Shadow of Makei cotpl-3

by John H. Burkitt

  “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....

  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 p
erch 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.”