THE LION KING: THE FREAK

The Lion King: The Freak

Chapter 18: Exile IV: Reflections II

(It’s hard to believe that I’m already on the fourth installment of the Exile arc. I imagine that there will be about five or six chapters in this story arc, seven at the max. After that… well, this fanfiction has been in the works for over a year, already. It’s getting time to end things.)

It’s never, ever easy to open your heart to another, completely, and entirely. Most people never truly do it; they keep secrets from their spouses and siblings and children and parents—and, even from themselves. It’s rare—it really is—to examine yourself, find out everything you can about the core you… and then, tell another person, another flawed person… what you’ve found.

Freak was at that level.

He’d been going around with the Dark One, now, for three or so days. The jungles and forests and plains and deserts and steppes of Hindustan were harsh, but under the liger’s tutelage, they’d become manageable.

His wounds were healed, now. Even the life-threatening infection that had almost consumed the younger cat from the inside out had been eradicated, 100%.

There was talking; a lot of it—at least, for the oft mute li-tigon. His thoughts, for once, were not censored and edited before being shared, allowing the Dark One to be sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that, for once in his life, he was content.

Slowly, Freak brought himself back to full health—beyond full health, in fact. No longer were his mind and spirit tortured, or half-present. No longer did self-doubt, guilt, and a complete lack of confidence—in certain aspects—restrain him.

His state, though, wasn’t at its apex—not yet.

Though their conversations lasted for hours, as they traversed Hindustan, hunting, praying, and sharing with each another all sorts of things—fighting and hunting techniques, navigation methods involving the Sun and stars—Freak had no… purpose. The Dark One even managed to teach Freak how to read, in a fashion, spiritual energy, but that didn’t give him a use for the powerful body and mind that he’d been blessed with.

It was almost dusk, one day, when they stopped. Bellies full from a recent hunt, they were relaxed, calm, and happy. The li-tigon looked to the sky, as a slight breeze ruffled the dull overlay of fur that comprised his mane, and took in a deep breath.

He then glanced at the Dark One, nodded, and sat.

They were on a hill that rose, at random, in the middle of a one-of-a-kind convergence, between a swamp, forest, and grassy meadow. Trees rose, from lower ground, up almost to their faces, but the hill was steep—their vision of the sky was clear.

Or, at least, as clear as it could be in Hindustan. Freak had mentioned, before, that… something… smoke, fog, something… always seemed to blur the stars. At home, the li-tigon had said, back in the Land of the Spirits, the skies were always immaculately clear.

Still.

There was no moon, tonight, so it was quite dark. This made the twinkling dots stand out against the dark blanket of the cosmos even more than they normally did.

Silence…

There weren’t many songbirds out, tonight. Occasionally, the soft chirp of a cricket or cicada would disturb the otherwise complete silence, but that was all.

Slowly, Freak closed his eyes—the Dark One would have, too, if he’d been fortunate enough to have them.

But, the next thing Freak did, the Dark One did as well.

They let go…

…of everything.

Sense, time, position, emotion… everything.

Oh, they kept certain vital biological functions running, of course. But aside from that, they released control of their bodies, as well. They left the physical world, in a fashion, and, after some deep, deep concentration, they were able to enter another…

The li-tigon’s lips carried a smile—a somewhat sad smile, but a smile nonetheless, as their meditation session ended. He stretched without moving much, arching his back, slightly, and craning his neck from side to side, giving his long, thick fur a slight toss.

It was surprisingly late; they’d been at it for hours, it seemed. Darkness cloaked both cats, and the almost foreboding stillness of the land, just before the Season of the Rains really began was unsettling.

Freak wasn’t afraid, though, or anxious, as he felt his body tingle, presence and sensation returning. Slowly, his eyes opened, and he took in a long, deep breath of that dense, cool air, before letting it out slowly. As the exotic, herbal scent of the Hindustani jungle calmed him, clearing his mind, he turned to the Dark One, and spoke in a voice still as flat and monotone as it had ever been.

“I… felt my mother, I think. I couldn’t tell what she was saying… but… she was speaking to me, Dark One. And… I feel sure that… it was with pride and love in her voice…”

The liger, though, didn’t reply. Freak tilted his head, a little, but kept silent.

At the top of the hill, it was surprisingly chilly—it was in the middle of the night, or near enough to the middle of the night that all the heat from Hindustan’s harsh sun had left. Slow but steady wind wicked body-heat away as the skies above prepared to raze the land with endless torrents of water.

Freak waited, patiently, though his tail lashed around, slightly, behind him, betraying an elevated level of interest. The Dark One’s face wasn’t blank or vaguely happy, as it normally was during meditation sessions… it was… a little worried, or concerned, at least.

All at once, the li-tigon sensed the older male’s presence return, and the liger’s head turned, quickly, snapping towards Freak. That made him blink, a little, and gave him pause.

Freak felt caution prick him a little, as the Dark One looked at the very fiber of his being—checking his loyalties, morals, and his stability. The li-tigon was agreeable, curious… but did not allow himself to be suspicious or mistrustful.

Eventually, the Dark One nodded, curtly, and jerked his head for Freak to follow him off the hill.

Together, the two large males moved, quickly, through the forest. Freak had no idea where they were going, what they were doing, or why, but followed regardless. His man tousled, flounced, as he bounded downhill, hit ground, then took the Dark One’s side.

They slowed to a quick job, and, finally, the li-tigon spoke.

“What’s wrong? How can we help?”

The second sentence brought a grin to the Dark One’s lips. Freak really had grown over the past few days. The liger turned to face Freak, allowing his face to set into an expression of serious determination. As they continued to move, he answered…

It was the first time, ever, the family had ever been together, in its entirety. When they’d met, hugs and nuzzles and greetings had been exchanged—a lot of them. Then, smiling at one another, they’d sat down, closed their eyes, and searched, hard, scouring the world for one of their own…

They rested shoulder to shoulder, in a vague arc: Shere Kahn, Samehe, Chukizo, her brothers, and then, Maisha. Scar had been invited, but had respectfully declined, explaining that he had to speak with his own family…

For many, many hours now, they’d been concentrating, hard. Successes were few and far between, but, little by little, they’d made progress, and, barely at first, but then significantly, starting to peer past the thick cover evil had lain between them and the ones they needed to see.

The session ended rather abruptly—such things couldn’t be sustained for too long, otherwise the risk of interception and even scrambled communications rose. And… they’d done what they needed to.

Before the family could even look to one another, Mufasa was on the scene. The red-maned lion had sprinted across Heaven to see his relatives, and came to a halt in the center of the family. His chest pulsed, a little, as he panted, his golden fur shimmering in the light.

“Did you…” he said, before grinning, and catching his breath a little, “just manage to do what I think you did?”

There was a pause… then, Samehe and Sher Kahn nodded, smiling widely.

The former Lion King laughed, tossing his head back. The eldest cats took advantage of the brief distraction to sneak a cheek-rub, before looking to Mufasa, and speaking.

“Yes, Mufasa…” Sher Kahn said formally, panning his gaze at the rest of his relatives proudly, “We’ve done it. We contacted someone acting as my grandson’s teacher, or mentor—daughter, didn’t you contact Shujaa himself?”

The tigoness nodded, and leaned over, for a second, to rub her eyes with the back of her paw. Maisha walked over, and, to comfort her mother, rubbed her head on the older female’s shins.

“I’m sorry… just… I don’t think he heard me, or understood me, completely. But… I felt his happiness. He was very, very glad to see me…”

There was awkward silence for a moment. All present understood, very well, that Chukizo was hurt, greatly, by the fact that she’d never really been a force in her son’s life.

“So… you contacted our warrior’s mentor.” Mufasa looked to the tigoness, for a moment, sympathy in his eyes, before continuing. “Did you explain the situation to him?”

Samehe nodded, curtly.

“Yes, Mufasa. He knows that our grandson is needed by his home, greatly. We had enough time to explain what’s going on here… or, at least, what we think is going on here. Regardless… Shujaa’s mentor promised to figure out some way to get him home.”

The red-maned lion nodded, slowly. Slowly, he smiled, and bowed his head a few degrees.

“Good,” he said, in a tone betraying a great deal of hope, “Very, very good. I’ll go, now, and inform, my forefathers. This is a great development…”

There was a pause. Maisha and the former Lion King made eye contact—this cause the li-tigoness to giggle, quietly, then snap off a sharp salute. Mufasa chuckled, deeply, and reciprocated… before leaving.

The family was alone again… but for some reason, they didn’t speak. Their attention, now, was not on Chukizo… but on her father.

Shere Kahn’s face was downcast, as he looked at the ground. Canting their heads in curiosity, both Samehe and Chukizo looked at him, approaching, before the latter spoke.

“Father… what’s wrong? You’re sad… why? We did everything we needed to, and more…”

“…I know. I know, daughter. I’m sorry for raining onto your parade,” the tiger said, making Chukizo smile, a bit. His speech still had the occasional quirk or oddity, even after all these years.

“It’s just…” he sighed, looking down again, and speaking in a slow, soft, morose tone, “I…”

There was a pause. Shere Kahn swallowed, and then, managed to look up, a little.

“I… contacted someone else, too… and… she told me something impossible…”

“War is coming, Scar.”

“What?”

Silence. Like two phantoms, or ghosts, or demons, or angels, the two cats flitted through the jungle. Now, they were going so fast that even Freak was starting to pant, and strain to keep up. It didn’t help that the liger’s fur was almost black; it blended into the dark forest with marvelous perfection.

Every now and then, Freak would see the Dark One’s form flash in and out of the twisted, gnarled trees—they were going through a grove, of sorts. The li-tigon couldn’t keep as silent as he’d have preferred too, normally—the water; muddy, murky, and full of small fishes and crabs, was thrown up as he ran. It was comforting, though, to hear the Dark One moving along as well—Freak used his ears to guide him.

But the older cat didn’t answer. Freak could no longer keep his eyes on the liger; he was going at such speed through the dense terrain that taking his eyes off the path in front of him would mean running, headlong, into a tree.

The li-tigon ran into a group of vines, then broke through them. Now, his heart pulsed in his ears, but he didn’t stop—he just ran faster. He tripped, once, and almost fell, but rolled to his feet, shook himself off, and kept going.

Ahead, now, the Dark One burst in and out of view. The liger was laughing, and Freak attempted to catch up—

And came to a halt.

The liger was seated, calmly, motionlessly, chest still, even as Freak gasped for air. The Dark One’s paw was fisted, in the air, signaling for Freak to stop, which he did, all too gladly.

Quickly, though the li-tigon regained control of his starving lungs, and stepped around to take the liger’s side. As always, the Dark One’s eyes were closed, but it felt very much like he was meditating again.

Slightly exasperated with the liger’s odd behavior, Freak’s lip twitched. He was about to make a curt, somewhat miffed comment about how being run to exhaustion after the disclosure of rather unsettling information would make any reasonable being swear and storm off, but the liger was too quick.

“In your motherland. The Land of the Spirits.”

“War.”

Freak noted, vaguely, that he and the Dark One were in front of a small pool of water, atop a rock. All around them, Hindustan’s tall grass’s were ruffled, now and then, by gusts of cold air. For some reason, the li-tigon felt a strong sense of déjà vu… he did, often, lending credence to the theory that his grandfather was Hindustani, and so he’d lent his grandson collected, ancestral memories.

Here, though, that sense of “I’ve been here before” was stronger. Perhaps, in the Jungle, there was a place similar to this…?

This area… it had a sense of nostalgia about it. Or, perhaps, sanctity.

“I… don’t understand, Dark One,” the li-tigon said, as he turned back to the other male, who, at last, was looking back at him—through shut eyes. “There’s already war in the Land of the Spirits. The Desert is, as far as I know, still at war with the Wet Forest and the Southern Rocklands. I told you that… and I also told you that I don’t think… that they’ll last much longer.”

“Tsk, no, no, no, my son.”

Freak blinked, and tilted his head—surely, the Desert conflict, which had claimed thousands of lives satisfied the definition of war?

“No, my son. Not just… war,” the liger said delicately. There was a pause, a long, foreboding one, before the Dark One continued, in a deeper, ominous tone.

“A real war, O Scarred One. A war that will threaten not only the lives of those that find their homes in the Land of the Spirits, my son. It’s a war that will threaten their souls.”

The li-tigon felt a cold, icy hand grip his insides. He felt short of breath, for a minute, as his eyes widened—he wasn’t in harm’s way… well, as far as he knew… but the idea that so many beings—so many beings that he’d grown up with, ate with, fought with, lived with and nearly died with… the idea that they were in such danger made him… worried. At least.

“There will be two sides,” the Dark One continued, “It’s very simple, my son. This war… is, simply, good versus evil.”

“And… how do you know—how are you so sure about this, Dark One?” the li-tigon asked. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe the liger… at all. But he needed to stall, to get more information, to think. Because this deep, paralyzing panic… he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

“Your family spoke to me, my son. And please… calm,” the older male said gently, “I understand your feelings very much. But there is no use in allowing yourself such emotion right now, yes? It’s alright… I guarantee that you and I, my son, will think of some way to help…”

Freak nodded, and, with concentration, managed to banish fear from his system—for the moment. After all—everything he had ever cared about, with a few small exceptions, was at risk. Panic was justified.

“So… good versus evil. …Evil… …Who represents each side…?”

“Your family, my son—that is to say, those that live—these, I think they’re called, Proud Landers, and other lions also, and some more… they represent good.”

“The other side, my son, is comprised of two distinct factions—that is very important for you to keep in mind.”

“One faction is represented by someone, my son, whose name was not dared uttered by those in your family that have left this world. I believe that he will have an army, at least, that must be dealt with before he can be, directly.”

“The other faction, my son… is you.”

“Or, rather, Scar, your twin.”

Silence.

Freak peered out across the pond below them, sadness in his heart and mind, but not on his face. Moonlight spanged off the motionless surface, tinting his form with a gentle, light-blue overlay. Fur and mane tousled by the chilling breeze, he spoke in a quiet, reflective tone.

“I… I don’t understand, Dark One. That can’t be… I was blessed with a sister, one sister… and… she died, just after childbirth. I almost followed in her footsteps… but I have no twin, Dark One. I am the only living child of my parents, and the only living grandchild of my grandparents. I have no twin.”

There was a brief pause. The Dark One turned to the li-tigon, amusement and skepticism on his face. The liger snorted, a little, and Freak looked over, face devoid of emotion.

“My son, I have taught you much. But still, it seems, your mind is still so mundane—so physical. We have more twins than those whom we are born with…”

“Because, Scarred One, there is a theory—your family has a name for it, I believe they are calling it the Gemini Theory. It’s very simple—it boils down, essentially, to the idea that all actions have equal and opposite reactions.”

“The premise, my son, is that for each one of us, there is another, just like us… with the same goals, the same struggles and the same problems. The difference is only that they use different methods… to achieve these goals. So, while they are us, in most ways, it is that one, single difference that makes them so different than us that we are unrecognizable.”

“Your family didn’t have time, O Scar, to explain things to me completely—but they did tell me this much.”

“For a very long time, generations, now, evil has accumulated without any significant means of discharge. It’s been ignored, my son, and now, it is coming… in full force.”

“So, Scar, you see, war is coming. You must fight your twin—an evil being… among other things.”

“Ah, my son, I always did know that you were destined for greatness—it seems that I am right. Because, O Scarred One, it seems that you are a warrior—no. You are the warrior of all that is good, and you must fight your twin, the warrior of all that is evil.”

Freak’s prowess in terms of controlling his emotions, his thoughts, was a double-edged blade. Though the Dark One was now sure that the lack of feeling and empathy on the li-tigon’s face was reflected in his heart… Freak now had the ability to withdraw entirely, making his feelings utterly unreadable.

Which happened to be precisely what he was doing, just then.

The Dark One concentrated, for a moment, and surmised that Freak was looking, blankly, over the vast plains in front of them. From their perch on that rocky slab, wind had a clear shot at them. The liger wasn’t uncomfortable, though; like Freak, his coat was thick and protective.

The scent about this place… it was remarkably fresh. There were no flowers, though—the grass was just pungent, almost herbal in nature. This added to the calming, soothing, sacred sense about the place.

Still, with all the added influence, what the Dark One planned to do would be difficult. He wasn’t going to hypnotize or fool Freak, of course; he wouldn’t so grievously betray anyone’s trust like that. What he was going to do, though, was invoke divinity… to show Freak… what he needed to see.

The liger took in a deep breath, held it, for a long minute, then let it hiss through his teeth, slowly.

“My son…” he said quietly, “Please look into the water.”

Of course, the Dark One couldn’t see what was going on. But he listened, closely, and carefully noted the minute changes in the life-energy emanating from Freak, the kind the li-tigon couldn’t shut down, and nodded, in approval.

The younger male was silent, for a moment. His eyes couldn’t peer too far into the pool’s depths—but he could see the bottom of the clear, shallow lake. A bed of silt, devoid of life, crustacean and ichthyoid, filtered the water until it was transparent nearly to the point of invisibility.

The li-tigon shut his eyes, both the scarred one and the unmarred one, and spoke, after a moment.

“I don’t understand.”

When he opened his eyes back up, the image on the surface of the water was the same as it had been before he’d closed them. There was no mistaking it—the powerful profile, stony features, striped muzzle, thin mane, the telltale scar…

“It’s just me. Just my reflection… nothing else.”

“Then, my son…” the Dark One said, before jerking his snout meaningfully, and gesturing, with a defined forearm and paw, back at the small pond, “look harder…”

Crickets chirped, very quietly, around the two cats. Freak blinked, at one point, and, as furrows formed in his brow, he leaned in, a little, lowering himself. Insects flitted from the tips of the plains’ grass blades, excited, by something. The Dark One took in another long, deep breath, and let it out again, slowly.

“Do you see, Scarred One?”

The li-tigon’s eyes widened, suddenly. He extended his neck, staring at the water—or, more accurately, the reflections splayed out across its surface.

First, a tigoness appeared. She was smiling, widely—and, for the first time ever, Freak saw no sadness or regret on her face. Striped in that age old, inherited, dominant manner, her form was slim, sleek, powerful… and matriarchal.

“Mother…”

The underdeveloped, round face of a kitten appeared. Smile splitting her young, shiny face in two, her stripes were more jagged—the foil of the absolute softness visible in her eyes.

“Maisha…”

A more familiar face appeared, now, eyes locked on the li-tigon’s. This one was stripeless—its fur was tanned and weather-beaten and old but strong. Shrewd features, cunning eyes, and a grim but protective and selfless demeanor made Samehe recognizable in a heartbeat—a pained, bittersweet heartbeat—for Freak.

“Grandmother…”

The next face… was unfamiliar, at first—the li-tigon had never seen it before. Clearly masculine, it had a very prominent chin, and… foreign, exotic features, the likes of which were never found—“naturally”—in the Land of the Spirits.

Freak concentrated, hard, though, mind working in overdrive. Gunmetal eyes darting from side to side as he thought, the click of comprehension that made him stare, suddenly, was practically audible.

“… Grandfather?...”

The tiger’s face was stern, proud, but harsh and sad. Yet, at the li-tigon’s word… its eyes focused, a little, and… nodded... as, slowly, a slight, unfamiliar smile spread across its face.

Freak took in a brief, ragged breath—it was almost, but not quite, a sob. His eyes were wet as, for once, he showed outwardly the emotions he felt inwardly. Breeze made the pond ripple, a little bit, though the images on its surface remained as clear and unadulterated as ever.

Next, the li-tigon saw not one face, but three. They were all different, but shared such overwhelming similarities that they had to be related; closely related. Striped and maned, their features were more tigerish than Freak’s had been… closer, in fact, to his mother’s features…

“… My… uncles…?”

The trio nodded vigorously, encouragingly, and raised their paws in greeting to the nephew they’d never met. Freak laughed quietly, sadly, and was about to reciprocate, until the image in the pond changed again.

Next to the li-tigon, the Dark One was motionless. Eyes shut, as always, his breathing and heartbeat were so slight and slow they were nearly negligible—such was his concentration, such was the depth of his immersion in his efforts to uphold the connection between Freak and what Freak needed to see.

A long, ragged black mane; lemon-lime eyes; and confident, sharp features…

“Father…”

The dark lion smiled, just a little—it wasn’t his style, apparently, to show too much emotion, even though his son was so, so happy to see the face of a family member. Scar’s masculine detachment broke, though, several seconds later, and he smiled much more natural, opening his mouth.

He started to speak… but Freak couldn’t hear. After all… his father wasn’t there, with him, at his side; he’d never been and he never would be. Still—the li-tigon yearned to hear that… how had Sarabi described it?... that soft, purring, rolling voice… he wanted to hear it.

Freak’s paw had left the rocky outcropping that was his perch. It was trembling, traveling, slowly, towards the water’s surface. Oh, how the li-tigon wanted physical contact with his father… how he wanted it…

Something changed, though. Something big—something that made Freak stand up, erect, yanking his paw from the surface of the pond as if he’d been burned.

It wasn’t a face, now, displayed on the suddenly tumultuous, unstable ripples of the pond. Now, as red light so harsh and hot and hateful that it kicked up sediment at the pool’s bed, a being appeared.

Moving with the dexterity of a man, but the tenacity and fury of an enraged pride of lions, this… thing… it wielded an instrument in its arms, one not unlike that which had almost killed Freak on his first and, thankfully, only—thus far—encounter with men.

Its face held only anger—pure anger as deep and dark and black and incurable as cancer.

The light from its weapon strobed on and off, on and off as it panned the stick-like muzzle back and forth, back, and forth, blasting chunks of flesh from its… not prey. It wasn’t going to eat them, and even if it was, it didn’t need to. Its face, though—a catlike face built with teeth as long as its huge, dangling, talon-like claws—was splashed with those brief, staccato bursts of light as it opened its mouth, roaring a roar so loud and vengeful and lost that even here, thousands of miles away in this secluded Hindustani jungle, Freak heard it.

“Lost…?”

Freak’s claws ceased to clutch the rock upon which he stood, to continue to watch the massacre playing out in front of him. He leaned in again, a little bit, as the clamp of fear, of panic, lessened its hold on his mind.

Indeed… the being, the demon, who was performing a complicated maneuver with his paws, causing a brief lull in the battle before opening up with the deadly weapon in his arms again… wasn’t focused, or purposeful.

So, as the li-tigon watched, no longer concentrating on the shrieks of agony and pain coming from the demon’s prey, he began to understand.

“He really is my twin…”

“Because I could all too easily be in his position right now. All too easily…”

The images in the pool began to die down, slowly, fading away. Still, Freak’s twin was there, fighting harder than ever, now with a long, wicked blade. Just before the portal died down entirely, though, the li-tigon swore he saw his twin get down on his knees, clutching his head , before leaning back, facing upwards as if to cry, in agony, for someone—anyone—to look at him… to understand his pain.

Silence.

The li-tigon’s face was natural—blank. He turned, sitting up, a little, to face the Dark One. The older cat was seated, calmly, shoulders heaving on occasion as he kept calm, quiet, concentrated.

A slight, soft, chilled breeze ruffled the grass, the water, and the fur of the two cats. Freak looked upwards, a little, towards the sky, so that the air brushed aside his mane, revealing that even though he’d undergone so many changes during his long bout of unconsciousness, he still might be recognizable to a dweller of the Land of the Spirits—maybe.

“I think I understand the Gemini Theory now.”

“That’s good, my son,” the liger said, smiling, as his trancelike state fell.

Freak’s whiskers twitched, a little—though a power rarely seen, the Dark One’s ability to read unguarded thoughts, to peer into unguarded minds, was a little unnerving,

“So, Scarred One,” the older male said, nudging Freak’s shoulder with a friendly, fisted paw—for once, the li-tigon didn’t need to brace himself, or ignore instincts screaming at him to prepare to fight for his life, “You understand the gravity of the situation. This is some, how should I say it… serious stuff, yes?”

The li-tigon nodded, slowly. The looming task facing him would have overwhelmed most beings, but Freak was, naturally, almost a complete pragmatist—completely emotionless. He knew his task, and he would find a way to do it. Now, though, he not only had the power to shut down his emotions—he had the power to think, deeply, silently, for a few minutes, as he contemplated, then concluded that the course of action he’d already started to plan out for himself was, indeed, the right one.

His brow furrowed, though, as he approached a certain thought. Opening his mouth, slightly, he turned to the Dark One, words at the tip of his tongue.

“A question, my son?” the liger asked kindly, taking a few deep breaths to expedite his re-entry to the physical world.

“No, just…” Freak paused, closing his eyes for a moment, before continuing. “I… just find it hard to imagine, that… I’ll have to fight my Gemini—it’s… it’ll be like how it was for my mother, when she tried to kill me. It was… right, by any moral standard… but…”

“I don’t know, if… I’ll be able to do it.”

The liger sighed, and, after a moment, spoke, looking out over the rolling Hindustani plains. He turned, a little, head hung several degrees, and spoke in a low, mournful tone.

“My son… as I said to you, the first time we spoke… most everything is, on one level or another, evil. And, O Scar, you know that we have a responsibility—a duty—to avert evil whenever we can. So, sometimes, it’s necessary to stop large acts of evil by committing smaller ones.”

“My intention isn’t to belittle what you must do, my son, or the pain you’ll surely feel,” the Dark One said, in a grave tone, “I want only for you to feel secure, now, in the righteousness of what has to be done. Yes?” he asked hopefully.

The li-tigon was silent, for a moment, as, again and again, he went over what he’d been told, and what he’d seen. Everything he cared for—everything worth living and dying and struggling and fighting for—was at risk.

Everyone…

And yet… fight against his own twin? With the intention of killing this pained, lost, tortured, lonely soul?

Freak’s features were blank, sculptured, emotionless, as he looked to the water, as if for answers.

But there were none in sight.

So, the li-tigon shrugged, shoving his thoughts aside, for the moment. A speck of dust, or perhaps a fly, irritated Freak’s nose, so the li-tigon shook himself off.

“I’ll face what needs to be done when it’s time for it to be done. Dwelling on it now… won’t do anything good.”

Another question, though, had replaced the li-tigon’s insecurity of his ability to fight, and kill, his twin.

“Dark One… how am I to return to the Land of the Spirits? It must be thousands and thousands of miles from Hindustan… and we don’t even know where it is, in relation to Hindustan…”

The liger opened his maw, then closed it. Then, he repeated that routine, licking his lips, before speaking in a pleasant, carefree tone.

“I do not have the foggiest idea, my son.”

“But I would not be so very worried,” the Dark One said, “There is one being here; I have been in touch with her for quite some time now. She’s coming even now, I think, and she, and her human friend, should be able to help.”

Freak’s eyes widened, and, instantly, he felt a prickle of adrenaline. Heart thumping a little louder, the li-tigon willed his claws to sheath themselves. Just to calm himself further, though, the younger male looked around, in paranoia.

The plains were still, silent, like the water in front of him. Perched on top of the rock as they were, Freak and the Dark One made fine, visible targets…

But there was nothing in the vicinity, apparently. The li-tigon’s formidable senses didn’t detect them, and the nearest treeline upwind of the cats’ position was over a mile away—well out of range of any creature’s weapon, even a human’s rifle.

“My son, you need to calm yourself,” the liger said suddenly, sharply. Freak looked over, ears pulling back, just a little, face blank as the Dark One continued.

“I know that I have taught you much—so, what I am doing now is not to teach you anything,” the Dark One said in a disappointed tone. He was glaring at Freak, teeth slightly bared—but the li-tigon felt no fear, anymore. He’d learned, and a lot. “I am only reminding you of what you already know.”

“Prejudice is wrong, my son…” the liger said, after a tense moment, even allowing a smile to creep back to his face. “Not all humans are evil—”

Several things happened—not all at once, but in quick succession.

First, the Dark One’s eyebrows raised.

Then, his head angled downwards, in an instinct to visually inspect himself that hadn’t left despite a near lifetime of blindness.

Then, the liger put a trembling paw on his chest, drawing it away slowly, fearfully, but knowingly.

Then, the Dark One licked his paw, nose twitching, ever so slightly, before he nodded in comprehension.

“Hm.”

“Blood.”

“My… …blood….”

Slowly, for Freak, anyway, the liger shivered, shuddering. His fur, normally as black as the night sky in the Land of the Spirits, was still soft, ostensibly… but now, it was being dyed a gruesome, gory crimson shade by long, rhythmic, powerful pulses that, gradually, were getting sporadic… weak…

Tired…

The Dark One looked up from his injury, setting his paw down, gently, on the rock. The li-tigon realized, in the back of his mind, that he couldn’t hear anything, save for a dull, slight, echoing ring, as he watched the liger smile, confidently, fearlessly, and laugh in defiance, even as rivulets of blood dribbled from his maw, drops spraying into the air with mirth… before, slowly, mane lingering in the air, just a second longer… he started to fall.

Time sped back up, and Freak’s hearing returned. He froze in shock, just for a second… then jumped into action.

Before the Dark One hit the ground, the li-tigon had caught hold of the scruff of the larger cat’s neck. Freak was astoundingly strong even when calm and collected, but now, with adrenaline and fear flooding his system, he didn’t even feel the liger’s weight.

Something roared through the air, rushing, just next to the two cats, going off to bury itself into the thick grove behind them.

As Freak moved on, not having time to toss the liger onto his back, he searched, hastily, for somewhere to take cover. There was another rocky structure; perhaps twenty yards away—their only chance.

The Dark One was trying to speak, to tell the li-tigon something, but Freak ignored it—he had bigger worries, just then. As the liger was dragged, rapidly, across the terrain, another shot rang out, chipping the outcropping that Freak had just left, so that jagged bits of stone whizzed past the cats.

Freak kept low to the ground as he moved, still pulling the Dark One along by the scruff of his neck. The grasses separating the pond from the boulder, ten yards away and closing, were tall, and offered some cover. So, snakelike, the li-tigon crawled, dragging the Dark One astride him, praying that they wouldn’t be seen.

The cats managed to get behind cover without further contest. Freak yanked the liger well behind the rock, tugging the Dark One’s limbs out of the open. He was only reasonably sure that they were taking fire from the far treeline, upwind of his position—but it was over a mile away.

Still, though, now wasn’t the time to carefully analyze what had gone wrong or how it had happened—now was the time to react, to save the Dark One.

To ignoring the rising bile in his throat, the way his flesh crawled, ubiquitous instincts screaming at him to run, far and hard and fast, Freak sucked in a deep breath, assessing the situation. He and the Dark One were behind cover, and, since the distance between them and their attackers was great, they were out of immediate danger.

The next course of action was obvious.

The li-tigon put his paws, one atop the other, on the Dark One’s chest, on top of his wound. Then, Freak pressed, hard, growling, trying to stave off blood flow—

But the liger just laughed. His voice was incredibly… small… weak...

Hearing such a tone in the Dark One’s voice… was disturbing. Freak snarled, though, and pressed harder—he could save the liger, he could, he would...

“Ah, my son,” the Dark One murmured, placing a still firm, still powerful paw on the li-tigon’s… pushing them away. “You are selfless to the core. Knowing that… brings warm feelings to my heart. I have, in my mission to bring you back to the righteous path in life, been successful.”

“But accept it, my son… I am finished.”

Indeed, the liger had taken a deadly quartering-toward shot—his left shoulder had been cleanly snapped, his ribs shattered, and the bullet had gone in to the Dark One’s vitals. For now, his heart and lungs functioned, barely… but that wasn’t going to last. And both he and his companion knew that.

Freak’s face was twisted in regret and pain and guilt and sympathy, as he faced the ground. Breathing rapidly, twitching, needing to do something, anything; standing still, staying behind cover was torture. He needed to act.

But the Dark One couldn’t speak, or move, quickly. He did manage to fix his invisible gaze on the li-tigon, though, until Freak looked up, making what would be eye contact, if it wasn’t for what had happened to the liger all those years ago.

Still, though, in that blank stare, Freak found solace, and, despite the bitterness of what was going to happen… comfort, and even a sense of confidence. The Dark One’s fate was certain… but there was no sense in refusing to accept it.

Freak managed to breathe a little easier. Only, though, when the li-tigon was calm enough to appreciate just how peaceful the liger looked, resting against that rough, harsh rock, did the Dark One speak, in a slightly less small, less pained voice that made the li-tigon lean in to hear.

“My son… I’m sorry. I didn’t detect them… There’s no time to show you what my student looks like—I’ll trust God to see that you and her find one another.”

“You will… know when you find her,” the liger groaned, attempting to sit up, to stand on his own four paws, again, for the last time, “There’s a signal…”

Left paw curled up in agony, the Dark One managed to stand. Freak moved to help, but the liger waved him off… and, teeth bared in pain, managed to set his left paw on the ground.

Then, as the li-tigon watched, the older male performed an intricate but simple and easily reproduced maneuver. Even as the Dark One executed the salute, Freak memorized it, repeating it to himself mentally, several times. The slow, calm pace, the careful, precision maneuvers... there. He had it.

It was a good thing, too, because the Dark One wouldn’t be able to run the pattern by Freak again.

The liger slumped over, again, in a controlled and almost graceful fall. The li-tigon twitched, moving to help, but he was slow… too slow…

As blood pooled on the ground from the Dark One’s mouth, dying the grass blades red and feeding the earth with a metallic, protein-rich drink, Freak rasped, coughing, after trying to take in a gulp of air. Tongue and mouth dry, he tried to swallow, but accomplished nothing aside from making little, wet droplets collect in his eyes.

“My son…” the liger murmured, and, in an instant, Freak was at his side, prepared to fulfill the Dark One’s last wish, his dying wish. But the older male groaned, though, twitching, lethargically.

“What is it, Dark One? What can—tell me what to do. I’m… Hindustan isn’t my home. Without you, I’m lost… guide me, Dark One. Please…”

The liger swallowed, peeling back his lips to snarl, forcing energy back into his system, just for a moment. Something clicked in his mind; something was going to happen… what was it? …He didn’t know. And now wasn’t the time to waste time trying to figure it out.

“… Run away, Scar. Run… run away, and don’t return…”

Again, that dull, echoing ring returned to the li-tigon’s ears. Attempting to rid himself of the bizarre sensation by shaking his head, Freak saw a blurred, grayish world streak by… before nodding.

He turned on a dime, twisting his body in a graceful and sudden display of feline agility and flexibility. Then, he ran, throwing caution and stealth to the winds, that whipped across the plain, suddenly, tousling his fur and mane.

Another shot rang out, missing the li-tigon entirely, but caused him to run faster yet, diving, headlong, into the thick, impregnable maze of trees and vines from which he and the Dark One had emerged before. Face set in grim, pained determination, Freak refused to allow his mind to drift back to the liger, who was now all alone, at the base of that boulder, curling up, resting his head on his paws one last time, waiting for death…

(A/N: melanism is sort of like the opposite of albinism. Use Google or Wikipedia if you have further questions.)

The end to the Dark One’s story, it seemed, would come in melancholic doldrums.

He had nothing to do, really, but rest, attempting to get comfortable before he took his last breaths, and think—think on what he’d realized, or thought he’d realized, just minutes ago.

It felt almost like the liger had made a breakthrough, or was on the verge of one. He was fairly sure that it wasn’t a physical one—no, he wasn’t about to break a personal speed record, for instance. Perhaps, then, it was an accomplishment that was of a trans-physical nature.

Against the cragged, rough, dark, multicolored granite surface of the boulder, the melanistic cat wasn’t easily seen. Adding to his camouflage was the late hour in which he lay dying.

Still, though, the ones that were tracking him down weren’t relying on sight, alone. And, in many ways, the downed liger stuck out blatantly, against the bleak, rolling landscape.

His chest heaved, for what could be the last time, and a thin, drizzling spray of blood washed over the dusty grasses from his nose and maw. Ruff and cheek and mane saturated with the congealing red liquid, the Dark One prayed, vaguely, that Freak was alright, and had escaped the hunters… he’d had five or so minutes, already, and in that time, the liger knew that the younger cat could eradicate himself from an area so completely that tracking was more or less guaranteed to fail.

So, with a grin on his lips, the Dark One focused on that, as he sensed a being—he wasn’t sure what, or who; his senses, or what remained of them, weren’t at their best, just then—approach him.

“So… humans aren’t all that unlike us. Sometimes, they too hunt alone.”

“You’ll never find him,” the liger murmured, peacefully, “You might have gotten me—and I congratulate you for that; many have tried, before, and failed—but you won’t catch him. He’s a warrior… of his homeland, the Land of the Spirits… and me.”

“This is assuming that you’re working for an interest aside from your own. That your motivation to find him exceeds simple capitalism.”

“That’s doubtful.”

“Oh, no… Dark One…”

As the dim tunnel that was the passage to the next world surrounded the liger, he felt his mind work, sluggishly.

“…Humans… can understand our language, sometimes…”

“…But… never before have I seen one… that… speaks it… so well…”

“And… in such a female voice…?!”

The liger had accepted his fate for the simple reason that he didn’t want to be torn to the next world, kicking and screaming—that wasn’t his style. He wanted to go willingly, if reluctantly, to whatever his destination was.

As a result, he had plenty of adrenaline to flood his bloodstream with. Even so close to death’s door, the liger maintained control over every single one of his bodily functions to a degree unimaginable by most. Thus, the second he decided that he needed to remain living for another few minutes, he shivered, once, and looked up, energy coursing through his system.

And there she was, standing in front of him like an angel descended from above to see him. Many times, she’d attempted to communicate her appearance to him, but her command of the life energy that flowed through her, the Dark One, and all living beings wasn’t perfect.

It didn’t do her justice.

The liger knew this… despite his blindness. He didn’t know how he was doing it—perhaps the divine had decided to give him the pleasure of sight, again, in his last minutes.

Regardless… somehow, he knew that she was beautiful. White fur, streaked with jagged, lightning-like stripes that broke up an otherwise immaculate, uniform tone. Razor-sharp, polished teeth that blended into her coat. Eyes as brilliantly azure as a clean, deep river; and nose as pink and soft and wet and cold as a… scoop of… strawberry… ice… cream…

“Asal… is it you?” the liger murmured, voice slurred and not quite coherent, as his lips peeled into a wide, wavering smile, “I’m glad to finally meet you… though… you might have chosen a more opportune time.”

Adrenaline, though, doesn’t last forever, not when you’ve lost perhaps a quarter of your blood. And the Dark One had lost much, much more than that, trauma and shock notwithstanding.

The liger fell, or, rather, almost fell, but his form didn’t slam into the dusty, grassy ground—it was caught, in a soft, gentle embrace, formed by two plush but powerful forelegs.

“No… you’re dying…” the tigress said, carefully setting the Dark One down on his side, gently.

Her voice, her mannerisms… there was something about them. Something about them that made the liger forget, for a second, what he had to do, overwhelmed by a wave of nostalgia, of longing…

It passed, though, as the Dark One felt, vaguely, with the dampened remains of his senses, Asal feeling his chest, gasping, before promising to help, to save him.

He laughed, and reached out, pawing, blindly, for a second, before sternly, sadly clutching the female’s wrist… and shaking his head.

“My daughter, you said it best, I think—I am dying. There is no purpose in wasting time saving what cannot be saved. Rather… there is… something to be gained… by…” the male coughed, groaned, before swallowing, rasping, eyes crinkling as his ruined tear ducts attempted to flush his sockets with fluid, “… Asal… you have to find Scar. I… no time to explain things… he will. He’ll be… in…”

A pause.

A pause.

A terrible, long, slow, tense pause.

Asal was certain the liger had died, if not from blood loss and trauma, but from the sheer effort of concentrating—it felt very much to her, as she tried to put pressure on his wound, to prolong life for at least a few seconds, that he’d forgotten to breathe.

A second later, though, the Dark One gasped, unfreezing, and shook his head.

“I do not know where you may find him. But not so much time has passed since he ran… you’re a… ….you… provide for those under your care… you’re a hunter. You’ll… track… …provide… under your care… better than… I can… than I did…”

The Dark One’s words were rapidly losing coherence. So, for a moment, he just gave up trying to speak, and curled up. He was still breathing and his heart was still beating—irregularly, and sporadically, but still beating. Blue eyes as damp as the red, tainted ground around her, the tigress prayed, sobbing, begging for anyone who might be listening to give the Dark One just a few more moments… a few more…

“Daughter…”

His head turned, a little, cocking, so that if he was blessed with sight, he’d be looking into Asal’s eyes. A curious expression on his face, he spoke in a tired, gentle tone, like a grandfather too tolerant and easy-going to chastise a mischievous child.

“You have an important task to do. Find… the Scarred One. He’s a hybrid, as I am; and yet, not as I am. You will know when you see him, though—he knows the signal.”

The tigress nodded, lip quivering, and jerked, moving to leave hastily, as her powerful nose twitched, telling her that humans—a good few of them—were approaching from not too far off at all.

And yet…

Yet…

The Dark One had done so much for so many. Was this really to be his death—alone, here, at a blackened, burned rock, under a blackened, polluted sky, over a dirty ground, dyed red with his own blood—alone?

The tigress took in a deep breath, closing her eyes, and recalled one of the earliest things she’d been taught by the liger that was now mere seconds from death in front of her.

“Life is never fair; do not expect it to be. If you want that to change, though… then never use the unfairness of life as an excuse to act unfairly. Ever.”

“My daughter…” the Dark One murmured, purring, almost cooing, “you have not left, yet…”

“… Please, Asal,” the liger said, in a suddenly sad, more serious tone, “Leave me be and go. Find Scar; find the warrior… he needs you, daughter. Go…”

The tigress’s cubhood had been… the Lion Sheikh declines to describe it fully, for now. But it had never really given her the opportunity to act as was natural for females to do at a certain age—she’d never really been able to disobey, to “hmmph!” or to adamantly shake her head, and set her foot down when she had no right to.

Then, though, she did.

Asal paused, thinking… then ignored her elder and better. She shook her head, though gently, and, clamping down on her instincts to utterly and completely ignore them, sat, then slumped over… then wrapped her arms around the Dark One, holding him close, even going so far as to rub her cheek against his muzzle.

“I won’t, Dark One. I hope you can forgive me for it,” she said quietly—she didn’t need to speak in a tone louder than a whisper; such was her proximity to the liger’s ear, “But… I don’t believe anyone should have to curl up and wait for death to take them to the next world alone. No… you will die in my arms, Dark One…”

The liger was silent for a few long moments, but still breathing, still living. Fur began to prickle at the back of the tigress’s neck… the humans. They were coming.

The Dark One’s breaths were now death rattles; hissing, gasping, panting, shaky. And yet… when he spoke, head moving sluggishly to tilt, face twitching to smile, it was in a quiet, gentle, and utterly bittersweet tone.

“Do you remember, daughter, when you and I first contacted each another…?”

“Do you remember… how I was, until even minutes ago, unsure of how… we found one another?”

“I… think I know.”

A pause.

Then, the Dark One’s lips and chin quivered, rapidly, as his foreleg muscles suddenly acted, clamping down on Asal hard enough to squeeze a surprised “Ah!” from her. The liger nuzzled the white tigress’s neck, for a moment, hugging, hard, until she calmed, her tail’s lashing becoming controlled and slight.

“It’s because… you feel exactly as my sisters did…”

“I… never knew that I’d remember how they felt. That was stolen along with my sight, I thought. I’m still not sure… how they feel.”

“…Well. I believe I’ll find out… in just a moment.”

“Hmmm…”

The Dark One was smiling. He was smiling and peaceful and happy and calm and content, as, finally, his aged, damaged heart pulsed once more… then shuddered… then gave up.

“In my arms…” the tigress whispered.

She held him for a few more seconds. She could spare no more. Because, when she finally jumped to her feet, eyes and face determined as she scrambled into the nearby groves, the humans were on her.

Dodging bullets and uncouth words of surprise, her nose twitched, again, as her claws dug into the ground, paws adjusting themselves to shoot her off in a few direction. Leaving splashes and pugmarks and the Dark One’s blood in her wake, Asal moved on.

She had her mission.

Now, she had to complete it.

Stereotypes often have a grain, or sometimes more than a grain of truth behind them.

Tigers are angry creatures—this is a terrible, destructive prejudicial stereotype.

It also happens to be a reasonably true statement; well quantified by the way Nasher paced back and forth, back and forth, wearing a shallow path in the thick, wet grasses of the forest in which he found himself… stuck… stuck… with his daughter.

One could very, very easily make the case that his anger was justified. After all, never before had he and his wife shared such harsh words, and never before had they left one another so angrily… never before had they so nearly fought.

But the manner in which Nasher expressed his anger… that couldn’t be justified at all.

Hissing, snarling, growling so much that even his easygoing, hardly scared daughter felt real fear when she looked at him, face tainted with the trail of many tears. She was clutching at her belly—it had been a good few days since the family had had a satisfying kill, and the kitten was really starting to feel the lack of food.

But—perhaps wisely—Kochai ignored her hunger, for the moment. Her father had been ranting, on and off, ever since Asal had left. Largely, his grumbles and curses had been incoherent, but, for a few seconds, he formulated coherent phrases.

“That whore… dragging me and my cub to the Triangle of Pain—just before the Season of the Rains begins! Then, she resists my righteous and very justified attempts to put her in her Goddamned place… then, she leaves me—me, a male, me—with a child! Insane…” he seethed. “I don’t know what I saw in her besides physical beauty.”

Perhaps, if that thought had had more than a few seconds to stew in his mind, the tiger would have stopped, sat down… and sobbed, calling his daughter to him, hugging her, apologizing to his mate, before going off to do the duties of a parent—the vital duties of a parent.

But he didn’t have long to think about what had just flickered through his mind at all.

Because he paused, suddenly, blinking, before looking down.

Pathetically, his daughter had nudged his foreleg with a paw, before jumping back, a little, ears completely flat. Shivering, a little, she only dared look up to meet his eyes after a moment of tense, thankfully eventless silence passed.

“F-father…” Kochai mewled sadly, blue-green eyes wet and sad and worried, “Please… I already tried to hunt for myself, but I can’t find anything… there are no prey animals that I can find, Father… so… please… hunt for me. I’m so hungry… so hungry…” she whispered sadly, gaze falling to the ground, making her look just as helpless and desperate as she was.

The tiger’s face was blank. But, perhaps, behind those brilliantly green eyes, a battle took place; between two emotions, two instincts. Then, the battle ended—one side was victorious.

Nasher bristled, and stepped forward, threateningly, his huge, powerful paw not an inch from his daughter’s still small, still soft, still innocent appendages.

Snarling down at her, he leaned in, so close that the shaking kitten could feel his breath on her neck, and spoke in a deep, threatening rasp.

“It is not… my fucking job, daughter… to provide for cubs. So… deal with your hunger.”

Out of guilt, perhaps, or disgust with himself, Nasher stepped away, moving to walk off to take a few seconds to calm.

“And, as you said, daughter… there are no prey animals, anyway. They’ve all gone into hiding to prepare for the Season of the Rains.”

The tiger was sitting now, sneering at the jungle all around him, as if demanding for it to throw his wife out, back to him. Had he had a few more seconds… then maybe… just maybe… he would have calmed, completely, turned, and apologized to his tearful daughter, and ran off, instantly, to return with food, later, and more apologies.

But he didn’t have a few seconds.

Rubbing her cheek and the blunt smoothness of her head against the much larger cat’s paws in complete submission—begging him—Kochai spoke again. Her distinctive golden tabby coloration made her much brighter and lighter than her father, and, to the tiger… she looked, really, much like her mother… just like her mother…

“Please, Father… I’m so hungry… I’m just a kitten… please, Father… feed me… I’m so h—”

Moments after his birth, or less… Freak had dodged a potentially fatal blow from his mother. Despite the speed and alacrity of the attack, the li-tigon had managed to see it coming, and, for the most part, evade it.

Kochai…

… wasn’t so lucky.

Perhaps the kitten saw a flash of fur, or perhaps the kick had taken her completely by surprise.

Regardless, one minute, the young tigress was more or less still, nuzzling her father’s paw. The next, she’d flown through the air, more than a few yards, then come to a messy, dazed halt, at the base of a tree.

Trying to shake the blurring, the buzzing out of her head, Kochai mewed quietly, stumbling around. A second later, when she’d more or less pulled herself together, trying to work out what had happened, she jumped, suddenly, fur standing on end.

Nasher had jumped towards his daughter, missing landing on her—perhaps unintentionally—by mere inches. Snarling, roaring so loudly that it hurt the wide-eyed kitten’s ears, he grabbed her neck-fur with a paw tightly enough to make her hiss in pain, eyes welling up with tears.

“I ALREADY TOLD YOU, YOU LITTLE BASTARD, SO SHUT UP! THERE’S NOTHING TO EAT, AND EVEN IF THERE WAS, I WOULDN’T GET IT FOR YOU!”

Whiskers twitching, white ruff red as he flushed, Nasher’s extended claws were, thankfully, dug into the ground, preventing them from digging into, perhaps, something more alive.

Speechless with fear, and frozen by it too, Kochai was crushed up against the tree, pushing hard against the ground in her instinctive effort to get away from her father. Then, as her muscles relaxed, a little, a more conscious part of her mind was awaken.

Her eyes had been wet for a few moments, now, but she hadn’t yet let a drop of that wetness spill.

Yet.

A tear rolled out from the young tigress’s eye, slowly. It glistened as it fell, seeming to drift down to the ground, like a leaf or particle of dust, not water.

This distracted Nasher’s attention—the tiger watched it fall, head tilting in time with the tear.

Now, he had a few seconds to think. Now, he had time to realize what he’s just done—he’d made his daughter cry. That knowledge, in and of itself, was enough to make Nasher flinch, cringe… before groaning in horror with himself as he truly began to comprehend just how he’d made her cry.

“Oh, no… Kochai, I’m—”

Silence.

Well, save for the hushed, ambient background noise that was native to the jungle. The cool hiss of moisture collecting on plants, the muffled calls of frogs and songbirds and insects…

Kochai, though, was gone. Vanished into thin air, apparently.

Her tear hit the ground, and, just as it did, Nasher scented his daughter…

… and took off after her.

She hadn’t been able to make it far in such a short period of time, of course. And, of course, her father was exponentially faster, so that, almost in four or five long, powerful bounds, he’d caught up with the fleeing kitten.

Kochai only ran faster, though, and darted through a thick clump of trees that was, for Nasher, impassible. So the tiger went around the side, peering into the foliage, face stricken. The tiger’s concentration was such that he didn’t notice the way his fur stood on end, not with fright but with electricity, or the way some primal, ancient instinct told him to seek cover, fast.

“No, no, daughter!” the tiger called out, in a voice choked with agony, as he lowered his head, catching flashes of that small but viciously fast body, as it darted through the forest, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, don’t run awa—”

Nasher didn’t hear anything. He didn’t see anything worth mentioning, either, save for perhaps a flash of white so bright that it blinded him—maybe.

He might have sensed something, perhaps, but his mind was so occupied and scattered, just then, that he couldn’t honestly say that he did.

He felt something, though—that was certain. It was… a horrible, intense scorching that singed the outer layer of his thick, shaggy coat, blackening it. Eyes shutting to protect themselves, the tiger attempted to jump—he was too slow, though, as the force of the electric discharge that created a powerful bolt of white-blue lightning that connected the sky to the ground threw him.

The tiger’s head was slammed into a tree, and his vision was as blurred as his daughter’s had been a moment ago, when she was the one that had been thrown. Groaning, Nasher would have tried to get to his paws, if he’d had time, to douse the flame that had caught on his tail, before loping off after his daughter again.

“Daughter…” the tiger thought, seething in agony, as he tried, fruitlessly, to roll or crawl out of the way. “Wife…”

Nasher fell, body flopping uselessly on the ground, as he looked around, for a moment, managing to catch a glimpse of his daughter’s retreating form. Eyes rolling to the back of his head in fatigue and agony as their lids shut, the tiger prepared to accept his fate.

“God… please… I have no wish… other than that… my family… will survive this Season…”

After the crackling, snap-hiss of the lightning strike, and the resulting explosion, the forest had fallen into shocked, frozen silence. Well… a few fires crackled, dimly, and splints of ruined, shattered wood rained down, flung for hundreds of yards, and, maybe, the hushed whisper of dark, acrid smoke from burnt leaves produced a little noise, just a little…

But still. It was quiet enough so that the ominous creak that went from nothingness to an overpowering roar in a horrifying crescendo blotted out every other sound in the forest for miles, perhaps.

The tree that had been struck by God’s Lance, as it was called in this part of Hindustan, had had its core, its trunk burned out. Due to a loss of structural integrity, it had wobbled, tilted… then started to fall.

It weighed tons, and was still on fire; its huge, scaled bows blacked charred and hot as they raced towards Nasher.

Then, as the log smashed down on the tiger with enough force to shake the Earth for acres, forest animals called out in clamor and fear. A deafening, guttural roar of thunder roared in reply, as, in the distance, several more lightning bolts struck ground. Water—sheets, buckets of it began to pour down, flooding the forest instantly, drowning out even the shrieks and yelps of the jungle’s inhabitants with its cry.

The Season of the Rains had begun.

One of Freak’s earliest memories was being lost.

At the time, he hadn’t really recognized it for what it was—his mind wasn’t developed enough to grasp the concept of not having any idea where he was, or what he was doing. And, in some ways, his mind had only developed enough to grasp those basic facts mere months ago.

Now, though, without the Dark One, in the still strange and unfamiliar land of Hindustan, he really was lost.

It was early in the morning; dawn had come and gone perhaps half an hour ago. As the sun’s orangish rays glimmered, slightly, through the humid, hot jungle that Freak found himself in, refracting through collected drops of dew, the li-tigon moved, slowly, morosely… not forwards. Hopefully not backwards. He just moved, trying to move on, trying to let go of what had just happened.

And yet, every step, every sight and every smell and every touch seemed to bring with it a painful memory of the Dark One. Freak had only spent half a week, or so, with the liger… but in that time he’d started to understand himself, and the world around him…

He’d started to. The li-tigon’s path towards real enlighten was still long… and now, without the Dark One, it was as lonely as it was wrought with pitfalls and temptations.

The sheer enormity of things, and life itself, threatened to overwhelm Freak for a moment. Regressing to harsh, pragmatic, black-and-white thinking for a few brief seconds, the li-tigon quickly analyzed himself at a level so basic that he couldn’t be overpowered.

“I am not hungry.”

“Am healthy.”

“Am clean.”

“Am safe... probably.”

“… Cannot detect any immediate threats. Am safe enough.”

“Have no shelter…”

“Acceptable. Can find shelter later. Shelter isn’t required. Can escape or move on readily. No need to search for shelter. One can be found later.”

“Am… insecure. Unstable.”

“Unacceptable.”

“Must obtain security and stability immediately.”

“…How… can I obtain security and stability…?”

Slowly, Freak’s less primal mind returned. He was in a small clearing; in the midst of three or four huge, thick-trunked trees, enough sunlight was blocked out that there wasn’t really any plant-life in any direction for a few yards.

“Meditation.”

The li-tigon stopped in his tracks. He nodded to himself, slowly, and turned, taking a few steps before sitting down at the base of a tree. Facing away from it, to give himself the best view of his surroundings—and as many escape routes as possible—he closed his eyes, and took in a deep, slow breath.

Calmness came, albeit slowly. Freak considered, for a moment, what to concentrate on, what to focus on and use as a source of strength and stability.

“Dark One…”

Yes! Since the liger had died so recently… surely, Freak would have little difficulty in finding him. The li-tigon hadn’t even moved that far from what was surely the Dark One’s deathbed.

Using that enthrallment as motivation to calm, further, and focus, Freak’s brow furrowed as he searched. Feeling many presences of many recently departed souls, he pored over them, trying to seek out one, one in particular…

The li-tigon’s determination didn’t falter, even as success continued to evade him. His hope did, though… it seemed that he really was nothing at all without the Dark One.

Wait… there! A presence. Something—no. Someone was trying to contact him, someone was searching for him, as well.

“Dark One… I knew I’d find you. Please… I need guidance…”

But the being that had found Freak… was not the Dark One. Not even close.

She was female; a tigress. Totally dissimilar to the liger in appearance, she had no underbelly to speak of; her entire coat was bright, deep orange, and her stripes were… just like Freak’s… and his mother’s, and his grandfather’s.

The li-tigon tried to concentrate harder to figure out who she was. Several guesses, some more likely than others, repeatedly entered and left his mind. He listened, closely, as she smiled, and started to move her lips. No sound came out, though, at least none that Freak detected, regardless of how hard he listened.

Still, as the hybrid started to feel her struggle against being called away, he felt a sense of bittersweet happiness. When their meeting finally ended, and the li-tigon found himself back in the physical realm, he realized that, no matter what he was doing or where he was… he was never really alone.

Smiling, just a little, the li-tigon let out a soft, quiet breath. He stood, brushing past a large-leafed plant so that large, wet droplets fell, sometimes landing on him, sometimes on the ground. In the distance, he noted, the sky was darkening—then, an exceptionally large, powerful bolt of lightning was shot from the sky, striking the ground so hard that even here, miles away, Freak felt concerned for his own safety.

Considering his next move, Freak began to walk, thinking, looking at the ground to avoid distraction. Now that he had more or less all of his basic needs taken care of—what now? How was he going to find the Dark One’s other student—whose appearance, Freak reminded himself, was a total mystery.

The li-tigon, by then, was making his way to another clearing. Still brooding, he walked through a tight pair of trees, struggling, for a moment, to shake his stuck hindpaw free. He growled just a little, in frustration; surely he had enough on his plate already, without this added annoyance?

Just as Freak pulled his appendage free, something cracked. A twig, or something—but the li-tigon wasn’t moving, and even if he was, he’d be paying enough attention to not make unnecessary noise.

So, the only logical conclusion was that he was not alone.

His head shot up, as he started to lower himself, preparing to fight for his life in a procedure as natural and instinctive as breathing. But he stopped, halfway, and cocked his head.

He wasn’t alone; not at all. And the other cat, not twenty yards from him… could certainly threaten him; those razor-sharp claws and rippling muscle weren’t for show.

Yet, she’d froze, too, midstep, gaze leveled at Freak’s. Their eyes met, heads angled at just the same position, watching each other, waiting, wondering why on Earth they felt no fear.

The li-tigon’s eyes didn’t narrow, even as he noticed, vaguely, that this female was absolutely beautiful. Oh, she was a freak, just like him… but that white fur, that strawberry ice-cream—ahem… that cold, pink nose… no. She was freakishly beautiful.

“Ah… I think I understand…”

Each cat stood, at his or her respective full height, expressions neither passive nor aggressive—just interested, very interested. And then, in perfect unison, they performed those exacting, precise moves, signaling to one another that yes, indeed, they were both the Dark One’s students. They were both indeed looking for one another.

“Scarred One…?” the tigress asked politely, smiling, as she slowly, humbly, but not cautiously stepped towards the li-tigon.

“Yes… …Asal,” Freak replied. He was still, for a moment, before he too approached.

The embrace they then shared was brief but friendly and very heartfelt. As the tigress’s soft, plush fur met the li-tigon’s, Freak felt odd, for a moment; euphoric and very, very self conscious. His mane was so untimely, his stripes so tribal and savage, his fur so—what…? What was he thinking? What—this made no sense. Blinking at himself, again relatively emotionless, save for a measure of satisfaction and certainty, the li-tigon took Asal’s side, as, together, they pressed through the forest.

He’d never felt emotions like those, before… well, not really. Vitani… he recalled, painfully, that she’d occasionally evoked similar feelings, though to a lesser degree. Around her, Freak had always drawn himself up, making his posture more rigid and powerful, licking his fur clean and flat.

Maybe the li-tigon’s disinterest in the opposite gender was going the same way his disinterest in affairs aside from his own had. Maybe someday he’d even feel the desire to have a mate, to create a family. Maybe someday… he’d find a female whose fur and embrace brought him even more comfort than Asal’s did.

The tigress was beautiful and her affections welcome. But the li-tigon knew, suddenly, that she wasn’t for him—not like that. Maybe no one was, but that didn’t matter. Because, just then, they both had bigger things to worry about.

Freak didn’t have to try, now, to not speak in a curt, blunt manner. Now, his speech was less forced and more natural. The Dark One had done a lot for him… in many ways.

“I’m glad to see you; I truly am. And so soon—this is good. How much was the Dark One able to tell you about what I have to do?”

As the white tigress padded along, purposefully, she thought, for just a moment, head angled downwards. Then, she looked up, blue eyes bright and powerful, in contrast with Freak’s more subdued, analytical gunmetal orbs.

“I know everything, Scarred One. The Dark One spent his last moments with me… I don’t understand what happened, fully. But I felt part of his consciousness enter me, and with it came knowledge. So I know the task in front of you… and I know how I can help.”

Freak nodded. The two cats were side by side, more or less, making good time to the south. The li-tigon found that he was grateful to be able to speak and act in such a purposeful, businesslike tone—reflection and meditation, now, wouldn’t accomplish all that much—now was the time to look ahead and act.

“That’s good. The Dark One said that you had a human friend who should be able to help…”

“That was just before he was killed… by humans.”

Freak instantly felt a bit of shame, and a bit of disappointment directed at himself. Banishing that thought from his awareness, he sighed. If Asal truly did have a human friend, he needed to be able to trust that friend without reservation—because now, the li-tigon knew, any mistrust or hesitation could be fatal. Hunters were, for inconceivable reasons, active, and the Season of the Rains had begun—it would reach every part of Hindustan within hours, no doubt.

“I do. I’ve already contacted him; he can’t meet us right now. I’ll take you to him, though, very soon, and don’t worry—humans are fearsome, vicious creatures, I know… but not him. I have never felt any fear from looking at him, not even for a second.”

Freak slowly nodded at that. Here was a being who had surely grown up in fear of humans. So, if she could accept one so completely to befriend him… surely, he could too? And yet, as the li-tigon looked to Asal, canting his head… he knew that she wasn’t a native. Her ruff was too long, her eyes too brilliant, her features too exotic…

“I wonder…” he said, after a few moments of silence, relative silence, as the duo moved across a hill, “Asal. …You… I wonder about you. You’re a foreigner—not as foreign to Hindustan as I am, perhaps… but you weren’t born here. You have an accent that no Hindustani tiger could hope to replicate.”

The li-tigon was being nosey. But shit—he had only been with the Dark One for a few days. The liger couldn’t possibly have ironed out every social ineptitude in his student so quickly.

Asal didn’t seem to mind, though. Cats were curious, thus was nature… and, despite his age and power… Freak was, in many ways, not yet an adult. Not yet.

“You’re quite right, Scarred One. I was born in the land north of Hindustan—the Feet of the Himalayas.”

The tigress seemed reluctant to continue. So, Freak pressed her, just a little, no aware that what he was doing might be perceived as impolite.

“So… why did you leave?”

Damn. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that bluntly.

The tigress just smiled, though, but faced forward as she walked along. It was refreshing, in a strange sort of manner, to speak to someone like Freak—he might be odd, paranoid and the committer of an untold number of faux pases, but he was an interesting person to go to a bar with—to share a walk with.

“It came down to a very simple manner, Scar. It’s a matter that’s easier to see than my eyes.”

The li-tigon canted his head, a little. Surely, it wasn’t that… surely, any being with two neurons to rub together to see that this tigress, this beautiful, kind tigress ought not to be made a pariah for a matter as silly and barbaric as that…

“My fur color,” Asal said after a moment, sighing, “I… till today, I don’t know why. An arrogant part of me holds that it is because in the snow and mountains of my motherland I have an advantage that none others do. But I cannot be sure.”

“What I do know,” she continued, after a moment of somewhat sad silence, “is that when I was a few months old, just a small cub, a kitten… I was forced out of my home.”

“I… don’t know how I lived. I had to teach myself to hunt, mostly, and to track and hide from larger animals. I... it was incredible. I don’t know how I did it, but I lived. But my cubhood… it was—“

“So… so hard,” Freak said quietly. He wasn’t looking at the tigress, even as she turned, a little, trying to face him. “But, above everything else… it was lonely.”

“That solitude…”

“I suppose I’ll never know, truly, what it took from me besides a cubhood and a chance at a normal life.”

“Yes… …how did you know, Scar…?”

“Because,” the li-tigon said, finally meeting Asal’s eyes, with his old smile on—not a natural, slight expression of happiness, but a forced, twisted, and false grimace, “I was alone from my first hour alive until I was a few years old.”

“I’m not bragging, nor am I looking for sympathy,” Freak said solemnly, “It’s just… …you know, the Dark One also had a hard cubhood. When I found that out, I was so surprised, and happy. I don’t… I feel hopeful, now. Because now, I know that there are others like me.”

“That I’m not and never have been alone.”

“I just wanted to let you know that, too, Asal,” the li-tigon said, his smile now more normal, “I just wanted you to know.”

The tigress smiled, and “accidentally” nudged her shoulder against Freak’s.

“I appreciate your sentiment, Scarred One…” she murmured, “But I already know that I am not alone.”

“My husband also had a harsh cubhood. His mother was killed—shot dead by hunters—in front of his eyes. His brother no doubt died moments later, or, worse, was captured. When I met him…”

“I was… so, so happy to find someone that tolerated me—that accepted me, grew to like me… then came to love me.”

The tigress’s smile light the jungle up more than her practically glowing fur. She smiled, and then turned to Freak, canting her head a few degrees.

“And you, Scarred One… aside from the Dark One, you have met beings that accept and hold love for you also, yes?”

The li-tigon’s smile wasn’t as close to splitting his maw in half as Asal’s. But, in its own way, it was just as powerful, just as precious… and far more rare.

“Yes… I was hated, for most of my life—the majority of my life. But… it seems like so long ago, now. Just months ago, though… I found family. Friends. And among them, yes… I even found love. And not just a little…”

“Vitani…”

His voice trailed off, and he didn’t continue. Asal, though, unlike Freak, had the sense to not press on. She knew he would continue, eventually, on his own accord, and, a moment later, the li-tigon did.

“I… yearn… to see them again. Not a day passes without me thinking of them. I want to be with them again more than anything else.”

“I’d die for it.”

He hadn’t said that, he hadn’t said it at all. And though Asal’s command of transphysical energy exceeded Freak’s, she couldn’t have read his mind in the same manner that the Dark One sometimes seemed to be able to.

So… she was a damned good guesser.

Conversation is like a fruit, ripe and fresh and sweet. Its flesh was one that Freak needed, desperately; he’d spent a lifetime without it, more or less. Asal’s mind was churning; guilt from her actions towards her husband and their cub was threatening to take over—she needed a distraction. She needed some way to occupy herself.

Neither cat noticed all that much. Of course they maintained a low level of situational awareness, but let’s be honest—they were two cats; two powerful, full grown cats. Any overconfidence on their part was reasonably expectable.

They were walking, side by side, still at a good, strong pace next to a very shallow puddle of water, perhaps big enough to sustain a few small shrimp, maybe even a crab or two. Treading on short, prickly grass and mud, their eyesight had almost degenerated into tunnel vision; they were fixed on what they were going to do, not what they were doing.

Maybe if they’d paid a little more attention, they’d have been able to avert what was coming.

Maybe if they’d learned the lessons that the Dark One had taught them better, they’d have known better.

Maybe… …The Lion Sheikh would… think of something to write here…

The tigress’s mouth opened, and, again, time slowed down for Freak, or, at least, it seemed to. She was smiling, and had been for a few moments, but then, her lips downturned. Then, her maw widened, not to speak but to shout in fear.

Freak’s eyes widened as he, too, began to react. He ducked, or tried to, but knew that he wouldn’t quite be fast enough to evade whatever was coming—

Asal, though… was fast enough.

Not to duck, though.

She was fast enough to jump.

Black stripes blurring into white fur to create an Oreo—a cookies ‘n’ cream—a gray blur, she shot through the air. The li-tigon, by now, understood what was going on, and tried to shout to Asal, to tell her not to do it.

But it was, of course, too late. She was already airborne and moving too fast to stop—she was also so single-minded in her purpose that she didn’t hear Freak. The male was still more or less standing, and so, there was only one way to save him.

Asal knew that swatting Freak wouldn’t help anything; the li-tigon was just too massive. So she shoved him, adjusting her own trajectory, just a little. There was a margin of error, but it was so small and things were going so fast, just then that the tigress knew not to try anything hopeful—anything stupid.

In the end, things worked out exactly as she wanted them to. Freak hit the ground in and of his own accord, whereas… something hit Asal. In and of her own accord.

The li-tigon, again, found that hearing was a sense that escaped him. The first thing he did, after hitting the ground, was turn, and grab Asal by the scruff of her neck, ignoring the foolishness in doing so.

The tigress was bleeding, badly, but that loss of body mass combined with her already small size meant that Freak could lug her around, easily.

Which was fortunate, as there was no cover in his immediate vicinity.

The ground seemed to suck at Freak, pulling him back, even as he raced against the time it would take for the human hunters to attack again. There was a big tree… fifty yards away. Odds of making it to that tree while pulling Asal along were slim.

But Freak had no choice; or, rather, he felt he had no choice; or, he accepted that he had a choice and made the decision because it was so obvious that in practical terms he had no choice.

Face set into grim determination, he yanked the tigress up onto his back, and ran.

All decorum and control forgotten in that all-out sprint, Freak found himself snarling as his maw opened wide to suck in energy-giving air. His eyes, both the scarred and the good one, crinkled up, shiny granite orbs peering out from beneath those thin, crumpled coverings.

Heart beating in his ears, as something powerful smashed into the ground beside him, Freak realized just how far away the tree was… and, for the first time, that his place as a predator… wasn’t set. Perhaps, to some… he was prey.

Freak had, sometimes wondered what it was like for prey when they looked at their predators—when they met their eyes and knew that they were inferior and, in all likelihood, doomed.

As desperation began to fade into hopelessness, as the tree seemed farther off than ever, Freak found out.

That’s why he hadn’t been able to detect them before. The li-tigon’s suspicions had been proven correct, because the few silhouettes, perhaps a mile and a half away were human to the core. Somehow, some way… they were attacking him and Asal from that distance. Somehow.

Freak’s foot caught on something. Perhaps it was a rotting root, a bone, discarded from some meal, or the ground itself. Regardless, he flew through the air, and tried to roll. Asal fell from his back, sliding across the ground—

But he’d made it. He’d made it. Not even taking a second to collect himself, the li-tigon pulled the tigress against the tree, panting. Freak listened, closely, then decided that danger was still a mile and a half off.

So then… he turned to Asal.

And froze.

Charcoal stripes were no longer set on a plush, white, feather-light bed. Now, they were set, carelessly, on a matted, drenched, blood-red coat.

Blood.

Her blood…

The li-tigon groaned, and then whined. This wasn’t right; wasn’t natural. The Dark One had just been killed… what was it, six hours ago? Less? And now, Asal…

Any attempts Freak made to stop the tigress’s blood loss were feeble—that’s because they were pointless, and he knew it. The li-tigon gritted his teeth, lip trembling, before he realized that Asal was speaking, and listened with all his might, giving up on first aid and just clinging to the tree, ear perked up and pressed against it to listen for any signs of human activity.

“I wonder,” the tigress whispered, resting against Freak with her eyes shut, paws folded over her injury as if peacefully, “why we are being hunted now. There’s no sense to it—the Season of the Rains is going to begin, and the hunters need to leave this part of Hindustan, to go to their homes far, far away. That can’t be done during the Season of the Rains.”

“Someone must have it in for you very much, Scarred One,” she murmured, smiling a tired, defeated smile.

Freak had an arm wrapped around the tigress, keeping her from slipping out from behind cover. But he held her tighter than was necessary. And why he did that might have been explained by the two or three small, clear drops of fluid that struck the back of Asal’s fur, just behind her neck.

“My time on this Earth is finished, Scar. Thank you for accepting that so readily… thank you. I have not known you for very long… but God, I know that I would have loved an opportunity to get to know you. It seems that this is not to be… …in this… …world…”

She gulped, dryly, trying to catch her breath, trying not to twitch and whimper in agony.

“So,” she continued a moment later, “You’ll have to find my friend with—not without. Just… …with less… assistance from me. I—”

Asal gasped, dryly. Horrifyingly, Freak heard a gurgling sound in the tigress’s throat, and knew what that meant. He’d killed prey by severing arteries before, so that they died of blood loss. So, that… terrible, dark sound… was one he was familiar with.

She was drowning in her own blood. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“I don’t have much time to tell you about him. But you will know who he is on sight, just like you knew who I was on sight. This is my hope, and I trust that the divine will see that it happens… I hope…”

The tigress coughed, quietly. She spasmed, heaving, trying to rid her lungs of the same blood that she so desperately needed elsewhere in her body.

“You… have to know… what… friend… looks… like…”

There was a long pause. Asal shivered in the li-tigon’s arms, for a moment, and Freak honestly thought, just then, that she’d breathed her last.

“No time. I have no time,” the tigress breathed—even though Freak was inches away, he had to stretch to hear those words. “Face… …his face. It’s… handsome, Sc… Scar… and pure. …You’ll know… him… on sight…”

“Now go. You have to—Scarred One… please… you must leave…”

The li-tigon didn’t budge, though. He didn’t say anything either, even as the tigress’s protests grew progressively more feeble and less determined. Eventually, Asal just gave up, and weakly nuzzled his paw. Time dragged by, but the tigress clung to life with the same instinctive fervor that Freak clung to her.

Eventually, at the very tail end of her life, she managed to speak again. It was in a tone so soft and so innocent and precious that Freak would remember it until the end of his own life.

“You comfort me, Scar… and I think how you do that so easily is a result of the same cause that gave us no difficulties in getting close to each another so quickly…”

“It’s because… you feel… exactly as Nasher does.”

“…Wait… …Your… Nasher’s… stripes…? They’re exactly the same, also…”

The tigress didn’t say that. She couldn’t, because by the time that thought crossed her mind, she was beyond speaking.

Freak’s eyes were shut as he felt Asal finally let go, growing limp in his arms. Moving slowly, so that the shakiness of his paw wouldn’t mar the tigress, he reached up… and closed her eyes as well, for the last time.

Refusing to wonder just how far away the hunters were, Freak took his time, slowly setting Asal down. His face was blank, but the gentle, respectful, affectionate manner in which he set her body to rest for the last time said that he felt… quite acutely.

At least, that’s what it would have said to an unbiased viewer in a level state of mind.

Freak’s nose twitched.

Then, eyes widening, he looked up in a flash.

Snarling, standing in a slight indent in the not-so-distant treeline—concealed from the hunters but not from Freak—was a tiger. He was older than Freak and just a little smaller, and livid with anger. Green eyes hard and pained and determined, he seemed to be trying very hard to not cross the short distance between himself and the li-tigon.

He couldn’t present a target to the humans, he reminded himself. He might no longer have a wife… but he still had a child to care for. Even if she—

Nasher growled, loudly, teeth clenched so tightly that blood collected in his mouth, mixing with saliva, before flying out as he spoke in a harsh tone so guttural it hurt to hear as well as to speak it.

“Get… away… from… her…”

Freak complied, slowly, eyes never leaving the tiger’s. His mind worked rapidly to wonder who he was and why on Earth he was here, making such a determined but profitless demand—

“Ah…”

“Her husband…”

“Brother…” the li-tigon said, sorrow and guilt in his voice, “Let me exp—”

“Be silent. I’ve seen and heard everything—SHUT UP!” he yelled, drowning out the apologies that Freak kept trying to inject into his words, “shut… up.”

The silence that followed was metallic, brittle, and had a sour, sickening taste to it. Freak’s expression was twisted and mangled, but the li-tigon didn’t dare speak—he didn’t dare. Nasher was just barely holding himself back from viciously assaulting him here and now.

“You have…” the tiger seethed, as the sounds of approaching hunters grew more and more painfully audible, “24 hours. Twenty four hours, then, I swear upon my wife’s soul that I am going to hunt you down…”

“And kill you.”

Freak was afraid. He really was—though Nasher wasn’t quite as big as him and probably not as adept of a fighter… the li-tigon had to remember that the tiger was on his home turf. And the tiger also believed that the reason he was fighting was a good one.

“No—I’m not—this isn’t what you think! Don’t—” But it was too late. Nasher was gone, vanishing into the jungle before Freak could track him. And this action was for a good reason…

The li-tigon stopped, dropped, and rolled. Then he moved in an erratic zigzagging pattern, dodging bullets from the left and right—the hunters had nearly managed to surround him. Fortunately, though, they didn’t dare truly use their firepower to its full power, since they risked lighting each another up.

Freak managed to get to the treeline, and ducked, still moving in a sporadic pattern. The humans couldn’t track him, so he managed to evade being shot again, disappearing in, perhaps, the same manner that Nasher had seemed to, just moments prior.

The li-tigon then felt a strange, strange need. He turned, ignoring the numerous crack-crack-cracks coming from all around, and the splintering of trees and vegetation all around him. His gunmetal eyes met all of his hunters, one after the other, juts flicking over them, for the most part. Some were tall, some were short, all were thin, some had no hair and some had long hair.

But the particular human that Freak’s eyes locked on was as distinctive as… well, the li-tigon himself. He was their leader.

He wasn’t unusually tall, nor was his weight remarkable. Dark brown eyes, somewhat lighter skin, a somewhat sharp nose, angled features, short, black hair, cleanly shaven…

The face of his enemy.

And let me tell you—it was evil.

Malice, selfishness, and greed were as plain on that face as the growing determination on it. Like the stick-like device he carried, the likes of which Freak were starting to understand, they were dominating, fierce, overwhelming.

The li-tigon tore his gaze off his enemy’s, and focused on running harder, faster. The leader of the hunters dropped to a knee, and, a moment later, a sapling just next to Freak was smashed in half.

What Freak was thinking of, though, wasn’t that, or the dozens of other bullets that ricocheted and blew divots all around him. What he was thinking of… was the fact that he’d just been responsible for the removal of another female from her mate. That he’d just, in effect, ruined yet another life.

“I’m sorry… for tearing another family apart…” the li-tigon murmured, as, finally, the slew of gunfire chasing him lessened.

He was whispering, so he was speaking to himself. He knew no one was listening, and so, expected no reply.

He felt guilt—enough guilt for tearing Asal from one being. He didn’t need to know what was revealed to him next.

Because, from a yard, or ten yards, or a hundred yards away—Freak would never truly know—Nasher roared, and called out, in a voice strangled with pain, rage, and hopelessness, “I and any Gods worth worshipping curse you, you freak, for taking my daughter’s mother away from her—forever!”

“Curse you!”

(Next chapter will be along sometime next month. I’m working on My Name, for now. This is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction… see you soon.)

Back                         Home                              The Lion King Main Page                          Next