TLK: His Unrestful Soul

Prologue

—

His firstborn son, the light of the land and the future Lion King. The sight of him ought to have filled Simba with joy, but instead, he only felt a dull gnawing sort of sadness.

After all, the child was frail, too weak to even paw at the air as a healthier baby would have. At birth he was so lifeless that they had thought him stillborn; it was only Rafiki's skilled touch that had coaxed motion out of him in the first place. But even now, one of those dismal, too-soft mewls was enough to tell Simba what he had long suspected.

The boy wasn't long for the world. He had clung to life for these past two weeks, never getting better. He had never quite died, but if he hadn't gotten better by now, then his fate was as good as sealed.

Simba wanted to cry. But the last tears had been wrung from his eyes days past. Since then, his son had worsened, and he had spent his hours half asleep, half awake, too tired to do his duty as king but too worried to rest. Even the view of his dominion in the first light of the rising sun didn't inspire him. The rolling grass fields, the sleepy shaded forests, even the glimmering reflection of the sun off of distant pools of water... none of it brought light or hope to his eyes. How could it, when even Rafiki's round-the-clock efforts hadn't saved his son?

The doctor was with him now, in the warmest, most protected corner of Pride Rock. But after two weeks of diminishing hope, Simba couldn't convince himself that he could save the child. He might prolong the inevitable, but that was all.

Simba felt the softness of his wife's head against his shoulder, but he couldn't bring himself to try to comfort her. Not when anything he said would, undoubtedly, ring false. But that hurt, that he couldn't even comfort his wife. And somehow Nala still had tears left to cry. She had since she had delivered him, that beautiful little baby boy who hadn't been able to breathe until Rafiki took him from her and blew life into him.

But why, he found himself thinking. They had done everything right. Nala had maintained a very careful diet for months before her pregnancy, and when she had become pregnant, Simba had refused to let her hunt, no matter how much she said she was alright and that she didn't need to be mollycoddled, thank you very much.

That brief moment of happiness almost made Simba smile. Almost. But then something occurred to him and his face grew pensive.

"When I was younger," he said, "my father once told me that why my uncle was born, he was sick. No one thought he would last for long, so they didn't name him. Not until he was a few months old, but by then, it was too late. You know how he turned out."

He felt Nala look up at him, but he didn't return her gaze. His eyes darted back and forth over the slate rock in front of him, as if searching them for an explanation.

"They say that there's magic in naming your child. Powerful magic," Simba said. "My grandparents didn't want to waste it on Scar, because they thought he was doomed. But when he survived, it was their failure to name him that made him who he was. After all, when our souls enter our bodies, they're panicking. Sometimes so much that our bodies become sick. When that happens, we can die, but if our parents name us-quickly-we can live. And shine."

"Do you mean," Nala said, "that since we didn't name him right away... that he's doomed? And that it's our fault?" Her voice broke, and she started to cry again. But Simba faced her and shook his head. And for the first time in a fortnight, there was light in his eyes, even as his son squealed in the recesses of Pride Rock.

"No, he's not doomed," Simba said. "It's late, but if we act quickly... he might have a chance." He spent a moment wiping the exhaustion from his eyes, and then, all at once, he leaped down to a lower section of Pride Rock and started to lope off into the rising sun.

"I'm going on a pilgrimage," he called, gathering speed. "I don't know where or for how long. But when I return, he'll be well. More than well!"

By then, the Lion King was dozens of yards away, and getting farther with every passing second. In a way, it looked like he was becoming one with the sun. His tan body and red mane seemed to catch fire as he ran faster, and for a moment, the sight was so compelling that Nala froze.

Then she dashed to the very edge of Pride Rock and called out to him. "But Simba," she said, "don't we have to name him first?"

The Lion King just laughed. "'We'? I'll leave naming him to his mother!"

For a moment, Nala watched her husband continue to run off into the sunswept distances, and perhaps the sun itself. And then, so silently that she herself didn't hear it, she whispered the name of her son.

"Kopa."

And, all at once, the agonized shrieking from the depths of Pride Rock softened, and then eased... and then, at last, they stopped. The sun continued to rise, and with it rose Kopa, the new sun, the next Lion King.