall NEVER find forgiveness nor mercy in me, not in this lifetime or a hundred lifetimes!" Taka leaned forward until his nose touched the hornbill's beak, his voice dropping to a murmur that only Zazu could hear. "And should you start any more trouble, I'll pluck out your feathers one by one and shove you in the waterhole to drown. Understand?"
Too terrified to speak, Zazu nodded rapidly.
CHAPTER 40: ALONE
Simba stirred in the cool morning air, feeling with a paw for his mother’s comforting presence. He opened an eye and glanced around. The awful truth dawned upon him that for the first time in his life, he was completely alone. As far as he could see all around was featureless sand.
He rose, stretching, and groomed himself in the pre-dawn quiet, the slight rasp of his tongue the only sound in the stillness. Holding forth with an enormous yawn, he began padding slowly across the dunes, his tiny paws leaving a pockmarked trail in the pristine sand as he walked slowly but steadily, face turned towards the darkened western sky, the gentle breezes of twilight ruffling his fur and tickling his whiskers with cool fingers.
But the cool did not last long. His shadow sprang into abrupt relief in front of him, harsh and outlined in red. He glanced over his shoulder to see the sun heaving its crimson bulk above the horizon. The temperature began to climb steadily as it rose higher in the sky, the cold dry winds becoming hot dry winds, the rays of the sun beginning to pierce him with anger and spite.
On the second day of Simba’s journey, he fought new enemies. Tiredness, hunger, thirst, hopelessness. The one thought that kept him going was his faith that friends lay to the west.
Panting in the dry air drained moisture from him. A sweat that did not cool him matted his fur and burned his eyes. He longed to feel firm earth beneath his feet again. The soft give of the sand made walking more difficult. His small feet scrabbled for purchase on even the smallest of dunes, and he had to struggle up one side, then slip down the other. He had daydreams about soft fragrant grass wet with morning dew, and stopping by the cistern to drink the cold, fresh water that collected from the rain.
His gait became unsteady. He stumbled along, unsure why there should be anything better to the west than there was to the south or north. He couldn’t go east--that he could NEVER do. The east was where his heart lay. The most desirable and inaccessible of things. His mother’s soft fur, and Aunt Uzuri’s quiet voice that said so much in so little. Perhaps someone was eating fresh meat. His stomach began to knot up and growl. Overhead the sun stared with its one hateful eye, willing the life from him step by step. Each breath sucked precious moisture from his small body. In the sky, vultures circled slowly, meeting his gaze with undisguised eagerness as he fought to remain standing. He stared at one, and watched its image separate into two, then slowly recombine as he fought to keep his fragile grasp on consciousness. The image separated again. He felt his legs collapse and the shock hitting the ground. “Aiheu,” he moaned, the sand rasping dryly against his cheek in a deadly caress. “Help me, Aiheu. I think I’m dying.”
He put his paw across his face and surrendered. Everything went dark....
He rose, stretching, and groomed himself in the pre-dawn quiet, the slight rasp of his tongue the only sound in the stillness. Holding forth with an enormous yawn, he began padding slowly across the dunes, his tiny paws leaving a pockmarked trail in the pristine sand as he walked slowly but steadily, face turned towards the darkened western sky, the gentle breezes of twilight ruffling his fur and tickling his whiskers with cool fingers.
But the cool did not last long. His shadow sprang into abrupt relief in front of him, harsh and outlined in red. He glanced over his shoulder to see the sun heaving its crimson bulk above the horizon. The temperature began to climb steadily as it rose higher in the sky, the cold dry winds becoming hot dry winds, the rays of the sun beginning to pierce him with anger and spite.
On the second day of Simba’s journey, he fought new enemies. Tiredness, hunger, thirst, hopelessness. The one thought that kept him going was his faith that friends lay to the west.
Panting in the dry air drained moisture from him. A sweat that did not cool him matted his fur and burned his eyes. He longed to feel firm earth beneath his feet again. The soft give of the sand made walking more difficult. His small feet scrabbled for purchase on even the smallest of dunes, and he had to struggle up one side, then slip down the other. He had daydreams about soft fragrant grass wet with morning dew, and stopping by the cistern to drink the cold, fresh water that collected from the rain.
His gait became unsteady. He stumbled along, unsure why there should be anything better to the west than there was to the south or north. He couldn’t go east--that he could NEVER do. The east was where his heart lay. The most desirable and inaccessible of things. His mother’s soft fur, and Aunt Uzuri’s quiet voice that said so much in so little. Perhaps someone was eating fresh meat. His stomach began to knot up and growl. Overhead the sun stared with its one hateful eye, willing the life from him step by step. Each breath sucked precious moisture from his small body. In the sky, vultures circled slowly, meeting his gaze with undisguised eagerness as he fought to remain standing. He stared at one, and watched its image separate into two, then slowly recombine as he fought to keep his fragile grasp on consciousness. The image separated again. He felt his legs collapse and the shock hitting the ground. “Aiheu,” he moaned, the sand rasping dryly against his cheek in a deadly caress. “Help me, Aiheu. I think I’m dying.”
He put his paw across his face and surrendered. Everything went dark....
CHAPTER 41: FRIENDS IN NEED
“Better is a neighbor who is nearby than kindred who are far away.”
-- PROVERBS 27, 10
“Pumbaa, come ON,” Timon groaned. “The ground’s as dry as a bone, now; we’re not gonna find any more bugs out here.”
“I don’t know...” Pumbaa’s voice was filled with doubt. “We found that beetle a little while ago, remember?”
“‘A little while ago?!’ That was two hours ago! I’m fried!” Timon continued to gripe as the foraged listlessly among the cracked and dried flats. A brief rain had sprung up this morning, the dry ground greedily soaking up the moisture and driving the insects out in droves. The meerkat and warthog had delighted in this banquet, at least until the sun emerged again. The insects had vanished with the water, the ground drying into the haphazard mosaic that lay before them, baked hard now in the glaring sun.
Sighing, Timon leaned down to try again when faint movement caught his eyes. He skittered up Pumbaa’s back to perch atop his head, shading his eyes in the glare.
“H-Hey!” Pumbaa, laughed. “That tickles!”
“Hush!” Timon squinted. “A-HA! Buzzards!”
Pumbaa grimaced. “Ewww! I hate buzzards.”
“Pumbaa!” Timon tapped his friend’s head reproachfully. “We do not speak ill of those who might show us where to find some goodies.”
“Huh?”
“They might be giving us a pointer on where we might locate a leftover culinary delight!” Timon’s stomach growled in anticipation.
“Awwww!” Pumbaa looked downcast. “I was hoping they might show us where to find some food.”
The meerkat sighed. “Just head thataway.”
Pumbaa trotted off obligingly, heading towards the circling birds, who were beginning to descend, a sure sign that whatever they had been stalking was about to expire. Fresh meat! Timon shook the rough mane on Pumbaa’s shoulders with glee. “Oh boy oh boy! We’re gonna eat right today, pal, just you wait!”
Pumbaa halted suddenly, nearly sending Timon overboard. “Why do I have to wait?! Who says YOU eat first?!”
“No, no! Just forget it and head for the buzzards before they get the good stuff!” Timon seized Pumbaa’s ears and flicked them, kicking his heels into the warthog’s neck. “YAHHHH!!!”
Pumbaa accelerated, a horrendous war cry of his own issuing from his mouth as the two charged into the pack of jostling birds, sending them scattering in disarray, feathers flying as they squawked an indignant protest back at the two. Ignoring this, the duo checked around themselves for any malingerers, then relaxed, Timon chuckling at the sight.
“I love it!” Pumbaa snorted in mirth. “Bowling for buzzards!”
Timon guffawed. “Gets ‘em every time!” He proceeded to brush himself off as Pumbaa examined the carcass that lay at their feet. “Uh-oh. Hey Timon! You better come look. I think it’s still alive.”
The meerkat drew up involuntarily. “Yeesh!” Steeling himself, he meandered over, trying to look nonchalant. After all, Pumbaa WAS watching.
“Allrighty, whatta we got here?” Bending low, he sniffed the air carefully. The scent filled his nostrils; something exotic, but vaguely familiar. But alive, he could tell that much. Shrugging, he wriggled under the paw that covered the creature’s face and strained, lifting...
...and saw the soft furry features, the whiskers, and the tip of one ivory fang protruding over the lower lip. His blood ran cold as he dropped the paw, staggering back in terror.
“Jeez, it’s a LION!”
CHAPTER 42: GAZELLE EYES
“I knew it. I just knew it!” Timon said with disgust. “I knew if we carried him to water, you’d want to feed him. And if you fed him, you’d want to keep him. Do you know what lion cubs do? Huh, DO you??”
Pumbaa looked at Timon with mist in his gazelle eyes. “No, Timon. What do they do?”
“They get bigger. It doesn’t happen all at once, see, but one day you’ll wake up....” He straddled and expanded to make his point. “....and there will be this greaaat biiiig lion as far as the eyes can see! He won’t be little and cute then, but he’ll still be our problem.”
“Keep it down, Timon. He’ll hear you!”
Timon glanced around anxiously. “Yeah. And I bet he’s hungry, too!”
“Now there you go again! He’s only a little kid, and he’s so sad and lost and helpless!” Tears began to spring up in Pumbaa’s eyes. “Just because you’re smarter than I am doesn’t mean you’re always right. I mean, not always, you know.”
“And I suppose you got it all figured out?”
“No. But while we’re wasting time figuring it all out, that little guy needs our help!”
Once in a while Pumbaa said something that made Timon stand up and take note. “All right. Answer me this, then. Let’s say we keep him. Down, Pumbaa, I said IF we keep him, what will he eat?”
Tears misted up in Pumbaa’s eyes again. “If we DON’T keep him, what will he eat?” A tear ran down the warthog’s cheek. “I gotta live with myself, Timon. Don’t make me choose between you and him. Please??”
“You can’t walk out on me!”
“I can’t walk out on him!”
Adopting a lion cub was a big decision, and it took Pumbaa a lot of discussion and a great deal of pouting to overcome Timon’s reluctance. What Aiheu did not give the warthog in eloquent speech, he made up for in sheer determination. And when Pumbaa really made up his mind and looked at Timon with his gazelle eyes, he usually got his way.
All in all, the benefits outweighed the disadvantages, Pumbaa figured; they would have to raise a youngster (a task Timon especially loathed), but the return on their investment would be enormous. Simba would make a terrific bodyguard and a good friend. Besides, Timon would not have to endure Pumbaa’s pleading looks.
“OK,” Timon said at last. “I’m going to regret this, but we’ll keep the kid.”
“Hooray!!”
The advantages of such a relationship were obvious, and the two readily fell to in making the cub feel right at home.
Simba, however, had no such preconceptions. He embraced the carefree lifestyle of “Hakuna Matata” the two preached of, somewhat reluctant at first, but more and more easily as the day wore on. It was difficult to overcome the inhibitions his parents had instilled in him; he found it hard to accept the fact that he was pretty much free to do what he pleased, eat what he pleased...even the simplest of niceties were not required. The first time he belched and covered his mouth with a paw, saying “Excuse me!” with a horrified expression on his face, Timon had gone into gales of laughter.
The cub reflected on this as he lay on his back, paws outstretched, rubbing one ear lazily as he blinked in the late afternoon sun. He tracked its progress, half interested, thinking it was funny how much the sun looked just as it did when he had been at home.
Home.
He rubbed the fur on his belly uncomfortably, remembering sitting next to Sarabi, her warm tongue bathing him as he lay beside her, sated from his last meal, watching the same sun go down in the Pride Lands. He watched as the fiery orb doubled, then trebled in his vision as quiet tears ran down his cheeks. His heart sank along with the sun, his spirits falling and turning dark with the sky around him. The stars made their appearances one by one, standing stalwart against the night, but no such light remained in Simba’s soul. Sniffing quietly, he tilted his head back to look at the depthless expanse of the universe above.
“God? I don’t know if you feel like listening to me...but I wanted to ask a favor.” His jaw trembled, and his face drew down in deep lines as he struggled to keep control. “Would you please watch out for my pride? I mean, Uncle Scar isn’t that strong and he has that bad back...he needs help. And help Aunt Uzuri catch a lot of food so Nala doesn’t get hungry or anything.” Despite his struggles, he began to cry again, his voice wavering unsteadily as he rushed to finish. “And watch out for Mom, okay? And if you can...please tell her...I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” His head fell forward and he buried it under his forepaws, shaking with the terrible force of his grief.
A sharp trill sang from the grass next to him, and he jumped, crying out as he backed away. A second trill answered, and son the grass was full of the droning sound of crickets, humming away busily as they sang their strange calls to one another. Fire blossomed in the grass as a small white glow emerged, flitting about aimlessly. Simba twirled in agitation as he was suddenly surrounded by dozens of tiny points of light, miniature suns that gleamed with a cold brilliance. The fireflies darted about his head, one alighting on his nose and jittering frenziedly as it signaled its fellows. The cub yelped in fear, jumping up and running across the clearing to the cover of the nearby bushes where Timon and Pumbaa were making themselves comfortable for the night’s slumber.
Pumbaa saw him scamper in, shaking furiously. “What’s the matter, Simba?”
“I’m scared!” he burst out. “I wanna go home!”
“Aww, man...” Timon groaned.
Pumbaa shushed him sternly, then turned back to the terrified cub. “C’mon, little fella. Just lie down and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I CAN’T sleep! Those THINGS’ll get me!” Simba ran over to Pumbaa and huddled against his comforting bulk, shivering as he stared at the dark jungle around them, seeing movement in every shadow.
“Poor kid.” Pumbaa grunted unhappily. “Scared of the dark?”
Simba nodded.
“Huh! Me too! But ya know what?”
“What?”
“My mom used to tell me stories to help me get to sleep, and I remember ‘em all! Wanna hear one?”
Simba nodded, wide eyed, and settled in close, much to Pumbaa’s surprise. “Would you tell me one? Please?”
“Sure. Let me see...” Pumbaa grimaced, thinking hard, then smiled. “Oh yeah! This one was my favorite.
“Once there was a great leader among the elephants. His name was Mongo Earthshaker because he was so big that when he walked you could feel the ground shake. Well one day Mongo was so thirsty that he ran down to the watering hole, even though he had hurt his leg only three days before. His mate Zesta warned him that he was headed for trouble because of his leg, but he hurried anyway. Well, the water was so cool and refreshing that when he drank it he didn’t feel thirsty anymore. Then he went back to his friends.”
“Then what happened?”
“How should I know? That’s the end of the story. But there is another one about him that tells about the time he took a mud bath. You’ll never guess how it ends!”
“He cooled off, didn’t he?”
“Darn! You’ve heard it already.” Pumbaa looked alarmingly at Simba’s dour expression and put a foreleg around the cub. “Look here, little guy. You lay next to me. If you’re afraid, don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”
Simba looked at him a moment longer, then lay his head down, pressing his nose into Pumbaa’s side, trying to blot out as much of the world as he could. The gentle tides of Pumbaa’s breathing and the steady thrum of his heart lulled the exhausted cub, pulling him into a much needed sleep.
Pumbaa sat quiet until he was sure Simba had dropped off, then lay his own head down. Eyes drooping, he began to slide away into sleep’s embrace until a sudden motion from the cub brought him back to sharp wakefulness. Glancing down, he saw Simba’s paws twitching restlessly, soft moans escaping his lips and chilling the warthog with their intensity.
“Uncle Scar? I’m sorry...din’t mean it.” He shuffled restlessly again. “Accident...what’m I gonna do? Mom?” Pumbaa grunted with pain as the cub kicked abruptly, crying out in the dark stillness. “Dad! No!”
Pumbaa nuzzled him helplessly, uncertain of what to do, and was relieved to see Simba quiet down at the touch, forepaws reaching out in his sleep and making contact with the warthog’s side, claws kneading him slightly in a long forgotten reflex. Pumbaa endured the discomfort, gazing at the cub thoughtfully as the night passed, until Simba dropped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Pumbaa looked at Timon with mist in his gazelle eyes. “No, Timon. What do they do?”
“They get bigger. It doesn’t happen all at once, see, but one day you’ll wake up....” He straddled and expanded to make his point. “....and there will be this greaaat biiiig lion as far as the eyes can see! He won’t be little and cute then, but he’ll still be our problem.”
“Keep it down, Timon. He’ll hear you!”
Timon glanced around anxiously. “Yeah. And I bet he’s hungry, too!”
“Now there you go again! He’s only a little kid, and he’s so sad and lost and helpless!” Tears began to spring up in Pumbaa’s eyes. “Just because you’re smarter than I am doesn’t mean you’re always right. I mean, not always, you know.”
“And I suppose you got it all figured out?”
“No. But while we’re wasting time figuring it all out, that little guy needs our help!”
Once in a while Pumbaa said something that made Timon stand up and take note. “All right. Answer me this, then. Let’s say we keep him. Down, Pumbaa, I said IF we keep him, what will he eat?”
Tears misted up in Pumbaa’s eyes again. “If we DON’T keep him, what will he eat?” A tear ran down the warthog’s cheek. “I gotta live with myself, Timon. Don’t make me choose between you and him. Please??”
“You can’t walk out on me!”
“I can’t walk out on him!”
Adopting a lion cub was a big decision, and it took Pumbaa a lot of discussion and a great deal of pouting to overcome Timon’s reluctance. What Aiheu did not give the warthog in eloquent speech, he made up for in sheer determination. And when Pumbaa really made up his mind and looked at Timon with his gazelle eyes, he usually got his way.
All in all, the benefits outweighed the disadvantages, Pumbaa figured; they would have to raise a youngster (a task Timon especially loathed), but the return on their investment would be enormous. Simba would make a terrific bodyguard and a good friend. Besides, Timon would not have to endure Pumbaa’s pleading looks.
“OK,” Timon said at last. “I’m going to regret this, but we’ll keep the kid.”
“Hooray!!”
The advantages of such a relationship were obvious, and the two readily fell to in making the cub feel right at home.
Simba, however, had no such preconceptions. He embraced the carefree lifestyle of “Hakuna Matata” the two preached of, somewhat reluctant at first, but more and more easily as the day wore on. It was difficult to overcome the inhibitions his parents had instilled in him; he found it hard to accept the fact that he was pretty much free to do what he pleased, eat what he pleased...even the simplest of niceties were not required. The first time he belched and covered his mouth with a paw, saying “Excuse me!” with a horrified expression on his face, Timon had gone into gales of laughter.
The cub reflected on this as he lay on his back, paws outstretched, rubbing one ear lazily as he blinked in the late afternoon sun. He tracked its progress, half interested, thinking it was funny how much the sun looked just as it did when he had been at home.
Home.
He rubbed the fur on his belly uncomfortably, remembering sitting next to Sarabi, her warm tongue bathing him as he lay beside her, sated from his last meal, watching the same sun go down in the Pride Lands. He watched as the fiery orb doubled, then trebled in his vision as quiet tears ran down his cheeks. His heart sank along with the sun, his spirits falling and turning dark with the sky around him. The stars made their appearances one by one, standing stalwart against the night, but no such light remained in Simba’s soul. Sniffing quietly, he tilted his head back to look at the depthless expanse of the universe above.
“God? I don’t know if you feel like listening to me...but I wanted to ask a favor.” His jaw trembled, and his face drew down in deep lines as he struggled to keep control. “Would you please watch out for my pride? I mean, Uncle Scar isn’t that strong and he has that bad back...he needs help. And help Aunt Uzuri catch a lot of food so Nala doesn’t get hungry or anything.” Despite his struggles, he began to cry again, his voice wavering unsteadily as he rushed to finish. “And watch out for Mom, okay? And if you can...please tell her...I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” His head fell forward and he buried it under his forepaws, shaking with the terrible force of his grief.
A sharp trill sang from the grass next to him, and he jumped, crying out as he backed away. A second trill answered, and son the grass was full of the droning sound of crickets, humming away busily as they sang their strange calls to one another. Fire blossomed in the grass as a small white glow emerged, flitting about aimlessly. Simba twirled in agitation as he was suddenly surrounded by dozens of tiny points of light, miniature suns that gleamed with a cold brilliance. The fireflies darted about his head, one alighting on his nose and jittering frenziedly as it signaled its fellows. The cub yelped in fear, jumping up and running across the clearing to the cover of the nearby bushes where Timon and Pumbaa were making themselves comfortable for the night’s slumber.
Pumbaa saw him scamper in, shaking furiously. “What’s the matter, Simba?”
“I’m scared!” he burst out. “I wanna go home!”
“Aww, man...” Timon groaned.
Pumbaa shushed him sternly, then turned back to the terrified cub. “C’mon, little fella. Just lie down and get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“I CAN’T sleep! Those THINGS’ll get me!” Simba ran over to Pumbaa and huddled against his comforting bulk, shivering as he stared at the dark jungle around them, seeing movement in every shadow.
“Poor kid.” Pumbaa grunted unhappily. “Scared of the dark?”
Simba nodded.
“Huh! Me too! But ya know what?”
“What?”
“My mom used to tell me stories to help me get to sleep, and I remember ‘em all! Wanna hear one?”
Simba nodded, wide eyed, and settled in close, much to Pumbaa’s surprise. “Would you tell me one? Please?”
“Sure. Let me see...” Pumbaa grimaced, thinking hard, then smiled. “Oh yeah! This one was my favorite.
“Once there was a great leader among the elephants. His name was Mongo Earthshaker because he was so big that when he walked you could feel the ground shake. Well one day Mongo was so thirsty that he ran down to the watering hole, even though he had hurt his leg only three days before. His mate Zesta warned him that he was headed for trouble because of his leg, but he hurried anyway. Well, the water was so cool and refreshing that when he drank it he didn’t feel thirsty anymore. Then he went back to his friends.”
“Then what happened?”
“How should I know? That’s the end of the story. But there is another one about him that tells about the time he took a mud bath. You’ll never guess how it ends!”
“He cooled off, didn’t he?”
“Darn! You’ve heard it already.” Pumbaa looked alarmingly at Simba’s dour expression and put a foreleg around the cub. “Look here, little guy. You lay next to me. If you’re afraid, don’t be. I’ll take care of you.”
Simba looked at him a moment longer, then lay his head down, pressing his nose into Pumbaa’s side, trying to blot out as much of the world as he could. The gentle tides of Pumbaa’s breathing and the steady thrum of his heart lulled the exhausted cub, pulling him into a much needed sleep.
Pumbaa sat quiet until he was sure Simba had dropped off, then lay his own head down. Eyes drooping, he began to slide away into sleep’s embrace until a sudden motion from the cub brought him back to sharp wakefulness. Glancing down, he saw Simba’s paws twitching restlessly, soft moans escaping his lips and chilling the warthog with their intensity.
“Uncle Scar? I’m sorry...din’t mean it.” He shuffled restlessly again. “Accident...what’m I gonna do? Mom?” Pumbaa grunted with pain as the cub kicked abruptly, crying out in the dark stillness. “Dad! No!”
Pumbaa nuzzled him helplessly, uncertain of what to do, and was relieved to see Simba quiet down at the touch, forepaws reaching out in his sleep and making contact with the warthog’s side, claws kneading him slightly in a long forgotten reflex. Pumbaa endured the discomfort, gazing at the cub thoughtfully as the night passed, until Simba dropped off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
CHAPTER 43: ATTENDANCE IS REQUIRED
"Where there is no vision, the people perish."
-- Old Testament
Meanwhile Fabana, Shenzi and Banzai moved among the hyenas. They spread the word to all: “Important Clan meeting at high moon. Attendance is required.”
Amarakh was having a playful wrestling bout with her husband when Ber came by. “Roh’mach, do you have a moment?”
She looked up, peeved. “Can’t I have a life of my own?”
“I’m sorry, My Lady. I’ll ask you tonight at the clan meeting.”
“I didn’t call a clan meeting.”
“Well everyone else says you did. And that it’s very important.”
“Who told you?”
“Fabana.”
Amarakh sighed, kissed her husband, and said, “I’ll be back in a minute. Remember where we were.”
The Roh’mach went around looking for Fabana. She expected to trace down the source of the rumor and find out who dared to mock her. She was in for a great surprise when she finally found Fabana.
“Fay, what’s this about a clan meeting? Who told you?”
Fabana straightened with pride. “Roh’kash herself.”
“What??” Amarakh’s hackles raised. “Let me scratch my ears. I must have wax in them.”
“No, My Lady. Tonight at high moon, The Lord herself is going to address us on a matter of great importance.”
“If you say so,” Amarakh said dubiously. “Let’s just say I hope She shows up for your sake. Otherwise, I’m going to be pretty put out with you, hon.” She softened her tone. “I know it’s been hard on you raising that family of yours alone. Especially the way Jal died. I’ll think of something important to say. Maybe I’ll just make something up. I don’t want you being made a fool of. We’ll discuss this later, OK?”
“I’m not seeing things. There are witnesses. Shenzi, Banzai and Ed all saw her.”
“Look, Fay. We’ve been friends all our lives. But this is ridiculous. You go around promising God to these folks, all I can say is you had better deliver!”
There was a large pointed crag in the elephant graveyard called Makh’pil Baru, or “Moon Claw,” for at exactly high moon the shadow of its point would touch a boulder named Ul Khalil, or “The Springhare.” In living memory it had always been the signal to start a clan meeting.
Also by long custom, the Roh’mach did not discuss business before mid moon. Everyone usually had some idea what was going to be covered in advance, and this time as always there were rumors being spread through the crowd. Amarakh politely turned away questions, but she was clearly uncomfortable.
“It’s not too late,” she whispered to Fabana. “Please don’t go through with this. I’m trying to help you. You know I’m your friend.”
“I know.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
The dance of the heavenly bodies was progressing. The point of the shadow drew close to Ul Khalil. By then, everyone was in a state of great anticipation.
Amarakh was silent, her mind working quickly to think of something to say. Shenzi was looking rather smug, certain that what happened would be the crowning glory of her short life. Banzai was proud of his sister and sat erect, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye and looking gravely serious, trying not to grin broadly. Ed, as always, was Ed.
The point of the shadow crept to the edge of the rock. As everyone watched with bated breath, the black triangle crept across the stone and finally reached the exact center.
The quiet was unearthly. No one spoke or even dared to move.
Then the shadow passed the center of the stone and approached the far side.
“Thank you for coming,” Amarakh said. “My main reason in calling you here was to sort out a crime that had been committed against one of our prominent families. But since the guilty party has confessed and agreed to make reparations, I think it wise not to dredge it up again.”
“Who, Roh’mach?” someone asked.
“I prefer not to say.”
“Was that it?” another one asked.
“Pretty much. The wildebeest herd is on the move again, but most of you know that by now. I’m sorry the hunt had to be spoiled by this little fiasco.”
“When is God coming?” one of the females asked.
“Yes, when is she coming, Amarakh?” Korg asked.
“We were told God was coming!” Ber said. “So where is she??”
“Who said God was coming??”
A clamor arose. Clearly, there were a lot of disappointed hyenas who were not sure who to be upset with, but Amarakh was as good a target as any.
“Calm down everyone,” the Roh’mach said. “We’ll all see Roh’kash at the moment of our death. Think, all of you! Think! Why would God want to call a clan meeting with us? It makes no sense!”
Amarakh was suddenly aware of her shadow grow long and prominent before her, a great golden light filling the air around her with luminance and bathing the hyenas before her as they fell to the ground, ears flattened back and heads between paws. Amarakh trembled. She swallowed hard and turned around....
“Roh’kash!!” The Roh’mach fell to the ground and howled in fear. “Mercy! Mercy, Lord!”