Chapter 1

It had been a long and restless day in the Pride Lands. Simba and Mufasa had been missing for some hours. It was not like the king to leave his pride unprotected. Now half the day was gone, twilight was sweeping in purple and pink hues across the land and stars were beginning to twinkle above the rosy clouds when Zazu made his final report to Sarabi.

The little hornbill claimed to have awoken near Pride Rock, his memory foggy. The last thing he claimed to remember was Scar running toward Mufasa with some urgent news. Everything after was a blank . . . Sarabi had charged the little hornbill to stay at Pride Rock in the event that Mufasa and Simba or Scar should return. She then ordered a search party and she and the lionesses had spent the entire day searching.

Now Sarabi was moving heavily and wearily toward Pride Rock, her tail swishing low as her closest friends, Sarafina and Kali, moved miserably at her sides. They moved through the tall grass, their ears flat on their heads, and each lioness was filled with the same heart-wrenching thought: something terrible had happened to Mufasa and Simba.

Little Nala stumbled after in their wake, her head just as low and silent tears streaming from her eyes. Sarafina glanced back at her daughter, too afraid to explain what was happening and yet too afraid not to.

And then Sarabi looked up as Zazu came gliding smoothly over the tall grass and landed before them upon a rock. The little hornbill bowed low, his face the perfect vision of utter grief and misery as a single tear melted into the blue feathers. Sarabi's heart clenched at the sight and Zazu need not have spoken; the truth was plain in his face: the king and little prince were dead.

They spoke not a word as they moved on, Zazu now gliding heavily in their wake. Sarabi felt a tiny crack in heart like a pencil line and the closer they came to Pride Rock, the wider it grew until she thought her heart would split in half and she would die.

As the shadow of Pride Rock fell across them, chilling in its enormity, other lionesses appeared in the grass and melted silently into Sarabi's group. All were silent, all were sad, and Sarabi knew she had not been the first to hear Zazu's news. She didn't know how she could bear it, returning to Pride Rock without the welcome of her husband's deep, merry voice, the patter of Simba's feet as he ran to greet her . . .

They came at last to the foot of Pride Rock, where Scar was sitting solemn and grief-stricken over a huge pile of rocks: a grave. The full truth of what had happened hit home for the first time, and Sarabi halted and merely stared at the grave, her small eyes wide in disbelief.

"It can't be true," she whispered hoarsely. She moved quickly and deliberately toward the grave, but the scent of Mufasa was strong and oppressing. Sarabi's legs shook slightly and she backed several feet away. "But where's Simba?" she whispered. The scent of her son was not present.

Scar closed his eyes and nodded mournfully at Zira, who stepped forward and carefully placed a tuft of fur on the grave. Sarabi's breath caught in her throat, for the tuft of fur belonged to none other than her son.

"There was an accident," Zira mumbled, her bright pitiless eyes fixed on Sarabi with a sort of cruel satisfaction.

Zira and Sarabi had never been friends -- in fact, they were anything but. Zira had always wanted to be queen in Sarabi's place. She had a short-lived crush on Mufasa when she was young, but her heart was broken by the latter: Mufasa had only ever had eyes for Sarabi. Zira later fell in love with Scar (who merely tolerated her as a sort of fanatical follower he could one day use for his own purposes), and she and her followers were ever after estranged members of the pride. Now with Mufasa's death, Zira's chance had come.

Sarabi glanced sharply at Zira's belly, which was beginning to sag suspiciously round, and she knew without a doubt that perhaps Zira had been waiting for this day, had even planned Mufasa's death and gotten herself with Scar's cub in advance.

"How is it you knew there was an accident and the rest of us did not?" Sarabi demanded, taking a halting step toward Zira. The others' faces darkened with the same sudden thought, and the lionesses with Sarabi watched Zira with accusing stares.

Zira merely smiled from her seat at Scar's foot and the lionesses sitting around her sneered at Sarabi.

"You--" Sarabi moved as if she would lunge, but a sharp voice rang out.

"Sarabi!" It was Scar. He was sitting perfectly still above the grave, his bright green eyes narrowed, his mouth a mournful line. "Do not smear my brother's name by fighting at his funeral. Zira had nothing to do with – with the losses we have suffered today . . ." He bowed his head with a convincing expression of woe and Sarabi halted.

Zira, meanwhile, remained smiling as before.

"Leave," Sarabi hissed at Zira, "Leave or I swear . . ."

Zira didn't move until Scar gave her an absent gesture of the paw. Then she climbed to her paws and with a sly smile, turned and began to slowly climb the stone stair, her followers hissing with laughter as they came in her wake.

Sarabi looked to Scar, "What happened? What . . . happened to them?" she begged brokenly, tears coursing down her cheeks.

Scar bowed his head and began the eulogy.