A/N: Hello, everyone! I hope you've had a good week. Here I am with the next chapter. I'm going to respond to your reviews and then we will get back to the story.
Jestalnaker94000: I for one agree, this is going to be more mystical and fantastical than your average human in Lion King story, and some of them get pretty mystical. And thank you for returning to the story, I hope what you read is up to your standards.
Jason Chandler: Yep. If he thinks his life has been turned upside down now, he's got another thing coming. This is the first part of four two-part stories!
Alex's POV
I thought I was dead, but I could inhale the burning air. This caused me to cough, and my eyes shot wide open when I realised I could do so, and I gasped at the scene: Bloody limbs slanted against armrests. Blood-stained torsos, lifeless eyes petrified as if the last thing they saw was imprinted in them - their own death. A plume of black smoke was fed by the fire within the engine. I probably didn't have time to search for food, water, or clothes... and that was before the moral implications of taking dead people's belongings to further my own survival came to mind. I had several areas of stinging where the wind blew against my face. I felt my face with my fingers, and when I retracted them from the area of pain, I saw a smudge of blood. I tilted my head upwards since I was lying on my back, and I saw light flooding in from a great gap in the fuselage.
I pulled myself up to my feet, using an armrest as leverage, but as was regaining my footing, it broke off the seat in which I had sat, causing me to fall backwards and knock into a corpse with blood having run from their fringe. I froze in realisation, disgust and sorrow. Anyone else would have remarked how miraculous my survival was. But everyone else was supposed to die because I was supposed to live. This was supposed to happen to me, this was supposed to happen to them. Their fate was sealed because mine was decided. They died so I could live. And at this realisation, my heart sunk into a deep cavern of guilt. As I observed the lifeless bodies that would know not another hour of excitement or dread, hope or despair, there was a reflex in my throat waiting to be triggered. It was a scene that was worthy of emptying the contents of my stomach. But then to a sense of dismay, my ears detected a human sound. A couple of rows down the fuselage. I heard a small, high-pitched sound. It was a sound of sorrow and regret.
"Hello?" I made myself heard. There was no sound. I couldn't even hear any breathing, only the crackling of combustion.
"Is anyone there?" I called out again. There was silence for about half a minute. I was ready to turn and walk out through the hole in the fuselage, but I heard a tender voice that belonged to a terrified child.
"Help me!" the voice whimpered. I edged closer to the origin of the voice, and as I passed the row of seats, I gasped. It was a child. The small boy I saw earlier. Was he supposed to survive as well?
"My arm hurts," the boy whimpered as he held his left arm. It was slightly swollen in the middle of his forearm. His face looked up to me, flawed with cuts, bruises and dirt. He had brown hair of medium length brushed to his left. He had brown eyes, and there was anxiety in them. I leaned down and slipped an arm under his legs and another at his back behind his arms.
"Where are we?" he asked quietly as I walked hurriedly between the seats, most of them with at least some degree of damage, whether the fabric was torn or the entire seat was dislodged.
"We're in Africa," I replied bluntly.
"Where's mummy?" he questioned. I widened my eyes. How was I to tell such a young soul that his mother was gone forever, never to be seen or heard again? The person who was always there to care for them, feed them and protect them, was so cruelly snatched from them.
"I want my mummy!" he shouted as he began to struggle to get out of my grip.
"Your mother's dead! Everyone on this plane is dead!" I said harshly, ending his efforts. "We're the only survivors," I said in a softer tone.
"No..." the boy whimpered in denial. Tears began to form in his eyes. I sighed before I walked towards the hole in the fuselage. However, before we could emerge from the wreck, he thrust his elbow into my abdomen, causing me to drop him from my grasp as I let out a grunt of pain.
Clutching his arm, he ran between the torn seats and broken armrests, desperate to see his mother one last time. He gasped when he saw the blood-stained, mangled body of his mother. He thought of all the times he saw her, when she was happy and sad, but always beautiful and strong. And the last time he would see her face would be like this.
I inhaled as I looked on in sorrow. I never got to see the face of my mother on the day she died. But as I inhaled, my nose was filled with the scent of fuel. And I remembered the sound of flames.
"Hey..." I began, realising I didn't know the boy's name. "We need to get out of here!" I called. He did not respond. "The engine is about to explode," I said. He remained where he was. He had his arms wrapped around the neck of his mother, resting his head on her shoulder.
"One more moment!" he replied, shouting from down the fuselage.
"No, now!" I demanded. He remained on the spot. I ran down the aisle and pulled him by his waist.
"No! Let me go!" he cried. I had to pick him up in the same way I had before, but he was writhing and kicking out at me, so I had to hold him over my shoulder. I ran outside through the hole in the fuselage, and as my eyesight adjusted to the brightness of the morning sun, I looked to the wing, broken beyond the first engine, which was leaking fuel. The puddle edged closer to the burning engine.
I looked ahead of me and realised where we had impacted: A canyon that had two towering walls that were coloured with different shades of orange and red. I looked at the trajectory from which the plane crashed into the canyon and I saw a pile of rocks beneath one of several stacks. The plane must have hit it just before it made contact with the dusty floor.
I spotted a gap in the wall, and its floor sloped upwards. I concluded that this was once a tributary to the former river that must have flowed through the canyon. I ran towards the gap, hoping to gain some cover from the likely explosion. Having reached a safe distance from the radius of the potential explosion, I laid the child onto the floor of the former tributary.
"What's your name?" I asked as I gently put a hand on his arm.
"M-Morgan," the child replied with a grief-induced stammer. I nodded and returned the favour.
"My name is Alex. I was on my way to South Africa to see my girlfriend," I explained, but I saw that Morgan was looking solemnly at the wrecked fuselage.
"But that's just boring, grown-up stuff," I chuckled, trying to distract him. "Where were you going, if you don't mind me asking?" I asked.
"I... I was going to see my father, who lived in South Africa," Morgan replied, before looking at the floor. "Now I'll probably never see him again, either," he said with a weight in his throat. However, before he could express his grief properly, the explosion finally came to pass. A bang of great volume reverberated across the canyon, causing both Morgan and myself to flinch and cover our ears.
Morgan sighed sadly. "Goodbye, mummy," he concluded with a voice that told of regret and grief. "I love you."
We decided to look for an exit from the canyon. The only way to find one was to go up the former tributary. It soon began to form a ceiling above us, and over the next few minutes, the cave soon became claustrophobic, like a natural prison closing in until I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, and when my sight fell upon the landscape, my breath was stolen. An emerald green floor of tall and thick grass speckled with morning dew that glistened, like beads of sparkling silver, in the morning sun that shone on a massive rock formation that towered above all of the acacia trees dotted across the grasslands.
"Wow..." Morgan breathed.
I could only gasp in astonishment with a grin of amazement spread across my face. This must have been the most epic thing either of us had ever seen in our time on this planet.
A butterfly flew in from behind us, about the size of Morgan's ear. It flew around him several times before it flew off towards a tree that leaned over the crest of the rise in terrain before the edge of the canyon. Morgan laughed as excitedly as he could with a broken arm as he followed the butterfly.
I followed him at relatively close proximity, just in case he didn't notice how close he was to the drop in the terrain beyond the tree, but he did. Oh, he did.
Having climbed a nest of rocks at the foot of the tree, he leant his unbroken arm on the tree and looked down into the valley below.
"Alex! Look at all the animals!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Have you seen so many in one place?"
I chuckled. Indeed, there were countless animals in terms of number and variety. Zebras frolicking beside the river, antelopes leaping over it, giraffes munching on tree leaves, elephants walking leisurely to a large lake. "Outside of a safari park, I haven't," I responded.
I sat down on an appropriately-sized rock, situated next to the acacia tree that provided cover from the sun that radiated the air. The warmth hit us like a swinging hammer, weighing our very being down - a far cry from the biting winter cold in London that ate away, making me feel almost brittle.
"Come and sit in the shade," I gestured my advice to Morgan. He accepted and sat next to me.
"Do you have any food?" he asked.
It was only now that I felt an unforgiving hunger eat away at my strength. I shook my head. I had a sudden moment of dread. I didn't have the means to secure a source of food. I didn't have any skills, survival knowledge, or anything. For what purpose was our survival? We may have been meant to survive that crash, but we weren't invincible. We still had to satisfy our bodily needs. Whatever it was that I would do here, I'd have to navigate it with patience and care. But what about Morgan? I had needlessly prolonged this innocent child's suffering. He wouldn't die a quick death in an inferno. His strength would crumble away as starvation diminished his life over the course of several days. Because of me.
"Well... what are we going to do? We can't just... sit here!" Morgan exclaimed. I looked at Morgan with a blank stare that concealed my lack of hope. I inhaled the clean but warm air, mixed with the scent of hot grass.
"You're right," I said as I pulled myself to my feet using a low-lying tree branch as leverage. I held out my right hand for Morgan to take, and I gently pulled him to his smaller feet. He was wearing a light blue shirt with his top button undone, and a pair of dull green shorts. His shins were bruised slightly, probably inflicted during the plane crash, but children at his age seemed to always have at least one bruise on their shin at all times.
"We need to find shelter and water," I declared as I looked across the savannah. I motioned to Morgan for him to follow me, as we made our way through the green ocean. We aimed for the distant rock formation. It poked into the dull blue sky, tainted by white and grey clouds. Our shoes were soaked with the dew in the ankle-length grass after about half an hour of walking. It took another hour until we reached the rock. The main rock loomed above as a solitary sentinel of the savannah, perhaps as tall as the London Eye. Jutting out of it like a branch of a tree was a promontory that rested on a smaller rock beneath it, as if someone had carved a slice of the taller rock and it fell onto the shorter one.
We were weary. Neither of us had the strength or the energy to climb even the shallow slope that led up to the promontory and, even more elusively, a cave. I dared not to enter it. We were not the first beings to notice it, we were not the first to inhabit this place. It was not worth it. Whatever could live in that cave would tear me apart on sight, leaving Morgan undefended, so we agreed to remain hidden and we decided to rest beneath the promontory, it's not as if we had the energy to make a different choice let alone act on a different decision. There was shade and protection from what appeared to be a rainstorm that was coming from behind us.
I felt my strength wane due to hunger, and I simply lay on the floor. What could I do? I was in one of the most isolated places on the entire planet, with no means or knowledge of how to survive in a hostile climate. I did nothing but lie there, dreaming of a life that no longer would be. I was dead to my family. I no longer existed. There was no purpose, no aim in my life. This would be the place where I would die.
I woke up in fright after I experienced a horrific dream. It was a dream of an explosion, not the one on the plane, but one that took place many years ago. One of several that took place that day, actually. The date is the 7th of July, 2005. The place is Russel Square, London. I am walking down the slabbed pavement, holding the safe hand of my father, and past the iconic double-decker bus that holds a deadly threat. The traffic is, as usual, gridlocked. The traffic has stopped for long enough that we are now about twenty meters ahead of the bus, and just like that, a deafening sound and a massive shockwave causes ringing in my ears and throw me off my feet. Yes, this was the 7/7 bombings. It was the UK's equivalent of 9/11, and it caused my PTSD, something no 12-year-old should have been diagnosed with. I suffered 24 months of relentless repeats of that moment when so much death had happened. I was very lucky to physically escape with just cuts and bruises, but, at times, the horrific nightmares were enough for me to wish I had indeed died, but I was also glad that I had a twin brother who was in the hospital that day. He was the one who helped me through the endless struggle, he was the one who gave me hope, who gave me a reason to eventually try to conquer the condition. It hadn't flared up for a few years, but I knew it probably would always be a part of me. No one at school understood my struggle, not even my brother. Then again, there were only so many ways in which he could help me, given I refused to let my brother know the extent of my torment. He was meant to be walking with me that day, but it was his broken arm that saved me from killing myself, effectively. He broke his arm after falling from a trampoline, and just as I felt like I should have died along with everyone else who did, if my brother knew the truth, he would have felt as if he should have gone through what I did, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone, least of all my own brother. My method of living with PTSD resulted in me nearly taking my own life.
After I painfully recalled the dream, I received a blow to the head.
"Ow!" I whispered harshly. Rubbing my head, I picked up the very thing that fell on my head: a gourd. "What the f-?" I asked rhetorically, cutting myself off when I remembered that Morgan was sleeping by my side.
I looked at Morgan, who was still sleeping. He wasn't pretending either. I then looked up and I saw a mandrill, who was sitting on the edge of the promontory of the enormous rock formation. Innocently swinging his legs. I shifted nervously backwards, but he jumped down to our level and landed next to our place of rest.
He opened his mouth. What came out of it was very different from the screech I expected.
"Ah, do not fear ol' Rafiki, human," the mandrill laughed.
I frowned, but at the same time, widened my eyes in shock and confusion. I think the gourd gave me a concussion that distorted my interpretation of reality. I just heard a voice come from the mouth of an ape! This was not scientifically possible. Humans' tongues are the only ones capable of distorting sounds into words.
"Aha, do not worry, human, you need not question your sanity, that is Rafiki's job," Rafiki said. This guy referred to himself in the third person? How obnoxious!
"No...no, no, no, no, no, no, no, you see, you shouldn't be talking, only humans can speak like...you are," I explained while wagging my finger.
"Well, clearly, you are incorrect in that," Rafiki shrugged.
I didn't know what to say or do. I was so confused. Could it really be true, or had the sun gotten to my head? Rafiki studied my face and cocked an eyebrow. He moved for a closer look. I leaned backwards.
"There is something about you, a certain wisdom in your young eyes. You have already, and will in the future, endure much suffering that no other man could bear. I sense a great and important future for you," Rafiki said. While he was studying my face, I looked into his eyes and saw almost familiar wisdom in them.
"Oh, what are you? Some sort of soothsayer?" I asked with my brows forming a shallow frown of scepticism. "What else are you? A fortune teller?" I questioned further.
"Mmm, fortune teller, soothsayer, doctor, wizard, anyding you want me to be," Rafiki responded with a nonchalant shrug and erected one finger for each profession he listed.
"Yeah, well, how about you be someone who leaves us alone?" I retorted harshly. Rafiki remained unmoved. I felt a little guilty for snapping at him.
"I'm sorry...I'm just so confused, I mean...I don't expect you to know where we come from, but we just survived a plane crash," I sighed, unsure if he knew what a plane or a crash was.
"Ah, so that was what the commotion was this morning," Rafiki responded to what I had just said. I nodded solemnly.
In the corner of my eye, I saw Morgan stirring and stretching as he began to wake up. He sighed in a moment of contentment and security when he saw me, but when he saw Rafiki, his eyes opened to their fullest extent and he crawled behind me in timidness. He did so on three of his limbs.
"Hello, child. I see that your arm is injured. I am the best person in all the savannah to treat your arm," Rafiki said, which I thought sounded a bit arrogant, but I supposed that it made sense. I had only just found out that animals could talk as humans could, so I liberated my mind and disregarded any preconceived notions of what animals could or couldn't do beyond recorded evidence.
"But before that, it is a tradition in the Pride Lands that all special visitors meet the Royal Family," Rafiki declared. "I think you should meet them, they are very welcoming to visitors," he added.
"Wait, 'Pride Lands'? Royal family? What the hell are you going on about?" I asked.
"The Pride Lands," Rafiki gestured to the surrounding landscape "It is everything that the light touches, it is the Holy Land of the sons of Kiburi, it is the kingdom of the great King Mufasa," he said with a great deal of pride as if they shared a great deal of common respect if not a close friendship.
"Nah, I think the government of Tanzania or Kenya would have something to say about that," I jested. "So this... King, would he extend his charity to providing food?" I asked hesitantly.
"Of course," Rafiki answered. "Whatever it is that you humans eat, as a guest of the Pride Lands, I am sure we will be able to arrange a meal for you and your friend once he is treated," he added.
I looked at Morgan and then to Rafiki. "You know what, there's nothing else for it, we might as well meet this...royal family," I had visions of feline versions of the British Royal Family, but I never would have guessed that I was about to meet individuals who would change my life forever yet again.
"Splendid!" Rafiki exclaimed. "Wait right here and I will announce your arrival to them, as they will be waking up around this time," he explained before he jumped back up onto the promontory.
I spent a moment recalling Rafiki's eyes. They were a deep brown pair that told of wisdom and humour but also hinted at the ability to be quite serious. The eyes reminded me of the homeless person. Upon thinking about it more, so did his accent. If I heard him correctly, and if he listed honestly and accurately, Rafiki mentioned that he was a wizard. Did he conjure some sort of vision, a portent warning me about the future, all the way in London from here? If so, that is badass!
I was distracted from this line of thought by Morgan grumbling about his arm.
"My arm hurts," he complained, holding his left arm. "And I'm hungry," he lamented.
I sighed, scratching the back of my head. I was quite hungry too, but to act out of frustration, take it out on him or belittle him for being selfish was the last thing that I would do at this moment. I wasn't expecting a sausage roll, but surely we'd be able to find some decent nutrition.
"I'm sure it will all be sorted soon, Morgan," I said gently.
I was then spared a moment to think more about the similarities between Rafiki and the homeless man in London. And this made me wonder if this whole scenario was the beginning of a defining adventure, the beginning of my own story that I would have told my children as a bedtime story like I was told by my own parents.
I was interrupted once again, but this time, by Rafiki clearing his throat. I was standing with his hands behind his back, so I tapped Morgan's stomach and motioned him to stand like I was, with my feet together and arms by my side, to the best of his incumbent physical ability.
Rafiki smiled and bowed. "Introducing His Majesty, King Mufasa, Lord of Kiburi, Sixth King of the Pride Lands, and the Royal Family," he declared, and almost immediately, a mighty lion with a golden pelt complemented by a rich auburn mane strode regally before us. He looked at us with his kind, amber eyes. Behind him was an equally mighty lioness with a sandy pelt. Between her legs was a young cub who inherited his pelt and eye colouration from his father but apparently shared dark ear rims with his mother.
'Holy crap...' I thought. This was happening. This was my adventure. This was my purpose.
I was standing in front of a group of lions.
This wave of realisation overwhelmed me. I felt faint, the world spun around me before the floor came up and punched me in the face.
No POV
Rafiki walked into the den and found that the lions were waking up for the second time in the morning. This time to investigate whatever it was that produced the unnatural noise and tremendous explosion. Mufasa was prepared to provide leadership at this time of unprecedented confusion.
"Ah, Rafiki, there you are," the King smiled. "We were just about to investigate the bird of fire," he added.
"Mufasa, I have something to tell you," Rafiki announced hurriedly.
"Is it about that big bang earlier?" Simba asked.
"Yes, but I made a very important discovery upon arriving here this morning," Rafiki said.
"Why don't you tell me on the way there?" Mufasa suggested.
"Uh...yes, my king," Rafiki accepted, knowing that Mufasa would come across the humans anyway, just hoping that there would be no confrontation or reaction out of fear from either party.
"Lead the way, Rafiki," Mufasa stretched out a paw in front of him. Rafiki nodded.
Upon leaving the cave, Rafiki saw that the humans waited patiently under the shadowy belly of the rock formation. They were talking about something that made the child frustrated but what it was couldn't quite be discerned.
"I believe a semi-formal introduction is in order," Rafiki jumped down the slope and began to introduce the Royal Family to the guests.
"Introducing..." Rafiki commenced, causing the lions to resume down the steps and gasped at what they saw. A pair of bipedal creatures, one of them taller than the other, the smaller of the two holding their right arm awkwardly. They both had patches of hair on the top of their heads and some sort of material covering their torsos and the tops of their legs.
"Stars above... humans!" Sarabi gasped.
Upon saying this, the taller of the two humans fell face-first onto the floor.
"Heart of a lion, this one," Simba remarked sarcastically.
The human child laughed before silencing himself out of respect for the threat he believed that the lions posed.
I delved deep into my pocket and felt the cold, sharp outline of the key to my house, etched with scratches and partially stained with dirt and rust and gripped it, extracting it from the pocket of my jeans, moving my hand to fit it into the lock and turned the silver key, opening the green door, accompanied with the metal knocking ornament rattling in the motion. I called out for my father and then my brother, but I received no reply from either of them. Never had Lewis failed to acknowledge my return from an outing, even if it was to the convenience store that was no more than 100 metres down the road. I closed the door with the gentleness of suspicion. I walked closer, and what raised my suspicion further, was the fact that my feet weren't burdened by the weight of my trainers because I wasn't wearing trainers. I wasn't even wearing socks. There was nothing between the skin of the soles of my feet and the wooden floor. When I would walk on this floor with nought but the skin on my feet, I would be quick about it and my steps would land on my toes, for the wood was cold. This was most likely a dream, but why didn't I notice that before?
As I edged closer to the living room, I stopped upon seeing the door to the living room, painted white and finished with a gloss, was closed. It was usually opened in perpetuity but would be closed when Lewis and I were children and our birthday and Christmas presents were being wrapped in the living room. Even though the door was a couple of inches thick, it was hollow, and it could not prevent the sound of my brother's grief from being expelled through tears and whimpering.
When I opened the door, to my considerable grief and confusion, I saw my brother lying on his side, clutching a pillow. This would be the first time he cried in at least three years, and I had never seen him like this. It was as if he thought he would never know joy again, and the only thing I could read from his eyes other than the body language of an empty and broken shell was great sorrow, the pain of love being given to someone who cannot give it back.
The door opened behind me, and I instinctively moved out of its arc, even though I guessed that my physical presence was inconsequential, if at all real. My father stepped into the room and shut the door behind him gently. He kept his hand on the handle and couldn't bear to look into his other son's eyes.
"We were warned this would happen... I knew something like this was destined to happen," my father said with a shaken voice before finally looking upon Lewis with tears streaming from his own eyes down his reddened cheeks.
"So why does it hurt so much?" his voice became high-pitched and fragile.
"How could it not?" Lewis spoke with little expression, shaking his head. Christian walked silently over to the sofa and sat next to his remaining son. I could only look on with the weight in my throat translating to saturated eyes.
Christian stroked Lewis' blond hair. "This is the part that requires patience... and also resilience," he said. "This is only the beginning of the turmoil we'll face," he added. Lewis turned to look at our father with a confused expression.
"What do you mean?" Lewis asked. Did my father know what was going to happen? Did he know that I was never going to make it to South Africa? Did he know that I was going to meet lions? Did he know that mine was the generation that would add to the stories of our ancestors?
"We've only just entered the forest of grief, and we will trip over roots, we may lose our way, but we have to hold on to each other and... never lose sight of what light remains," my father responded before looking vaguely into the distance. I expected the vision to end with me waking up, but instead, everything turned to a white mist, with my father looking into the distance the last thing to disappear. I followed the trajectory of his eyes and I then saw a woman and a girl. The girl was sitting on a bed, with the woman kneeling down to her level.
"He won't know it, but you will be the one thing that makes his faith unbreakable, and when you do meet him, his faith will be tested more than ever," the older woman spoke to the girl. I did not recognise their features and even though their words were clear, their voices were unfamiliar. I could not predict whose pronouns were being used.
Then, everything turned to white once more, before a blue streak of light descended from above, hitting an unseen floor with a bright flash that preceded a wave of energy which was accompanied by a deafening boom that took me off my feet.
My body jolted up with sweat nourishing my face, neck and chest. I hurriedly observed my surroundings, trying to discern anything that could indicate that I was in the realm of subconscious visions: The rugged walls of a dark cave enlightened only by the afternoon light. Not unordinary so far. As I looked to my right, I flinched at the sight of a pair of bright amber eyes with crimson irises staring at me. The eyes belonged to a small cub who bore golden fur. The eyes told of curiosity and mischief, a knowledge of how to enjoy himself, but beneath that, a sense of honour, friendship, compassion and a true capacity to love.
"Are you okay? I noticed you were moving a lot in your sleep," the cub spoke. He had the voice of a boy who could be around twelve years of age but was probably not of an age of that value in terms of months. I took a moment to accept that it was an actual voice that came from the cub's mouth. I nodded and twisted my neck to see outside. As my eyes adjusted to the daylight that flooded into the cave, I watched as the mighty lion I saw before I fell unconscious entered the cave. Like the cub, he had a golden pelt, enveloping a large muscular body. He had a rich, auburn mane and his eyes displayed wisdom and honour. Beside him was the sandy-coloured lioness that was by his side earlier. I guessed that she was his mate. She also had majestic and graceful features and carried herself with authority.
"Ah, I see the older human has awoken," the King said with a voice as deep as a canyon and rich as a meadow. "I trust that you do not intend to harm us," he presumed.
"No, I'm not going to harm anyone unless they pose a serious threat to me," I replied, intending to come across as reasonable but appropriately assertive "Where is Morgan?" I asked hesitantly.
"Oh, the human child? He is with Rafiki at his tree, seeing to his broken arm. He was anxious about your condition," the lion commented. I sighed in relief, knowing that Morgan was safe and was on the mend.
"May I ask your name?" the lion asked.
"Of course. My name is Alex Maximilian, but you can just call me Alex," I introduced myself.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Alex. I am King Mufasa, Lord of Kiburi and King of the Pride Lands, but you can call me Mufasa," Mufasa said.
"It's a... pleasure to meet you, um Your Majesty," I said hesitantly, not only still getting used to the fact that I was having a full conversation with a lion, but that animals followed concepts of honour and authority. I was also grateful for him running his name and title by me again, for I clearly wasn't in a fit state of mind to absorb the information when he was first introduced to me.
"The cub right up in your face, he is my son, Simba," Mufasa chuckled. I ruffled the tuft of fur on his head, which was a pleasant, soft texture on my palms. This was obviously a satisfying feeling for the cub also, as he lightly purred.
"And this is my mate and queen, Sarabi," Mufasa nuzzled his tan-furred mate.
"It's nice to meet you all, forgive me for my reaction to your ability to speak, it's just that humans have always thought ourselves to be the only species capable of speech," I replied.
"If you like, you and your friend can sleep in the cave until you regain your strength," Mufasa offered, not knowing my circumstance or where I lived.
"I would like that very much, thank you," I responded with a grateful tone, keeping my story silent for now.
"Would you like a drink? We have a water hole," Mufasa said.
"I am pretty thirsty. Alright, if you don't mind," I accepted. "I can visit Morgan afterwards," I added.
As we left the cave, I caught sight of another lion, to my surprise and panic. "Uh, Mufasa, have you not noticed the other lion there?" I pointed to the lion who bore a look of utter bewilderment. A frown on the red-furred, black-maned lion's slim face implied his default emotion. I instinctively positioned myself so that Mufasa was between me and the rusty-furred lion.
Mufasa laughed. "Oh, don't worry about Scar. He's my brother, not a rogue," he assured me. 'A rudimentary name for a creature that was born in Africa', I thought. That can't be the name he was given at birth. And sure enough, I noticed a long pink strand that was interrupted by his left eye. That must be the reason for his uncommon name. Even in human culture, it would be a nickname fit for an uncouth and damaged character.
"Oh, I'm sorry I mistook you for a rogue," I chuckled nervously in apology.
"Mufasa...what is that white rat beside you? Hold still, I shall chase it off," Scar growled, causing me to step backwards.
"You will do no such thing. He is a human guest who has no shelter other than what I have given him," Mufasa said.
"Have you completely lost your mind? You know the stories of the wrath and ruin that humans bring with them," Scar reminded.
Even at this point, I understood where Scar was coming from. The curiosity of humans often did more harm than good, but our heart is generally in the right place.
"What would Father think if he saw you take in humans?" Scar challenged.
"These humans are mere children and have just escaped a near-death experience," Mufasa retorted. "Do you have no consideration?"
"Puh, that was always your weakness," Scar scoffed.
"If you don't mind, Alex and my family are going to the water hole," Mufasa said at length.
"Oh, stars above, you've already named it!" Scar scoffed in disbelief.
"But... my name is Alex," I replied sheepishly but loud enough for the King's brother to detect.
"Whatever, don't let me interrupt your precious family time," Scar rolled his eyes as he walked past the lionesses, down the opposite slope to which we were facing. "Don't come crawling back to me when you are betrayed," his voice disappeared into the distance.
"He seems lovely," I remarked sarcastically. Mufasa sighed in response.
"He's testing, but his growl is worse than his bite and his tongue is sharper than his claws," he said. "That was perhaps the best possible first impression you could have got," he commented.
"You know what? I get where he's coming from," I admitted. "There are humans who have surrendered to greed and hatred, and are doomed to destroy themselves as much as they destroy things around them," I said.
Mufasa, Sarabi, Simba and I made our way to the water hole, and about halfway along the journey, I voiced my opinion of Scar: "There's something I don't like about that guy. Why does he live here anyway? I thought there was usually only one male for each pride."
"Scar is my brother, and he has never been for the idea of being a rogue, and, as you saw, he's not the sharpest claw of the paw," Mufasa said.
"Also, do you have more than one cub? I thought the dominant males mate with all females," I asked.
Mufasa smiled. "Many pride leaders do mate with all the females, and while I am free to do so myself, I am loyal to Sarabi, who is my mate and Queen and any cubs I have with her will take my place when I complete my journey on the Circle of Life," he explained.
"That's cute," I commented, though almost immediately internally cringed at trivialising the loyalty between the royal couple. "But I've never heard of the concept of the Circle of Life," I admitted. Mufasa and Sarabi both looked at each other, almost in bewilderment.
"If you must know, it is the idea that everyone has a responsibility to each other and that our actions impact everyone, even people we will never meet," Sarabi explained.
"Ah, that does align with my way of thinking and that of most humans," I responded. I was a socialist, believing in the patriotism of mutual responsibility, with everyone doing something to make their environment the best place to live in as it can be, such as contributing a small token of the value of labour into a common kitty to make sure no one is left behind. Of course, such concepts and ideologies are irrelevant here, I doubted that animals had notions of money.
Anyway, by the time these relatively inane things ran through my head, we reached the waterhole, which was the same lake that Morgan and myself saw when we first laid eyes upon the Pride Lands. There were mostly smaller mammals who avoided the early rush hour. As a Londoner, I could relate to this behaviour.
I scooped my hands into the lake and tipped what water was left in my palms into my mouth. The taste and feel of the refreshingly cool water were welcomed by my dry mouth. The fresh, smooth water flowing down my throat was a satisfying feeling. Having felt like years since I felt water running down my throat, I kept it in my mouth for a few moments before gratefully swallowing it.
"Oh, this water is..." I sighed, struggling to find the superlative that did justice to the smooth, coolness of the purest water I had ever drunk.
Mufasa smirked. "You're lucky that the water of the watering hole comes from the Spring of Life, otherwise you would be drinking the same water that everyone bathes in," he chuckled.
My face dropped in disgust at the thought of consuming water contaminated by the activities of other animals. "Spring of Life?" I cocked a brow.
"The water that feeds this water hole comes from a spring which is said to have healing powers and cannot be corrupted by waste or dirt or blood, and only before the ending of the Pride Lands will it run dry," Mufasa explained.
"You Pridelanders are a superstitious bunch," I chuckled.
Having finished the outing to the water hole, we made our way to the tree at which Morgan was being healed.
"I assure you, Rafiki is a competent healer. He has mended bones and cured ailments for years," Mufasa asserted.
"Though I must admit, he can come across as eccentric at times," Sarabi smiled.
I rose my eyebrows at what I believed to be an understatement. After half an hour of walking beneath the late afternoon sun, we arrived at Rafiki's tree. A mighty baobab tree with a trunk as thick as my house in London, which was a typical 20th-century terraced townhouse. It was as tall as a modest tower block but much more friendly to the eyes. The leaves were a deep shade of green, the bark was a healthy shade of brown. The very colour palette of life.
I deduced that this tree was very much alive, despite being surrounded by nothing more than grass for around a square mile radius, and I wondered how everyone else would access it until I found myself following Mufasa and Sarabi around to the tree to find them standing before a range of mechanisms and access points.
"Did he build these?" I asked, looking up at what looked like an elevator made out of vines and wood, as well as a range of solitary blocks of wood pinned to the bark. I wondered which animals would use which access points and how long it took Rafiki to build it all. I decided to follow Mufasa and Sarabi up the shallow ramp made of mud and stone that doubled back on itself several times until, at several metres of height, it reached the base of the tree, from which all of the branches grew. And sure enough, there was Rafiki, talking to Morgan, sitting on a branch, kicking his legs under him, with his arm in a sling fashioned from some sort of leaf.
"Ah, Your Majesties, and the older human," Rafiki welcomed us.
I felt compelled to correct Rafiki. "My name is Alex-" I held my hand out for him to shake, such was my presumption that animals would recognise human interaction.
"I know who you are, Alex Maximilian," Rafiki replied. I could only frown slightly.
"I have seen your tragic past, I have seen your equally tragic future, and all the misery that you bring to the Pride Lands and her inhabitants, and I am to help you navigate your way to your destiny," the mandrill spoke.
"Destiny?" I repeated. I only recently arrived here, and Rafiki is already talking about my future, my destiny, and my purpose. Did he somehow know about the tales I was told? Did he recognise me from what he saw as what I thought to be his illusion? "Have I no say in my own life? Am I a pawn in someone else's game?" I asked with a hint of frustration.
"We are all pawns of the great game between good and evil. The strong exist to protect the weak from forces of darkness and oppression, so that everyone may partake in The Great After," Rafiki responded. What followed was an awkward moment of everyone staring at each other. Mufasa at Sarabi, Rafiki at me, Morgan at Sarabi, Mufasa at Rafiki.
"How is Morgan faring?" Sarabi ended the silence.
Rafiki inhaled before smiling. "Only a fracture that can be mended in a few weeks," he diagnosed.
"Yay!" Morgan said happily. "Alex, can we look around this place?" he requested. He then put on some sort of cute face to persuade me to accept out of guilt. But I sensed the position of the sun in the sky and thought against it. I sighed.
"I'm sorry, Morgan, but it's late and it's been a long day," I replied in a regretful tone, to which he looked down at his feet.
"Fine," he huffed.
"I need to arrange Morgan's remedy for the pain," Rafiki announced before hopping up the branches, seemingly disappearing into the foliage.
"We'll wait for you at the bottom," Sarabi said before she and Mufasa turned away to make their way down the ramp.
And then it was just me and Morgan.
"So..." Morgan broke the silence. "Are we going to be staying here for a while?" he asked. It sounded as if he wanted me to say yes, but I was hesitant. Of course, we would stay until Morgan's arm got better, but what about beyond that? Could we somehow get home? Successfully catch the attention of civilization? Would we be a burden to the Pridelanders in the meantime? Could we provide a useful service? Would we bring trouble? Or would we make life easier for the Pride Lands?
"I'm not sure. We wouldn't want to overstay our welcome," I replied. "We can stay until we're stronger... after that, I don't know," I added. Morgan looked down to his feet as if he didn't receive the answer he wanted, but the one that was correct. I looked at the late afternoon sky, the pale turquoise ceiling with delicate strokes of pale cloud, like strips of white velvet. It was the roof over the grassy expanse that stretched seemingly beyond the horizon, fading into a dull blue haze as the land met the sky.
Out of nowhere, the heavy thud of a person jumping from the height of a higher branch startled me. I turned around quickly, assuming a defensive position. Having expected it to be Rafiki who had made the noise, I was greatly surprised to see a pale-skinned human. Immediately, he did not look like he was here to guide us back to the human world. His face was scarred across his bloodshot eyes of scarlet irises, his thin mouth with cracked lips and his crooked nose, and a significant part of his left ear was missing. Behind his eyes were pain and anger, and his stance was crooked.
"Who the hell are you?" I forced the question through my shock and fear, trying to avoid the appearance and sound of a frightened child.
"Do not fear, Alex," he growled in a hoarse voice. I could hear each movement of his voice in his throat as if each sound had to crawl through a rugged cavern. And then I realised that he knew my name, which disturbed me tremendously. "Death comes to all," he added with malice before his eyes darted towards Morgan.
"There is peace in certainty, even if the soul will know nothing but torment," he declared before he limped towards Morgan and pulled from under his ragged, black cloak, a dagger. He was going to maim or kill Morgan! I could see my shocked face in the reflection of the blade, which had a wooden handle with golden trim and hilt, some indiscernible inscriptions and imagery on the grind and spine of the dagger. In place of a conventional hilt was an ovular one, which was of the colour of a ruby, and was surrounded by the golden hilt that continued from the handle.
I redirected my attention from the dagger to my need to stop him from harming Morgan. I ran towards the assassin and tried to wrap my arm around his neck from behind him, but due to my assumption that he was languid in his age and damaged, a firm elbow into my abdomen caught me off guard and I staggered backwards, almost falling on my back. I expected him to revert his attention to pursuing Morgan, who was now trying to climb the tree, but he quickly turned his body to face me, and he brought his dagger hand across his body and swung it rightward, and in doing so, slashed my chest, causing me to fall and land on my back, which compiled the pain I was enduring. I screamed in shock and agony as I held my chest and watched through tears of stinging pain in helplessness as the assassin followed Morgan up a tree that narrowed as it rose and bowed under the weight of Morgan. If the assassin were to stand on it, that would cause Morgan to fall down to the ground.
As the desire to save Morgan enveloped my mind, I felt a surge of energy emanate from my chest, and I looked to my wound, which was once a deep crimson canyon across my chest, which was now causing a stinging sensation as it began to close before my very eyes, and as it did that, it was surrounded by a glowing blue light until it was disappeared. No blood, no scar, not even a scratch. Seeing that I was no longer arrested by pain, I quickly got to my feet and advanced toward the assassin, who was now beginning to plant a foot onto the branch.
"Come and face your fate like a man!" the assassin taunted Morgan as he shivered on the branch.
"Couldn't have said it better myself," I said from behind the assassin, who stayed as he was for a few seconds, before he twisted his body and lunged towards me, his blade flailing towards me like a tooth about to sink into the meat. I threw my arms behind my body in order to dodge it, but the assassin prepared another attack and swung his arm around in an attempt to stab me, and even though I went to block the attack, the assassin twisted his hand, and before I could blink, the knife was plunged into my right palm, and I was screaming in pain. But to my further surprise, Mufasa tackled the assassin, who still held on to the knife, and so unintentionally pulled it out, pinning him to the floor, baring his teeth with a ferocious, guttural growl.
"Who are you?" Mufasa demanded as Rafiki rushed towards me to tend to my hand. "You dare to come to these lands and attack a guest of the realm?!"
"I am a warning, a warning that letting humans in your kingdom would be to doom your legacy," the assassin taunted.
"That is where you are wrong," Mufasa retorted. "Every moment of joy is paid for with a moment of grief, and if that is the price to pay for the protection of The Guardian, so be it" he added. Was he referring to me? Was I the so-called 'Guardian'? Was I a portent of despair, hope, grief and joy?
"This isn't about joy or grief, but the Pride Lands' end," the assassin declared. "Salamu Ibilisi," he said with malice before a flash of light preceded his disappearance.
Everyone was silent. It was deafening.
I held Morgan's hand with my left hand as he stepped down from the branch. "Are you okay?" I asked him.
"I... I think so," he said with shaken breath but gasped when he saw my hand.
"Alex, your hand!" he exclaimed. I looked down at my hand, which was stained with the blood that seeped from my pierced hand.
"Look, all that matters is that you're okay," I insisted.
"No, I mean, your hand!" he persisted, holding my right hand. The wound on it now appeared as a light slash, but it was a familiar wound, one that I had inflicted upon myself, many years ago. I pulled my hand from Morgan's grasp and walked towards the steps that led to the ground, avoiding the glares of confusion from Rafiki, Mufasa and Sarabi. I didn't know what to say as I turned to speak to them. No words would come to my tongue, so I sighed before walking down the steps. I only stopped at the foot of the steps, close enough to hear the undefined voices of Mufasa, Sarabi and Rafiki.
"What was that about?" Sarabi asked in confusion and shock.
"The assassin or Alex?" Mufasa asked further for clarification. How could the assassin enter Rafiki's tree undetected? Did he arrive how he departed? Through apparent teleportation? And did he really say what they thought he said? The unutterable curse praising the Dark Lord of millennia ago? Even if they were imagining it, why would they think of him saying that? It was a totally foreign and forbidden thought.
"Both - was Alex's hand really healing before our eyes?" Sarabi questioned. The last few minutes were some of the most bewildering she had ever experienced, and if this moment turned out to have actually happened as she had witnessed, she would never question anything ever again.
"Rafiki, do you have any explanation?" Mufasa asked the mandrel, who was now administering pain relief to Morgan.
"I fear that what you said was right, Mufasa," Rafiki replied. "We do have a Guardian in our midst, and his powers are already developing," the Royal Mjuzi declared.
As we made our way back to Pride Rock, weariness weighed upon my eyes. The air conflicting against my face was one of the few things keeping me awake. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and due to the way the sun shone upon the Earth, the sky was an auburn shade, with black bars of cloud blocking the sun. Mufasa, Sarabi, Morgan and I set off with Morgan's painkillers, a bitter-tasting herb, departing from the incredible incident. Rafiki kept asking if I was sure that my hand was in no pain, which it wasn't after about five minutes after it had a knife stab it and then ripped out. Rafiki volunteered to keep the knife for analysis. We then bid each other farewell for the night and set off.
I was about ten metres ahead of the King and Queen and Morgan, who jogged until he was walking by my side.
"Why did you react that way?" he asked curiously.
"What?" I replied halfheartedly, having been extracted from my thoughts.
"When you looked at the cut on your hand, you looked really sad and afraid," Morgan commented. He was right, and even though my body was still fuelled with adrenaline at that point, slightly obscuring my memory of that moment, I now recalled that I looked at my closing wound with horror, for it reminded me of the time when I would routinely draw blood with a knife to deal with anxiety and self-loathing. Unlike most people, my actions bore no evidence, and sometimes I even tested the limits of my ability. I wondered how I could phrase an honest answer to such an innocent mind. At the same time, I pursed my lips as I went through this process as well as recalling the literally painful memory.
"I... I used to cut myself," I answered bluntly.
"What?" Morgan gasped. He probably wondered what would possess me to harm myself with sharp instruments, knowing fully the danger of them.
I sniffed before I continued. "Sometimes, I have dreams that make me very sad, and they cause a lot of emotional pain," I paused to recollect my composure. "My thinking was that this pain was my soul hurting and that to make it better, I would have to bleed myself, so the pain would drain from my mind to my skin, but... it didn't work," I decided to stop there. It was graphic enough, and that was just the tip of the iceberg.
"That... that's just silly," Morgan declared.
I chuckled at his simplistic and innocent assertion. "You're right," I admitted.
A few hours later, the sun had now fallen beyond the abyss and the world turned dark. We were now approaching the natural monument from which we set off earlier today. I yawned and a thought entered my head.
"Mufasa, does this rock have a name?" I asked the King.
"We call it many names, but it is most commonly known as Pride Rock," he said. "It is said that it was given by the gods to the first lions of the Pride Lands as a fortress from which to protect the children of Aiehu," the King explained. "To put it another way, Pride Rock is almost as old as the world itself!"
I nodded respectfully, assuming that this was the belief of the members of the pride.
"Fascinating," I remarked. "Do you have any other lion legends?" I asked eagerly with a slight chuckle.
"Well, it depends on what you define as legendary, but I'm afraid we haven't the time for such stories this evening," Mufasa replied.
"Aww," Morgan groaned.
Sarabi chuckled. "Morgan, you remind me of my son Simba, he always wants to know more, be more and do more than what the world will allow," she said. "You and Alex may sleep in the den tonight if you wish," she offered.
I exhaled slightly in gratitude. "Thank you very much, Sarabi," I smiled.
"Yeah, thanks," Morgan grinned.
Morgan and I slept beside a lioness named Sarafina, and her young daughter, who was called Nala. A blanket made of leaves, fur and animal skin was found for us to cover our bodies with, but this meant sharing it with Morgan. At first, it was an uncomfortable notion - me, a 21-year-old man sharing sleeping confinement with a boy, who was only a stranger this very morning - but I grew to appreciate the collective warmth we shared.
"Good night, Morgan," I said, just wanting to go to sleep after a long day.
"Oh..." Morgan murmured, perhaps wishing to engage in a quiet pre-sleep conversation, but understanding that I was much too weary at this moment.
"Good night, m- Alex," Morgan corrected himself. I opened my eyes at this. My heart deepened. He must have been so used to following the words 'good night' with 'mother', or some informal variation or local dialect, that it became second nature to him. It reminded me of my own parental void in the shape of my deceased mother.
'Good night, Mother,' I thought as I drifted off to sleep.
A/N: Aw, cute moment. But be warned, they will be few and far between. Will Alex be able to sleep through the rest of the night, or will outside forces prevent him from doing so, and will others come to harm because of it? You know what to do - review constructively, add this story to your favourite/follow list if you haven't already and I'll see you in the next chapter. Thank you for reading.