PRELUDE -
Avarice that ensconse thee,
impetus to kill thy brother
hearken to what I have to say,
for not all is lost.
Ephemeral was that of your wicked rule,
and notwithstanding those many toils you prevailed
imprimus, most of all you had failed.
A kingdom once glorious,
torn asunder by your iniquitous paws
to dust and desolation,
decrepit and emaciated -
and those once whom you called family
suffered and nearly died from you,
your choler and ignorant greed.
But I, nor we, cannot blame you for what you had done -
your vision, though corrupt, was not entirely deprave.
Yea, for yours was a vision of peace
dreamt of an equalitarian world where all things beneath the sun
united together in concord
and veritably it might have been different if not for your wanton lust,
your impudent whimsy.
Even if not destroyed by your own blood
it would only be a matter of time afore you destroyed yourself,
marked your own grave,
interred yourself in shadow -
and when future generations thought back upon your despotic reign
you'd be naught more than a fleeting thought
a tenuous trail of dust amidst an imperturbable storm
and mayhap further down you'd be forgotten entirely,
superseded by greater kings and more terrible despots -
alas, if that was to be your fate.
But Aethereal eyes have cast their gaze upon you,
lying still as a rock, ground beneath incarnadine with your own blood -
they have chosen a different fate for you,
and anon the time will come when you rise again,
not as a despot, but as a Hero and a Savior
to coronate your name, to become the embodiment of perpetual good
so that all the kingdoms might look to you with reverence
and enamored hearts.
Avarice that ensconse thee,
impetus to kill thy brother
hearken to what I have to say,
for not all is lost.
Ephemeral was that of your wicked rule,
and notwithstanding those many toils you prevailed
imprimus, most of all you had failed.
A kingdom once glorious,
torn asunder by your iniquitous paws
to dust and desolation,
decrepit and emaciated -
and those once whom you called family
suffered and nearly died from you,
your choler and ignorant greed.
But I, nor we, cannot blame you for what you had done -
your vision, though corrupt, was not entirely deprave.
Yea, for yours was a vision of peace
dreamt of an equalitarian world where all things beneath the sun
united together in concord
and veritably it might have been different if not for your wanton lust,
your impudent whimsy.
Even if not destroyed by your own blood
it would only be a matter of time afore you destroyed yourself,
marked your own grave,
interred yourself in shadow -
and when future generations thought back upon your despotic reign
you'd be naught more than a fleeting thought
a tenuous trail of dust amidst an imperturbable storm
and mayhap further down you'd be forgotten entirely,
superseded by greater kings and more terrible despots -
alas, if that was to be your fate.
But Aethereal eyes have cast their gaze upon you,
lying still as a rock, ground beneath incarnadine with your own blood -
they have chosen a different fate for you,
and anon the time will come when you rise again,
not as a despot, but as a Hero and a Savior
to coronate your name, to become the embodiment of perpetual good
so that all the kingdoms might look to you with reverence
and enamored hearts.
Chapter I
MPIRA
MPIRA
They had been plodding on for days without food or water, their hopes only bolstered when cracked earth and jagged sand gave way to patches of grass and small, tenuous trees. Even then, the prospect of finding fresh water did next to naught for Babalyya, who had been struggling for the last few miles or so. Thrice they had to stop, and thrice Mpira had to scavenge for something, anything for her son to eat; he might've been fully grown, but he hadn't been acclimated to starvation such as she had. When she thought of it, life had been easy for Babalyya up until Perisys superseded the throne. After that their pride fell apart, some taking up sides with the kingslayer, others going off in search of new lands. Some, such as Gorgyl, went rogue and were never heard of again.
Initially, it hadn't been too much of a burthen; the late King Tamire was old and infirm, whereas Perisys was young, sinewy, and stalwart. He could govern a pride just as well as Tamire could in his younger days, and in some nuances he even proved himself better - but that didn't stop the revolt. Luna, her daughter Namaluna, and Liathen all sought to avenge their fallen king despite Mpira's gentle reproach against it. 'He might be young, but he is powerful. If he had the capacity in his heart to overthrow what had essentially been his adoptive father, there's no telling what he'll do to us if he catches scent of this.' she had warned, but to no avail. The night before the planned revolt, Mpira and her son had stolen off underneath the cover of darkness and a speckled, twilit sky.
They came upon a swarth hidden 'neath the umbrage of tall acacia trees and decided to give themselves a moment's respite. Quietly, Babalyya slumped down and rolled onto his side, chest heaving slowly as he took long yet ragged breaths. "Babalyya," she said as she touched a paw to his shoulder, "we're almost there."
He looked up at her slowly. "Are you sure?"
"I'm positive." she replied with a smile. "Stay here and I'll find you something to eat."
"When we make it...if we make it, don't ever ask me to do this again."
Mpira bounded off, leaping over withered shrubs and wending her way through arid brush. Once or twice she spotted a lizard scuttling along the ground or flying from branch to branch, but those were too fast for her. She needed to find something larger and more uncouth. 'Like a foal.' she thought.
The lioness finally came to a clearing, at the end of which was a shallow pond surrounded by pallid weeds. On the far side of that lied a gazelle carcass, being torn apart and consumed by a gray spotted-hyena. From where she was standing she could make out a long ebon mane that went from the tip of his brow to the center of his back. She shuddered slightly, then began to back away; she'd normally be able to defeat one in single combat, but the voyage had left her weak - and against one of such hale and imperious stature, she didn't think she stood a chance.
Mpira was almost back into hiding when the thing saw her. It lifted its head, looking her directly in the eyes with sullen disinterest. For a few moments they stared at each other, then the hyena, deciding she wasn't a threat, went back to his meal. In that moment, she decided that being obsequious was her best option. "Pardon, sir..." she managed weakly, "might I please-"
"Steal my kill?" he interrupted, "No. But if you'd like to share, I don't mind if you don't."
"It's not for me; it's for my son. We've travelled a long ways and he's very weak - if you could just spare something...anything, I'd be more than gra-"
"You don't need to fawn." the hyena said as he rived off another piece of flesh, "Take a leg, take two - it doesn't matter."
Mpira approached the carcass warily, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. She tore off a chunk of leg and gave him a curt nod, turning to go back. Before she took three steps away he spoke. "So where are you from?"
Hesitantly, she dropped the piece of meat and replied, "We're from beyond the Torrid Lands."
"An awfully long way for two lions, don't you think?"
"We had no choice."
"If you say so. I shan't ply." the hyena said with a sidewards glance, "But what of your son? He must be terribly dehydrated. Once I had crossed the Torrid Lands all on my own, and by the end of the journey I was parched. If what you say about your son is true, then he'll need water - and lots of it."
Hours later, the three of them found themselves atop a high bluff which overlooked most of the east. The hyena had introduced himself as Makazi, and him and Babalyya became quick friends. Mpira remained silent throughout, as she didn't have much to add to the conversation.
"So tell me more of yourself." Babalyya said as they walked ahead at a sprightly pace.
"There's not much to say, really." The hyena grinned, "I'm known by many as 'The Sentinel' for my innate habit of watching others from afar. My friends are few, my enemies none, and not a single person can claim that I've harmed them - though they might lie about it!"
"You sound like a nice guy, but why do you watch people?"
"A person who sees little knows little, but a person who sees much knows much."
"And you know much?" Babalyya said with a chuckle.
"Hopefully I'm getting there."
Two more miles had found them in rich, virid grasslands spotted with rolling hills. At the top of one of them sat a droll edifice; seemingly impossible in composition, yet a cynosure to most things beneath the sun. "Pride Rock," Makazi announced with an oblique grin, "home to the Pride-Landers. Formerly it belonged to King Mufasa, whom was usurped by his brother Scar, and currently it belongs to King Simba and his wife Nala. You'll find the common-folk to be more than hospitable, but not towards my kind I'm afraid; and so I should be off!"
"What's wrong with your kind?" Babalyya said.
"Hyenas are frowned upon in most parts of the Pride Lands, it being a lion-centred-community and all. King Scar didn't help much with our image either, but that's a story for another time." he replied, mock-sorrow lining his voice.
Before he left, Makazi had given them a brief tour of the land; he showed them where to drink, where to hunt, the various dens that the prides inhabited, and even where to avoid. 'The gorge is a dangerous place,' he had said, 'That's where King Mufasa was thrown to his death - and it also happens to be prone to stampedes.'
The sun was still hot by late afternoon, and the incessant din of heat bugs didn't help to ameliorate that condition. Along the way, Mpira and Babalyya had managed to hunt down a few things on which to snack, including a groundhog, a newborn zebra, and even a paltry sum of meerkats - one of Babalyya's favourite meals, to be certain.
Fully satiated, the two lions sat for a while and enjoyed their surroundings. "I'm beginning to like this place." Mpira commented as they watched a herd of buffalo saunter along.
"Let's just hope that these 'Pride-Landers' Makazi spoke of will take to liking us. I'd hate to have come all this way to be chased off."
Babalyya had always been quick to voice his fears, his mother noted. "I'm sure they're...amiable people."
"They'd better be."
Mpira smiled slightly at that. Her son could be stalwart, hot-headed, and obstinate at times - but such virtues were the very things that governed kingdoms and won battles. 'He'd make a good king if he was slightly less arrogant.' After all, arrogance warranted destruction.
"We should find some place to rest." she said.
"I'm all for that!" Babalyya replied with a grin.
The two of them climbed down and away from the cliff, into the lower Pride Lands where rolling hills stretched on as far as the eye could see. Pride Rock, austere in all its splendor, loomed over them like some ancient beacon - Babalyya could only conjecture as to how it ended up there, and the sheer magnitude of it was something that neither of them could readily express in words. "You should go on ahead for a bit." Mpira suggested as she lowered herself onto the grass.
"Why, are you alright?"
"Just tired from the voyage, that's all."
Babalyya gave a quick nod to his mother, then loped off into the distance. Sighing, she nestled her head between her paws and let her eyes fall shut, her mind filled with limpid images and vague memories. It seemed so long ago that Babalyya and Perisys were both cubs, gamboling around without a care. 'They grew up too fast,' she thought to herself, 'and old Tamire never gave his son a proper chance. It's no wonder that Perisys turned into such a dour individual.'
'He's not my son.' Tamire had said to her one morning, 'Finding him doesn't make him my responsibility.'
'He's just a cub.'
'An Outlander cub.'
'That shouldn't make a difference; not for such a young child, nor for you.' she had growled at him. 'Or have you forgotten where you come from?'
After that, Tamire refused to speak with her no matter how many times she apologized, though he softened somewhat towards the cub. His upbringing was a fragile subject, and most people were prudent enough to avoid it - though he would occasionally impart choice bits to his wife and close friends.
Mpira had nearly fallen asleep when her son returned and sat by her side. "There's something you should see."
"A place to sleep?" she said lazily.
"No, it's something else."
"Tell me, then."
"You'll have to come and look at it for yourself."
The young lion led her away from the edifice of Pride Rock, glancing back at her once or twice. He took her down through tangled brush and a dark, canopied dell. When they emerged on the other end, Pride Rock was back in view, but the land there was different; ahead sat desiccated earth - black, parched, and covered with ash. Where once there must've been lush, verdant trees stood empty shells, lifeless branches outstretched towards the sky with gaunt fingers.
Cadavers were strewn about, vultures picking at whatever carrion that wasn't seared off. In the center of all this sat another body, broken and wretched, but not quite decomposed. Mpira held her breath as she padded over to the seemingly lifeless lion; his coat was of a deep russet, and his mane, while coated with ash, was unmistakeably a shade of black. Over his left eye was a faded scar that ran from the top of his brow to the lower half of his cheek - though several, fresher scars covered his body like patchwork.
Silently, Babalyya joined his mother and gave her a light nuzzle. "Who do you think he is?" she asked, not taking her gaze off of the strange beast.
"Whoever he is, I think he's alive."
