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 h
ow 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?”
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