Divenire
2: Divenire


    The lionesses of Pride Rock had gathered within its confines, a somber mood falling like great shade over them. Occasionally, one would rear her head or claw at the stone ground in agitation, before retreating into quiet concord. The cave was lit from the morning sun which shone inside, stopping only at its furthermost reaches.

    Before the group sat a few lions, separate from the lionesses but very much attentive to their qualms. King Simba sat at its forefront. His brown mane flickered lightly against a swelling breeze which wafted into the cavern. His gaze was stern, but his demeanor calm. He had been granted time to rest his nerves following Nala’s initial announcement of Adhra’s death and the hyenas’ subsequent advancement onto their land, as Rafiki’s tree was a ways away from Pride Rock, which provided the opportunity to order one’s thoughts.

    Two lionesses flanked Simba on either side. On his right sat Nala. Though elegant and strong as any lioness in the pride, she could not help but show her trepidation, her face turned downward in an expression of preoccupation.

    Simba’s mother stood on his left. Where Nala was strong-willed but fearful, Sarabi was not only valiant in her stature, but just as regal. Though her days as queen were over, the golden-brown lioness still brought a leadership to the pride that had gone unopposed to that point. Her gaze was on her soon, her warm look urging him on.

    It took him a moment before Simba could finally speak. Glancing at Sarabi for a few moments to glean a spot of extra courage from her motherly gaze, he looked up into the crowd of gathered, restless lionesses, and began to orate.

    “…as you know already, Adhra is dead,” the king started. Solemnly the lionesses turned to the corner of the cave, at which the fallen patrol lay. Her body had been cleaned of its wounds since she had been returned to the cave by her accomplices, but all along her frame, one could see where the fatal blows had been dealt.

    Nala gave a sob of frustration – a minute one, but noticeable nonetheless – before swallowing it down and reverting to her attempt at a fearless gaze. Adhra had been one of her closest friends in the pride, and above all a sister figure to the lioness, as Nala was a mere few seasons younger than she.

    “I am told that Zira and Ghasia were with her at the time of her death, and were able to bring her body back here. Zira, could you tell us what has happened?” he asked.

    A lioness stepped forward, one of the few whose nerves seemed to be about her. Zira was one of the stronger lionesses of the group, so thought Simba. Her connections to Scar had worried him, but with her insistence that her dedication rested with their pride and their pride alone, and that Scar had acted merely on his own accord without her knowledge, Simba was pacified.

    “Adhra wanted to sneak further into the Outlands,” spoke Zira in a raspy, weary vocal, “despite what was originally said, that we went away first and she followed. No, we decided to follow Adhra herself back into the Outlands, as strength lies in numbers, not in mere brute strength of one being. She was grateful for the assistance, and we wanted to see what those mangy things were up to, anyway.

    “She led the way, having known the place better than the rest of us. When we reached the graveyard that sits on its outskirts, Adhra told us to hang back for a moment while she ventured within. Moments later we heard a cry, a scream, and… well…”

    “Attacked,” Ghasia said, her speech rushed in a nervous slur. “A surprise one. The hyenas must have seen her before and knew she was coming.”

    “We could barely pull her away from them to bring her back,” chimed in Zira.

    Simba looked to the three lionesses, then to Adhra’s lifeless body, and back to them. Giving a slow nod, he spoke, “Thank you, you two. Thank you for returning Adhra to us.”

    He swallowed once, before continuing.

    “As many of you know, Adhra was one of our strongest and youngest lionesses. We will miss her, but her memory shall live on. I ask you to lift her name to the Great Kings this evening as they welcome her into their kingdom.

    “War is imminent,” he said, blurting out the statement as though he had feared the words since they first formed in his mind. “Normally, we would send a party to the hyenas to negotiate. If they agreed to our terms, a crisis could be averted. But now is not the time for such things. I am told that the hyenas are now on their way here. They will likely be at Pride Rock before nightfall.”

    Whispering voices broke through the cave, some frantic, some tense, some with passionate ire. The king raised a paw to silence the fervent vocalizations. The din gradually subsided.

    “We depart now. Yes, we have seen the hyena forces and yes, they may outnumber us. But now, it is either kill or be killed. We cannot allow the hyenas to retake our land. Look what was the result of that last time.”

    “Sire, shall I alert neighboring kingdoms?” asked Zazu, the hornbill perched atop Sarabi’s shoulder.

    Simba thought for a moment, before replying, “Yes, Zazu, please do. Make the news urgent. If they arrive following our defeat, perhaps they can reclaim that which we have lost again.”

    With a quick nod, Zazu turned on his talon and flew out the mouth of the cave, soon a blue blur against the midday sky.

    “Simba,” spoke Sarabi, “please, if you would, allow me to speak to the lionesses in private before we leave.”

    The king glanced at his mother quizzically. She merely shook her head. “Your father afforded me this,” she said sternly. “I ask now that you grant me this same privilege.”

    Though still confused, Simba assented silently to Sarabi. He departed the innards of Pride Rock, bounding out onto the promontory of the huge edifice. It was a normal day, or so it seemed by comparison to the unrest that was unfolding. Even the northern border, from which an attack was surely coming, seemed serene, its shadows containing whatever secrets it was said to harbor.

    Confusion took hold of the young lion. He could not understand why Adhra had wanted to venture back into the very place she should not go. She had always seemed smart, albeit perhaps a bit too sure of herself. Nonetheless, Nala’s original report had been that Zira and Ghasia had been off toward the Outlands themselves, with Adhra following – not the other way around. Had it been a mere miscommunication? If not, what had Zira and Ghasia been doing going to the Outlands by themselves? Did they seek a confirmation of what Adhra was said to have heard?

    And still on his mind was his meeting with Rafiki prior to the news of homicide. The mandrill’s words startled him, and he had not even been able to understand all that Rafiki had orated. But a few choice words did stick in his head – “You are the key!” he had cried. “Become!”

    Ever-present too was the threat of Nbushe, thought Simba. A spirit, which seemed to perhaps be the spirit that made all – including all life forms – and it was angry with Simba’s pride. For how long had it been angry with them? Had Scar dealt with it? Even his father? And what was the key to coaxing it from its agitation?

    Key, Simba thought. Rafiki said that I was the key. Could that mean…?

    “I hear there’s war afoot, mon Capitán!”

    Timon and Pumbaa had joined Simba on the outlook. Timon stood atop his warthog accomplice’s head, his chest puffed outward in a courageous stance. Beneath him, Pumbaa was quiet, but his expression was one of determination.

    The meerkat breathed in deeply, exhaled, and looked to the lion beside him. “So, who’dya piss off this time?”

    Simba sighed. “The hyenas are back, guys. They killed one of our own today, and they’re on their way here now.”

    “Heh, big deal! We’ll give ‘em the ol’ beatdown again. Maybe one of them’ll call Pumbaa a pig again or something.” He scampered off Pumbaa and onto Simba’s broad back. “Kid, as long as you don’t make us do the hula again, we’re right behind ya.”

    The king grimaced, an attempt at a smile snaking onto his face before disappearing completely. “…actually, I think you guys should stay back.”

    “What?! Your most able officers, not on the front line?!”

    “C’mon, Simba, let us help you!” said Pumbaa.

    “Guys, we may have the hyenas in strength, but they have numbers,” Simba said animatedly. “We didn’t really defeat them, after all. They left when Scar basically betrayed them. And you saw what was left of him when they were through…”

    “Yeesh,” gulped Timon. “Don’t remind me.”

    “…but,” began Simba again, with a thoughtful expression, “if you two can make it to Rafiki, that would be great. I don’t know if he knows what’s about to happen. Plus… well, I’m sure we could use him in some way.”

    Timon only stared at Simba for quite some time, his gaze studying the young lion king. Finally, with a wink of encouragement, he leapt off Simba’s back and onto Pumbaa’s. “Fine. One crazy monkey, coming right up. Let’s go, buddy.”

    Simba watched them depart, the duo bounding down the side of the formation and into the savanna.  However, he did not watch Timon and Pumbaa leave down the side of Pride Rock, for his focus was instead rested upon a fissure in the stone surface just beyond where his friends had left.

    It was a lion, one which he had never seen in his life. Its black coat shone brightly against the sun, its mane even darker against the tan rock. It was beckoning him, wanting him to join it within or nearby the fissure. Its eyes, red-looking from afar, were by no means inviting, and yet Simba felt obligated to speak to it.

    “What is your name?” he called, stepping a few paces toward the fissure. “Come to me.”

    The lion shook its head, and beckoned again.

    “I say, traveler, come here! You do not understand the trouble my pride is in now. I must see you in the daylight.”

    But the lion was steadfast in its insistence on Simba coming to it rather than it coming to him. Again, it hurriedly beckoned, seemingly slipping deeper into the fissure, though Simba knew the crack to be shallow in stature, meaning therefore that the lion could not venture inside much further.

    “I will ask you one last time –”

    Another shake of its head. Another beckon.

    Simba roared soundly, eyes closed in roused frustration. He charged the lion, paws light against the dusty stone ground.

    “Simba!”

    The lion skidded to a halt and glanced to his left. Nala sat at the entrance of the cavern. She was worried, her expression seeming troubled. “What’s the matter?” she asked, puzzled.

    “An intruder!” cried Simba. “Look!” He pointed to the fissure in the surface.

    But when Nala looked to the spot, her expression became only more troubled – and Simba could see why immediately. Instead of a summoning, red-eyed black lion, there was nothing but a large crack in the stone.

    Wide-eyed confusion swept across Simba. He hurried to the spot. “No! No, no, he was here!” he exclaimed, searching within the fissure. “I promise you, Nala! Here!”

    “Simba! What is wrong?” came Sarabi’s voice. “Stop! Calm yourself.”

    The lion backed away from the crack, and his gaze fell upon the rest of the pride. Sarabi stood at its forefront, a stern look spread across her face.

    Simba was breathing heavily by that point, and it took quite a few moments for his muscles to unclench and for his breath to come back to him at a settling pace. Shaking his head once, he spoke: “I… I’m sorry, everyone, I must have been seeing things.” He turned to Sarabi. “Are we ready?”

    Sarabi said nothing. She studied her son with a teaching glare, scrutinizing every last spot upon his body, or so it seemed. Nala finally spoke for her. “Yes, we’re ready, Simba. Are you?”

    The king stood to his upmost posture and nodded, gulping once. “I am. Let us proceed.”

    “What is your plan?” called out Sarafina.

    Simba cursed himself internally. He had not any such plan of attack. He merely knew what had to be done, but not the way in which to do it.

    But somehow, he was able to keep his composure, or at least refrained from letting the lionesses on to his unpreparedness. “We’ll… we’ll send scouts ahead,” he said finally. “These scouts can tell us where the hyenas are, and we will formulate an ambush of sorts from there, if we can. Do we have any volunteers to do this?”

    Zira stepped forward. “I will,” she stated. “I know the land better than anyone we have left.” Ghasia and another lioness, Nyeupe, volunteered their service as well with nods of affirmation.

    “Good. Thank you. Go,” said Simba shortly. “Let us know what you see.” The lionesses were gone moments later, bounding down the side of Pride Rock and out into the savanna, north toward the Outlands.

    Simba turned to the remaining pride. “The rest of us… we’ll go now, too.  But slowly. Keep your wits about you, my friends. We cannot allow the hyenas to intimidate us. We will not lose this battle by losing our composure. Understood?”

    Receiving a silent assent from the remaining pride, Simba nodded to them. “Let’s go.”

    They walked in relative silence through the savanna, Simba at the group’s forefront. Sarabi was astride her son, speaking not a word at first, just as before. The ground was dirty beneath them, and muddy from the rain a few nights prior. Brown substances caked their paws and lower legs.

    “Simba,” spoke Sarabi finally, “there is something troubling you.”

    Simba shook his head. “No, mother,” he said. “There isn’t. Let’s not think about this now.”

    “But there is. There is, and I can tell it.”

    The lion could only sigh, and turn away from his mother. “It’s… it’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m only worried for the well-being of the pride.”

    “We all are, and yet, we are not as flustered as you seem to be,” said Sarabi austerely. “And while I cannot determine what that is, know this – Simba, you must face your fears. Just because you are a king does not make you a great one. This is something you must become.”

    Nala listened to the conversation intently, hoping her friend would reveal that which was troubling him. She had seen into the fissure. There had been nothing there. She knew not what Simba had seen, and it worried her.

    “My son, I say this because I want you to be the best for this pride, not because I am angry or unbelieving in you,” Sarabi continued. “Whatever problems face you, you must put them aside now and focus on the task ahead. Become our king, Simba. Not just in name, but with Mufasa and the Great Kings as witness. Do this, do this in the name of glorious Aiheu, my son.”

    “Nbushe, I say, is all,” were Rafiki’s words in Simba’s mind at the mention of Aiheu. Nonetheless, he shoved the ranting of his shaman friend into the back of his mind for that moment, and nodded to Sarabi.

    “Yes, mother,” he said. “In the name of Aiheu.”

    Nearby, upon the promontory of Pride Rock, was a great black mist, hovering in an uncanny mess of shapes as it watched the lions depart.

END CHAPTER