Two: Exodus

The rain slowed to a drizzle, then a mere sprinkling upon the torched savannah. King Simba remained on the peak of Pride Rock, letting the cool wind ruffle his reddish mane, letting his golden fur silver in the light of a swollen, appreciative moon. All around him, Simba heard the trees, aching from drought, creak back to life; he heard blood rushing under the earth, as if it had been called back into action. It surged into the dried out veins of the Pridelands with gusto.

"If only I'd been sooner." Simba lowered his head, gasping with guilt. The emotion was too much; he'd seen his father's face before him, bestowing these lands unto him, but... something... something still was not right.

And he knew, didn't he? The carcass of the former King Scar. Simba and Scar had fought their final battle on the mountainous promontory of Pride Rock. The thin, famine-ravaged lion had leapt at Simba, who was strong from years in a prosperous jungle. Simba had kicked him over the ledge, into the fire, and then-then the scavengers had come.

Simba had lowered his head towards the bottom, unsure if Scar would have survived the fall. And there-in the soot, in the heat-there was a skinny, black-maned shape, struggling to rise to his broken feet.

"I thought he said we were the enemy?" Came a chilling female voice. Scar's hyenas. Their shrieks tore at the night sky like so many fangs. Simba watched in horror as countless shadows rose around Scar and descended upon him with their teeth bared in reckless glee.

And Scar... his screams. His pleas. Like a baby, he cried for his mother. But Simba could not watch any longer, and he could not find it in him to interfere. There wasn't enough room in Simba's heart yet to pity the lion who had stolen his life from him.

Simba watched until he saw Shenzi, her eyes round and black, reach for Scar's throat. Then he backed away and hoped only for a quick death.

But he was not alone when it happened. A lioness shot towards the edge where Simba stood, her expression frantic. There was a ragged look to her. Simba couldn't place a name to her face. She screamed when she reached the edge, a scream so mournful it took Simba's breath away.

"Taka! No! Scar!"

Simba had no words for this strange lioness, so he said nothing.

But he didn't have to. This lioness turned to him, and only then could he see, outlined with an orange, fiery glow, the ribs poking through her dusty gold pelt. A thin, smoky stripe started between her blood-colored eyes and disappeared between her shoulders... and her claw-sharp face clenched in rage at the sight of him.

"You! You... you killed him!"

"Who are you?" Simba backed away, but not out of fear; he could see the lioness, whose foreleg bore a deep set of clawmarks, was in no condition to fight. Her flanks heaved in the weakness that came from living for moons in famine-driven lands.

"Who am I? I'm his mate. His love. His wife. My... my son..." She seemed to lose her words; she crept back to the edge, and her keening wail sent the fur along Simba's spine into icy peaks. "My Taka. My Scar." The hyenas' laughter attempted to drown her out, but Simba heard every word. "My beloved. Oh. Oh. I... I'm sorry I was not enough to save you."

Simba opened his mouth to speak, astonished. Scar had a wife? A son? Where had they been during the battle? Why hadn't Nala, or Sarabi, or Scar himself even mentioned this to him? He racked his brain, trying to remember if he'd seen them during the conflict.

But before he could say anything, the lioness contorted in what seemed like internal agony, and she shot back across the promontory and down the step-like stones that led to Pride Rock's base. Simba supposed she was going to see Scar-or what remained of him.

After his confrontation with the lioness-known as Zira to the pride, and her cub was indeed the sickly and decrepit son of Scar-Simba's sympathies had become muddled. It was his mother and Nala who had drawn him aside afterward.

At first, he shook with his anger. "A wife? A son? How could you neglect to tell me-"

"Simba," Nala interrupted, "I was going to tell-"

"She said she was a rogue before Scar let her in. What happened? When did this happen?" He felt his muscles shake with adrenaline from the battle, from the shock the day had caused him.

"She came from the east, with about seven other lionesses," Sarabi said, looking troubled even at the distant memory. Her tan pelt seemed almost gray from the rain and the deepened shadows of the night, but her golden-red eyes remained as bright as ever. Across her strong jaw lay four sharp wounds-Scar's final kiss. "Zira, yes. A fitting name-'hate.' She begged for mercy from Scar when we already had nothing to eat, and I guess he was in one of his merciful moods. He granted them all clemency, and they'd stayed with us ever since."

"But they never really... 'joined' us," Nala said, glancing worriedly in the direction Zira had run. Beautifully silvered in the moonlight, her face betrayed her insecurities. "They always looked at us with disdain... as if we were lesser. Maybe we were in their eyes. Scar had stopped trusting us by then. We couldn't even hunt without a hyena escort anymore."

Simba frowned, wondering. "And that cub..."

"He really is Scar's." Sarabi sniffed. "You can tell just by looking at him, you know. Scar was just like that was a cub-gangly, sickly, with that same distrusting face. Of course, his mother was nothing like Zira. Uru was a kind and gentle queen. This Zira... well. She's taken her name too literally. I've never seen her treat that cub with love."

"Only Scar," Nala agreed plainly.

Simba growled beneath his breath. "If she's so loving toward Scar, she won't likely join me so easily."

"Never," the lioness called Shani voiced. She gave her pale golden paw a lick, then washed it against her face. "Zira's had big plans since she joined up here, I think. She wanted Scar... and when she got Nuka instead of some big, strong male cub, I think it just..."

"Fanned the flames," Sarabi said, voice hushed. "She's not done yet, Simba. She wants more. Wants... power. Control."

"But in Scar's name? Or... or what?" Simba voiced aloud. "Either way," he said, turning to the other pride lionesses, "I want you all to know, I've issued this Zira an ultimatum for her treasonous words and her devotion to Scar. She will either become part of this pride and cease her traitorous ways... or face exile beyond the borders."

"Won't they die?" Nala asked, face creasing.

"I don't know." Simba looked to the sky, questioning. "And I hate to exile a cub so young. But... I can't have someone so openly hostile towards me, and my family, in this pride. It could cause someone to be hurt or killed. And I won't have it... not after everything all of us have been through." He set his jaw, determined. "She will make her decision, or I will make it for her."

Nala nodded, unsure, but Sarabi nuzzled her son forcefully.

"You're wise already, my son," she purred.

"Not wise... maybe just... wary," he said, but he kissed his mother on the cheek in appreciation.

Now, at moonrise, as the rains became mists, Simba wondered if this ultimatum had been a just or honest choice. After all, these lionesses had come from desolate lands for them to try to make the Pridelands their second home; what sort of exodus had they faced that led them to Scar's kingdom? Simba did not know, and he did not know if he ever would.

And the cub... Simba had felt real tears threatening his eyes when he had stared into a face so familiar. So young, and had lost his father-despite what Scar had been! He didn't know, after all, that his father was a murderer and a traitor. All that little cub knew was that the only father he'd ever known was gone forever-and possibly, the only home he'd ever known would be lost to him, too.

Simba doubted Zira would leave the cub here; and if she did, what would become of him? Simba could admit already that housing the son of Scar would be unwise of him. Besides, the cub could never be king. He would forever be shadowed by Simba's own child... and why allow the legacy to repeat itself, if it could be easily avoided?

Simba hated himself for this callous thought, but he knew in his heart it was true. The moon touched his mane, caressed it with cold fingers and teased his whiskers with wind. My father would have no doubts about this, he thought, but even then he wondered how true it was. I must be resolute in my decisions, or how could I expect anyone to trust my judgment and follow my orders?

"Simba." He turned; at the mouth of the royal cavern, a slender, beautiful figure sat and watched him. Her eyes were the aquamarine of a freshwater stream, and her pale fur gleamed silver with moonlight. Simba blinked at her, still half-expecting her to dissipate like the mist that shrouded the Pridelands. "Come inside, won't you? I'm cold without you."

Appreciatively, the lion shrugged his responsibilities away, willing to take refuge with his new wife, if only for a single night's peace.

Zira knew, without a doubt, what her decision would be. She and her pride sisters stood, shoulder to shoulder, as an audience to the newly crowned King Simba. Her claws remained partially unsheathed; she was ready to shred the lion before her if he dared insult her again. Her skin tingled, causing her fur to light along her spine like there was static in the air. And there was, wasn't there? Enough to start an explosive fire, she thought, licking her chops.

Simba sat before her, his face set against hers in an unreadable expression. To his right sat his mate Nala, pale, pretty, and serious; to his left sat his mother, Sarabi. The former queen looked at Zira with a baleful expression that Zira made sure to return. Behind them stood the rest of Simba's pride-lionesses that Zira had never felt comfortable near, and who had never accepted her or her sisters, even after Scar's generous welcome.

I'd tear any of you apart without blinking, she thought, meeting each of their eyes without fear. The only thing keeping me here was Scar. Scar, and the promise that my son would follow in his footsteps.

"Zira," Simba spoke, voice clear; it echoed powerfully within the confines of the cavern. "The sun has rose and set thrice since I gave you an ultimatum. Let me and the rest of the pride know your choice now."

Zira ambled towards Simba, coming as close as she dared-about four feet away from the massive beast. She could feel her heartbeat becoming quick and erratic; it always did when she became angry.

"I'll be damned if I serve a murderer."

The lionesses behind Simba immediately began snarling in protest; Zira smiled, unflinching from Simba's frustrated gaze.

"You already did," Sarabi growled from beside her son.

Zira snapped her head around to face the dowager queen. "Say another word about him and I'll be pulling your fur out of my teeth!"

"Enough!" Simba closed the space between his mother and Zira with fearsome speed. "Threaten her-or anyone in my pride again-and I'll give you the fight you seem to want so badly," he snarled.

"It's only you I want to fight," Zira said, but she did force herself to back away. Not now, she thought. Not like this.

"You have chosen exile." Simba exhaled. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. For you are an adult, and have the capability to understand the consequences of your actions. It's your son I fear for, and feel pity for."

"We don't need your pity," Zira snapped.

The lionesses that backed Zira began to crowd her in a physical show of support. Damu, the speckled lioness Zira had grown up with, spoke: "We're going with her."

"Then I fear you've all chosen starvation." Simba's gaze became steely. "I've been outside of the Pridelands, and past the borders, there are very few options for lions. The desert that lies to the north of here is harsh. Rogues lie in wait... especially for a gathering of lionesses." He closed his eyes against any misgivings he seemed to have. "But again, I assume you know all of this, Zira. You've made your choice. You have until moonhigh to leave my kingdom... and once your paws have passed that border, you are not to return."

Zira squared her shoulders up, feeling the fires of her anger stirring hotly in her belly. How she wanted to rip that smug expression from his face! And who was he to talk of hardship-a coddled prince, murdering a king, and for what! To banish his mate and his followers-and send them to their doom?

Her head began to swim with her outrage, and it took every ounce of willpower she had not to lunge at Simba. "Fine, Your Majesty," she bit out. "We'll go right away. Why linger, when we can move on with our lives, away from these cursed lands?"

Simba watched her coldly. "Fine. Shani, Maua, escort them to the border. Return only when you cannot see them against the horizon any longer."

Obediently, two lionesses emerged from the gathering that stood behind their king. Shani, Zira recognized; she was the light golden lioness who had thought to 'rescue' Nuka. The other was older, perhaps around Sarabi's age. Both of them wore expressions of utter distaste.

"Fine. If they speak out of line... expect them to return without ears," Zira said, baring her teeth in a warning.

"We'll try not to step on your tail, Zira," Maua said mildly. "Let's go so we can make it back before midnight."

With that, Zira turned her back on Simba for what she knew would be the last time. The next time we meet, it will be face-to-face... and it will be bloody.

The thought made her unsheathe her claws unwittingly; they scraped harshly against the stone.

Zira led the lionesses that had become her pride by default through the damp and muddied ruins of the Pridelands. It was easy to leave, easier than she'd thought; these lands were as ugly as the day she'd arrived, and the only bright thing she'd found in them had been taken from her. Their pawprints left trails in the ash-black mud; and when, at long last, they met the northern border of the Pridelands, and Zira had crossed into it, Shani and Maua bared their teeth and threatened to nip at them.

"Touch one hair on one of my lionesses and they'll have to dig for your ugly carcasses," Zira promised, glaring at them.

"Don't worry-wouldn't wanna make myself sick," Shani jeered. "Rest well, Zira-as well as Scar will in the hell he made for himself!"

"Shani," Maua reprimanded quietly. "Let's go home."

Zira watched the two Pridelander lionesses return to Pride Rock, her heart beating slowly, rhythmically. A lioness with a grayish pelt padded beside her and gently lowered her jaws, releasing Nuka, Zira's young son, to rest in the dust.

Here, beyond the border, the lands were dry, unkissed by the rains. Zira saw not a hint of foliage besides shredded remains of acacia trees and a few thorn-covered bushes. The scent of prey was nonexistent, though it had only been marginally better in the Pridelands.

"Mother, I'm hungry," Nuka whined, lifting his head to gaze pleadingly at his mother.

"Get used to it," she said, not unkindly. "This will be our lives for awhile now, Nuka."

"But why?"

"Because Simba murdered your father and banished us to these lands." Zira's tail swept the dust. "This is our home now, and it will be difficult to hunt."

Nuka coughed, his throat sounding dry. Zira pricked her ears and alerted a lioness beside her, a stronger-looking one than the others. "Kenya."

Kenya bowed her head. "Yes, Zira?"

"Scout for water," she ordered. "And shelter, too. Take Damu and Weusi with you. We need to make the most of this, at least for tonight."

Kenya made haste for the sprawling desert beyond them. The speckled Damu and a dusk-pelted Weusi followed suit; their heels kicked up dust pale as the stars.

Zira lowered herself to the ground, fighting the urge to be sick. Don't show them any signs of regret, she thought, firm. If you want them to be loyal, you can't show weakness. Zira had been taught this long ago, that to show weakness was to ask for pain or death. A strong lion would take advantage of a weak lioness; a strong lioness would decimate a weaker female. There was no room in their world for the sick, decrepit, or lazy-there just wasn't.

Nuka nudged her belly, as if he thought to suckle for milk, and she snapped at him harshly.

"No more of that," she said. He shrank from her voice as if it bore fangs to bite him.

"But what can I eat?"

"Nothing, until we find wild game." She let her claws leave indents in the hard earth. "Get some rest. When Kenya comes back, we'll have to start walking again."

Nuka, having given up on trying to work milk from his mother's nonexistent teats, fell wearily onto the sand and pressed his tiny flank to his mother's. She allowed herself to become drowsy; the savanna had cooled considerably with the drawing shadows, and her limbs were weary from travel and from stress.

But in the murkiness of her dreams, a gray figure approached her. Male, she thought, but only when his eyes, beetle-green, were revealed, did she know who he was.

"My beloved," she whispered hoarsely. "I never thought... I thought you were lost to me forever."

"Never, my love," Scar purred, but when Zira attempted to move toward him and nuzzle him, he put more space between them. She realized he was only a phantom—the sort that come in dreams. She fought the urge to wail her grief to the ghost of her mate, knowing it was useless to do so.

Scar's image continued, "I have not come for that. My time is limited here. Zira, I have a task for you."

She lowered her head, ears straining. Scar's shape was fading as he spoke.

"I will never be able to take the throne again," he whispered. "But I know of one who will rule in my stead."

"Nuka?" Zira said.

"No." Scar's face had drained of color, so that only his vibrant eyes remained, trained on Zira. "Look." As his pelt became the gray backdrop of dreams, Zira found herself looking at herself, on her side, with two tiny bundles of fur suckling at her. One golden, one dark brown.

A vision-and she knew it was a vision because of the way the blood roared in her ears and the way she felt the sun on her pelt and the tiny, needling fangs on her teats.

"Cubs? But, Scar," she said, her voice straining, "I... I'm not with child. I haven't felt the light in my eyes, and you're gone now."

"It matters not, for I've chosen this one to lead in my stead." Scar pressed his ghostly paw over the dark-colored cub's body. "He'll be strong, smart, and eager-all of the things that matter in an heir."

"You're sure," Zira said, realizing the implications Scar had left her. These would not be his cubs-and yet, yet... he'd chosen one to lead in his stead? "Is it... I must train him to reclaim the throne."

"Yes," Scar whispered. "I would trust no one else to have such resolve."

"Then I'll do it." Zira reached again, her paw meeting only the mist gray of her dreams. "Scar... I'd do anything to have you close again... and if it means to find another male to bring these cubs forth, then I will."

"Good girl."

With that, Zira started awake, feeling cool and hot at once. The image stood in her mind clearly: the litter of cubs, the dark brown male who was obviously strong and healthy, the opposite of what Nuka had been at birth. Scar's chosen heir, she thought, sifting sand between her claws again.

"Zira!" Kenya's voice rang across the empty expanse of the desert. "We've found something that might work. An abandoned termite mound, with a small watering hole behind it!"

Standing and shaking loose dust from her pelt, Zira began to feel the strength return to her body. I've been given this task, she thought, and I intend to fulfill it.

"Well then," she said, nudging the sleeping Nuka awake with a paw, "Let's see what it's like."