John Burkitt - Shadow of Makei

Simba’s expression crumpled and he looked away. “No one needs me.”

Gods, what was wrong with him?! “Yes, we do! You’re the king!”

“Nala, we’ve been through this,” he said testily. “I’m not the king; Scar is.” “And well he should be,” Simba thought to himself. The monarchy was no place for a murderer, and his uncle had wisely pointed this out in the gorge. Simba had no choice but to agree to his self imposed exile. Technically, it would have been well within his uncle’s right to have him killed for Mufasa’s death. Yet he had shown mercy on his nephew and allowed him to leave untouched. With such a wise and merciful king, the Pride Lands were better off under his uncle’s supervision.

At least, he thought so, until Nala informed him of the hyannic takeover of his homeland. He stared at her disbelievingly. “What?!”

“There’s no food, no water...Simba, if you don’t do something soon, everyone will starve!”

As he opened his mouth to answer, a chill brushed him, and he shivered. He looked away from her, the depression filling him, his spirit sagging with guilt. “I can’t go back.”

“Why?!”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“WHAT wouldn’t I understand?!”

“No, no, no.” He waved her off irritably. “It doesn’t matter. Hakuna Matata.”

“What?” Nala’s face twisted in confusion.

“Hakuna Matata. It’s something I learned out here.” He leapt lightly upon a fallen tree and looked at her. “Look,” he said, eager for her to understand, “sometimes bad things happen-”

“Simba!” Nala lashed her tail in frustration.

“-and there’s nothing you can do about it,” he grated, irritated at her interruption. “So why worry?” He looked away and paced agitatedly along the length of the tree.

Nala followed alongside. The anger and frustration came to a head, and she lashed at him with full force. “Because it’s your responsibility!!” Sweet Aiehu, why didn’t he see it?

Simba came to a stop and glanced at her angrily. “So what about you? YOU left!”

“I left to find help!” she shot back, incensed. “And I found YOU. Don’t you understand?!” Her voice trembled on the edge of tears. “You’re our only hope.”

Simba closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her. “Sorry.”

Nala drew back and peered at him with narrowed eyes. “What’s happened to you?” She shook her head. “You’re not the Simba I remember.”

“You’re right. I’m not,” he said, clipping his words off brutally. “NOW are you satisfied?”

“No. Just disappointed.”

He started away, shoulders stiff with anger. “You’re starting to sound like my father.”

A tingle ran through Nala, and the words escaped unbidden. “Good. At least ONE of us does.” She put a paw to her mouth, horrified at what she had said.

Simba froze, the lethargic feeling ripped away as her words tore through him. He spun around and advanced on her. “Look! You think you can just come in here and tell me how to run my life?! You don't even know what I’ve BEEN through!”

“I would if you’d just tell me!” She moved to go to him, but he whirled and plunged through the underbrush, heedless of the sharp branches that tore at him.

“Forget it!” He padded away quickly, unwilling to let her see the tears in his eyes.

“Fine!” Nala turned away, stung, angry at herself for letting him get away. She walked morosely over to the fallen log and leapt upon it, settling herself atop the old wood. Her tail moved restlessly as she mulled over their conversation, berating herself for lashing out at him like that. At a loss, she laid her head upon her forepaws, gazing out across the river valley. The sound of the waterfall was lulling, and she blinked her eyes sleepily as she watched the sparkling torrent fall through the air to crash on the rocks below. Soon she was dozing softly, the soft white light of the moon bathing her golden form in unearthly beauty.

In the underbrush across from her, the light gleamed from twin points of amber fire. The random edges of the leaves and branches shifted in the night breezes and gave form to a finely chiseled face that peered intrestedly at the sleeping lioness. Mano sighed and slipped from the undergrowth, the pure white fur of his body gleaming like a fallen star as he padded noiselessly over to where Nala lay.

He leaned over her, listening to her murmur uneasily in her sleep, reading her troubled thoughts. He pursed his lips and blew gently in her face, the scent of wild honey clinging to her fur as he watched her features relax and smooth out.

“Sleep, child. You have done well. It’s up to him, now.” He lay down beside her, his mane shifting in an unseen breeze as he looked far to the east, where Pride Rock lay. He thought of the unspeakable horror that lay nestled there, and his features hardened into a grim mask of determination.

“And you, old one, are now on borrowed time.”

Makhpil looked on in horror as a living wave of hyenas crashed upon Simba, burying him under an assault of snapping jaws and ripping claws. The lion struck out, scattering them in a bellow of fury as he methodically began to annihilate any and every opponent that separated him from Taka, who stood across from them at the base of the promontory, exhorting the hyenas to fight on. “Show no mercy!” Taka cried lustily.

“Oh gods,” she moaned as she saw a hyena tossed aside like a pup, shrieking horribly from the ragged wound in his side. She recognized him well; he had come to her only last week to ask advice on where to dig a den for his mate.

A terrific struggle ensued across from her, several hyena voices crying out in shock and fear. Several went tumbling and rolling as Ber shouldered them aside, snapping savagely as he fought his way through the throng. Behind him came Krull and Fabana, the two guarding Ber’s flanks as he bludgeoned his way through the mass of his fellows, snarling defiantly. Ber paused, seeing the mass of hyenas attacking Simba, and raised his voice.

“To the King!” he bellowed, turning lion heads as well as hyenas toward him. “God and Roh’mach!!”

An uproar joined him as the members of the hidden resistance group, plagued and tormented for years rose up with a shout and joined him. “God and Roh’mach!” Pandemonium reigned as hyena turned upon hyena, guards looking in surprise as companions they had known for years began to attack them bitterly.

Makhpil felt her blood boil at the remembered injustices under the reign of Shenzi and Taka. “God and Roh’mach!” she cried, turning upon a burly guard who was harrying Simba’s flank. Her fangs sank deep into his hide, and blood sprayed into her face in a hot flood. Crying out, he whipped around, locking eyes with her. “You!”

“So Skulk, how do you do against an enemy who able to fight back, eh?!” Makhpil bared her teeth at him. “Not so easy as it was with Belvalen, eh?”

“You WITCH!” he cried, lunging at her. She sidestepped neatly, dodging his attack with inches to spare. He rose and flailed again, but she went under this time, tearing out a hunk of hair that made him wail with pain. He stumbled back, stunned, a smear of blood reddening his chest like a blossom. She started forward to finish him, but she stopped as the wave of pain and hurt hit her mind like an openhanded swat to the face, a soundless cry of agony that came from the spirit and not the flesh.

“Why did you want to hurt me?” he thought. “I liked you.”

His mind lay open to her suddenly, and she saw the hidden desire under the cruel exterior, a desperate wish for companionship that reached deep inside him to his core, a desolate loneliness that cried out for help. And in her, he had seen the possibility of a way out.