The Lion King: My Name
Chapter 11: Homeland IV: Gone Missing
(In the name of Allah, the all-compassionate and all-merciful, I would like to say that I like sweet potato fries. On a related note, I would like to let you all know that this will be the final chapter in My Name. From here on out, Kifo's story will be told in the Freak.)
One can only imagine what the White Sands pride thought when the dust cleared, settling, revealing that neither Aoi, Akane, nor their bodies were anywhere to be seen. Surely, they spent some time searching, before finally admitting to themselves that, of their free will and volition, their cubs had intentionally and purposefully escaped.
Everyone knew that Akane and Aoi were not impulsive, hasty beings; not when there was time and reason to pause, think, and plan. This meant that they'd been thinking about escaping for a good deal of time, directly under the noses of their parents. In reflection, the adults would realize that they'd missed reasonably obvious signs that there was more to their cubs than immediately met the eye; after all, hindsight is 20/20.
We'll never know for certain if the pride members quarreled among themselves, if they cried, if they forbade all future reference to their lost cubs, or if they did something else altogether—the Lion Sheikh won't speculate. What is certain, though, that the pride had vitally changed; for the rest of its numbered days, it would be nothing like what it was before the attempted breakout.
Not that it particularly mattered to Akane and Aoi, anymore. Or maybe it did—they never spoke about it to one another, though, and there was obviously no one else to speak to.
Never before had they been away from their parents for so long, and never had they been together for so long as well. The entire trip was a series of learning experiences—in short order, both learned much about the other. For instance, Aoi found out that prior to sleeping, Akane had a habit of checking himself for injuries obsessively, a task that the lioness adopted as her own when she realized its utility. For his part, Akane came to find out that immediately after waking up, his beloved lay down for a few moments extra, gathering her wits, or baiting a potential assailant—take your pick.
For a few days, they just wandered around north of the Falme, in an undesirable patch of land technically part of the White Sands' territory. There wasn't much to do—it was even less hospitable than the Shadow Lands, south of the Pride Lands. Post-volcanic, cratered, cracked soil thirsty for moisture that came once every several years didn't support much life—during their entire excursion in that miserable place, the felines saw a scorpion, a vulture, and a mouse—that's all.
Understandably, they hastened to leave that terrible, pockmarked land. And soon, they successfully did, finding their way into the Eastern Jungle.
Now, one must keep in mind Aoi and Akane's homeland when imagining the shock they got when the new land came into sight.
The White Sands are just that—white sands. That's all—there are dunes, yes, but besides those and the lions' den and the shantytown constructed for the slaves and the excavation sites, all within meters of one another, there was nothing. There were few noticeable geographical features, and even fewer significant ones.
The Eastern Jungle, on the other hand, had trees… among other things, of course, but for the moment, let's focus on the trees.
Akane and Aoi had only ever seen trees in the Black Hills, and those tall, foreboding pines and sequoias were nothing like the twisted, tangled, green, leaf-topped foliage that comprised something of a protective barrier for the Eastern Jungle against the outside world.
Needless to say, they were intimidated. And now, without the ready reproach of their parents, they were able to show it, and express it.
"It can't be that dangerous."
Akane said that, and, a moment later, he followed it up with a slight, tentative smile.
"After all, lions live there. They're a different pride, yes, but they're still lions. If they can make a home there, we can survive there—at least for some time. So… at least, let's go in, for a moment… just a little."
Aoi nodded, barely taking her eyes off the foreboding greenery ahead. Somehow, for some reason, she felt… strange, as if something wasn't quite right in the Eastern Jungle. She was new to this type of landscape, of course, but normally, she doubted she'd be this frightened.
"I agree," the lioness said, finally, "but, Akane… let's be very, very careful. Don't make fun of me for this—"
"I won't—"
"—but I think that there's something wrong here."
After a moment of careful consideration, Akane nodded. "Can you be more specific, Aoi?... or is this the best information you can give?"
"I'm sorry, Akane. I don't have anything but gut instinct."
"Alright." The lion sighed, then nodded again. "We'll go in, then… but carefully. If it seems alright, we'll go farther, but if there's anything wrong, we won't stay for long. …I suppose we'll stay near the Jungle for a few days if that happens. If, after that time, it still doesn't feel safe, we'll simply go to the Pride Lands. Fair?"
Aoi nodded, still tense. Akane made her jump, some, by suddenly touching his snout to her cheek, then grinned, before going quiet, eyes forward.
"Now, then… let's see if the Nomads are home…"
Yes, he'd gone by Dato, until very recently. With his name, he'd shed… well, a good deal of fur, firstly. But, strangely, there were even more noticeable characteristics, some of them more or less defining traits, that he'd lost.
Humanity is a word that's difficult to apply to a clouded leopard. This, however, was a being that was faithful, merciful, kind, and much, much more, until Kifo had almost literally ripped him apart and then glued him back together.
He was bigger, now. Stronger, too. Faster, deadlier, angrier—but not smarter. Despite the muscle that rippled, unnaturally, all over his frame, he moved in a bizarre, sideways manner, as if half of him wanted to move and attack and kill, while the other half wanted nothing more than to run all the way back to the Black Hills.
That gave the Black Army a solid chance against him.
…Well… maybe.
Though misguided, due to senses that either weren't working exactly as they were supposed to or the fact that he was battling himself as much as he was fighting the ex-humans, it was clear that he was dominating the fight from its onset. It seemed that this little patch of the Eastern Jungle would, shortly, become little more than a hecatomb.
The Black Army, of course, resisted without fear, delay, or even consideration of the possibility that this might be the time to escape and live to fight another delay. They all opened up with their signature 5.56mm barrage, but such a tactic was not effective. Dato was simply too fast.
He dodged bullets naturally, easily; the speed he'd been born with augmented by what had to be a factor of three or four meant that he could practically watch them coming at him. The first swath of gunfire made the leopard dive forward, low, before quickly getting to his paws and jumping to the side to avoid the next attack.
Stupidly, the Black Army didn't change their tactics—their Master was wrestling with their weak minds, trying to get them to respond, but, it seemed, he was doubly subdued by the combined efforts of the Spirits, as well as Dato.
Things grew desperate for the Black Army rather quickly. Giving up on the mainstay of their offensive hardware, they switched to the underslung shotguns that their MG36s sported—surely, the wider swath of firepower provided by the Masterkeys' buckshot would gain them at least a few palatable hits…
This didn't seem to be the case. With unnatural speed, Dato continued to dodge, ever increasing his proximity to the fighters. The Black Army held its ground, though, even as it started to let loose with normal machinegun fire, as its shotguns ran out of ammunition.
Nothing, though, could hold the clouded leopard back. Within a minute, he was on them.
At close range, the Black Army was hopeless against Dato. Yet, he didn't kill them outright, due to the degree of control he still had over the twisted remains of his body—the blows that fell on the fighters were weak in comparison to what they could be, though still devastating. Quickly, the fighters were separated, knocked apart by Dato's powerful paws, left struggling to get up, only to be beat down again.
They were going to lose—there was absolutely no question about it. Kifo had done his work well, reprogramming Dato's mind much, much more effectively than his former Master could ever have hoped to do himself. Essentially, the leopard was a focused, guided drone—his target, of course, was the Black Army, and his goal was to destroy them. As a failsafe, the demon had ensured that, after that, Dato would end himself.
The Black Army fighters were separated, moving slowly, jerkily, due to both their injuries, as well as the fact that their Master's controls were being jammed from two directions. They were going to lose—they would have lost, if, just then, Dietz had decided against intervening.
With a sudden roar to announce his presence and take the pressure off the Black Army, the lipard moved in, rapidly—the Black Army noticed him, yes, but didn't react; if he was an enemy, he was still a lesser threat than Dato, and if, somehow, he was an ally, there was nothing to be gained by gawking.
When Dietz entered the scene, Dato was over one fighter, a tall, broad-shouldered man who traced his roots to the southern tip of Africa. Though what remained of his chest was protected by extra magazines and Kevlar, the clouded leopard's claws and teeth made short work of it; cutting, tearing through, making their way to his weak internals, ignoring the weak shoves and punches offered in resistance…
Dato was far, far too bloodthirsty to pay much attention to his surroundings, his focus was complete to a fault. Dietz's sudden attack caught him totally off-guard, so much so that, despite the fact that he was now nearly the size of a lion, the clouded leopard went flying.
The Black Army started to get to its feet—the fighters' weapons were raised, and, for a moment, moved from the leopard, to the lipard. Then, though, they seemed to come to a decision, and formed up around Dietz.
They were in a semi-circle, now, facing the downed hulk that was Dato. The Black Army started to spread out, prepared to open fire at any time—the jungle here had been cleared out, somewhat, so that there were fewer trees and plants to impede their bullets. Humidity hung in the air nearly as thick as tension—Dato was down, yes, but neither the Black Army nor Dietz was willing to bet that he was dead.
In the end, it was the lipard that moved forward, slowly. His newfound allies flanked the leopard, weapons trained on his shaggy, mangy form; each aiming for a different vital part. A diversified investment of bullets like this, so to speak, would be most likely to put Dato down again and keep him down, should he rise again.
Dietz was only a foot or so away from Dato, when the leopard did something that could not have been foreseen. Something that would have done Kifo proud.
Something that neither the Black Army nor Dietz properly saw…
All they knew was that one minute, they were surrounding the leopard, and the next, something horrible happened to them all—it was a screaming, buzzing sound that seemed to play not into their ears, but directly into their minds. It made Dietz drop down, roaring, clutching at his head, almost clawing himself to get that terrible, hateful sound out. The Black Army fighters merely froze, and started to twitch, strangely—it seemed that Dato's attack, whatever it was, was blocking their Master's communication almost entirely.
By the time Dietz and the fighters recovered, the leopard was on his feet, having escaped completely from the dangerous snare that had wrapped around him. He was stumbling in manner that suggested that despite everything, he was still fighting—himself—defiantly, struggling to overcome the monster that had taken control of his body. Yet, the teeth that protruded from his mouth were very real, and very well prepared for use—for the moment, at least, the real Dato, so to speak, was not in control.
The leopard certainly looked out of it—he was wheezing, his eyes were unfocused, yet, it was obvious that the second the Black Army or Dietz moved again, he would attack. So, for the moment, they remained still—then, carefully, they began to test the waters.
Four of the fighters knelt, shouldering their rifles. The other fighter slowly moved in, slowly, as did Dietz; the double-pronged offensive was a variant of a pincer maneuver. Dato wisely moved back, though, into the thicker, untamed part of the Jungle—foliage would make an attack very, very difficult indeed. Particularly when—
"Damn. He's fast."
Dietz had time to think that, and nothing else, before he was tackled.
The Black Army opened fire again with only slight regard for the lipard's safety, but it was inconsequential—he and Dato were moving far, far too fast to be hit. Though Dietz resisted as much as possible, striking his enemy with repeated, desperate claw slashes, Dato seemed to absorb or ignore the blows, or both. He had the lipard by the mane, and was dragging him as he ran, away from the Black Army, to somewhere safe, somewhere private, where he could kill his newest enemy without distraction.
That was Dato's plan, and it would have been realized, if it wasn't for you meddling kids—that is, Dietz's pride.
At Roderik's orders, the Nomads had gotten into position to assist or retreat, as their leader saw fit, but had stood down, invisible. Things, though, were starting to get out of hand.
The majority of the pride—the vast, overwhelming majority, in fact—jumped into position around the Black Army, surrounding them from all sides, including the treetops. The single-minded ex-humans didn't see their world well enough or didn't relay what input they received efficiently enough for their Master to react to the fact that, as the fight had raged on, the Nomads had carefully slipped into position, sometimes literally right over his fighters' heads.
Though Dato was still at large, he was far away—and the Black Army didn't want to have another fight, another, new set of enemies on its hands—not then, not like that. So, though they held their ground, preparing to defend, weapons at the ready, they did not attack. The snarls and growls worn by the lions were… intimidating.
Only one lion was breaking up the fight between Dietz and Dato—and it wasn't the biggest, strongest, quickest, or, perhaps, smartest of the group. It was the oldest—it was Roderik.
A powerful, open paw strike to the jaw knocked Dietz out, at least for the moment. Dato looked up, just in time to see the old lion dance away, collecting energy…
Too late, the clouded leopard realized what was going on and broke off his attack on Dietz. He raced directly towards Roderik, claws suddenly gaining several inches in ironclad length, perfectly suited to cleaving flesh from bone, but the lion froze him in his tracks.
Then knocked him back several—dozen—yards.
Oh, Roderik didn't use a physical attack. What he did was a complicated and very secret maneuver, designed to repel beings that were simply not meant to exist in this part of the world. A series of quiet, almost poetic phrases in the old language of the Land of the Spirits made the old lion's fur ripple in an unseen breeze, before he'd pushed forward with his paws, directing a great deal of force directly towards Dato.
The leopard hit a tree hard, after breaking through several others like an armored missile. Bones broke and blood followed, but, even as Roderik looked on, coldly, he could see that Dato was still breathing—still very much alive.
"Keep on them! Don't let them move, and if they say anything, don't talk back! I'll take care of this," Roderik called to his subordinates, sparing a glance at his idiot nephew—Dietz was still unconscious.
Knowing that he had perhaps only seconds to act, the old lion moved fast, ignoring the protests of his worn bones. Within seconds, he was standing over Dato, pale mane ruffled, slightly, by the damp air of the Eastern Jungle. There was neither time nor reason to completely diagnose the leopard—it was as Roderik had suspected.
"An infection like this… is not within my ability to heal, or treat, for long," the lion murmured to himself. "But I can stop it from spreading, for a time. Apart from that, the only one that can help…" a smile made its way to Roderik's lips, despite everything. It had, after all, been so, so very long since he'd seen the only being in the Land of the Spirits that was almost as old as he.
The lion felt somewhat bad for what had to be done next, but there was no getting around it. And if Dato was a thinking being, he would, in time, thank Roderik for the brutal but necessary procedure being undertaken.
Still, though—several square feet of fur gone, a clear half-gallon of congealed, diseased blood drained, and nine or ten large pawfuls of muscle ripped away as an insurance policy, in case the "surgery" failed… Dato would probably forgive Roderik, in time. Until, then, though, he'd be pissed off—if he lived.
There are many tense borders in the world, where a single look out of place, one toe over the line, can result in instant, chaotic, large-scale violence—the 38th Parallel, the Indian-Pakistani border, and the contested fence separating the Lion Sheikh's yard from a very unfriendly neighbor's, for instance.
Very, very few, however, could compare to the scene in the Eastern Jungle, just then.
The Eastern Nomads were a tough bunch to stare down. From birth, they'd all experienced life at its highest and lowest points, at its most brutal, barbaric core, and its most beautiful, heavenly peaks. They'd all fought and shed blood and, to live, done things that few can easily imagine—but the Black Army was, apparently, unintimidated by them.
Maybe it had something to do with the fact that they were receiving a new member soon. (Sorry for the A/N, but if you can guess who he/she is—and yes, he/she has appeared in this universe before—you get mad props. And a cookie.) Or, more likely, it was simply because fear was an emotion that didn't apply to them in any fashion.
The blank stares in their eyes were somewhat—alright, extremely unsettling, but the Nomads didn't show their discomfort, not even the juveniles, not even the cubs. Everyone stood their ground without backing down—though they'd eventually, gradually closed their mouths, the expressions their faces held were not at all friendly… with a few exceptions. Kurt, and a few other of Dietz's more notable friends, seemed to be following their orders neutrally, without passion—perhaps a wise move, all things considered.
It was still a tense eight minutes, though, before Roderik returned.
The leader took his place among his pride, looking, calmly, at the humans, who hadn't reacted to his appearance. They still had their MG36s raised, ostensibly ready to spray, but, still, hadn't quite started shooting yet. So, Roderik spoke.
"I am Roderik, leader of the Nomadic Pride of the East, owners of the Eastern Jungle, of the Land of the Spirits. Normally, I would welcome you into our home, but, it seems, you've preemptively accepted our salutations…" It was a not-so-subtle way of pointing out the Black Army's misdeeds—Roderik was fairly sure that they wouldn't care, but still, information about whoever he was speaking to, now, was vital.
For a minute, however, the former humans didn't speak. Then, in unison, in a strange, jerky manner, suggesting that power from their Master was still being interfered with, they answered.
"We are the Black Army. We were attacked by the leopard. We defended ourselves."
Technically, they were right, Roderik noted. So, nodding, the lion pressed, a little, asking for clarification.
"Who are you?"
"The Black Army."
"…What are you…?"
"The Black Army."
Damn. It seemed they were every bit as robotic and mindless as they appeared—getting a straight answer from the braindead group wouldn't be easy.
"What is your purpose?"
"Follow Master's orders."
"Master?"
"Follow Master's orders."
Roderik ignored the sick feeling rising in his gut, and pressed on.
"Who is your Master?"
The Black Army didn't answer, didn't reply at all. Roderik's eyes narrowed.
"Before you were attacked by the leopard… what were you doing? What was your—why…" he paused, rethinking his question, "did your Master send you here? What was his purpose in doing so?"
The answer was as curt, as it was, all at once, startlingly accurate and uselessly vague.
"Evil."
Roderik contemplated, for a moment, before asking his next question.
"Who are the monkeys you've been fighting? Why are you fighting them?"
"We fight the White Army because they're rivals."
"So. They're evil, too."
"Does this White Army… have a Master, as well? Similar to yours, perhaps?"
"Not anymore."
There wasn't a trace of emotion, of pride, in the Black Army's collective voice. They were practically zombies, it seemed, to the core.
"My nephew saved you," the lion mentioned, waiting, for a moment, to see if the Black Army would react—it didn't.
"He saved you, and I have… eliminated the threat the leopard poses to you. You're in our debt."
Again, there was no reply.
"So, it's not unreasonable for me to demand an answer to this question," Roderik said, maintaining a reasonably courteous tone, despite everything. "Why are you in our Jungle, in our home, warring another group simply because their brand of evil is at odds with yours? Why should we tolerate you?"
The Black Army was silent, for a moment. When they spoke again, it was in a less harsh, curt, and somewhat more persuasive tone.
"If you help our Master achieve his goals, you will be rewarded. With immortality, and much, much more. We all died, but we're here, after death, and when our Master succeeds, he will be grateful to his first followers. Join us, and you will not regret it. We will win, and you will share in our glory."
"Presumptuous, isn't it," Roderik said after a moment, "to think that we'd be willing to entertain the idea of fighting for evil if you dangle the prize of immortality in front of us?"
There was a few seconds of tense silence that followed, before the old lion spoke again.
"If you can't guess, on behalf of the Eastern Nomads, I reject your offer. Furthermore, I am disbarring you from existing in our Jungle—you will leave immediately… or we will help you leave. Am I understood?"
"Just one moment, Uncle…"
Every Nomad's eyes flickered, briefly, to the source of the voice. And, predictably, it was Dietz—the lipard was limping, a little, rubbing his jaw with a paw, snarling, a bit, spitting out blood on occasion. Regardless, he spoke in a powerful, questioning tone, standing several yards from the leader of the pride.
"Noble fighters of the Black Army," he said, humbly, "I am Dietz of the Eastern Nomads, heir to the position of alpha, once that artifact that just spoke to you now finally dies. I'm… interested," he said, delicately, "in hearing more details about your offer… specifically about your Master. …What's he—or she, or it… like? How powerful…?"
"He created us. He created the being that created that leopard. He's powerful enough to challenge the Spirits and win. He's been fighting them for quite some time. But events in recent generations have put him above even footing with them. That's why there's less food for his enemies, more conflict, more death."
"But joining him is a wise decision."
"Yes. Immortality is granted immediately. After that, you earn weapons, glory, power. There's no limit… none. Master's plans know no bounds. After this Land, he'll take another one, whether it's in five years, ten, twenty, fifty, or a hundred. After this world, he'll take another. Then another. Then another. If you stay by his side, you'll prosper."
"And if he loses?" Dietz asked.
"Your fate is the same as it will be in a generation regardless. You will die."
The questions Dietz had posed were all reasonable—he was conducting a cost-benefit analysis. Of course, he couldn't confirm any of what the Black Army said, but they didn't really have a reason to lie to them, and everything they said made sense. The lipard couldn't think of any way in which they could be lying, so… this proposition deserved thought, at least.
"You're not seriously thinking about joining them, are you?"
This question wasn't asked in Roderik's usual powerful, authoritative tone. This voice was different—it was sad, remorseful, and just a little fearful, as well. Dietz didn't face his uncle as he spoke curtly.
"Of course I am. This is what leaders do—we weigh all of our options. All of them. Why shouldn't we join them? Why should we so readily turn down an option that may bring us to utopia?"
The old lion was silenced by that response, albeit only for a moment. He again spoke in that strange, timid tone, even as he gave his nephew a quavering, sad smile.
"Perhaps… because it's… evil? …Look at these things, these Black Army fighters. You want an existence like that, nephew? You want to work for evil—you want to fight and kill and destroy if it means that your life is a little… better?" he almost spat that word.
Dietz nodded. "I'm willing to think about it, at least. As should you, Uncle."
"I don't take advice from a brat," Roderik snarled, suddenly angry, taking a vicious step towards Dietz who, for once, remained stoic and passive, "that, somehow, has missed learning the difference between right and wrong."
"Normal morality doesn't apply here," the lipard said softly, still refusing to face his relative. "If we can improve our lives so, so much… the notion that doing supposedly 'evil' things is a necessary sacrifice should be entertained. Tough decisions sometimes have to be made."
It took a lot to get Roderik mad, but his nephew was getting close to doing it—dangerously close. The lion didn't strike, however—he merely drew himself up, directly in front of the younger feline, and snarled, baring his teeth inches from Dietz's face.
"Don't condescend to me like this—my leadership experience surpasses yours. Infinitely—so, nephew, for once in your life, shut up—we'll deal with your… disgusting ideas, later, once these demons have left our homeland. Now, you will help your pride expel the Black Army from its home. You will do it now."
No amount of creative interpretation or sneaky disobedience could prevent Dietz from following this direct order. Even more direct defiance was necessary, it seemed.
"No."
"What?" Roderik was shocked, for a second. His nephew might be many things—but so directly, so willfully defiant?
"I said, no," the lipard said. "I will go with the Black Army, hear their position out, ask more questions, and, when I'm ready, make a decision. I won't shut off potentially profitable paths due to silly principles held by ineffective, out-of-touch leaders."
The offhand, natural insult was as cold and harsh as a slap in the face. Roderik stepped back, still dumbstruck.
"You will only expel the Black Army… over my dead body. And anyone that wishes to come with me," Dietz said, addressing the pride at large, "is very welcome to do so."
It was time to pick sides, it seemed. Dietz's expression was blank, save for a terrible glint of satisfaction in his eyes, whereas his uncle's was desperate, pleading, as he looked over his friends, his family—surely, none would go with his idiot nephew…?
Eventually, about a quarter of the pride stood down from their positions, forming up around Dietz. Under his shock and sadness, Roderik wasn't surprised at who joined the lipard, mostly—Kurt, a few other of his close friends… but several lionesses went, too. As did their cubs.
Families were going to mangled, torn apart; just as the pride would, if Roderik allowed this to happen. Yet, direct action might not be the best choice—the two forces were more or less evenly matched, and the lion didn't dare rouse Dato; the leopard would be either comatose or a loose cannon.
Face slowly falling, Roderik decided what to do. There was going to be conflict and violence, that was for certain, but, perhaps, he could minimize it. Perhaps.
Unbeknownst to the Black Army, and the two factions of the Nomads, there was another group presently preparing for action in the Eastern Jungle. Well, actually, there were two—but let's focus on Akane and Aoi, for the moment.
Slowly, they'd overcome their fears. For a few moments, they'd paced around the very edge of the Jungle, slowly making short, brief incursions beyond the tough, foreboding trees. Insects and humidity annoyed and frightened them, at first, but quickly, the White Sands natives learned that these small annoyances were just part of life in a jungle environment.
It was with a sense of wonder that they started to walk forward, making their way past the outer fringes of the Jungle, for the first time. They stepped lightly, and jumped at unfamiliar sounds and scents and sights, but felt little fear.
"This is nothing like the Black Hills," Aoi murmured, quietly, eyes trailing a giant, black and red butterfly's corkscrewing path through the air. "That land is all trees and rock. This… no two parts are the same."
"You're right," Akane agreed. "This place is completely different from home. Still, I feel certain that we can make a life for ourselves here, if the Nomads let us…"
His voice trailed off, as did his motion. Both lions stopped in their tracks, freezing—but didn't take cover. They simply did not understand how to conceal themselves in an environment like this, so they remained motionless—that's how they'd always hidden themselves in the White Sands.
There was something, or someone, or a group of somethings or someones up ahead, approaching. They couldn't see what it was—the high amount of water in the air in addition to the dense, packed nature of the area gave them very low visibility. All they saw was a motion vector—they had no idea how to react, because, for all they knew, the Eastern Nomads could be coming to welcome them.
The group that was approaching the White Sands expatriates, in fact, was about a dozen or so heavily armed members of the White Army.
The monkeys approached the lions, rather curiously, but didn't speak. Instead, they just stared, more curious than hostile, at least for the moment—even they could tell that Akane and Aoi were foreigners.
It would be interesting to see what would have happened if things were left alone. Instead, however, the unmistakable sounds of combat and violence distract the White Army, and the young lions—they all turned, attempting, unsuccessfully, to look through the Jungle, at where the conflict was going on, over a half mile away.
Akane and Aoi weren't sure how to react—they shied away, at first, then paused. The monkeys were bearing their teeth, snarling in the general direction of the fight, before suddenly moving towards it at a good speed, ignoring the felines completely.
Thus, they were left alone again, for a moment. But after sharing a glance, the two cats followed, as quietly as they could manage, being sure to give the White Army fighters plenty of space. Simple curiosity led them on… but, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.
Roderik and Dietz were gearing up for a fight, by then. After telling the rest of the pride to not get involved, they'd started to circle, snarling, glaring at each another.
Dietz was quicker and more fluid and more agile than his uncle, but the lion had the experience and wisdom of age, and a thousand more fights under his belt than his arrogant relative. Still—he was old, very old, and he didn't give himself great odds for winning.
But he had a chance.
Thus far, the fight was more like a dance, than anything else. Moving carefully, weighing each step and thinking it and its results out in their minds before moving, the two moved around a clearing, only a few yards from the Black Army and the rest of the pride.
It had been Roderik that had instigated the fight, and perfectly, ignoring the shocked expressions the loyalists wore—his objective was to show Dietz's followers the weakness of their leader, thusly, perhaps, winning some of them back. Dietz had been more hesitant to battle it out immediately, but, quickly, the lipard realized that it was going to happen anyway, and he might as well exploit the opportunity—if he won, he could, potentially, pressure the rest of the pride into following him… that is, if he killed his uncle.
For some reason, that thought didn't particularly disturb him.
"Heheh. This is going to be fun," he murmured, before a twisted, malicious smile spread across his face. "Good luck to you, Uncle. And may the best lion win."
"Oh, don't worry, dear nephew," the old lion said regally, before his face and eyes set, "I plan to."
A roar then echoed through the Eastern Jungle—but it wasn't a feline roar.
Twelve of the White Army's finest suddenly exploded through a nearby treeline, ready to rock and roll. Instantly, the Black Army reacted, raising their weapons to their shoulders, leveling them at the monkeys—but the Nomad loyalists hissed threateningly, regrouping, a little, forming a barrier between White and Black.
Roderik reacted as well, yelling at the Black Army to stand down, while demanding identification from the White Army. Dietz, on the other hand, merely stepped back and watched, curious to see what would happen—he took the opportunity to call his followers to him with a casual jerk of his head, moving them well out of harm's way.
Fighting hadn't broken out yet, but there was no indication that either of the two Armies were going to back down. The monkeys had spread out, swinging their weapons threateningly, while the Black Army fighters picked their targets—violence seemed inevitable, so Roderik's mind raced, even as he continued to try to defuse the situation—what to do next?
A moment later, as the old lion started to order certain members of his pride—the young, the weak, the sick—out of the danger, soon-to-be bullet-filled space between the opposing armies, things were further obfuscated by the appearance of two new felines.
Roderik only spared them a glance before telling two powerfully-built lionesses to deal with them, for the moment—he had a lot on his plate already. But even as the old lion worked, desperately, to maintain the peace, he could see that he wouldn't be successful—it was time to play damage control.
He began to call his forces back, so that there were less and less Nomads between the warring Armies. The Black fighters, however, didn't wait until there were none left to start their attack.
At point blank range, there was little point in aiming. The former humans just depressed the triggers of their weapons and held them down, concentrating on filling the air between them and their enemies with as many bullets as possible. A few of the Nomads took hits—all glancing shots, fortunately—but managed to get out of the way within seconds, letting the Black Army face off against the dozen monkeys.
A match like this wouldn't end well for the White Army, that was certain. Still, though—the monkeys were close enough to their enemies to, perhaps, take one down, or at least damage one—so instead of turning tail and retreating, they moved forward, accepting bullets, converging on one fighter, the closest, weapons raised.
"Fall back! Get to the western border of the Jungle, now!" Roderik yelled over the vicious firefight. "We need to—"
The loyalist faction of the Nomadic pride was leaving. But Dietz's splinter group would certainly do itself good to taste the blood of their venerable former leader.
Four strong lions pounced on Roderik, Dietz not included—in a stunning and unforeseen move, the lipard attacked the White Army from its unprotected flank, shattering the offensive. As the monkeys turned on him, the Black Army fighters were able to drop one, then two, then three, then more.
One of the fighters broke off the White Army, and kneeled, machinegun leveled at the tumultuous ball of fur and claws that were Roderik and the four that had betrayed him. Cagily, the former human moved forward, a little, attempting to get a clear shot, but, even as he fought the four traitors all at once, Roderik danced out of the Black fighter's sights.
The Nomad loyalists followed their leader's orders, knowing that he'd be able to hold his own. The rest of those that had broken off from the main pride pulled back as well, out of fear of being caught in the crossfire, which was a very real danger in a fray like this.
For a moment, Akane and Aoi were left alone, and looked at one another, as terror began to set in—what on Earth had they gotten themselves involved in? There was little time to ponder that question, however—one of the Nomad loyalists stayed back, for a second, and called to them.
"You two! This way, now! We have to get you out of here! Come on!" the lioness shouted over the loud, close gunfire.
She didn't have much persuading to do, though. The White Sands lions followed immediately; anywhere they were going was almost certainly better than where they were. Gunfire chased them, encouraging them to go faster, despite the unfamiliar terrain, but the young felines didn't trip and fall—already, they were starting to adapt to the new land.
The trip to the western boundaries of the Eastern Jungle didn't take long at all—once the Nomads and the White Sands expatriates arrived, they all collapsed, for a moment, panting, catching their breaths.
After that, though, they listened—closely.
For the most part, the Jungle was silent. There were, of course, the normal ambient noises that, over time, the Nomads had learned to tune out. Even Akane and Aoi couldn't pick out anything significant in the din—there were no more gunshots, and no other decidedly combat-related sounds, either.
"So… who are you two?" one Nomad asked, eventually, pacing around, glancing in Akane and Aoi's direction for a moment. "White Sands lions, no doubt… why have you been sent here? You're both very young to be involved in inter-pride relations."
"That's…" Akane said delicately, quietly, for a moment, before sighing, and shaking his head. "We'll explain when your leader returns. It's a long story."
"You mean, it's about a matter over my head."
After thinking, for a second, the blue eyed lion nodded.
"That's right."
The lioness that had been speaking to them smiled, just a little, and shrugged nonchalantly.
"Understandable. Then, you have as good a reason as we do to want Roderik to return, al—" something caught in her throat. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to cope with the possibility that, in his age, against such powerful foes, Roderik might finally have met his match.
"Please don't worry too much," Aoi said after a moment, offering the other lioness a nervous smile. "He was fighting four of those lions, alone, without much difficulty. I'm sure he'll be able to escape… he's probably just too tired to run all the way here, like we did."
"Am I, now?"
Roderik was understandably tired, but stood, proud and strong, as he approached the loyalist Nomads, as well as the newcomers from the White Sands. Blood dyed his fur, in several places, but little of it was his own—he was neither limping nor seemed exhausted; he had the air of someone merely returning from a difficult workout—this despite the fact that he'd carried Dato's still unconscious form, ostensibly, all the way from where it had last been seen.
"Incredible. How did you…?" Akane asked, gaping at the old lion's relative nonchalance.
"It wasn't easy."
The White Sands native waited for a more in-depth explanation; he'd found that, despite everything, he was a sucker for war stories. Talking about fights, though, simply wasn't Roderik's style. So, after the leader of the Eastern Nomads—at least, the loyalist faction of the Eastern Nomads—checked to make sure that all of his subordinates were alright, he turned to face the newcomers.
Clearly, they were from the White Sands—the cautious way they carried themselves about the Jungle, their light fur and eyes… there was no mistaking it. But Roderik didn't want to be presumptuous, and greeted Akane and Aoi in the traditional Nomadic fashion—he placed his right paw on his chest and bowed his head. Reciprocally, the juveniles placed their right paws vertically in front of their faces and bowed more deeply.
"Welcome to the Eastern Jungle, young ones. How are things in your homeland?"
Akane answered, spotting the subtly placed question immediately. "The White Sands…" he paused, then closed his eyes for a moment, "is no longer our homeland."
Roderik blinked, leaning in, his interest piqued. The White Sands lions were known for their staunch loyalty and fanatic nationalism—to have not one but two potential refugees on his hands from that land was to experience an extremely rare phenomenon. Something must have happened. Something big.
"I… want to hear about this, in the greatest detail possible. You look hungry," the lion noted, "we'll eat, and then, you'll share your story with myself, and a few others. Is that acceptable, my dear guests?"
Akane and Aoi nodded gratefully, then took Roderik's invitation to sit down and relax after a day as long and terrifying as it was chaotic. The juveniles got the feeling that despite the Nomadic leader's calm, controlled nature, he was deeply worried about how suddenly and permanently his pride had snapped in two, as well as the fact that he'd totally lost control of the Eastern Jungle to two brutal, opposing armies, one of which would surely treat his pride with hostility, while the other would probably merely ignore them.
Now, though, wasn't the time to press and prod and ask difficult questions of their hosts. Now was the time to rest and relax… while there was still a chance to do so. Because for Akane, Aoi, and the loyalist faction of the Nomadic Pride of the Eastern Jungle, the immediate future held little besides… war.
"So, they still practice slavery. After so long… I'd assumed that that system had collapsed. It seems I was mistaken."
"Perhaps not," Akane replied. "The rebellion we instigated almost certainly… killed… a few of them." His throat went dry, and he swallowed, before speaking again. "Perhaps they'll give it up yet, but I don't want to go back to find out. Ever."
"Understandable."
A few of Roderik's closest friends—young and old lions and lionesses—had prescreened Akane and Aoi's story, so to speak. The rest of the pride would be told about things later, but for now, what Nomadic leadership had to do was to figure out what to do—they couldn't possibly hold the Eastern Jungle against a concentrated, planned attack by either the Black Army or the White. Dato was another concern unto himself—he couldn't be kept unconscious forever, and he certainly couldn't be allowed to roam—anywhere—unchecked.
"I'm curious," the old lion said, after a moment, "if we were to expel you—purely theoretically—what were your plans? Where were you going to go next?"
"We had a few ideas in mind," the blue eyed juvenile said. "We were thinking of going to the Pride Lands, and if they expelled us… then, there was the Desert, and, if not there, we'd strike out on our own, somewhere. I'm glad to see that that's not our fate, though."
Roderik smiled in a kindly manner at that.
"The Pride Lands," he said. "Can you tell me why that was your plan B?"
"Well, this land was our first hope because it's so close. The Pride Lands were our back-up plan because they have a reputation of generosity and kindness… and, then, there are the legends about how if we as a species must take a last stand, that's where we'll need to do it, right?... I know I'm probably just being superstitious…"
"No," Roderik said, after a moment, "you're not, at all. The legends you're talking about are—I believe—very true. Unfortunately, I'm not very good at prophecy… I do, however, know someone that is."
"As do I," Akane said with a smile, before nodding at Aoi. "My… mate… is gifted with seeing the future, to a degree. It's unfortunate that there was no one in our former homeland that could help her hone her skill."
"That's certain interesting," Roderik said, before turning to the young lioness. "What exactly does your gift entail? Can you see events in the very near future, clearly? Or is it that you get… hints, let's say, or suggestions, that are imprecise and sometimes difficult to explain, but often turn out to be well-reasoned?"
"Generally, I only get bad feelings when I'm about to do something dangerous," Aoi said. "For instance, before Akane and I entered this land, I was very, very worried… and now, we all know why. Many of us could have been killed in that fight."
"You're right," the lion nodded. "So, with that in mind, until we get to the Pride Lands, I want to know everything—everything that you can sense. Precognition is a rare gift…. It would be a dangerous waste to not use it."
"Just a moment," said one of the loyalist Nomads. "We're going to the Pride Lands?... when? Why?"
"I want to arrive there by dawn, so we're leaving before nightfall. As far as why, I am absolutely convinced that there's something very serious going on in the Land of the Spirits. The Pride Landers will know what to do—and if it turns out I'm wrong, well, we'll need assistance from them, anyway, to drive these intruders from our homeland."
"It's already getting dark," Akane mentioned, before turning back to Roderik. "If we're supposed to leave by nightfall, we'll have to move soon."
"Yes. Rouse everyone, and tell them to prepare for another journey," the old lion sighed. "What a warm welcome home we received today."
"I felt like a father, Kishindo—a father. You don't know what it's like to give up your only child to—eh… I guess you do. I still don't see why you don't think our little experiment was a waste of time, though. I mean, if he does take out the Black Army, there's no way he's gonna threaten us, I did put in a fail-safe, and everything."
"I just think it's a waste of resources," the lioness replied. "It took time to change him, and, in the end, he probably won't pose a real threat to the Black Army—you're good, after all, Kifo. But not that good. After all, you are a creation—I'm doubtful that you're capable of creating something meaningful on your own."
Somehow, Kishindo managed to make that statement not come out offensively or overly critically, and her words gave Kifo pause—his life… well, his post-life existence, so to speak, had moved far, far too fast for him to wonder just what he was and what he was capable of.
Shrugging, though, the demon replied in a nonchalant, somewhat apathetic manner. "Doesn't matter. I just wanted to see what I could do—give my new power a test, you know? Even if nothing happens, it only took a few hours. Not like I'm pressed for time, anyhow."
Since his victory over the leopards, Kifo had toyed with several ideas, several targets—one was the Pride Lands, but Kishindo had advised against this. For now, the lions that lived there were far, far too powerful for the demon to tangle with—guerilla activity wouldn't work, as Kifo and Kishindo didn't have the finesse or patience to make such a strategy work. After that, though, the lioness had suggested the White Sands.
Kifo had agreed to that idea, quickly. But before doing that… he had an idea.
What he had in mind wasn't technically an attack on the Pride Lands. It was, however, the next best thing.
After all, the demon had reasoned, attempting to sway Kishindo's skepticism, they didn't yet have enough power to take on an entire pride—even an unholy one, like the White Sands. Attacking the Black Army probably wouldn't work, as Kifo had no idea how to fight enemies armed with guns of their own and couldn't practice or find out.
So, what he needed was a way to achieve a great amount of power with minimal risk.
And, after some thought, the two came up with a plan regarding how to do just that.
There was a part of the Pride Lands that was not well protected. Rarely frequented, Simba and Kovu, and, when he'd lived there, Freak, had only patrolled it once every few weeks, at best. There wasn't much there—the terrain was rough and craggy, there was little life and less prey to be found.
Infiltrating it would be extremely unwise—the Pride Lands sported an alarm system, of sorts, that would bring every lion in the area running if Kifo set a step onto their territory.
However, if the demon fired bullets into the Pride Land from over a mile away…. the system would still be tripped, yes, but he'd have plenty of time to get away. And the Pride Landers would never, ever dare to pursue a being powerful enough to kill one of their own, in their own land, out of the protective shell that the Pride Lands offered.
Of course, since that particular quadrant of the Pride Lands was under-travelled, it would simply be a waste of time to wait there for who knew how long, until someone decided to come. Kishindo, however, had a solution to the problem—and told Kifo not to worry about it.
Still, though, the demon needed time—enough time to craft a weapon powerful and accurate enough to snipe a fully-grown lion from at least a mile away, as well as time to practice his extreme long-range shooting skills.
He wasn't worried, though, and, really, neither was Kishindo. They had all the time in the world…
"We're almost finished."
"Oh, almost… good," Kovu said, rolling his eyes just a little, smiling. "It hasn't been that long since we started the sanctification process, Simba. Just a few months, that's all."
"I'm sorry," the Lion King sighed, "but it can't be helped. If Rafiki was here, it wouldn't take so long… but we have to make do with what we've got, right? And be honest with yourself… since we started, the quality of life around here has improved."
"That's true," Kiara interjected, peering, with her father and mate, across the familiar, vast landscape that made the Pride Lands. "Hunting's easier these days… not that you two would know how hard it usually is. Misogynists," she teased, sticking her tongue out.
"I have no reply to that," Simba said smoothly. "There's no point in denying the truth."
"Wait, what?"
"Kidding," the auburn maned lion grinned. "I'm glad that things aren't so hard. But I wonder… …nahhh…"
In some ways, Kiara hadn't changed very much from the adventurous kitten that had been the cause of an unknown number of headaches for her father.
"What, Daddy? C'mon, tell me…"
"Well…" the Lion King said slowly, before turning to Kovu, "did your mother ever tell you anything about the Eastern Jungle—specifically, about its pride? The Nomads?"
"A little, I guess," the dark lion said, after a moment of thought. "She said that very early on in the insurgency, she managed to get in touch with them."
"Really?" Simba said, genuinely surprised. "I had no idea… but go on."
"Well, she wanted to recruit them. They are a noble pride, after all, and would certainly be welcome to become rulers of the Pride Lands after they helped her win it back. They declined, of course… and, I'm guessing, not exactly in a polite manner. Mom said that they repeated the propaganda that you always have—that rule of the Pride Lands is only for the righteous and pure, and those with the right kind of lineage. They sympathized with her, at first, but when it became clear that she was only interested in power, expelled her. Fortunately."
"Did she say anything else about them?" Simba asked. Kiara was following things quite well; though a great deal of knowledge had been lost under the terrible regimes of the two Kings that had preceded her father, she could still understand what was being spoken about.
"Maybe… anything about their leader," the King added. "Did she say anything about his age, or his… well, she wouldn't call it wisdom… but did she say anything about any skills, or talents he might have?"
"I'm… not sure," Kovu admitted, "but I don't think so. …No, I don't remember her saying anything about their leader, besides things like, 'He must have gone senile generations ago,' or other silly insults. But it's not possible for lions to live that long. I mean… three generations, tops, that's all we're rated for. I can't see anyone living much longer than that… oh…"
The dark lion winced at that, catching a look from his mate, and his father-in-law. If he'd thought his words out, a bit, before speaking them, he may have noted that Sarabi, in fact, wasn't getting any younger… and, at this rate, it didn't seem likely that she'd see her great-grandchildren. In fact, it didn't seem likely that anyone would see the children of Kovu and Kiara…
"You're actually quite wrong," Simba said. "You know I can do magic… badly," he admitted, "but we all know that Rafiki is extremely powerful, and equally skilled. Or, he was…"
A sad moment passed—the old shaman's presence was greatly missed and just as necessary, but still, his fate was a mystery that no one wanted to leave the Pride Lands to attempt to solve.
"Anyway… there are a great deal of prophecies made by Mohatu, many regard magic. Rafiki was around when they were made—him, and one other being, that still lives… as the leader of the Nomadic Pride of the East."
"But that would make him," Kiara gasped, before counting, or trying to; she simply couldn't comprehend how old that would make the Nomadic alpha.
"Very, very, very old," Simba offered, "but he's supposed to be in good health. That might have changed, recently, with the attacks on the Land of the Spirits—but I'm certain he's alive, still. And I'm equally certain that he knows something that can help us. What I'm not certain of is how to find the Nomadic pride… for all I know, they may not even be in the Land of the Spirits, these days. They could have left… permanently, even.
"Let this be a lesson to you, Kiara, and you, Kovu, and all future Kings and Queens of the Pride Lands," Simba said in a dark, somewhat angry tone. "There is no excuse for not keeping contact with other pride—even if it's just two or three times a year, it's vital that we make it clear to one another, from time to time, that we are all brothers. The alternative Is this—a broken, patchwork family without any sense of community or shared responsibility.
"For all I know, the White Sands still practices slavery—but after generations of not even saying a word to them, much less assisting them with difficulties that might have made slavery seem like a reasonable choice, who am I to tell them that what they're doing is wrong? Who am I to act against them?"
"So… this leader…" Kovu said timidly, after a moment, "how… did he know Mohatu? How did Rafiki know Mohatu, for that matter?"
"Rafiki was Mohatu's student," Simba said simply. "As for the Nomadic leader, I have no idea. I want to say that he was Mohatu's student as well, but decided to find his own path in life. To start his own pride... or something like that. We'll have to ask Mother—maybe she knows something about this that I don't."
"Question," Kiara said. "The ability to do magic and stuff… it's passed down, right? Like a family secret, or… or eye color, right?"
"Yes, but it doesn't have anything to do with who your parents are… mostly," Simba said. "It's very complicated. Rafiki has a chart in his tree; I don't know how to read it… but he can tell where the gift will come next, who will get it, and how powerful they'll be. He also has a lot of Mohatu's prophecies, written down… I'd love to see the ones about the next rulers of our land…"
Kiara closed her eyes painfully at that, as did Kovu. Simba looked at them for a moment, sympathetically, before sighing. So, it was as he and Nala had guessed… they were incapable of producing cubs…
"So," Kovu said, after a moment, in a dry, thin voice, "if we can get the Nomad leader over here… he can help us out, big time?"
"Certainly," Simba said, "if we can get him over here. But, like I said, there's no way of knowing where he or his pride is, and the trip to the Eastern Jungle is long and dangerous—I mean, you have to go either right next to or through the Falme to get there. It's like tempting death… or war. That's another lesson," the King said. "Don't bother to try to negotiate with that pride. Once in a while, you might get a refugee from there… but otherwise, leave them alone. Unless you intend to defeat them. With violence."
"Correction," Kovu said in a manner that suggested that he really had picked up a lot from Rafiki. "There is… another way to get to the Eastern Jungle. That's how my mother got there without risking contact with the Falme."
"Is there?" Simba said curiously. "Well, out with it, Kovu; what is it?"
"It's a tunnel," the dark lion replied, simply. "An underwater tunnel. My Mom called it the Pass of Two Dragons… when I asked her about it, she just shivered, and changed the subject."
"Do you know where it is, or how to find it?"
Kovu nodded.
"It's near the Jungle—actually, now that I think of it, it's not that far from Fr—from Shujaa's home. There are a couple big, big problems, though.
"It's very, very cold," Kovu said, "and you have to stay underwater for… an extremely long time. Then, there are dangerous undersea predators, and getting in and getting out… isn't something that just anyone can do."
Simba's face hardened. For a moment, he struggled to cope with the multitude of problems facing him. He had to find his cousin, though he felt, despite a lack of evidence, that the Spirits were doing just that, somehow. He had to get the Nomadic leader into the Pride Lands… then, of course, he had to do what he could to get the rest of the prides of the Land of the Spirits—the Desert pride, and the lions of the White Sands—to his homeland, as well. All to combat a force of evil that was getting stronger and stronger by the day.
Everything was getting set for a major showdown, it seemed. Simba had seen and experienced war firsthand—but he knew that what was coming to the Land of the Spirits next—what had already come, in fact—made his coup seem like a fistfight between cubs.
It seemed almost too much to hope that they could win.
"So what you're trying to tell me is that unless we can find a swimmer… an incredibly good one, for that matter… we more or less can't use the Pass of Two Dragons?"
"Yeah. We don't have time to train someone up in swimming; we don't even know how to… and I'm not sure that I'd practice my backstroke in the Forbidden River. Especially these days."
"That's not good," Simba said. "For some reason, I doubt very much that the White Sands or the Desert are going to provide us with a swimmer."
"That's true… but one can hope, right, Daddy?" Kiara said.
The Lion King merely looked at his daughter skeptically, so the lioness sighed… before articulating an idea that just came to mind.
"Know how Mommy left the Pride Lands to search for help?" she said.
"Yes…" Simba said slowly, before blinking—oh, Hell no, his daughter wasn't about to suggest—
"Well…" Kiara continued, in a nonchalant tone, as she nudged a pebble with her paw, "I was thinking… the time could be right for someone… like me… to do the same."
"OUT OF THE QUESTION!" roared Simba, while a shout of "NOT GONNA HAPPEN!" was heard from Kovu.
Once the lioness's ears stopped ringing, she spoke again.
"Well, why not? I mean, I'm not just a girl anymore, I'm a fully grown lioness—"
"That's right," Kovu nodded solemnly, before giving his mate a desperate, pleading look, "you're my fully grown lioness. Kiara, please don't think about this… it's too dangerous. Nala didn't have it easy at all back then, and things will be much, much more dangerous if you go in the near future."
"You're right, but there are a few things you're not keeping in mind. One, I've got a lot of training that Mom never did; two, I have plenty of hunting and fighting experience, more than Mom did when she was my age; and three... I'm not gonna go it alone.
"I was thinking to bring two, maybe three others—we need to move fast, but we need protection, too. Mom, Shenzi, possibly T or Uvuli… that's who I've got in mind."
"Now that you put it like that…" Kovu said, "it doesn't sound… well, I'm not saying, you know, I approve, or that it sounds safe… but it doesn't really sound suicidal, anymore…"
"It's worth thinking about," Simba said, after the younger generation of the Pride Lands' leaders looked to him for a moment. "We don't necessarily need all paws on deck, anymore… sanctification is almost finished, and our borders are very, very well protected. What we don't know is how things outside of our borders are."
"Which is why I want to go in a group," Kiara said. "Even if it is dangerous, we'll be able to protect each another—I mean, only a concentrated, pre-planned move could take out three or four Pride Landers, right?"
Kovu nodded; he seemed to be slowly warming up to the idea. Simba, though, still needed some convincing. So, Kiara smiled, and nuzzled her father, once, putting on her cutest expression—it never failed… usually.
"Please, Daddy? At least, think about it, alright?"
"Well… fine, I'll think about it," the Lion King said. "But do you honestly think you'll find a swimmer in the Desert?"
(Please consider parrots the lions' version of Milanos.)
One can tell a great deal about how desperate situations are by gauging what those they affect are resorting to in order to cope. And judging by the fact that the Pride Landers were sending out some of their finest to the Desert—and later, the White Sands—to search for a swimmer suggested that things were getting bad.
Goodbyes had been brief and to the point; there was no use in delaying, and it wasn't like any of the three that were heading out weren't going to return.
Nala, Kiara, and Shenzi left, side by side, from Pride Rock, just a few hours before sundown. Their goal was to reach the southern border of their homeland by nightfall, and be within the vicinity of Freak's former home by noon, the next day—following that, they'd have a few days of travel through the Jungle to decide just how they'd make their way into the Desert.
As they walked across the barren, southern quadrant of the Pride Lands, near which the hyenas and the Outlanders had formerly found their homes, they felt, all at once, excited, anticipatory… and almost chokingly terrified. Leaving the Pride Lands for any amount of time was so dangerous that the Lion King had essentially issued a fatwa against even approaching the border.
"Kinda… lonely out here, doncha think?" Shenzi said as they plodded along, red-orange waves of heat refracting from the rather dry, foreboding grasses of the southern Pride Lands. "I lived around here for more than a few years… but dang, you just can't get used to it."
"I'll take your word for it," Nala replied, before smiling. "Still, it's somewhat nice to be in such a place, together. Just the three of us, roughing it without males, or troubles, or other responsibilities… this could be fun."
"Yeah," Kiara chirped brightly, "we can all stay up until late, eating parrots and swapping stories and stuff."
"Stories about males, no doubt."
"Of course," the young lioness replied. "Wait… are you trying to make a point or somethin' here, Mom?"
"No, not at all, Kiara," Nala sighed, as Shenzi snickered to herself. "I think you've done that perfectly well without me."
The terrain was almost perfectly level—visibility was in excess of three or so miles. In fact, there was so little in the area that despite the late hour, it was quite bright—the trio had to squint whenever they looked vaguely westward.
When the sun finally set, it did so within the space of moments. But in that time, it was so unadulteratedly beautiful that slowly, one by one, the females stopped, turning, dumbstruck by the vast array of colors in the sky. It was a cloudless day, and that was rare—even as the final beams of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, starlight beamed down on them, offering guidance… and hope."You know," Nala said, as they finally started to move again, softly, as if for fear of disturbing the peace that had unexpectedly descended on them, "I'm really glad you came up with this idea, Kiara. Apart from its practicality… well, let's just say that 'male bonding,' whatever that is, isn't the only kind that's important."
No replies were necessary, there was no question posed against the truth of the matriarch's words. The wind picked up, and since there was nothing to stop it, for a moment, they were chilled—the sensation didn't last, though, yet it was still several moments until someone spoke again.
"It's really incredible, isn't it?" Kiara said, before turning to Shenzi, then her mother. "We're literally going to be fighting a historic battle in the very near future… we've been through so much so quickly… but still, these things are so, so important. Kinda like breathing—no matter what's you're doing, it's still essential to life."
Kiara, Nala, Shenzi. Three vastly different beings united by common goals, nationality, and friendship. They'd all been through tough times in their lives, but each one of them had always been able to count on others—at least for company.
Of course, as they shared a smile, and pressed closer still to the southern tip of the Pride Lands, they didn't stop to think about those who had been unfortunate enough to feel real loneliness with unhealthy regularity: Freak. Kifo. Scar.
And then, of course, there was Uvuli.
Like bouts of unhealthy skinniness and rebelliousness, chronic depression was a common ailment for females, both in the Land of the Spirits and out.
What Uvuli was suffering from, however, wasn't simple teenage angst.
She still loved her father greatly, couldn't recall disobeying the simple rules he asked her to follow, and was of perfectly healthy physique—what troubled her had a definite cause.
But who to talk to?
It didn't seem likely that anyone would understand. Kiara, maybe, but the lioness was gone, now. There was T and the rest of the pride's lionesses… but Uvuli didn't think that any of them would understand her predicament. She certainly didn't, after all.
What about Sarabi, though? Empowered with the wisdom of age and years of experience with all that life had to offer, as well as a kindly, gentle attitude, the old lioness could be her best choice.
After a long day of patrolling, hunting, and completing preparations for the sanctification of the Pride Lands, Uvuli returned to Pride Rock. She returned greetings from her father and everyone else that was already back rather half-heartedly, and, for a moment, rested outside the den, thinking to herself.
"I'm not gonna be able to deal with this on my own. I need to talk to someone…"
Despite everything, though, Uvuli did have a measure of pride. She didn't want to go to Sarabi and ask for a few moments alone, not with everyone around…
The hyena caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye, and blinked, turning her head. The gait Sarabi had adopted since her injury was unmistakable.
"Hello, Uvuli," the old matriarch said with a smile. "How are you? How was your day…?"
Her questions were simple and somewhat clichéd, but the sincerity of the lioness was shown with every word. What she was really asking were much, much deeper questions…
Now, Uvuli had no excuse for not confronting her troubles. So, sucking in a deep breath, the young hyena stood, eyes downcast.
"I'm… not fine. My day was fine; I mean… …can we talk?" she said, finally looking up at the lioness.
Sarabi didn't seem surprised. She merely nodded in a comforting manner, and purposefully bumped her shoulder into the hyena's. "It's about whatever's been bothering you for the last… months, right?"
Biting her lip, Uvuli hesitated just a little, before nodding.
"Let's go, then, little one," the lioness said gently, leading Uvuli down from Pride Rock. She didn't stop walking, though, until they were well, well way—the long walk gave Uvuli plenty of time to collect her thoughts, attempting to make what sense she could of them before sharing them with Sarabi.
They were moving in a north-northeasterly direction, Uvuli noted, and that was a bit odd.
"Why are we going here, Sarabi?" the hyena asked, curiously. "I mean, I don't think I've ever been this far into the northeastern part of the Pride Lands before. There's nothing here."
"That's not true," the lioness said, though not in a reproachful manner. "When I was young—a long, long time ago… all the lioness cubs used to meet here from time to time, whenever any of us needed to talk about something serious, or just needed a good, old fashioned group hug."
That brought a smile to Uvuli's face.
"And you're sharing this tradition with me?"
"Of course I am," Sarabi smiled. "Since Sarafina…" she shook her head. "Anyway, there's no one in my generation left. But yours and my daughter's and grand-daughter's generations certainly deserve the opportunity to create real, meaningful relationships with other females, right?"
"I guess so," Uvuli replied. "So you've told everyone else about this, too?"
Sarabi shook her head.
"I was waiting for the right time to do so. Unfortunately, Kiara and Nala aren't here right now, and T's still out with Banzai… I was wondering about that, actually. Do you think there's something between them?"
"I'm not sure about that," Uvuli said, as they walked along, together, through a somewhat barren forest. "They're great friends, of course. Dunno if they are, or want to be, something more than that."
"Interesting, interesting…" Sarabi nodded. Anyway, as I was saying… from now on, this land will be used as Sarafina, myself, Zira, and all of our friends used it, all those years ago."
"You and Zira were friends…?" Uvuli asked, slightly surprised by that.
Sarabi nodded, though in a somewhat sad manner.
"Were. Yes. She used to be a good hunter, a great tracker… and a gentle, affectionate person, as well. I used to be unsure about what caused her to go bad, as they say… but now that I think of it, I don't think she ever called us here to listen to her troubles or insecurities. Not once. Now, I'm not trying to say that… her problems ate her from the inside out, or something… but it seems to me that keeping so much in for so long isn't… really a good thing to do.
"I agree," Uvuli said, "…which is sorta why I'm here."
Finally, it seemed that they were far enough away from Pride Rock; the massive structure was visible in the distance, nothing more than a short silhouette. Sarabi looked around, for a moment, then led Uvuli to a slight depression, smiling fondly at the memories being here brought.
"Wow… you guys really did used to spend a lot of time here," the hyena said. By paying carefully attention, she could see that there were extremely faint trails leading from what had once been a popular hangout for Sarabi's generation of lionesses.
"You have no idea," Sarabi smiled. "We'd all come here for hours, at least two times a week. We even had a signal to initiate meetings of sorts—there was a log about a few miles to the northeast of here, very close to the border. If you roar into it in just the right way, it amplifies your voice, and changes it, as well. I wish I could describe it to you; it's the most distinctive thing you'll ever heard. It—"
Both females jumped, then staring at a point just a few miles away, to the northeast. A roar was heard—except it wasn't the normal kind of roar. It was much, much louder than any sound a big cat could produce without assistance, and was distorted in a strange, somewhat supernatural manner—it was unmistakable.
"What was that?" Uvuli said, blinking, confused—there was nothing in this part of the Pride Lands; certainly, at least, nothing capable of making a noise as loud as that. "I've never heard anything like it in my life…"
"I have," Sarabi whispered, staring ahead, looking for movement—but finding none. "That was the signal."
"What?" Uvuli said, disbelievingly. "But wait… …who coulda done it?"
"That I don't know, the lioness replied, eyes narrowing, as she began to move forward, swiftly, but silently, "but you and I are going to find out. Come on."
"She's coming."
"You're sure?"
"She's coming," Kishindo repeated, "but I think she's not alone."
"Oh?"
"She has someone else with her… a hyena, I think. Nothing serious."
"Good, good…"
Kishindo was a faster runner than Sarabi, and the old matriarch's injury compounded that fact. There was plenty of time to run back to Kifo, who'd set up well away from the border, waiting for Sarabi to show herself.
The demon was armed with a .50 caliber autoloader, a rifle powerful enough to dispatch even the toughest of enemies with a single shot. It would make short work of Sarabi… provided that the demon could hit her—because though he'd practiced endlessly for days, now, he still found that striking targets at such long range was mostly a matter of luck.
"Keep in mind variable humidity and windspeed along the bullet's flight path. At this distance, you'll also have to take the Coriolis Effect into account."
Kifo was in prone position; his rifle rested in front of him on a bipod. Shouldering it, he slowly brought his reticle onto target, where Kishindo had been mere moments ago.
"Hold on," the lioness said, "I think I see her…"
"Target acquired," the demon said thinly. "I've got a positive ID on Sarabi, former Queen of the Pride Lands."
It was then that the wind picked up. Kifo swore to himself, softly, and adjusted the scope of this rifle, just a little, zooming out. He attempted to hold it onto target, but it was useless—he was many things, but he wasn't a creature of precision. He could barely keep the lioness in view—lining up a good shot might well be beyond his abilities.
But he had no choice.
"Kifo, if you're going to take the shot, you should do it soon," Kishindo said. "She might leave before the wind dies down… and if she does, I don't think she'll be back."
The demon gritted his teeth, attempting to slow down his breathing—but it wasn't working. This wasn't working. His target and her companion were walking around the log, sniffing, checking what had been there, and the moment Sarabi recognized Kishindo's scent, they'd be gone. He needed to act.
"Oh, what the fuck," he murmured, quietly, before his finger made that brief, short journey backwards, applying just the right amount of force to the trigger of his rifle.
It took Kifo a few seconds to put himself back on target. But when he did, he was surprised.
"What a lot of blood."
Uvuli froze, then hit the ground, still screaming in terror.
"Sarabi! What happened?!"
The hyena's ears were still ringing, the shot had gone right next to her. She was, in fact, quite lucky that she wasn't deafened by the massive pressure difference.
Her fur had been splattered by the explosion of blood that resulted from Kifo's deadly shot, as had much of the grass and dirt around the lioness. Sarabi hadn't died, instantly, but rather, just a moment after she'd taken the rib-shattering blow just behind her shoulders. Waves of kinetic energy had liquefied her internals within a heartbeat—just long enough for an expression of utter surprise and confusion to come over Sarabi's face.
At least she didn't have time to feel pain or fear.
Uvuli, though, had to feel both.
Still, though, no more than five seconds passed before she reacted, moving directly to where the shot had come from. She didn't blindly charge, though, nor approach in a linear fashion—she zigzagged, dived, sidestepped, every now and then, so that when whoever had killed Sarabi gunned for her, next, she wasn't touched.
Now, she could see her target, at least, somewhat. Snarling, she moved faster, sprinting, now—it occurred to her that killing him outright might not be the best option; she'd learn more by capturing him. It would be interesting to see, though, if she'd be able to hold herself back from smearing him all over the landscape…
"She's getting closer," Kishindo said, sitting up, a little, ears erect, muscles tensed. "Want me to take her?"
"Nah, nah, I got her… just give me time…" Kifo fired another shot, reloaded, then stood, snarling, firing more rapidly.
Uvuli was dangerously close, and Kishindo was ready to pounce the second she got to within striking distance. Kifo still had a hundred yards, though, and several seconds in which to end the hyena's story suddenly—thus, he stopped firing, and started to aim.
The hyena pounced
His reticle found its way to her collarbone
He fired.
She… vanished.
Kifo blinked, lowering his weapon several degrees. Kishindo moved forward, replaying the last few seconds to herself. The demon had fired, that was certain, but then… something had happened.
There was blood on the ground where the hyena had been, just a moment ago, but there was no corpse. And, Kishindo noted, when Kifo had fired, her vision had blurred in a strange, supernatural manner, just for a heartbeat.
"Did… did I get her?" Kifo asked, uncertainly, even as he sniffed at the air, attempting to detect a scent that simply wasn't there.
"I'm… not sure," Kishindo said. "It does look like you've shot her, but—get away from there, Kifo. If you step any farther, you'll be in the Pride Lands.
"Yeah, yeah, my bad, my bad," the demon said, taking an abrupt step back. "So, she got hit in the Pride Lands… does that mean anything? Could the Spirits have bailed her out or somethin'?"
"Unlikely," Kishindo said, suspiciously, "but possible. And, given that it seems like it's the only possibility… …doesn't matter. You got Sarabi… feeling any stronger?"
"Hell fuckin' yeah, I do," Kifo replied, smiling widely. "This was a very, very good decision, Kishindo. Now," he said, putting on a dignified accent, for some reason, "let's away, dearest, before the authorities arrive."
The lioness shook her head with a sigh, rolling her eyes, though she complied, setting off at a brisk jog to the northeast. The demon kept up easily, humming to himself, still caught up in the rush of killing his first lion.
"The White Sands," Kifo said, savoring the taste of the words in his mouth, grinning. "I'm gonna have me some fun in the White Sands."
Roderik was good company, Akane and Aoi quickly found out. Apart from being a wise and thoughtful leader, he had a very, very long lifetime of stories to tell, and wasn't at all reluctant to share them with the newest additions to his pride.
"When I was a cub," the old lion said, "in the Land of No Return, which you call the Unexplored Regions… a mandrill traveler walked through our territory. The pridesmen stared at this stranger… but he kept on walking… until an old lion stopped and challenged him.
"'What are you doing here? Asking for trouble?' the old man said. The traveler was astonished. 'What do you mean?' he said. 'I am not looking for trouble. I have no weapons—no stick, no magic—I have nothing!' 'But that's just what I mean,' the old lion said. 'By walking without a weapon… you are inviting an attack!'
"There's a lesson to be learned there, young ones," Roderik said, glancing at the two white lions. "You are constantly surrounded by enemies and threats—there is never an excuse for letting your guard down. You see?"
"Of course," Akane said, "I don't understand one thing about your story, though."
"What is it?" the old lion asked, curiously. "I thought it was very straightforward."
"That's not it," the blue eyed lion said. "It's just… whenever we had a traveler in the White Sands that couldn't give us a good reason to do otherwise… we'd kill them on the spot."
"Then," Roderik said, after a moment, "there's a lesson there, too. Have a sense of honor about you."
"Now the story makes sense."
A few moments of relative silence passed. The loyalist Nomads were moving quickly but quietly, so as to avoid detection and attack from the Black Army. They intended to simply sprint past the Falme, so as to avoid confrontation by the aggressive, dangerous pride that lived there.
Akane and Aoi were rather amazed by the amount of endurance the Nomads seemed to display. The lithe, muscular lions moved for hours at a brisk pace without any sign of exhaustion or discomfort—whereas Akane and Aoi were struggling to keep up after the first hour had passed.
To pass the time, though, Roderik spent a great deal of time teaching Akane and Aoi this and that; little details about living and thriving in a non-desert climate. From time to time, the rest of the Nomads would offer their own advice, but their leader had been around long enough to know most everything about everything—or so it seemed, anyway.
For her part, Aoi had learned, to a degree, how to maximize her rare gift. She received premonitions more often, these days, and was starting to figure out how to decipher their subtle messages better. Mostly, though, the visions she received were of danger, all around, from everything; the weather, topographical features, random beasts. There seemed to be less peril in the direction of the Pride Lands, though—so the young lioness was glad to be going in that direction.
One night, she dreamed that the next day, her newfound pride would meet someone—a stranger. She mentioned this to Akane, as they woke up, and then, both former White Sands members went to Roderik with the information. The old lion at first seemed confused. As the day wore on, though, he seemed to slowly piece things together, eventually arriving at a conclusion.
Then, all at once, he stopped.
They were in a marsh, albeit one not at all similar to the miserable landscape in which Freak had fought a practical dragon so recently. This terrain was brighter, more active, more alive—but it didn't make sense…
"Welcome to the Hub Forest of the East," Roderik said, before taking in a deep breath, then exhaling, smiling. "We'll be safe here, for some time. Everyone… eat, rest, drink, but keep your eyes open. I'm not entirely fearful of an attack, though such is quite possible… but we don't want to be caught by our visitor with our trousers down, do we?"
Moments later, the Nomads were either on the hunt, sleeping, or, in the case of the many mothers of the large pride, cleaning or nursing their young ones. Akane went off into the swamp, rather cautiously—the first moment his paw dipped into the cool, green-tinted water, he jumped back, explosively, hissing… until he realized that he was unharmed. The blue eyed lion then glanced back at Aoi, in a questioning manner, before moving on when she shook her head no; she wasn't interested in doing some exploring. Not then.
The old lion was resting, lazily peering over his pride from time to time. Aoi took his side, and, after a moment of trying to work things out for herself, spoke.
"I don't understand, Roderik," she said. "The Hub Forest of the East… this place doesn't make sense."
"How so, young one?" he replied, turning towards her, grizzled mane shifting.
She paused for another moment, looking around. The entire surrounding territory was only different from the Falme to the south by a complete lack of suitable grass lands—it supported little viable prey, for a lion, and so, had gone unclaimed for generations. Furthermore… this part of the Land of the Spirits, though not quite a desert, certainly didn't experience its fair share of rain.
"How… there's a swamp here. Where does the water come from? We're in the middle of nowhere!" Aoi said suddenly. "And… 'The Hub Forest of the East'… why is it called that? There aren't any trails that lead here or back, we're not near any sort of trading routes…"
"You're very wrong, actually," Roderik said with a gentle smile. "There are a great many paths from all over the Land of the Spirits, and beyond, that lead to this very point. You just don't see them, Aoi, because you're not looking hard enough."
The lioness gave the leader of the loyalist Nomads a strange look, before carefully peering over the landscape again. She saw nothing… but decided to have her other question addressed.
"Then… where does the water come from?" she asked. "We're in the middle of a desert…"
"An underwater stream," Roderik said simply. "Several of them, actually.
"This also explains why their convergence is called a hub. Do you understand?" the old lion said, grinning.
Aoi blinked. Then shook her head, smiling in a confused, skeptical manner.
"But that doesn't make sense," the lioness said, head tilted. "After all… no one uses water to travel!... right?"
The Nomadic leader just laughed, and turned, watching the swamp in front of him. Not for long, though. Because it was only after a moment, or so, that a being last described several thousand words ago appeared.
Perhaps you don't remember her name. In case you do, though, here it is: Adhabu.
The Desert had never exactly been the place to be, so to speak. After all, it was only weeks' travel from the Pride Lands, and it didn't really offer any great advantage to its dwellers… save, perhaps, for the fact that they could remain certain that they'd never be invaded—after all, who, besides Israelis and Palestinians, would fight over a scorched land incapable of supporting life in any significant size?
Of comfort to its pride was the assumption that, if nothing else, they had one another, and always would. No matter how many endless days and nights passed without water, or food, or a break in the monotony of the endless merge between sand and sky, they always had at least one thing: family.
After Sikia was killed, though… this no longer held true.
Allow me to take you, now, to a land plagued by a generation of constant, relentless war. A land whose masters had no hope of producing heirs or offspring at all; a land where a day with a word spoken between its dwellers was a rare day indeed.
The Desert certainly wasn't the place to be.
The sky was clear, blue, and transparent, that day. There wasn't a cloud in it, so the rays of sunlight that beamed down were so bright and hot that even the stenotopic lions that had lived there for their entire lives were panting, gasping, short of breath.
They hadn't had a drink of water for over a week.
How, then, did they live, you ask?
It's simple—as strange as it may sound, water is not the only source of water in the Desert.
Perhaps I'm being unclear. But the way the lionesses' muzzles had been dyed blood red, semipermanently, should leave no doubt in one's mind as to how they obtained water.
Shindani had followed Samehe's departing orders—she had never harmed a hair of Adhabu or Msaka's fur. She hadn't abandoned them in combat once, despite what they'd done to her sister—but she hadn't forgiven them. And she didn't plan to.
She didn't really look at them, either. Or speak to them. They all knew the routine, by now—get up, fight, rest, hunt, eat, drink, fight, sleep, then rinse and repeat. Days ran together, as shapeless and indistinct as the plethora of rolling, shifting dunes that defined the Desert. And, after so, so long, Adhabu and Msaka had stopped speaking to one another, as well. They simply had no reason to, and due to the fact that Shindani blamed each of them for her sister's death… they both felt equally responsible for it. They weren't even sure, now, who it was that had killed Sikia.
There was no hope, but no sadness, either. The lionesses merely accepted their fate—like Samehe, they were going to grow old fighting. They were never going to give up, they were never going to find love or a real pride, again, and when the time came, they would die like she had: with honor.
Their existence was Spartan to the core. When they ate, it was on the flesh of their enemies, for the most part. They kept their dens—now separate—clean and in good repair. From dawn to dusk, they worked; there was no pleasure and there was only the minimum amount of rest necessary to sustain such a brutal lifestyle.
There was no escape.
None of them had ever so much as set foot outside of their territory, save for when they made incursions into the Wet Forest—and these occasions were increasingly rare, due to their sudden drop in manpower and a brutal but effective eugenics program that gave their enemies a new generation of stronger, smarter, faster warriors.
What else was left for them, though, but war? This was, after all, all they knew. They were used to fighting. Why change—why leave? And, imagine, for a moment, that they decided that flight was better than fight. Where to go? How to decide? No, the lionesses' best, their only option, was to stay and do everything they possibly could to obtain victory.
The situation in the Desert had reached equilibrium. Msaka, Adhabu, and Shindani all knew their places, and did their work without complaint or resentment. By essentially brainwashing themselves, they felt little sadness—they merely shut their minds off to the possibility that life could be better, somehow, somewhere, for even them.
A paradigm shift in their thinking, though, could be caused by even the slightest fracture in the world as they saw it. And the appearance of three determined, but vitally happy females was a very significant event indeed.
Dusk was the only time of day that the Desert was really bearable for outsiders. When the Sun was out, it was too hot—and when the Sun went down, so did the temperature.
Now, though, at dusk, when the sky was layered with various shades of blue, magenta, and orange, the climate was quite bearable. Granted, it wasn't exactly fun to clamber up and down dune after dune with little sense of direction or destination, but they had good reason to do so—they believed that the Desert Pride lived, and, therefore, needed to be contacted.
Their paws made little noise as they moved, lightly, over the coarse, ever-shifting Desert sands. They moved at a good rate, and maintained a thirty yard spread, in order to minimize chances of sighting anything noteworthy.
Though they'd been in the Desert for the better part of five hours, now, the Pride Landers hadn't seen… anything, really. Not a single pugmark, not a plant, nor tree, nor animal or insect of any sort. It was depressing, on one level—but the trio couldn't help but be filled with a sense of awe. Despite the mawkish taste that collected in their maws, due to airborne sand, the Desert was an environment as stunning as it was foreboding. Endless miles of curved, heaping dunes as far as the eye could see and then some; empty, cloudless skies… this certainly wasn't Kansas—the Pride Lands, that is.
Nala and Kiara rather blended in, due to their tanned coats. Shenzi was well camouflaged in the shadows of the ubiquitous Desert dunes, but this was of no consequence. There was nothing to see, much less threaten the trio.
"So…" Kiara said, after having her fill of the silence of the Desert, "when do you folks think we'll see the Desert Pride?"
"Folks?" Nala repeated, in a somewhat confused tone, before shrugging. "I'm not sure. There's still a lot of the Desert left to cover, I think. We don't… exactly… know that much about this region," the lioness admitted. "We haven't had any reason to care about it for as long as I've been around."
"And back when I was a cub," Shenzi piped up, as the three females converged, to share conversation more easily, "the Desert didn't mean much ta us, either. It was just sorta… there, y'knowwhatI'msayin'?"
"Yeah, I guess," Kiara said. "We need to stop this isolationism bullsh—uhm, that is…" the younger lioness winced, somewhat, at the reproachful expression on her mother's face. "Whatever. I'm a big girl, now, and technically, I'm Queen of the Pride Lands. So I can curse all I fu—all I want!"
Shenzi snickered at that, as Nala managed to hold a grave, serious expression on her face.
"So you can, daughter. So you can. Just don't forget that no matter how old you become… I'll always be your mother."
Shindani had never had a particularly wide emotional range. Back in the day, she occasionally experienced slightly varying degrees of satisfaction, disappointment, and a few others—generally, though, she was brooding, silent, solitary.
With Sikia, however, a very big part of her had died as well. She could hardly remember feeling anything but anger and determination, now, and couldn't imagine how her already diminished emotional capacity could shrink further, though, she knew, it was happening day by day, at a not altogether slow rate.
In comparison to what she had been, Shindani was a shell—nothing more. What she might have become if left alone is something that can only be speculated about.
Her vocal chords had weakened from lack of use. When she did speak to her compatriots, it was in monosyllable—she scarcely had the ability to construct full sentences, or even phrases. Not that she cared, though. There was nothing that needed to be said, not anymore.
Exhausted from a long day of fighting, the lioness walked, alone, northwards. Msaka was out hunting, and Adhabu was completing the day's last patrol along the southern edge of the Desert… or, rather, the southern edge of their territory. They were losing their home faster than they ever had before. In fact, at the rate they were going, there would simply be no Desert left to fight for within a year.
Taking note of this, Shindani was is a bad mood, even by her standards. Her motions were sharp and unnecessarily rough, as she trudged her way back to her den; her claws were outstretched despite the fact that there was little in the Desert that would could be gripped for better traction.
The domed, sloping dunes of the lioness's homeland meant that those who didn't want to be seen in the Desert often weren't. To avoid detection, one merely had to keep low and listen, avoiding any approaching sounds without attracting attention. Even the remainder of the Desert Pride had been taken by surprise, several times, by flanking enemies—even posting a lookout on a high dune was of little utility.
Freak's "everyone is a threat" motto had taken root in Shindani's mind—or, to be more precise, it had uprooted Shindani's mind. Everything strange to her in the Desert was a dog or reptile, period—which meant that anything unfamiliar to her was a direct threat to everything she stood for; one that could only be removed using violence.
Was she insane?
The Lion Sheikh believes so. This isn't to say that we should feel no sympathy for her, of course. Rather, it's worthwhile, at least, to entertain the possibility that her failure to deal with her sister's death in a positive way, after so much time, had taken its toll.
Regardless—Shindani was a loose cannon. Of course, she was no danger to her pridemates, and, even more obviously, she was an immense danger to her enemies. Her brutality in combat had lent her the nickname that Samehe had once held, as well as several others. She'd always had a mean streak, but since Sikia had gone, this trait was pronounced, even more so by her sudden and unexpected discovery that she had a knack for shattering enemy paws.
There is nothing so intimate as the act of killing—that was Shindani's opinion. Or, at least, that was the opinion she told herself that she had. By fighting hard and constantly, the lioness managed to convince herself that she was leading a full, wholesome life.
It wasn't true, and, perhaps, on a subconscious level, she realized this. What could she do, though? She couldn't face the death of Sikia, really, and even if she was able to, there would still be nothing left for her in life but to die with honor, defending the Desert fanatically, as Samehe had before her.
She was calm, relatively at peace, when she heard something—and froze.
Tail flicking from side to side, the lioness looked up, northwards, eyes fixed on the horizon. Something was coming, she was sure of it—but what was it? How had the enemies of the Desert flanked her so completely, to the point that they were coming from a location so far away, due north?
Clearly, she'd forgotten something or made some mistake that day. Now, though, wasn't the time to dwell on that—it was time to deal with whatever was coming from the north.
Snarling, once, the lioness went over her options. She was alone, but that was alright; she had never fought well when on a team. Without having to worry about attacking the wrong person, she could let go of her conscious mind, allowing it to fall into a state of equanimity, in favor of another, darker consciousness—there was a very, very good possibility that she wouldn't recall any details of the melee that was about to ensue.
If they'd contacted a second later, they'd have been too late, and at least one of them would have died then and there.
As luck, or fate would have it, though, the Pride Landers somehow managed to detect Shindani and react to the Desert lioness's presence before anything unfortunate could happen.
Kiara and Nala roared, loudly, calling to the distant lioness. This wasn't a threat of any sort—rather, it was an announcement: we are declaring our presence to you. It was a humble but assertive display that would minimize risk for all parties involved.
"What's she doing?" Shenzi asked, squinting. "Looks like she's just standing there. What do you guys think?"
"She's probably deciding what to do… or maybe she's distracting us while her friends surround us, or something. Heh, I just reminded myself of Shujaa; remember the first time he was in the Pride Lands?" Kiara replied, panting, a little, from the loud exercise.
"I don't know why they'd be so defensive," Nala said, tilting her head several degrees. "We'd better stand down, and stay here, so that they can see we're going to do exactly as they say—we are, after all, on their territory."
There was a nod of general assent, and the trio remained relatively static. They did move closer together, somewhat, in a very rough "V" formation, just in case they did have to fight—for the most part, though, they remained passive.
And, after a time, that distant, lone lioness started to approach.
"Alright, everyone… remember, be polite and courteous, and respectful of the fact that we are in their land. However, do not let yourself get pushed around, and for Spirits' sake, please think before you speak. I know I will." Understandably, Nala was nervous. However, a gentle touch from her daughter's nose, on her shoulder, lifted the old lioness's spirits, though she kept her expression passive and blank as their host began her final approach.
Shindani's appearance could be summed up in a single word, at that point in time: savage. This is, perhaps, a slight understatement—her muzzle was dyed with partially coagulated blood, and her fur was saturated with grit and sand and more blood; she hadn't had a chance to wash herself for a few days. Her claws were jagged and cracked and long and sharp, and her teeth were similarly unkempt—the only time she dulled her deadliest weapons was when she struck the bones of her enemies.
The Pride Landers were, very understandably, put off by her appearance. But they reacted more perfectly than could have been expected. They allowed bowed, somewhat deeply, to the Desert lioness, and met her eyes, smiling politely but not presumptuously.
"Greetings, Desert sister. We've come in peace—our purpose here is not military. We are the only ones from our Pride on your territory, and we thank you for giving us the chance to speak to you," Nala said.
Shindani seemed to weigh the older lioness's words, for a moment, before nodding curtly, eyes still narrow and mistrustful. Kiara spoke next, in a somewhat more gentle, friendly tone.
"I'm Kiara, and that's my mom, Nala. We're both Queens of the Pride Lands, and this is Shenzi, one of our good friends. …How are things in the Desert?" the young lioness said, head tilting, several degrees. "Our two nations have been out of contact for a very long time. I hope your pride's doing well?"
At that, Shindani laughed once, a harsh, bitter laugh that hurt to hear, and shook her head. Still, she didn't speak, and, instead, continued to stare at the foreigners.
"Oh… that's a shame. But it leads to the purpose in our presence here," Nala said. "We… were wondering, if there might be any powerful swimmers in your pride. If so… we would be very, very grateful to… borrow her, for some time. In return, we're willing to offer unrestricted and permanent entry to our lands for any of your pride members—we're even willing to share our lands with you. You've realized the… progressive degradation of the quality of life in the Land of the Spirits. This hasn't affected us, yet… …greatly. Please take this offer to your alpha, at least… it's genuine, and could be a very good decision for your people," Nala offered.
After a few more moments, Shindani spoke for the first time. Her voice was low-pitched and husky, raspy from a lack of use, every bit as brutal and threatening as her appearance and demeanor overall.
"Can't do that, I'm afraid. Got no alpha," she said, hardly registering the looks of shock on the Pride Landers' faces. "He died a long time ago, when I was a cub. There're just three of us left… but yeah. We do have a swimmer. You can meet with her when she gets back… Follow me."
With that, she turned, heading back over the ridge of a nearby dune. After looking at one another for a moment, the Pride Landers came to a conclusion, and followed, albeit at a distance. They hadn't exactly ruled out the possibility that Shindani was insane—in fact, that, to them, was quite a likely possibility, and a good explanation for her eccentric activity.
Still, they weren't willing to make such judgments so readily. So, as they moved off seemingly towards just another bit of the middle of nowhere, they kept silent, until Nala asked a relatively neutral question, carefully gauging the Desert lioness's reaction.
"So… how are things in the Desert? There are only three of you; what happened to…?"
"Died," Shindani said. "All of them. Samehe, Sikia, the males, everyone else… they all died. And Shujaa left… I dunno where he went."
"Ah."
"Wait, what?!" Nala said suddenly, jumping around to face the Desert lioness. "How do you know Shujaa?"
"He fought here for a good few months, that's how," Shindani said, disinterestedly, before her eyes narrowed. "Wait… how do you know… ah… he lived in the Pride Lands for a while, didn't he?"
"Yeah… so that's where he went, after he left…" Shenzi murmured, mostly to herself. "Wait… he called himself Shujaa when he got here?" "Talk about ego…"
Shindani shook her head. "No. He always called himself 'Freak'… Shujaa's a name we all came up with, a while ago…"
"That's… an interesting coincidence," Nala said. "You see…"
It took some time to explain the entire situation to Shindani. Several times during the process, the Pride Landers questioned the wisdom of trusting a stranger so completely like this, then decided to worry later. Quickly, it grew dark, though little time had passed—Shindani accepted their story with few questions and no interruptions.
When there was nothing left to say, though, Kiara looked around. After dark, the Desert was no less inhospitable or ominous than it was during the day—it was black and silent and expansive, and, without anything to hold onto the heat of the day, quite cold, as well.
"So, uh… when's this swimmer of your's getting here?"
"She shouldn't be long. Just like Msaka… we'll have enough meat to share, if you're hungry…"
That was a lie. But the Pride Landers realized it, and politely shook their heads, explaining that they'd eaten earlier—that was true.
Shindani wasn't smiling yet, but as they waited for Adhabu and Msaka to return, her expression was less harsh, less cold. She even engaged in idle conversation with the other lionesses, and, for the first time in a long, long time, groomed herself out of desire, not necessity.
The huntress came into view moments later, hauling a large gazelle along. She paused, still distant, ostensibly wondering who the strangers in the area were, before resuming her approach. When she was finally close enough to speak, Shindani curtly introduced the Pride Landers, then looked away as, again, the story was told. It was blatant that there was something between the two lionesses, but no one pried—it wasn't their place.
There was another wait, a shorter one, before Adhabu arrived. The dark-furred lioness's voice was more gravelly and low-pitched than it had been just months ago—like the other Desert lionesses, she'd suffered from the lack of communication. Greatly.
But, as was the case with Msaka and Shindani, she slowly—slowly—started to open up. To talk.
There was still a lot of resentment between the Desert lionesses, and that likely wasn't going anywhere for a time. But when the Pride Landers met them, it was, perhaps, the start to a long, painful, but, hopefully, eventually successful healing process.
(Sorry for the slow update. Things will be better in the future, hopefully.)