THE LION KING: THE FREAK

Chapter 23: Long Journey Home

(This is not going to be a giant chapter. If you’ve been keeping up, you can deal with the violence below, and the limited use of foul language, as well. Now, on with the story!)

The Pride Lands is a vast, vast territory, sporting hundreds and hundreds of square miles of savannah, jungle, forest, desert, steppes; every sort of terrain one can imagine and more. Its owners number just enough to control such a massive region, so, for the most part, it’s annoyingly empty—there simply aren’t enough lions to put real life into the place.

Thus no longer held true with the arrival of the sadly low number of big cats that now found their home in the one place in the Land of the Spirits that stood a real chance of serving as a bastion against the surrounding evil that threatened to snuff all life out. Three Desert lionesses, two White Sand members, and a half-pride from the Eastern Jungle… though it can’t be said that you couldn’t throw a rock in the Pride Lands without hitting a lion, it could be said that you couldn’t walk a mile without inviting an attack.

Roderik was a great help in completing the sanctification of the Pride Lands—in fact, the act was completed… just before Sarabi and Uvuli were missed.

As it turned out, the northeastern frontier of the Pride Lands wasn’t included in the sanctification. However, due to their larger numbers, the lions were able to send a patrol out—Roderik, Simba, Akane, and two other Nomadic males—to find out what had gone wrong.

Of course, they found Sarabi’s body. Simba, in fact, was the one that saw it first, and it’s not prudent to imagine his reaction to the unexpected revelation that his mother was dead. The wound that had apparently killed her was strange to them; even Roderik could only speculate as to what had caused it.

At first, there had been a great deal of interest in pursuing whoever, or whatever, had killed the oldest matriarch. Simba, however, was the one that had reminded everyone that leaving the Pride Lands was suicidal, and would gain nothing.

So, really, there was little left to do but continue to patrol, keeping the borders of the territory secure, and wait. The food situation was fine—there was enough to go around, albeit with little leeway. Survival was guaranteed, but only in the short term. Keeping every lion in the Land of the Spirits in the Pride Lands was an unsustainable activity.

For the time being, everyone was safe. Who knew, though, how true that statement might be in a year, or six months, or a month, or even a week? There was little certainty in an existence like this, and the only one that could bring real certainty and security to the land was Freak.

The Spirits were able to do very few favors for those that lived, these days. It was only very rarely that they were able to send positive emotions—no more—to Simba, Aoi, or Roderik, those most in tune with the supernatural world.

This isn’t to say they were powerless at all. It’s just that they no longer had energy to spare—for some time, they’d been saving up. Freak needed help, and they planned to give it to him.

It wasn’t exactly easy to yank someone, even someone with so much growing left to do, from the Land of the Spirits over thousands of miles of land and sea to a relatively precise destination. Chukizo and Scar were the ones that had selected who would be given to their son—they hadn’t chosen a fighter, like Kovu or perhaps Kiara or Nala, due to the difficulties transporting such large beings would cause. They needed someone light yet deadly—someone completely loyal to Freak.

Once they’d fine-tuned their requirements, it wasn’t at all hard to make the decision.

Everyone that had lived or died in the Land of the Spirits in the past few generations was gathered above the Pride Lands. They’d been practicing and preparing for this moment for months—even Maisha wasn’t her normal, playful self. Mufasa led the tricky procedure that would reunite two beings that hadn’t seen one another for over a year by slowly, tentatively penetrating the ever-growing veil of evil that barred them from the natural world.

Success. Now to find her…

“Oh…”

That was the former Lion King’s only reaction to the realization that, very shortly, his wife would be with him once again. He kept his focus on his goal.

“Alright. We don’t have much time. She’s going to get herself killed if we don’t act now. So, just as we’ve practiced…”

They could all see their target charging towards the one that had just killed Sarabi. It wasn’t easy to keep their emotions in check, but in the end, they were successful—just in the nick of time.

Or, rather, so it seemed.

“That’s it,” Mufasa said. “She’s gone. However… I don’t think we acted quickly enough. She was injured.”

There was silence, for a moment, as that sunk in.

“Can we do anything…?” Chukizo asked. “Or is she on her own?”

The former Lion King nodded. “Her fate is in your son’s hands now.”

Everyone present had rather hoped that their actions today would be concluded with a sense of hope, or, at least, certainty. This wasn’t to be, it seemed—they were all left as anxious and unsure about the future as ever. Slowly, they all started to file away; the dominating mood of the area was somber, lugubrious.

Mufasa was left by himself to carefully seal their abode again, so, at least, their plans for the future wouldn’t be compromised. He did his work rather emotionlessly, taking the time to do things properly—they could ill afford an error at this stage.

By the time the crimson-maned lion looked up, she was there with him. They’d been apart for so, so long—over a lifetime, in fact. Yet, to him, she was still as beautiful as ever.

“Sarabi.”

The distance between long lost husband and wife slowly but surely closed. Then, it remained that way for a long, long time.

The White Sands Pride was not a resilient family.

Shaken to their core by the disappearances of Akane and Aoi, they spent their days… moping about and sleeping, really; doing nothing more. Without slaves, they were completely incapable of producing the precious gems and metals so valued by the Northern Deities—their days, they knew, were numbered. All it would take was some natural calamity that their Lesser Gods would normally protect them from to wipe them out.

Just two days ago, Amir had traveled to meet with the Lesser Gods. He’d returned with two broken teeth and a ragged slash across his shoulder.

“I guess that’s the last time we’ll be coming here.”

“Shame. It really was profitable.”

“Despite everything… I’ll miss it.”

Rifles slung over their shoulders, they walked back to their vehicle. They examined, with a sense of sadness, the landscape—they’d never be seeing it again. Entering a place like this had been an enormous risk, and, now that the practical, and, sometimes, quite literal gold mine of the White Sands had been exploited, it was time to end things. It was a miracle that some first-world country’s intelligence organization hadn’t picked them up years ago.

Minutes later, they were traveling in excess of seventy miles an hour across a rather barren wasteland—off limits to everyone, period. They were heavily armed—their Jeep had a mounted fifty-caliber machinegun, currently manned by the taller of the two, who was jostled, a bit, as the vehicle trailed dust and tracks across the landscape. Apart from that, a multi-grenade launcher and a few flare dispensers mounted at strategic locations about the vehicle had gotten them through some dicey situations before.

The fear that had developed about this part of the world generations ago had never really diminished, and for good reason. It made sense that this nation was one of the poorest in the world; one of the few where modern technology still had yet to really tame nature—the nature one encountered here with startling regularity was difficult to conceive anywhere but at the top of the food chain… above men.

Perhaps, some day, someone with vision and money for aircraft, artillery, and manpower would take control of this land. Perhaps. But they doubted it.

It was a full two hours before the driver’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen little more than a shift in the sand up ahead, but that’s the only warning they’d get.

Banging on the headrest of the passenger seat with a fist made the gunner aim forward—his weapon was already charged, and, with the flick of a thumb, its safety disengaged.

For a few moments on, nothing of note happened. The Jeep moved on, casting a gradually lengthening shadow across the sandy ground due to the setting Sun—beads of sweat started to appear on the men’s foreheads as they prepared to be engaged.

A tremor shook the vehicle. Then, perhaps fifty yards to its ten-thirty, there was another, larger shift in the ground—one with a subterranean cause.

That was all the provocation the gunner needed to unleash five heavy slugs at that slight movement. Brass casings the size of his finger flew through the air, and, as the combined smoke, recoil, and flash from the discharge of such a powerful weapon collected in his vision, his face set—this fight wouldn’t be over quickly. A few shots into the ground wouldn’t scare off whatever horror this was.

Over the roar of the engine, the gunner called to the driver, never taking his eyes off the terrain in front of him. “Drive faster,” he yelled. “I don’t think we’ve faced anything like this before. How long ‘til we’re out of here?”

“Another fifty miles,” the driver replied. “But I don’t want to push the engine too much—if I do, it might overheat, and if it does, we’re dead.”

That was true. So, gritting his teeth, the gunner accepted that he was solely responsible for bringing himself and his cousin home safely.

Sweeping the steppes before them with the barrel of his weapon, he forced himself to calm, searching for any signs of movement. This monster—whatever it was—was a big one. That was for certain.

Or not.

A few moments passed before the driver—not the gunner, the driver—got the cold, ominous sense that he was being watched. Now, annoyingly, his options were Manichean—he could keep looking forward… or he could turn his head, to see what was looking at him, if anything. Instincts could be faulty, after all.

For some time, he dealt with it, ignoring the way the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end, every nerve in his body screaming at him to turn around. Eventually, muttering a curse to himself, he appeased them, and did so.

Then, he started screaming, and very nearly overturned the car.

The moment the driver started to shout, the gunner knew something was wrong. He was blessed—well, in his opinion, anyway—with the complete absence of fear; it was an emotion that simply didn’t register to him.

Thusly, he reacted marvelously, throwing his elbow, driving its tip into the face of the creature that had hopped onto the Jeep, and, just then, seemed to have been working out just what the fuck it was looking at.

The blow knocked it off, however, so that it flounced, for a moment, across the terrain, before disappearing underground—just a second before the gunner brought his weapon on target, chasing the disappearing animal with a few more fifty caliber bullets.

“The fuck was that? What was it trying to do?!” the driver yelled, moving just a little faster, sitting even more ramrod straight than he had been a moment ago. His knuckles were white as he held the steering wheel, holding the vehicle perfectly on track—even the slightest oversight, at this speed, could send them into a fatal roll.

“No idea. Keep driving,” the gunner said coldly; though he knew that despite his cousin seemed to scare easily, he never lost sight of their goal—getting out alive.

“Did you see its—its feelers? It tasted you!”

“Shut up.”

Shivering once, not in fear but in disgust, the gunner slapped at the side of his neck. Feelers… how revolting.

This time, he faced backwards, trusting the driver to keep track of an attempt from the front or sides of the vehicle. Looking around the retreating desert suspiciously, as the terrain changed from barren steppes to rough, rocky hills, he smirked—they were safe now. There was no way an animal could burrow through packed stone and dirt.

He was able to feel a few long seconds of relief before the creature exploded out of the ground in front of the vehicle.

It was shaped like a cone—at perhaps twenty feet long, it was regardless light enough to hitch a ride on the Jeep without being noticed, as it had displayed. This seemed to be at odds with the obvious armor plating that were, just then, deflecting bullet after bullet fired by the Jeep’s powerful weapon like they were pebbles.

As it shot into the air, both men could see how it penetrated the rock below them—its entire body seemed to revolve, in a bizarre, unnatural manner, making the creature a living drill. That wasn’t all, though. It had exploded out of the ground, coming to a maximum height of perhaps twenty feet in the air… and stayed there.

The gunner poured fire on, for a moment, as the creature hovered in the air before the Jeep—this was all at eighty miles per hour. Spent casings and bits of ammunition belt littered the rockland, but failed to down the flying creature staring the men down, moving a series of scales about its body in a bizarre, rolling manner to stay off the ground.

Unintimidated, however, the gunner merely adjusted his aim, searching for weak points. The barrel of his machinegun started to smoke, sweating heat into the environment. Shot after shot pounded the insect-like being without ill effect… until the line of fire made its way to the creature’s face.

A explosion of ganglia and ichor told the gunner that he’d done his job—the creature tumbled out of the sky, bouncing across the ground until the Jeep’s tires ran over it, tearing it into separate, gory pieces. The gunner allowed himself a self-congratulatory smirk, and chamber-checked his weapon, before holding the bolt back in his hand, for a moment, allowing it to cool. He’d knocked out perhaps fifty rounds so quickly…

The mountains that marked the eventual boundary between the civilized world and this practical alternate reality were getting closer and closer by the moment; and with their approach came hope. It looked like they’d make it home again tonight.

It was just as the gunner had this thought when the Jeep was shoved, punted up into the air by a massive force from below the surface of the Earth. The driver screamed, but managed to keep the vehicle upright when it made its bone-jarring landfall.

He said some things, then, that the gunner never really heard. Instead of using the machinegun again, he slipped out from the operator’s harness, and, a moment later, was in the passenger seat, strapping a five-point crash harness identical to the driver’s over himself. A moment later, he had the grenade launcher at him.

After charging the weapon, he looked, grimly, forward. They’d encountered this creature before… and fighting it was not easy. Worse…

“Oh, son of a bitch…”

The driver said that, and a moment later, the gunner saw why. With a growing sense of dread—but not fear, not really—he looked to the left, past his relative. There wasn’t just one massive, rolling presence under the ground… there were two.

Dust trailed into the air behind the Jeep for several hundred yards until it dispersed relatively evenly into the atmosphere. Little chunks of rock were kicked up as it continued to move, in contrast to the man-sized boulders thrown around by the vectors of the creatures’ paths.

For a moment, one of the massive bulges disappeared, and, guessing correctly what was about to happen, the gunner looked to the side. Sure enough, after a few seconds, the second creature—or, rather, signs of its presence—appeared again.

The Jeep, then, was flanked on either side by the two underground monsters—they were, clearly, working in collusion to destroy the vehicle and its occupants. Being in the nexus of such massive powers was, to be sure, intimidating, but, after sharing a glance with his cousin, the driver’s face set. They could do this.

One of the disadvantages of being so large was that it took a correspondingly longer time to move—it was that much harder to catch an enemy by surprise. The creatures started to move towards one another, attempting to converge, preparing to execute some sort of coordinated team maneuver—they were unsuccessful, however, as the driver slammed on the brakes, pulling to the left. This gave the gunner an open shot, which, in short order, he took.

The gunner fired off four grenades rapidly; all were bang on target. Their shaped-charge warheads cut through the rock that would have protected the creatures from feeling the brunt of a .50 BMG shot, finding armor and flesh inside. Hundreds of pounds of shattered sediment and dirt were thrown into the air, but the driver neatly swerved around the chaos, allowing his cousin to hold a bead on the creatures for a few more moments.

They writhed underground, still invisible—but, once or twice, the gunner saw torrents of greenish blood splash out onto the surface. The agony lasted only for moments, before the subterranean churning stopped, and the creatures—ostensibly—left.

Satisfied that they were safe, at least for the moment, the gunner made his way back to the vehicle’s turret, this time keeping the grenade launcher with him. It was getting dark, now, but this was of no consequence—with the flip of a switch, powerful headlights lit the ground in front of the Jeep for hundreds of yards.

The rest of the drive was fortunately uneventful; the cousins left the Land of the Spirits behind them without looking back once. They paused for several moments, implementing several dozen pounds of high explosive to seal that part of the world off to the rest of the Earth for the last time.

If salvation was coming for the Land of the Spirits, it wasn’t going to be brought by men.

After weeks, he was finally going to be conscious again—soon. But not yet.

Dato’s predicament had taken round-the-clock efforts—security, as well as the complex and dangerous procedures undertook by Roderik and Simba to attempt to cure him. Rafiki was… missing; this fact had to be explained to the Nomadic leader. And it was a source of great disappointment, and worry, to the lion when he realized that he wouldn’t be seeing his old friend and former classmate, of sorts.

As it turned out, Roderik simply didn’t have the skills necessary to truly save Dato. The best option available was a mercy-kill… until Simba had revealed that he was skilled—to a degree—in magic. Reluctantly, Roderik had accepted, and, thusly, the month-long operation to save Dato, to give him speech and life again—at least for some time—was undertaken.

Dato, of course, wasn’t kept in the main den at Pride Rock—that was too dangerous. Rather, a smaller cave at the back of the massive structure was cleared out and used to hold the leopard. Sentries were demanded 24/7, as the odds that the efforts to save the clouded feline would fail were high.

As fortune would have it, though—they succeeded.

Everyone was gathered at the back of Pride Rock for good reason. If things went south, it was quite possible that the resilient force inside Dato would need the cooperation of several lions to defeat him.

Conditions were cloudy, but this had been the normal weather status for quite some time, now. It wasn’t raining, and it probably wouldn’t for some time yet—there was, however, an ominous, anticipatory sense in the air. The humidity, and the way static electricity seemed to linger, awaiting a discharge, put everyone in a somewhat stressed state of mind.

There wasn’t much wind, so, when everyone stopped moving, as Roderik reached down, setting his paw on the leopard’s face, for the last time, it was perfectly, absolutely silent.

Silence… silence… silence…

Movement!

He sat up in a sudden, shocked motion, gasping for breath. Eyes wide, he looked around, at the cautious faces surrounding him. And you have to give him credit—he caught on very quickly.

“I’m in the… Pride Lands?”

Simba spoke for the group, circling around to face the leopard head on, from several feet away.

“Yes.”

“So… you’re the Lion King.”

The red-maned lion nodded, smiling, a little—the pride he’d come to associate with his position never failed to strike him.

“I am. Welcome to our homeland,” he said. “You’re doubtlessly wondering… what happened? So are we. Why don’t you tell your story first,” Simba suggested, “and then, we’ll explain what’s been going on in the Land of the Spirits.”

Dato nodded, after a moment of consideration. His eyes hadn’t been on the Lion King—rather, as he’d been spoken to, his gaze had dropped down to his paws. After thinking about his reply, for a moment, the leopard smiled, sadly, and nodded.

“Well, I’ll start at the beginning, then.”

“First, there was nothing… then, out of nowhere, pow! A tiny, highly concentrated ball of energy and mass explodes, littering the material necessary for everything we observe today all across the universe—“

“You can start… a little after the beginning,” Simba interrupted. “You know. You—that is, we… don’t have an unlimited amount of time here.”

The ruse had worked. Simba’s slight slip of the tongue had given Dato the answer to a question if, specifically asked, would be met only by awkward stares, backpedalling, and lies. He was going to die… and soon.

“I hail from the Black Hills,” Dato said after a moment. “I have—had… a mother and father. We lived normally, and morally… and then, one day, he came.”

The leopard’s eyes narrowed. But when he continued, describing how Kifo and Kishindo had murdered his parents, and how, after that, he’d… undergone some sort of horrible process.

“After that, I don’t really know what happened,” Dato admitted, half an hour after he’d woken up. “All I can remember is resisting, constantly…. And then sort of falling asleep.”

“Which brings us to the present,” the leopard said, “and the time for you to tell your story, Lion King. What’s wrong in the Land of the Spirits? Why is there—or was there, at least… a demon among us?”

“Sniping one lion is one thing, Kishindo. I dunno if I can take out a whole pride like this.”

“I doubt that you can,” the lioness replied. “Hence, the rest of your weapons… including myself. Take out as many as you can; when the survivors get closer, we’ll mop them up.”

It was night, and, as such, the White Sands pride had turned in. All were collected inside their dens, stretched out within feet of one another—it was a shooting gallery, one that a safari hunter would have paid hundreds of thousands to take part in.

Kifo, though, wasn’t the sharing type.

It had taken several days to find the lions of the White Sands, and the process hadn’t been much fun at all. There was little to do in a place like this—there was no real scenery, the vastness of the repetitive environment got damned boring after the first hour or so there. Before heading into the desert, though, he and Kishindo had eaten well in the Black Hills—hunting in the White Sands would do little more than waste time.

But even without all those added inconveniences, Kifo would not have been satisfied or happily anticipatory.

He’d hit critical mass, so to speak—he simply could not sustain killing and fighting at a rate intense enough to give him any sort of pleasure at all. Even his light banter with Kishindo, his only companion, had slowed, faltered, and, almost entirely, stopped. Though she hadn’t said as much, of course, it hurt her.

Of course, she stayed with the demon. Unlike her bastard of a biological son, she was loyal to those she favored.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Kifo mentioned, as they crept forward, together. “Thought I’d let you know… after finishing these guys, I’ll be strong enough. I’m goin’ home—dunno how. I don’t have time to stop in the Pride Lands.”

Kishindo nodded. Truth be told, she was a bit disappointed—she’d wanted to watch her adoptive son, so to speak, tear apart Kovu. Ah, well…

The night sky overhead was blue, deep, and littered with any number of stars. This was probably the one place in the Land of the Spirits that such conditions were possible—the rest of the area was shadowed with what seemed to be permanent cloud cover. Kishindo had noticed it, but hadn’t paid it much attention… until she’d realized that the areas most blanketed from the Heavens were the Pride Lands and its surrounding regions.

Here in the White Sands, though, the sky was clear. Moonlight from a slim, pale waxing crescent made the desert shimmer in a somewhat ethereal manner—there was a poignantly beautiful feeling that hit Kishindo, for a moment. It was then that she realized something.

Looking at Kifo, the eight feet tall, powerfully built tank of a demon that had killed any number of vicious, dangerous foes, many of them before her, she was filled with an unfamiliar sense of meekness. The expression on his face was cold, harsh, determined, apathetic to everything but his purpose—it sent a strange tingle across her spine.

“I never imagined that something like this might be possible. How… bizarre.”

Smirking once, to herself, the lioness merely shrugged, mentally—her revelation changed nothing. If anything, it made her devotion to Kifo that much more stubborn and unshakeable.

“Maybe I’ll end up telling him someday. But I doubt it,” the lioness sighed. “Ah, well. It doesn’t matter.”

“Also, Kishindo,” Kifo said suddenly, yanking the lioness’s thoughts back to Earth. They were atop a low, rolling dune, now, four hundred yards from the sleeping Pride—it was high time to engage.

The demon had paused, though, not speaking. He seemed… hesitant, for some reason. What, though, could possibly give rise to such an emotion in him?...

“It’s… getting time for us to part ways.”

A pause.

“I’m a demon. You’re a lioness. I’m not made to be around anything living for long. Sooner or later, what we’ve got is gonna have to end… I just wanted to finish it on our terms. Nicely… because I am real happy that you found me, Kishindo. I am.”

Now it was her time to pause, mulling over her reply.

“Let’s focus on what we’re doing here and now,” the lioness said in a carefully detached, measured tone, so that he couldn’t tell—and she couldn’t feel—the emotions wrought on by his sudden confession. “We’ll discuss everything else… later.”

Kifo was about to say that there was nothing to discuss, but shrugged—he didn’t want any sort of drama, not now. He needed Kishindo; he was doubtful of his abilities to take out the White Sands pride alone…

“I’m sorry for not being able to tell you much more.”

“No, it’s alright. Now we have some idea of what our enemy is capable of.”

“When he comes here, he’ll be stronger,” Dato said with a sigh. “Don’t ask me how I know that… but I’m sure of it. He seemed to gain energy by killing… I’m not sure what he’s doing now, but I am sure that it involves killing. Potentially on the macro scale; one much, much larger than can easily be conceived.”

A collective shudder ran up and down the spines of the lions present. Dato looked around, once—his vision was improving. His gaze settled on Akane and Aoi, for a moment, and he tilted his head, a little, eyes narrowing.

“Is there something wrong?” the blue eyed lion asked, trying to be somewhat passive, but, at the same time, adjusting his position just a little, nudging Aoi aside, so that, if the worst happened and the leopard attacked, he’d be able to defend her. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re different… are you the one from the White Sands?” Dato asked.

“Yes,” Akane replied thinly. “What’s the matter? Never seen a white guy before?”

The leopard shook his head. “Thankfully, no. Otherwise, I’d be a slave right now… or a freedman,” smiling, just a little, he nodded in deference, and respect, to the other young male.

“Do you think… how… might your pride be affected by your departure?” Dato asked diplomatically, attempting to word his question as neutrally as possible. It wasn’t easy—the very nature of the inquiry was offensive.

Akane wasn’t angered, though—just saddened. Like Aoi, he felt his normally sharp, perked ears droop, a little.

Despite the lugubrious conditions all around them, no one really felt overly cautious; not anymore. Most were sitting down; all were no longer paying exclusive attention to Dato. Each worked on his or her own set of theories, as the group in general struggled to come up with some sort of defensive strategy—how were they going to prepare for the showdown with Kifo, when it came? Because it was coming—there was no question about that. It was coming.

The White Lion still didn’t answer, though, and, frankly, it was because he didn’t want to imagine how his parents and aunts might be living. Though it seemed narcissistic to admit this… he and Aoi were the pride’s life. The only ones in their generation, without them, there was no hope for the future.

For all he knew, his mother and some of her more dangerous friends were coming, just then, to bring him home. With force, if necessary.

“Yo. Kid.”

The deep, husky voice of one of the Desert lionesses made Akane blink, then turn to her. It was… what was her name? Ah, yes—she was the one that had met the loyalist Nomads and himself; she was the swimmer… Adhabu.

“Yes… big sister?”

Politeness, courtesy, and respect for elders were some of the few valid moral lessons Akane had learned from the White Sands.

“Spill the beans,” the dark lioness said simply. “Everything’s easier when the truth’s out—trust me. Dato’s pro’lly got something in mind… if you want, the rest of us will leave. This matter’s between you and him—all we need to know are the facts you end up with.”

The Desert lionesses shared a collective glance. Then, a somewhat strained… smile. No longer were there secrets between them. And, again, Shindani was starting to see the two other beings she’d grown up with as sisters.

“No, it’s alright… just… give me a moment. It’s hard to think…”

Silence. Then, finally, Akane answered.

“My mother will be, outwardly, very, very angry. Inside, she’s undoubtedly incredibly hurt, but she’ll never, ever show this, not even to my father. And my father… he’ll just be lost. Blank, I think… The rest of them will… either be angry, or sad, or something in between. No one will be apathetic. But it’s hard to say what they might do.”

“Regardless… they’re not capable of fighting anything, or anyone, really, with the power to pose any real challenge to them—except you, of course.”

Akane was silent, so Aoi nodded, then spoke up, in a soft, timid tone.

“Yes, but… I don’t think they’ll come here. They may guess where we’ve gone, but the White Sands are not a kind place to live. They don’t have the power to send out a real fighting force on such a long, risky mission… and they won’t all leave their home. I believe that we’re relatively safe… as long as we stay with everyone else.”

“That’s not the point,” Dato said, growing concerned, quickly—this despite the fact that he knew beings that would kill or enslave him without a second thought might be in danger. “My point is that they’d hardly be able to take a squadron of my people on right now. If it comes to it… how on Earth will they fight a demon…?”

No one answered, but no one needed to. The answer was obvious: not very well.

“Now, since we’re speculating, let’s speculate that, in fact, Kifo has defeated the White Sands pride. What would his next move be?”

Lions of the Land of the Spirits were creatures of sophistication, class, honor, pride—with, of course, a few exceptions. This meant, quite simply, that a boys’ night out for them didn’t consist of buffalo chicken wings, bleu cheese, cheap beer, bad jokes, and strippers—it meant thoughtful, in depth conversations about their future.

Though he wasn’t the Lion King, Roderik was, overwhelmingly, the one that led the conversation. Simba didn’t mind, of course, and was extremely grateful the wisdom of the oldest lion anyone had ever heard of. He was able to look at things from a variety of angles, whereas Simba’s scope was somewhat limited, due to his slight affinity for glory and the like—such sentimentality is nice, of course, and makes for great movies, but any victory pulled off by the Pride Landers and Freak wouldn’t have a high margin for error.

Kovu and Akane tended towards silence, mostly. When the dark lion, it was generally to remind them of something they’d forgotten, or failed to take into consideration. The former White Sands lion, on the other hand, barely ever said anything.

And that night was no exception.

Thusly, due to how busy they were, the three other males failed to notice that Akane was thinking.

“Supposing… he has defeated my—former pride. Then…”

“What is his motive?” the white-furred lion asked suddenly, looking up. “Why is he here?”

The southern portion of the Pride Lands, near the dangerous and, at the moment, utterly unpopulated and brutally wild Outlands, was, mostly, a plain. This was where a significant portion of hunting occurred—although it was difficult to sneak up on an animal with any semblance of a brain in terrain like this, the lionesses of the Pride Lands were great hunters. With new help and tactics from the loyalist nomads, their success rate had increased, dramatically—free interchange of ideas, it seemed, was a very, very good thing.

They were patrolling just a stone’s throw from the gorge in which, Simba noted with some sadness, he’d lost his father. The gaping crevice was utterly silent, everything that went on in its foreboding depths was discernible.

Unlike anything going on in Akane’s mind—talk about a poker face.

His question went unanswered for a moment, until, at last, Kovu sighed.

“We actually don’t know, at all. Mohatu predicted that something like this would happen, but not why…”

The dark lion glanced at Roderik for confirmation—the old lion nodded.

“We don’t know why he came here, or how, if it was even his decision to come here in the first place. We don’t know if he was created by some sort of force… or if he simply came to be.”

“Hold on a second,” Simba interrupted. The red maned lion pursed his lips, for a second, going over what had been said in his head again. “Some sort of force could have created him… what could have that kind of power…?”

“Well, actually, my teacher had a few theories about that as well,” Roderik said. “I don’t know all of them, though—this is why we need my old friend so much. Together, we might be able to help prepare things for… dealing with the root of the problem.”

Simba was chilled, just then. And it wasn’t by the knife-link gust of wind that suddenly kicked up.

“But let’s focus on the demon for now.”

“After the White Sands… what will his next destination be? Where will he attack from?” Kovu asked. “Is he going to come here immediately? Or will he go somewhere else, first?”

“We have no way of knowing that,” Roderik admitted. “I wouldn’t be too worried, though. To be sure, he’ll be able to enter the Pride Lands, despite the defenses we’ve put up around it—however, the moment he does, we’ll all know.”

“What’s to stop him from leaving the Land of the Spirits altogether?” Simba said.

“Probably… the nature of the Land of the Spirits themselves. You can’t simply leave…” Roderik struggled to explain. “It takes… a lot of intent, among other things. The demon will not be capable of simply getting up and going…”

The old lion glanced to Akane. And, after a moment, the youngest male spoke again, after several moments of silence.

“My former homeland borders the edge of the Land of the Spirits,” he affirmed, sidestepping a large pawprint—he glanced after it, for a moment, wondering whose it might be—before continuing. “My father used to go there, every week, to meet with the Northern Deities… they’re Lesser Gods whose protection we needed. We paid them in precious stones unearthed by enslaved leopards… I wish I’d been able to go with my father on one of those trips, now. I could tell you more than what he told me… which is that it’s not possible for a sentient being born in the Land of the Spirits to leave it without excruciating pain—which leads to death.”

“That’s not entirely accurate,” Roderik said, giving his old, somewhat wild mane a toss, “but true in its essence. I don’t believe that the demon… entered the Land of the Spirits… not physically, at least. I feel certain that he was created here… probably on the Forbidden Island.”

A number of interesting theories were shared. Relatively few were taken as truth, or probable truth—but those that were happened, in fact, to be true—at least, mostly. All in all, a few important ideas had come to light, though it was unclear what their repercussions might be. Roderik had some meditating to do.

And so did Akane.

He’d gotten very good at deception—after spending so much time living a lie 24/7 in the White Sands, faking emotion and intention were as natural to him as breathing. This was, in his opinion, fortunate—now, no one had any idea what he was up to.

After it had gotten somewhat late, everyone had gone their separate ways. Simba and Kovu had gone back to their mates, while Roderik mentioned that it had been some time since he’d been in the Pride Lands, and wanted to reorient himself—he was going to sleep under the stars, that night.

Akane said that he wanted to scout out for hunting the next day.

It was a boldfaced lie.

But he’d gotten away with it, and, just then, the white lion was making his way to the northeast—his destination was the White Sands.

“I won’t be able to avenge my parents…. my whole pride. But we’re simply not ready for him to be here right now—our warrior hasn’t returned, not yet… I have to delay him… no, I’m lying to myself, now. I have to try to get revenge…”

Akane’s mission wasn’t entirely hopeless. The thirst for vengeance was a powerful tool—admittedly a dangerous, somewhat unpredictable one—but it might, in fact, give the lone lion the strength to subdue or defeat Kifo. The demon had only ever fought battles on his terms; with the element of surprise lost and without the ability to prepare and plan and map out an attack, who knew how well he’d perform?

This was ignoring the fact that, unlike any of the enemies Kifo had faced off against before—except for Dato, Sonam, and Makhalava, who he’d only barely won against—Akane was a somewhat morally upright, spiritual being. He was equipped with a strength that Kifo would have a hard time grappling with.

It was somewhat saddening and disturbing to the white lion that he’d found lying so easy. That he’d been able to do it so well to beings that had never, ever wronged him, not even in the least way. Brooding over this, he watched his paws, padded white appendages standing out in a sea of earthy green grass and dirt, move across the terrain… then come to a stop, just in front of a pair of similar paws—these, however, were notably more delicate. Fragile-looking, even.

He smiled, sadly.

“You’re really incredible, Aoi. Two months ago, you could hardly predict the weather in the Black Hills with any degree of accuracy. Now, look at you,” Akane sighed, his blue eyes meeting his mate’s, “you’ve caught me red-handed—I assume you know what I’m going to do?”

“No,” the lioness said curtly, “I know what you’re not going to do. You’re not leaving—Akane, you weren’t really going to leave me, were you?”

The look on her face killed something inside of the young male. The desperate, begging expression she wore was completely genuine, there was nothing false or even overstated about it. And yet… if he could even injure the demon… then his life would be one well spent.

“Yes, Aoi… I am leaving you. I’m sorry,” he said, throat suddenly becoming quite dry, as did his maw—dry, parched, lifeless, like, surely, the White Sands would be, when the demon was finished with his kin, his blood—if they weren’t gone already. “But I have to fight the demon… I know I probably won’t win. But if I can just slow him down, or hurt him…”

The lioness wasn’t having any of it. Tears running down her white, perfect cheeks, she shook her head, turning away from him. “No, Akane… just stay here, with me. Please…” She sucked in a deep breath, and looked up at him, before setting herself down at his feet in submission. “I’m begging you not to leave me. You can’t do anything against power like that… just stay here, please… you don’t want to die a virgin, do you?... if you stay… I promise, you won’t…”

The white lion just smiled.

“I’m sorry, Aoi… the fear of dying as a virgin does not apply to me.”

“What…?” she gasped, shocked, feeling betrayed.

“I’m sorry, Aoi… bad joke…”

The white lioness’s lips were trembling regardless as she continued to stare at Akane, pleadingly.

“Don’t… I’m going to come with you, Akane. If you really have to go… I won’t let you go alone.”

“I thought it might come to this.”

“I’m sorry, Aoi… that’s not going to happen.”

She didn’t see what he did next; she was completely unprepared for it. The lioness was down, instantly, temporarily unable to move, even an inch—sprawled out in an uncomfortable position, for a moment, she was capable of only watching as Akane looked down at her, only sadness on his face.

“You’ll be safe here, Aoi. I imagine that someone will find you tomorrow… by then, I’ll be long gone.”

He rearranged her collapsed limbs so that she was laying, resting, on the soft grasses below her. With that task completed, he sat next to her, for a moment, and then touched his lips to her cheek… for what would surely be the last time.

The white lion looked up, for a moment, across the gently sifting grasses and trees of the southern Pride Lands.

“I’ve had a good life, I think,” he said, quietly. “Although life in the White Sands was hard, and I… never truly loved my family… I was always cared for and protected. I’m not a perfect, or even a great being—but I’ve managed to find love in the most perfect female in the Land of the Spirits—and the world.”

Beaming down at her, he knew that her blurred vision probably wouldn’t detect the wetness in his deep, dark blue eyes.

“I’m sorry that we can’t do so, so much more together, Aoi. Fate, it seems, isn’t on our side… not this time. I’m going to leave you, now… don’t expect me to return. I hope that you’ll find another mate, someday… but please, don’t ever forget me… nor any of what we’ve done together.”

He stood, now, and started to walk. She watched his slowly diminishing form, desperately—but she couldn’t so much as twitch in his direction. Left with no other options, Aoi reached out with her mind, trying, one last time, to beg him to not go.

He paused. Turned, over his shoulder. Smiled.

“See you on the other side, Aoi. Ma’a salaama…”

The use of the White Sands’s ancient phrase for farewell signified that Akane really intended to leave—for good.

She could do nothing—she was utterly powerless, capable of only watching, and allowing the tears she’d already cried to continue to run down her cheeks as Akane walked away. They’d never see one another again, ever... and it looked like she’d be the only white lion left alive.

Provided, of course, that when he came to the Pride Lands, Kifo wouldn’t kill her, too.

(Unexpected delays have made it unlikely to the point of near-impossibility that I will be able to finish the next chapter in the foreseeable future.)

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