THE LION KING: THE FREAK
The Lion King: The Freak (I admit that though this chapter is on the short side for this story, there’s plenty of substance to keep you occupied! Now, on with the story.) “I’ve got you in my sights, bastard. I wonder how long I’ll wait before my claws taste your flesh? Ten minutes? Five? Two? Less?” There was a hill in front of him—a small, rocky structure at the edge of a densely-packed forest. Following the freak’s trail, Nasher’s snarl was more pronounced than ever. The tiger was still smart, though—still controlled. His claws weren’t extended, and he balanced keeping a low profile to avoid detection with the need to hop up and get a view of things over the lazily waving grasses, taking advantage of the momentary lull in the Rains. Thunder growled, in the distance, after brief flickers of lightning brightened the tiger’s path, and the sticky, hot determination in his chest. Relying primarily on his nose, as his hearing was somewhat hampered by the chilled wind and the light spray of rain it carried with it, Nasher froze. “I say—this forest…” “He’s leading me into the Triangle of Pain.” Was this a trap, somehow---or, more likely, a trick? Had that thrice-cursed hybrid managed to divert his attention, somehow, fooling his formidable senses? Yet, as Nasher dared peek up over the tallest of the grasses, checking the landscape for visual cues with a practiced eye, he detected nothing but virtually irrefutable proof that the one with his daughter, and the blood of his mate, in his paws was within the limits of that terrible killing ground. For a moment, the tiger considered backtracking stealthily but quickly—he really did. Humans had methods of stalking and tracking that were beyond his comprehension—even at the moment, he might have been in the crosshairs of some distant gunman, for all he knew. And yet… Yet… “Kochai…” “Asal…” “If this was just for me, I’d give up. But I’m going to kill him for you.” “So.” “Prepare yourself, freak. I’m coming for you, even if I have to endure a thousand more Lances to reach you.” Maybe that bastard was bluffing, playing chicken; or maybe, for unknown reasons, he was just suicidal… or maybe he was delivering Kochai to the humans in exchange for his own fur. There was no way of knowing what a being like that, who would murder the most loving and peaceful female in Hindustan, was capable of. There was no way of knowing what motivated him, what drove him; therefore, there was no use in attempting to apply logic to his decisions.. Nasher was resolved to attack without warning or mercy, carrying justice out efficiently and viciously. Revenge is, they say, a dish best served cold. But can you really fault a husband and father for wanting to tear the monster that likewise tore his family apart in half? The li-tigon was used to moving with great speed through forests that were impassibly thick for most. He’d spent half his life in the Jungle doing just that, after all. It was odd, though. Freak knew he was running from a tiger, a foe that was trailing him by only minutes. But he could fight another big cat, and quite possibly win. So… why was he getting so scared, suddenly? Why was he shivering, why were his nostrils flaring and why was some nagging instinct twanging at the back of his mind, telling him that something was horribly, vitally wrong…? Freak jumped, breaking through a treeline and a few blades of tall, limber grass… then froze. Heart throbbing in his mouth, even as he still held Kochai, looking this way and that, the li-tigon had to ask himself—why were instincts that told him to stop, turn, and run in the opposite direction suddenly becoming unbearably strong? He couldn’t have stood still for more than a few seconds. Perhaps Freak’s estimations were off… or perhaps Nasher was astonishingly fast. After all… just then, the tiger had the motivation to move mountains. Sensing danger—immediate, imminent—the li-tigon dived, explosively, to the side. Kochai didn’t leave his grasp for a heartbeat, even as he tucked, rolled, and turned, skidding to a halt in a powerful defensive stance to face his aggressor. Snarling, growling, Nasher withdrew his paw from the ground. He’d punched down hard, intending to paralyze Freak from the lower torso down, finishing the fight before it could even begin. The tiger had missed, of course… and the blow had thrust aside gallons of dirt, burying his foreleg to the elbow. For the first time, the cats were allowed to face each other for more than a few brief moments. Freak still hadn’t set Kochai down, and he didn’t look like he planned to, either—this infuriated Nasher, causing him to start to circle his enemy. Slinking in a poisonously malicious manner, sinewy, limber muscles rolling over bones so smooth and oiled his motion could have been missed even if you were to stare right at it, the tiger flexed his claws, searching hard for an opening. Needle-like teeth bared, he tensed himself up, like a spring storing thousands and thousands of kilojoules of energy, just begging to be unleashed. Freak’s motions were more hesitant, jerky. He knew better than to underestimate the threat posed by the tiger before him… but he couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow, Nasher was the least of the threats around him in this area, whatever it was. “This is bad, this is bad… I can’t afford to fight with him, I need to get out of here. But what can I do? He thinks I killed Asal…” “And, in a way, I suppose he’s right…” Damn. Thoughts like that were pointless, at such a moment. Freak had to focus on the here and now if he wanted to live. Circling, he not only listened to the tiger, but divided his attention, listening for sounds of an approaching assailant, or an escape, a distraction; something, anything. However, what Nasher said quickly gained a monopoly on the li-tigon’s attention. “Put my daughter down, bastard. Now.” Freak froze, visibly, almost misstepping, creating a split-second opening that might have been fatal if he didn’t recover, quickly, batting at the air in a clear display of force: a threat. Circling again, the li-tigon contemplated, for a moment, before turning and tossing Kochai’s sleeping form onto his back. Nasher almost jumped, at that, racing to catch his daughter. That, too, would have been a mistake that could have finished the fight then and there, but the tiger recovered, and snarled a little louder. The two males were still feeling each other out, still circling. Both, though, had forgotten their perilous territorial position—no one had ever been this far into the Triangle of Pain, before… and returned alive, anyway. “Kochai, has he drugged you? I see that you’re breathing—there! You’re sleeping, deeply; you almost woke up, I saw it…” The tiger’s mind was working quickly, but he wasn’t lying to himself at all. The kitten had, indeed, stirred just a little, eyes fluttering, just a little… before closing, again. Kochai was on the brink of awakening, but was still quite unconscious. “That’s good, for her,” Nasher thought grimly, filing away every detail of the cat in front of him in his mind, scouring them over for potential weaknesses, “No cub should have to see what will happen here—that’s odd. His stripes… they’re very much like mine ,and Kochai’s, and my brother’s, and our mother’s….” It was almost enough of a distraction to make the tiger pause, question, leading them on a totally different course of events—a bloodless course of events, potentially, in which they’d both go off together, escaping before the humans came to gun them down… but not quite. “I… will… never,” Freak whispered, solemnly, almost, before snarling, voice raising, growing threatening and dangerous, “never… put her down. Not near you—I swear, I’ll never let her go with you. I know about you—shut up,” he hissed, cutting off Nasher with the acid-like maliciousness in his voice, “I spoke to her, earlier, and she told me everything; about you denying her food, attempting to hurt her… I understand, now, why she ran away.” “My only question is how,” he growled, seething, “how you managed to convince Asal to be your mate; how you managed to get her to mother your cub. You’re not a worthy relative of anyone,” the li-tigon finished in a simple, almost businesslike tone, eyes locked onto Nasher’s. The tiger seemed a bit… disquieted, at that. Freak’s words had made an old, nagging insecurity in him rise—and, let’s be fair, his treatment of his daughter really was reprehensible. And yet, who was the li-tigon to point that out? Freak was the one that killed Asal, Nasher remembered, so, what right did he have to say such things? To make such judgments? “None…” the tiger thought to himself, circling, considering his next move. “Alright… put her aside, so that you and I can finish this without distraction. I won’t touch her until you can no longer move… acceptable?” he snapped, long strands of saliva flying from between his teeth. The li-tigon’s face set into deep, brooding anger. Expression unreadable as he circled without response, for a moment, he eventually paused, and gently set Kochai at the base of a thicket of trees, never taking his eyes off Nasher. Then, he began to circle again. Without the kitten on his back or in his teeth, Freak had a much wider range of motion, and therefore techniques at his disposal—he was confident about the outcome of the fight, now. “I’ll beat him. This might be his homeland, but I’m bigger, stronger, faster, and… I don’t know for sure that I have more fighting experience than him, but if he’s been in more fights than me, I pity him. I really do.” The li-tigon had been born to violence and conflict, and odds were high that someday, he’d meet his match and die to violence and conflict. Until then, though, what else could Freak do… but work for good ends using the means he was good at? What—wait. Wait. Freak paused, slowly, halting, standing up straight and canting his head. Fearing a trap or some kind of unexpected assault, Nasher lowered himself farther, prepared to dodge or defend, but the li-tigon merely spoke in a odd, somewhat quiet tone. “I don’t know why… but something about this place doesn’t feel right…” Nasher, slowly stood up to. This area…. what was it again? It had been of great interest to him just moments ago, so why— “My God…” “That’s because we’re inside the Triangle of Pain…” Things were much worse than just that, in fact. Not only were the three cats well inside the rough polygon outlined by the three man villages most responsible for death and destruction, they were close to the northernmost village in the Triangle—the most feared one of them all, and for good reason. Over the past three years, raids from that village had very nearly exterminated tigers from the surrounding areas. The two cats were tense, staring at each other not with the desire to fight—they were just too frightened to react properly. But Nasher heard something—maybe it was the sound of a boot snapping a twig, or maybe it was the sound of his mind making an excuse for him to act—whatever it was, though, it made the tiger rush towards his daughter, intent on grabbing her and taking her away to safety. But despite his sudden, mind-numbing fear, Freak didn’t lose all sense of self and purpose. When he saw that tiger running viciously towards the poor, still comatose kitten, he reacted harshly. Nasher moved in a path that gave Freak a perfect shot towards his side. Rather than using his claws or teeth, the li-tigon jumped in and executed a perfect headbutt—his skull rammed directly into the tiger’s side, where his soft organs weren’t protected by ribs. By halting instantly, Freak insured that all of his momentum was transferred to Nasher, who was tossed aside, a contusion spreading under his fur already. Before the tiger landed, though, eyes bulged and gasping, Freak had taken Kochai. There was no time to run away, he had to hide immediately. There wasn’t any real cover, though, so, desperately, the li-tigon jumped up, almost straight up. Kicking off a tree’s trunk, he vaulted into a relatively protected position in its branches—even if the humans managed to find him and opened fire, Freak would have a few seconds to get away, and some protection against their bullets… maybe. Carefully clutching Kochai in his teeth, Freak watched Nasher manage to get up, and limp behind a fallen bough, hunkering down enough so that perhaps surrounding plantlife might prevent the humans from noticing him. Regardless of that, the two cats managed to glare at each other… before he entered the area. It was the leader, again, the one who had killed both Asal and the Dark One. Cradling a weapon in his hands that seemed almost overlarge, he approached the scene, traveling directly underneath Freak. It was certainly him—there was no mistaking those angled features, that sharp nose, that short, black fur-like material on his head… He was protected from the environment from head to toe in what the Dark One had said were clothes—a sort of suit that made the Rains flow away from his body, leaving him free to look from side to side, weapon at the ready—he knew he’d heard something. Freak’s attention was totally on the human—completely. He wasn’t looking at Nasher at all, nor anything else around him. That’s why he didn’t notice that Kochai was, slowly but surely, waking up, twitching, eyes flickering open without shutting, this time. She was half-conscious, or sleeptalking, or something. Because there was no way that a fully aware Kochai would have missed the tension crackling in the atmosphere all around her—no way that she would have jolted, suddenly, squeaking, “Shere Kahn!” loudly enough to startle Freak into letting go of her. “No!” The kitten fell through the trees—Freak tried desperately to catch her in a paw, but it was far too late. By the time he had reacted, she was well out of reach; there was no way he could grab her without jumping down and, effectively, committing suicide. “Wait…” Freak thought, blankly, watching as Kochai fell, “Shere Kahn...” “How does she know my grandfather’s name?” It made Freak flinch when Kochai landed. It wasn’t just that she fell perhaps five feet from the human—he saw her leg twist in an unnatural angle, and her agonized mewl made the fur on the back of his neck stand on end. The tension the li-tigon felt until then didn’t compare to what he felt afterwards. Every muscle in his body was taught; his grip on the branches crisscrossing to form a sort of nest beneath him was deathly. Pupils and nostrils flaring, claws extended, he knew he had to do something—but what could he do? The human was within spitting distance of Kochai, staring at her, ostensibly in curiosity… but his rifle wasn’t raised. The tigress, of course, was surely scared out of her mind—she wasn’t moving. She was staring right back at the human, leg twitching slightly… but nothing was happening. He wasn’t trying to scoop her up, or kill her, or anything. “What’s going on? Wait—have I mistaken him?” Freak thought, “Is this Asal’s friend? Why else would he not be attacking her?” There was no way to be sure, though. The li-tigon had confirmed the human’s identity by sight when he’d approached, but now, the human was facing away—there was no way to be sure. Scent suggested that Freak’s original hypothesis was still correct… but things weren’t adding up. Things weren’t adding up at all. He had no idea, now, who this human in front of him was—they all looked alike to Freak anyway, the li-tigon realized, so, really, this could be a friend, an enemy, a third-party neutral… who knew? Things were confusing enough without Nasher to further obfuscate them—but Kochai was in imminent danger. Her father had to react, somehow. And at the appearance of this new cat, the human did raise his rifle. “I don’t give a fuck,” Nasher snarled, twitching, caught between the desire to run and the desire to get his daughter, “I’m going to save my daughter, even if it means I take bullets for her. So, come,” he hissed, practically vibrating in anger, “Shoot me if you want, but you’d better kill me quickly… if you don’t, I’ll kill you.” Freak was still static—he had no desire to get tangled up in such a situation so ripe for disaster. Escape was still an impossibility, so the li-tigon watched, waiting for a chance to leave, as Kochai slowly, carefully edged away from the human, towards her father—apparently, despite everything, she still felt safer around him than the human. Nasher’s determination, though, faltered. His harsh expression broke, and, twitching, he tried to slip away, wondering what had gone through his mind a moment ago… more humans were arriving. Now, there were a half dozen or so of them—all armed. Converging in a rough semi-circle around the tiger, they knelt, conversing with each another in curt, short statements. Freak surmised from his rough comprehension of the tongue humans used that they were wondering why Nasher wasn’t reacting, somehow—why he wasn’t escaping or attacking. One guessed that the cub in front of them was his, but that didn’t make much sense—tiger males, traditionally, never even saw much less met their offspring. Kochai had definitely hurt her leg on her tough landing—she was mewling softly, tears streaming down her face as she limped, or tried to limp, towards her father, who was still rooted to the spot. Freak had to give the humans credit, though—they weren’t backing away in fear, though he felt certain that if Nasher acted, he could take at least a few of them down with him. They were, however, positioning themselves carefully… the li-tigon heard the leader say to “kill as efficiently as possible, to maximize profits”—at least, that’s what Freak gathered. The li-tigon knew that there was nothing he could do for either Nasher or Kochai. Closing his eyes, gritting his teeth, he bit back a growl of frustration—he hated having his paws tied. “Well… at least I’ll be able to escape, when they shoot...” The humans were about to fire. Their chambers were loaded with live rounds, ready to launch bullets at speeds exceeding that of sound into Nasher. Their objective, though, was to take him in as good of a condition as possible—only their leader would fire, first; but if he didn’t kill the tiger with his first shot, or if Nasher turned on them… he’d be chewed up by the onslaught of lead that would ensue. Silence… Then, gunfire tore through the landscape. But… It wasn’t the humans’. At least, not the humans that were hunting Nasher. One was hit and dropped to the ground, hard, a Picasso-esque explosion of blood erupting from his side. A second later, his comrades followed, facing a direction perpendicular to the one that they’d just assumed, returning fire. Nasher was forgotten as that firefight exploded out of nowhere. The humans that hunted him were facing a force that was, apparently, superior in either arms or numbers—for every shot they fired, four or five were returned. Like this, they couldn’t last… but what did Nasher, Kochai, and Freak care? The tiger grabbed his daughter and ran, not even trying to dodge gunfire; there was just too much of it to keep track of. Prancing through the humans’ formation, he leapt over spent shells, fallen branches, and puddles before vanishing into the jungle. Further affecting conditions was the fact that the Rains had started again, all at once. Lightning was crackling out over the terrain all around the humans and Freak alike. The hunters had to yell to communicate with one another, and the li-tigon noted with a degree of grim satisfaction that they knew that this wasn’t a battle they were going to win. It was time, though, to slip away unseen, unheard, and unmissed. A burst of gunfire chopped up a leaf next to the li-tigon, but, wisely, he didn’t spazz—random incongruities were bound to happen in a firefight of this scale; he had no reason to believe he was purposefully being targeted. Up in the trees, the li-tigon had a view unmatched by that of the ambushed humans. He still hadn’t been detected, and he wasn’t likely to be, so he might as well turn and get a look at the attacker, or attackers—who knew, their identity could be of value later. They could even be Asal’s friend. So, Freak turned… then blinked, shook his head, and ran before he was noticed. “I thought he was their leader. I thought he was under me. Why, then, is he attacking his friends?” Indeed—the lone human that Freak had seen assaulting the ones that had nearly killed Nasher and Kochai, that had killed Asal and the Dark One was the spitting image of their leader. Was this the inverse of a mutiny? Was he killing off his allies to consolidate proceeds, somehow? Was he being impersonated? What was going on? The li-tigon had ran fast and far. He had no idea where he was—everything in this part of Hindustan was unfamiliar; completely and totally. Things didn’t seem natural, somehow… paths were maintained with a level of obsession, even fanaticism that he wouldn’t have deemed possible if he wasn’t looking at it with his own eyes. There were no inconveniently placed branches, no poisonous plants, snakes, dangerous insect colonies or natural hazards. Things weren’t adding up in this… biosphere. That’s actually a very apt term for the part of the world Freak found himself in: he was, in fact, in the geometric center of the Triangle of Pain. The reason things were so… clean, so manicured, polished, and cared for was that the humans and their mongoose servants, particularly the Banghars, took a great deal of trouble to maintain things. Hunting, you see, wasn’t the villages’ only tourist attraction. This was, of course, of little consequence to Freak, mostly since he didn’t know of any of it. What the li-tigon did know, however, was that he knew nothing, and it was bloody well frustrating. He knew he needed information, and he knew that there was a lot of it just inches from his grasp… but he had no idea how to obtain it, or what to do to learn how to obtain it. There were so many steps towards his goal of returning to the Land of the Spirits (itself, an intermediary goal between his end goal of protecting his friends and family by defeating that warrior) that the li-tigon’s old, effective strategy of breaking down a staggeringly gigantic plan into doable chunks no longer seemed applicable. There was so much to do, so much to learn to do… and now, with Asal and the Dark One dead, the Banghar Clan and the humans still out with his blood in their eyes… the li-tigon knew he had no allies. The tigress’s supposed human friend seemed, sadly, to be complete bull— “Bah,” Freak said out loud. He looked up, and around, but everything looked the same to him—perfectly angled paths in the soaked, waterlogged grass, perfectly proportioned trees and the perfect number of picturesque streams and rivulets… he knew something was wrong, but not what. It was exasperating, and the li-tigon’s nerves and tolerance were wearing thin. And, to add to his frustrations, it was drizzling again, a little—not an innocent sort of sprinkle, a pathetic attempt by the elements to truly lash out, no. It was a precursor, a prelude to what promised to be a long series of storms that were typical of the Season of the Rains. Dark clouds started to roll overhead, plumes of moisture clawing across the sun. As shadows overtook Freak, he twitched once, annoyed. “Bah…” he repeated. There was no use in trying out one of the Dark One’s calming techniques—he’d been through so much shit so quickly, even for him, that their certain failure would leave him more tense and upset than ever. Best to just find a simple, innocent release for his anger… There was a rock in the li-tigon’s way. Pausing in front of it, taking a moment to do the lip-service of sniffing and listening, ensuring that its trajectory wouldn’t hit anything that was best left unmolested, Freak batted it with his paw, hard. It arced through the air, spinning in an odd, asymmetrical sort of manner, bouncing off a tree, once, before disappearing behind some bushes. Freak then noticed two things. One was that the jungle in front of him had been cleared out for hundreds of yards in any direction. Scorch marks and thousands, literally thousands of shiny, hollow cylindrical cases that seemed to result from the report of a gun littered the ground. In the near distance, a series of small, simple buildings spotted the landscape, indicating that it was a semi-permanent training camp, of some sort. The other was that a circular sort of hoop, with an extended piece of metal had caught itself on a claw the li-tigon had failed to fully sheath, apparently, when he’d gave that rock a satisfying thwack. Looking at it, in curiosity, sniffing at it, before giving it a lick, Freak’s eyes slowly widened. That chemical residue was unmistakable, he’d hit something that was made to— It wasn’t a thunk, nor a dull boom; not for Freak, anyway—the li-tigon was too close. What the explosion sounded like was a loud crack, a powerful, concussive blast that shattered leaves for yards in any direction, so that a fine, almost granular salad showered down in a confetti-like manner. Branches and earth and rock were thrown in all directions, becoming impromptu projectiles, as the grenade’s explosion rocked the jungle. Freak, of course, was scared out of his mind. Hearing only a dull, distant ringing in his ears at a tone that he’d have a hard time registering in the future, the li-tigon found himself sprinting in terror, failing to think or look ahead— Maybe it was random chance, or maybe it was punishment for taking the Dark One’s teachings truly to heart. Maybe it was just a well laid trap, or maybe it was karma. Whatever it was, he found the ground below him giving way, suddenly, opening up to swallow him in a rectangular hole, of some sort. Freak’s horizontal velocity was still great, though, so he shot through the air, far, attempting to get a hold on the far wall and claw his way out— But the ground was too moist, too soggy; it had too much give to it. Hopelessly, despite his best efforts, Freak slid down, straight down, far down, before coming to rest at the bottom of the tiger pit. Even as he paced, staring skyward, attempting to leap out a few times, Freak had to hand it to the humans: their trap was some kind of brilliant, because there was no escaping it and practically no detecting it. Freak roared in frustration, calling for help, a few times—but, of course, no one came, and his cries served only to attract the wrong kind of attention: the human kind. They’d be on him within hours, called not only by his cries but the explosion itself. Heart still beating hard, pulsating in his chest, Freak forced himself to close his eyes… and slowly but surely calmed. “This is my fault. I should have listened to the Dark One more; taken his words to heart. Karma is a bitch…” “…Well… now that I’m stuck here, I might as well make sure that I’ve learned how to deal with anger and frustration properly. It’s funny—as a cub, I knew better than to act in haste like this, because I knew that hasty actions can lead to death. I’m not stupid… so that means I’ve grown arrogant. I suppose this is fate’s way of cutting me down to size…” “By putting me at the mercy of beings more powerful than I am.” “I don’t think they’ll kill me,” Freak mused, as he shook himself off, once, releasing his breath, slowly opening his eyes, “They’ll take me alive—they’ll capture me.” “How I’ll escape from them, how I’ll get back to the Land of the Spirits…” “I don’t know.” “I suppose I should have realized how easy things were just moments ago. Because now,” he thought, sadly sitting down, descending into a subconscious state of relaxation, meditation, “Things have become even more difficult.” “I’m sorry, Dark One. I suppose I have to learn some lessons the hard way…” Déjà vu in Hindustan struck Freak not often, but on the occasions that it did, it was significant enough to stick. “I don’t think this is just ancestral knowledge written into my blood,” Freak thought, dully, still trying to get used to the fact that when carried like this, the blood that rushed to his head made thinking and seeing difficult, “I think that this, what’s happening to me right now, is a specific memory. Perhaps of my grandfather’s…” They were triumphant, all of them, when they’d seen that Freak was, indeed, the one they’d fruitlessly pursued for days now. Firing their weapons into the air in jubilation, slapping each other’s hands and backs, they soon lifted the li-tigon out, and now carried him on their shoulders. Hung upside down, suspended on a tree by his paws. He’d been carried for quite some time, now—of course, neither food nor water had been provided to him; the humans wanted to keep him alive but in subpar health, so as to decrease the long odds of an escape farther still. He had to survive, of course, so that they’d get their much-desired payment. As far as why the humans wanted funding, though, the li-tigon had little more than hunches. They were dressed in a manner notably different from the vague image of humans Freak had in his mind. They wore larger, flowing articles of clothing; they kept their hair long and wore small hats that only barely seemed to stay on their heads. Freak had also paid close attention to their talk, and managed to decipher it, to a degree. The four of them that were carrying him were grinning, chattering with one another about how much money this “freak cat” would bring them. That money, they said, would go towards food, clothing, infrastructure, and weapons to expand their forces for their own war. Large scale conflict, it seemed, really was a global problem that seemed to follow Freak. All in all, there were perhaps two dozen men. Freak realized that his encounters with these hunters hadn’t involved the same groups—he’d seen the leader on all occasions, of course, but their forces seemed to have split up in order to balance safety and the need to find and capture or kill Freak. Now, they’d converged to safely see their valuable, precious asset into the hands of its next owner… whoever, or whatever it was. The li-tigon’s fate was a mystery that he had no desire to speculate on. They were moving in three distinct lines, and had both a rear and a forward guard. The men that carried Freak were buffered from the thick, dangerous jungle by comrades—armed, of course. The leader, who Freak recognized by scent, was at the front. The device he held in his hand was small, but he seemed to be using it to navigate, somehow—perhaps it read the Sun, the stars, and the Moon as Freak did, but took all that information and somehow converted it for easier digestion. Whatever it was, though, the task of setting his course was one accomplished in seconds. The hunters praised him, as he passed, stalking towards Freak, ignoring them and hefting his weapon, for his decision to hunt before and into the “Monsoon”, so as to avoid attention from foreign, rich hunters. He stopped, just next to Freak, and then began to walk, inches from the li-tigon’s side. Freak felt the cold, hard barrel of his gun against his side, and flinched, hissing, a little, as the hunter examined his prey. Snarling up at those deadly, angular features, darkened skin and darker eyes, further set apart from his allies by his short-cut hair, he inspired fear even in the defiant li-tigon. Smirking, the hunter drew a long, wicked-looking knife, and toyed with it in his hands. Consequently, Freak fell silent, swallowed, and hung limp, again, muscles slackening under his fur. They’d made a lot of progress, over the past… hours? Days, maybe?... and this new part of Hindustan was again different from anything Freak was used to. Large, rocky hills arose out of nowhere, separated from one another by plains, sometimes, but usually forests not quite as thick as those the li-tigon was used to. The terrain seemed to tend towards aridity (except now, of course, during the Season of the Rains); as was suggested by the limber, sharpish look of the trees, the grasses, and the bushes of this new land. Freak sighed, once, but didn’t react. The human was good with his knife; he was able to make rapid, deadly slices increasingly closer to the li-tigon’s nose, ears, eyes, and fur without actually allowing his blade to taste flesh. Freak, though, refused to be instigated, so, soon, the hunter gave up his cruel game. The li-tigon looked up at his captor, again, though, and wondered. Brow furrowing, eyes narrowing, a little, he carefully analyzed that distinct face again—it squared with what he’d seen, earlier, but… that just didn’t make sense. “You attacked your friends, earlier… right? Was that you that approached Kochai, or was it you who effectively saved her? Are you… an imposter? Where you impersonated? Are there actually two different groups of hunters… was there an overthrow, of some sort, and was one group enveloped by the membership and leadership of the other?” “Or am I just trying to understand something beyond understanding?... after all…t he affairs of humans seldom have rhyme or reason to them. That’s what instinct tells me.” “Maybe I should just stop thinking about these things that don’t concern me,” Freak said, this time, flinching as the human’s blade suddenly and cleanly sliced off one of his whiskers, “And relax.” “After all, for once, I know my fate.” “Death, or worse—hopefully death… it’s certain.” With that thought in mind, Freak was able to ignore, for the next hours, over which the group stopped, several times to eat, rest, take water and their bearings, the numerous blows, gobs of spit and dirt that were flung at him. He even smiled at them, a few times… ah, in a way, he felt bad for them, really. Their lives really must have been terrible, if they were put positions that allowed them to think that such treatment of a helpless prisoner was acceptable. His fate was certain, but his geographical destination wasn’t. As far as Freak was concerned, he’d again been taken from everything familiar to him, everything he might have had a chance of caring about… and thrust into a new, different world; another set of opportunities for fate to taunt him with hope, but disappoint him with loss. The li-tigon was either asleep, in deep meditation, or both, when gunfire shrieked through the air. The left side of the treeline, buffered from Freak by a line of humans was chopped up by the distant roar of what sounded like the leader’s weapon, being fired several times each second. The hunters reacted well, and quickly dropped to their knees or bellies, drew their weapons, and returned fire to cover their retreat. Yelling at each other, shouting, though, as one of the four carrying Freak went down from a shot that created a cavity the size of a watermelon in his chest, they knew they were on the losing side of this gunbattle. The attackers, whoever they were, were now opening up with smaller weapons. More bullets—smaller bullets—forced the hunters to hit the dirt, again, incapable of even snapping off shots of their own. Freak had been dropped, of course, as his bearers fell back into the treeline on the opposite side of the path. They weren’t running, though, just taking cover. Even as the li-tigon struggled to get free, heart beating so fast that he was almost in danger of cardiac arrest, Freak heard their leader speak, as his troops reloaded their weapons. “Put up a smoke screen to our one-thirty, and get a machinegun set up. Jamal, Mahmoud—cover our left flank, and prepare to advance on my command. The rest of you—lay down covering fire, I’ll snipe. From here on out, use nonverbal signals or radio only… I have a feeling that these are not soldiers or police attacking us… but—“ Freak had been in the clearing, a slight depression, in front of the hunters. The attackers, whoever or wherever they were, had only been firing occasional shots in the general direction of their targets, but now, the li-tigon knew why. Something fell from the sky—he wasn’t sure what, exactly—but upon contacting the ground, it exploded slowly, taking enough time for Freak to yell and cower, or try to, as it shoved him across the ground, into a tree. The li-tigon saw stars, and tasted blood in his mouth—his blood. Blinking rapidly, he groaned, and squirmed hard, struggling to get his paws out of the knots they’d been tied into… but it was useless… useless. The leader was yelling, now, and his comrades quickly acted. Freak had been thrown backwards, on the trail, so that the two men that had been assigned to cover the left flank ran right past him, hunkering down among some bushes—they were presumably hidden from the attackers; invisible assailants ready to strike on command. The rest of the hunters threw rock-like devices similar to the one that had gotten Freak into this mess up the trail. Rather than exploding, though, they sent thick, broad columns of white smoke into the air—plenty of cover, and a great deterrent to attack. The battle had resumed, now. The hunters were returning fire with a weapon that required two men to use; one to fire and one to feed it. Freak was still struggling weakly to rid himself of the log tied to his paws, but it was a losing battle… and blood was slowly spreading from a wound on his shoulder—he’d been hit by a bullet, or a piece of shrapnel. A few more explosions went off, close enough to Freak to throw dirt on him and make his ears ring, but far enough to not toss him into the sky again or injure him. Whoever was launching those airborne bombs had improved his aim—the li-tigon saw two or three men scream, their flaming bodies smashed into trees to break off into several charred parts. The machinegun fell silent, for a moment, before someone else manned it, returning fire again with a vengeance. The attackers, however, had spread out. In the distance, through vegetation and smoke and dust and debris, Freak could see the flowery blasts issued by numerous automatic weapons. Behind him, the hunters’ leader had opened fire with his rifle, and the attack started to falter, a little. More explosions went off, though, targeted behind the majority of the hunters, still firing dutifully with their weapons, presumably intended to distract or suppress the sniper—the move was successful, and, quickly, the hunters were locked into a near stalemate that they were slowly losing. Stubbornly, though, they didn’t give up. Freak could see the snarls on their faces, the harsh determination in their sharp, practiced maneuvers. Their goal, it seemed, was no longer to safely ferry him to… wherever. They’d lost some of their own, and now, with the li-tigon laying forgotten on the ground, it seemed that they intended to make their attackers pay tenfold, money be damned. But whoever had attacked the hunters was advancing, slowly. They were now only yards from the treeline, and now, the hunters had been forced to pull back. Still, the two crouching mere yards from Freak waited, tensely, for the order to jump out of cover and take their enemies by surprise in a sudden, flanking action that would stop the advance in its tracks, giving the rest of the group time to regroup and mount an effective counterattack. The order was sent a second later. Jamal and Mahmoud stood, firing rapidly, rushing towards their enemies’ flank— Something happened then, though, that no one could have foreseen. The duo went down a second later, as a roar was heard and a large, striped figure leaped from the trees, breaking one’s neck with a powerful strike, tackling the other to the ground before finishing him with a mercifully quick bite. Keeping his head down, despite the fact that the hunters were too busy covering their suddenly hasty retreat to target him, the newcomer approached Freak, teeth still dripping blood, across the scorched earth and foliage. “Wh… what are you doing…” the li-tigon groaned, really starting to feel his injury now, only capable of weak, pathetic maneuvers that would be useless in defense against the healthy cat, “You have a daughter to protect… why attack me, brother… I’m finished…” Nasher’s eyes were narrow, face harsh as he stood over Freak, extending his claws. The li-tigon merely sighed, and closed his eyes… at least this would be quick… But when the tiger’s paw moved, he didn’t slice Freak’s throat or gut… but the rope that bound him to the log. The li-tigon blinked, flexing his freed paws, and watched, bewildered, despite the gunshots and explosions all around him, as Nasher sliced the rest of the rope apart. The tiger made the final few incisions, and moved back towards Freak’s face, but the li-tigon wasn’t about to wait to see what Nasher’s intentions were—he bolted. He didn’t get far, though, because an unexpected smattering of gunfire drilled a dozen or so identical holes in a tree right next to him. Distracted, the li-tigon faltered—and that gave Nasher time to act. Freak let out a loud “oomph” as the tiger jumped on him. The li-tigon was too surprised to react, so, despite his greater mass, Nasher was able to win their brief but furious wrestling match, pinning Freak on the ground, belly down. As bullets streaked just over their heads, trailed by the sounds of them hissing through the air, Nasher spoke. “I’m not attacking you,” he snarled—that made Freak blink, and stop struggling. The two cats shielded their faces from a too-close explosion, and Nasher resumed his explanation, albeit in a much hastier tone. “My daughter thinks you’re our relative. I’m Shere Kahn’s brother,” he said, voice as determined as his expression, his flat ears, and the tension in his muscles, “Are you—” “His grandson,” Freak said, knowing that the awe of meeting a living relative of his maternal grandfather would set in later, “It’s a long story. I’ll explain later,” he finished, curtly, cutting off the way Nasher’s eyes widened, his jaw started to drop, and his head tilted—they had to leave now if they wanted to live. The tiger nodded—once, quickly, simply—and jerked his head for Freak to follow. The firefight was still on, and the cats had to crawl, essentially, to avoid being shot. Nasher seemed to know what he was doing, though, so Freak felt reasonably safe, even as bullets flew all around them. The jungle was suffering just as much as the combatants presumably were. Already, several trees had been reduced to glowing, smoking splinters, and countless smaller plants had been annihilated, shredded into little bitty pieces by explosions and gunfire. Still, the hunters continued to defy their attackers, who, likewise, continued to press their targets. Escape, thus, was a welcome choice for the cats. They left the worst of the fighting behind before finally getting up and sprinting. Despite the fact that they were still very much in harm’s way, Freak felt a great sense of relief when Kochai joined them, before being picked up by her father. A scorching wave of heat rolled out, singeing the fur on their backs. Freak turned to watch a giant, flaming fist punch up into the sky, mushrooming into a evil-looking, dark cloud. Seconds later, burning shrapnel landed all around the trio, encouraging them to run faster yet. But, to Freak, something didn’t seem right. He’d been deprived of food, and rest recently, and had spent the past days in a quasi-constant state of pent-up stress. Blinking rapidly, the li-tigon stopped himself from having an out-of-body experience… sort of. Because still, as they ran, Freak couldn’t stop his mind drifting away from the here and now. Eyes darting side to side, rapidly, he wondered what instinct was nagging him this time, warning him of some thus far unseen, unknown, yet approaching danger. “Wait…” That was it. That was the danger—“Wait,” Freak said, audibly, looking up in fear that wasn’t quite rational, semi-bloodshot eyes paranoid, “We need to stop… think.” “Are you insane, boy?” Nasher replied, after tossing his daughter to his back, running as fast as ever, even as the li-tigon slowed, “Not until we’re miles from this place. What’s wrong, anyway?” “Just… when you run from one danger so single-mindedly, so recklessly…” The trio burst out of a treeline, suddenly… then froze. “….You stand a good chance of running into another.” Nasher hadn’t stopped that crazy sprint only due to Freak’s words, of course, though they resonated with some deep instinct in him. His uneasiness had grown, and, given time, yes, the tiger might have proceeded more cautiously. What rooted him to the spot, though, was the sudden appearance of a human, not ten yards from them. And not just any human, either. Freak recognized him—this was the human that had shot Asal, and the Dark One, and had tried to do the same to him… “Wait… wait… no, this doesn’t make sense…” “Stop blathering, boy. You’ll just make him decide to shoot you, first.” Freak blinked, and looked to Nasher. He’d set Kochai down, who had crouched down, watching the scene with wide eyes. Her father was circling, slowly, looking directly, intently at the human, who was heavily armed. The li-tigon started to circle, too, but his head was cocked—he wasn’t preparing to attack, he was just trying to see the human from all angles… “Wait, Nasher… don’t attack him,” Freak said, “I think—” “So, you are insane,” the tiger hissed, intently, “Come. We’ll attack together, when we’re on opposite sides of him. That way, he’ll only kill one of us, at most—” “NO! WAIT!” the li-tigon suddenly roared. Even as the human drew beads on both grown cats, using two weapons in conjunction with one another, gaze shifting back and forth between them, the jungle fell silent. Nasher was still in that low, fluid fighting stance of his, but Freak was fighting every instinct to not drop into a more powerful stance—maybe, just maybe, he could make sense of this. “What are you talking about? He’s their leader! He’s the one that SHOT MY WIFE!” Even as Nasher’s words dropped off into hyperventilation, Freak shook his head. “No, that’s not it, I think,” the li-tigon said, still wary of the human… who had still failed to open fire and kill them both. “The one that killed Asal and the Dark One… he’s back there, with the rest of the hunters. This one attacked them, but see, he’s alone. He’s not a leader of any hunting party, so, I think… I think this one is Asal’s friend.” Nasher’s eyes widened, as did Kochai’s—neither suspected that the beloved tigress had been sneaking off not to keep herself fit, or clean her fur or whatever it was, but to interact with a human. The tiger’s lips peeled back into a snarl as he spoke. “You’re lying. Look at his face—it’s the spitting image of her killer. He smells the same, also… look, I’m not sure if my wife was hypnotized, or just fooled… but this man killed her. And if we don’t act now, he’ll kill all of us—no. He’ll kill you and I, and take Kochai captive. We have to finish him while we have this small chance.” Freak shook his head, though. He was still staring at the human’s face, and, for the longest time, the human had been staring back. True, this one was, as Nasher had said, the spitting image of Asal’s killer, yet, there were some distinctions between him and the one with the big rifle, whose party had just been attacked. “What was it that she said… his face, is… handsome, and pure….” The li-tigon’s eyes narrowed—now, he started to growl a little, albeit in frustration. “I don’t know if he’s handsome,” Freak said out loud, “But when I look at you, I see only purity. So… wait, Nasher… just for a moment…” The tiger had been coiling up, preparing to jump and knock the human’s head from his shoulders, taking advantage of the distraction that Freak’s mad words were providing. But, reluctantly, he held back… just for a moment. “How does he know that signal? When mother taught it to us, she said it was a very, very well-kept secret…” From behind the scant cover the plants and grasses all around her offered, Kochai lifted her head, a little, watching, as Freak began to perform that maneuver—the one the Dark One had taught him in his final moments.. Nasher’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing intently curious, no longer bloodthirsty. The li-tigon finished the signal… but the human didn’t react. Instead, he turned, glaring at Nasher, then Kochai. Still, no one attacked. Freak repeated the maneuver… then, so did Nasher, and then, so did Kochai. And then, slowly, the human lowered his weapons… then dropped them. As the cats looked on, he continued to disarm, pulling off grenades, several blades, and another firearm. Finally, he stood up, tall and strong, hands bare. Looking from Freak, to Nasher, to Kochai, back to Freak, he returned the signal, performing it flawlessly. Occasional gunfire still punctuated the silence, off in the distance, as the human quickly began to put his weapons back on. Holding a small, square device, he manipulated it in a manner that didn’t make sense to Freak. A moment later, more explosions went off. Looking up at the cats, the man smile, and then, impossibly, spoke in a tongue that was comprehensible to them. “Please come with me, dear friends,” he said, “I have food and shelter for you.” As their surprise wore off, the cats’ faces wore smiles, despite everything. Humans had powers over the environment that they didn’t understand, so, during the Season of the Rains, what he offered them were luxuries. Suddenly, they turned, as numerous… devices, rolled out of the forest. They were about as tall as Nasher, and had wheels on the bottom. They were mounted with guns of all manners… Freak guessed, correctly, that this human was somehow controlling them, remotely, becoming a practical army of one. A larger device, painted with camouflage and large enough for the human to pile all of his mechanical helpers into was nearby. Freak and Nasher wanted to help, but didn’t dare touch the small machines—they feared breaking them, or causing them to spray gunfire in every direction. Still, the man worked quickly, and soon, his pickup was loaded. He ignited the surprisingly quiet engine of the vehicle, and motioned for Kochai to join him in the cabin. After giving her father a questioning, pleading look, to which Nasher reluctantly nodded, the tigress nuzzled his shin, hopped through the window, and smiled up at the human. Then, as Freak flanked the driver’s side of the truck, Nasher on the opposite side, giving the vehicle wary, untrusting glances, the li-tigon looked at the human again. True, he didn’t seem exactly the same as the one that killed Asal and the Dark One, but the small deviances between his features and the killers could easily have been faked; they were totally cosmetic. And who knew how adept humans were at guising themselves to cats? Mistrust threatened to rise in Freak, but the li-tigon bit it down. Then, knowing the human wouldn’t understand him, he spoke to the ground, as they moved on, ostensibly towards some safe haven—hopefully. Thunder rumbled in the near distance, and wind kicked up—soon, the Season of the Rains would strike again, in greater force, or frequency, or both, than the storm that had preceded this one. “I don’t understand,” the li-tigon said, glancing up at the human, “Are you a double agent of some sort? Did you switch sides; are you an imposter? I don’t understand…” Freak looked up suddenly, shocked, as the human replied, his quiet voice hardly audible over the sudden rain and wind and thunder that came in a wave across Hindustan. “My twin brother and I,” he said, “Are two very different people.” “It’s just a little place, so don’t expect much luxury,” Raj said. Since their meeting, a few hours had passed. The human and the cats had introduced themselves to one another on the move, but hadn’t said much more. Though the cats felt safer around such a powerful ally, they held no delusions that they were untouchable: still intent on escaping their hunters for good, they focused on moving. Now, the human parked his truck, dismounted, and now, carried one of his “little friends” in his arms. Kochai tried to hop out of the window, caught her foot on the glass pane, fell, but rolled to her feet, smiling brightly at her father, who just rolled his eyes. They were at the base of a mesa, a large, impassibly steep and treacherous structure made mostly of rocks and earth. Ostensibly, there was plant life at the top, but Freak couldn’t see from where he was. Yet, the human was approaching the small mountain as if he intended to climb it. “Wait…” the li-tigon said, looking skeptically at his newest ally, “You don’t expect us to climb to the top of this, do you? Perhaps you can, but I know that I, at least, can’t. And if we can get to the top just by climbing….” Freak said, before taking in a slow breath, “Then others can, as well.” Raj smiled, just a little, a slight, lopsided smile that was reminiscent of Freak’s rare expressions of happiness. He turned back to the mesa, and said, “Don’t worry… just follow me.” Nasher looked at Freak, as Kochai playfully loped after the human, batting at his feet as if they were her newest toy. The tiger mouthed, “He’s bloody insane!” to Freak. The li-tigon shrugged, and watched, hoping he’d be impressed, somehow. And, as it turned out, he was. The human felt around at the mountainside, apparently searching for something. A moment later, he leaned back, pulling… A large door appeared, camouflaged into the rock so perfectly that even as he watched it open, Freak had to blink several times to make sure that the Earth itself wasn’t opening up to swallow whoever got too close. The entrance was large enough to admit even the large cat with ease, and, inside, an earthen set of stairs was visible. Raj took two, turned, smiling, and beckoned at the wary trio. “Come on,” he said in a friendly tone, as a loud growl of thunder rolled across the land, “It’s safe, I promise…” Nasher and Freak shared a glance—things were getting a little too suspicious. Of course, the human seemed trustworthy enough, and he hadn’t raised a finger at them since they’d met; but still… this was a little too much. Entering such an enclosed space, in an area that was foreign to begin with… it would take some motivation. Safety, for instance. Or food. Or shelter from the large, blood-warm drops of rain that began to spill down from the Heavens. The li-tigon was the first to enter, somewhat entranced by Raj’s calm, gentle coaxing. Padding slowly, he entered the cavity, glanced side to side, nodded to himself, then jerked his head for Nasher and Kochai to follow. “That’s good. Now, watch yourselves…” the human said. What he did next was a mystery to Freak, but whatever it was, it caused the door to slowly yet firmly shut, bathing the cats in darkness. Almost. For despite how deep the stairwell was in the mesa, a dull glow managed to penetrate from locations unknown—ostensibly, the surface, wherever it was. “This way,” the human said quietly; he didn’t have to be loud, as his whisper echoed around in a somewhat spooky way, making Kochai take refuge behind her father’s foreleg. Raj began to walk, treading up the somewhat dusty, somewhat dirty stairs, one at a time—he couldn’t go fast, due to the bizarre contraption in his arms, but that was fine. Freak felt that due to the level of anxiousness he felt, if he was made to hurry he’d grow excited and sprint, embarrassing himself. Instinct was instinct, but the li-tigon did feel some sense of dignity… on occasion. Sharing a glance with the male feline, the li-tigon started to move. Hearing more than seeing Nasher pick his daughter up by her neck’s scruff, for the next moments he tried not to focus on the way the walls seemed to press in on him, the light failing to grow brighter, as if this terrible tunnel would never reach and end… Well, of course, in the end, it did. Blinking once, then twice, Freak got out of Nasher’s way, flanking the human’s side with a twitching tail. His gunmetal eyes were wide, but unlike the tiger, he didn’t audibly gasp and drop Kochai. The kitten was similarly dumbstruck, and cleanly hopped up to her father’s back to get a better view of the garden that splayed out across the mesa’s top. “There’s a legend,” Raj said, silently, audibly, but so silently that his soft voice didn’t break the spell cast by the view, “Among humans. It’s about our origin. They say that when the first man and the first woman were created, they were put in a very, very special place… a paradise, of sorts. Now, I don’t know if this is where they were,” the human admitted, before shrugging, grinning, once, and setting his machine down, “But the birthplace of humanity can’t be much different from this, if the legends are right.” The mesa was bigger than Freak had anticipated. It stretched out for what had to be miles, containing every Hindustani terrain Freak was aware of. The li-tigon could see this because they’d emerged on a small plane that was slightly rised, giving them not quite a bird’s eye view of the relatively flat surface. Forests, deserts, jungles, grassy meadows, lakes, rocklands… none were particularly large, of course, but who was complaining? This place was a greater training field than the li-tigon could have asked for. “You said you had food here for us, young human,” Nasher said after what seemed like a long time, tearing Freak’s eyes away from the candy they pored over, in as gruff a voice as possible, “I hope that you’ll deliver on this promise; I believe strongly in honesty.” Kochai glared at her father, then shot Raj an apologetic look, before sighing, and heading off to explore a nearby tree, and, of course, give her claws a taste of its trunk. Smiling after the young tigress, the human nodded, and manipulated that small device with a hand, presumably causing the little helper he’d brought with him to stand sentry near Kochai, an armed escort of sorts. “I value honesty as well, Uncle. Don’t worry,” the human said, “See, there, in the distance… at the far side of that lake…” Getting a little closer to the human, still wary, Freak peered out over the thick, wet forest that formed the habitat nearest the foursome. Stripes glistening due to condensation slowly forming on his fur, he blinked. “You have good eyesight. Nasher—” “Yes, yes…” the tiger said, somewhat grumpily, somewhat dismissively, giving a larger berth to the human than Freak did, “A family of deer. Good fare… though, in the Season of the Rains…” Nasher opened his mouth, then closed it. Then, he repeated that routine, as if trying to, but not quite able to say something, causing Raj to laugh, once, and head off into the forest, walking backwards. “Don’t worry, Uncle, the look on your face is thanks enough. I’m sure that, in time, you’ll grow used to the presence of a human.” He turned around, then, and added so softly that Freak only barely heard him, “Though Lord knows that I haven’t.” The li-tigon watched, then, as Raj disappeared into the trees surprisingly well—sure, Freak could still sense him, but already, at twenty five yards apart, his senses were strained. Humans, apparently, or at least this human, had an affinity for stealth that would be tough to beat. His ear flicked to the side, though, followed by his head—and then, the li-tigon had to stifle a grin at the new expression on Nasher’s face. Already humiliated from having to accept help from a human, the tiger was dismayed, now, as he spoke. “In time?... Just how long do you expect for me to stay here—oi! Come here, you unruly youngster, look at me when I’m speaking to you! Hey—where’s Kochai?” Indeed, Freak observed, for once not feeling the spike of adrenaline or worry generally associated with the realization that the tigress had slipped off. “Is there no respect for elders these days? What is the world coming t—not that I’m old,” Nasher said thoughtfully, casually stroking the graying fur at the bottom of his chin with an extended digit, “No, no, not at all…” The tiger turned to Freak, and, for a change, the li-tigon felt genuinely grateful that the emotion he felt inside wasn’t visible from the outside. Face blank, near-black eyes expressionless, he merely canted his head, a little, until Nasher just sighed, and turned back to the jungle, head hung as he padded off. “Brilliant, I say, brilliant.” the tiger groaned, “Stuck on the top of an overgrown hill with an unruly daughter, a friendly human, and a peculiar, silent relative.” “…I’m too bloody old for this!” For all of us, things exist that we must adapt to. Freak, for instance, had to adapt to life with other cats. Usiku had to adapt to a life generally free of mass-killings, assassinations, and government overthrows. The Lion Sheikh had to adapt to life in a country without—that’s another story. Nasher, though, had to adapt to life, as he’d said, on top of an overgrown hill with an unruly daughter, a friendly human, and a peculiar, silent relative. He was doing it kicking and screaming. But, well, eventually—and when I say eventually, I mean eventually… he did it, sorta. Sure, the tiger wasn’t necessarily talking about politics and religion with Raj, or approaching him, as his daughter did, to be petted or rubbed, but, at least, Nasher was tolerating his presence—reluctantly (sort of like how your grandparents might tolerate the Internet or cell phones… if they do at all). Still, though, Freak had to admit that life atop the Sacred Mesa, as Raj referred to it, was quite good. He was eating, resting, and training, all in the same day—living the life, y’know? Over the week since they’d arrived at the peak, Raj had left, several times, once for two full days at a stretch. Sometimes he’d return with an explanation, sometimes without, but always with a useful tidbit of information or intelligence. Once, Freak had questioned him, after a long absence, what the Banghar Clan was up to. Raj’s only response was that they’d be dealt with, an answer that sent a cold expression of satisfaction across Freak’s face. We rejoin our heroes at dusk, seated around a tall campfire built by their combined efforts. Kochai was on her back, giggling madly, batting at her father’s playful mock-attack’s. Seated on the opposite side of the fire was Freak, merely watching the scene with somewhat of a sense of wonder, awe, even desire—what was it like, he wondered, he pondered with every fiber of his being, to father a cub? What was it like to play in such a manner with a being that would carry on your blood, your ideas, your hopes and your aspirations…? Raj was sitting on a log, perpendicular to the rough line created by the positions of the three cats. Staring into the flames, which crackled, now and then, sending a smoky, odorous haze into the air that seemed to keep insects away, he slowly popped small granular snacks from a bag in his hand into his mouth, clearly contemplating something. Freak, of course, had told the human everything about everything. It had been somewhat tiring for the li-tigon to explain his entire life’s story, essentially, to Nasher and Raj. It had been somewhat painful, as well, and, unsurprisingly, quite graphic—Kochai had been told to give the trio some “grown ups’ time”, but not to stray too far. The story had taken the better part of a morning to retell, and, of course, when Freak was done, he’d had to spend the rest of the day tracking down Kochai. “Not that that wasn’t enjoyable,” the li-tigon reminisced, smiling, a little, at how he’d pinpointed the tigress, but blundered in, asking, dramatically, rhetorically, where she was, before collapsing to the ground when she “suddenly” pounced on him. Life for Freak, though, was a dynamic force. Never constant for long in any manner, the tranquility and relaxation he’d found at the mesa’s top… was at an end. Sort of. “Scarred One,” Raj said suddenly, looking up, directly into the li-tigon’s eyes, meeting them with a look as cold and roughened as Freak’s most common expression—the human’s suffering wasn’t as great as Freak’s, in some ways… but he was a fighter, to be sure. “It is time,” the human said, before sucking in a long, slow breath… but failing to continue. “Time, for…?” the li-tigon prompted, as Nasher and Kochai both looked up, intrigued, the latter flipping to her feet in a corkscrew that reminded Freak of his grandmother’s unique fighting style. Raj remained silent, for a moment. Then, slowly, he pulled a rifle onto his lap—it was loaded, but there was no round chambered. However, when he pulled the charging handle back, slowly, darkened hand dancing in the unpredictable light of the fire, before letting it slide forward with a loud clack, that changed. Freak bristled, but didn’t react. After all this time, he’d grown to trust Raj—he really had. “It’s time,” the human finally continued, “To train you to fight an enemy that uses guns, bombs, and attacks of a nature beyond my understanding. I can’t teach you everything,” he shrugged, slowly getting to his feet, rifle lazily cradled in his arms, expression unreadable, “But I can give you some valuable lessons in the art of fighting men. The first lesson will be…” he paused, then smiled a dangerous, challenging smile. “You’ll find out. But make no mistake,” Raj murmured, so softly that despite their proximity, and the fact that Freak’s ears were perked up, angled directly at him, “There’s exactly one way to learn this lesson…” “…The hard way.” Silence. Silence. Silence… Then, without another word, or any other sort of warning, precedent, or explanation, Raj’s face twisted into an expression of absolute rage… and, not even bothering to shoulder his G3, brought it to his hip, and unleashed the entire contents of his magazine at Freak. (Next chapter comin’ at you soon… till then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction, see ya later!)
Chapter 20: Exile VI: Lessons Learned the Hard Way
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