Her heart sank as the next hyena in line stepped forward. Skulk came up and without hesitation inflicted a severe bite to her flank that made her shriek with agony. Her cry of pain shook Den’beer to the core. “Enough!” he thought. “It ends here!”

Now all eyes were on Den’beer. Mortally wounded but still terrified, Belvalen looked at him pleadingly. He smiled sweetly at her. “I love you, Belvalen! Let us greet the true God together!”

Relief flooded her face, and she smiled back. “Yes! Come to me!”

Before anyone could stop him, he ran to her, ramming into her and bearing her with him into the thermal vent, disappearing into the depths without a sound.

In that brief moment, Shimbekh, who could not bear to look at the vent, turned away, her gaze coming to rest on the face of the one she worshipped. Her blood froze as she saw the face of Roh’kash horribly distorted in rage, the features actually running as though seen through a haze of rain, the warm amber eyes turned to crimson points of fire that blazed with wrath. Seconds later, the Mother of All’s face returned to normal, and she bowed her head in sadness. “Such is the fate of all those who would not tread the path of righteousness,” she intoned sadly. “Let us pray for their souls.”

Shimbekh trembled as she bowed her head along with the others. How could the true God possess any evil qualities?? She had heard some disturbing rumors flitting about the clan, and some of the feelings she picked up from the hyenas around her did nothing to ease her disquiet. She resolved to speak with Ber at mid moon and find out just what was going on in her troubled family. Putting the thought aside, she turned inwards as the droning monotone of the prayer continued around her. Unbidden, the image of Roh’kash sprang to mind again, her normally beatific features now grossly twisted in a mask of hate.

She suddenly found that the soul she was praying for was her own.

CHAPTER 46: COUP DE GRACE

Simba pranced delightedly about the muddy path, splashing the water with his big paws and laughing at the pretty rainbows they made in the air, the droplets catching the light in an explosion of color before they fell back to earth.

Abruptly, another burst of color emerged before him. The cub’s face was mesmerized by the fluttering wings of the butterflies which leapt up from the jungle floor, swirling around him in a living carousel of glittering beauty. Entranced, he watched them flit about aimlessly, giggling at the sight of the tiny creatures. Playfully, he batted at one.

His paw flicked out with deadly accuracy, striking the insect and cuffing it to the earth in a crushing blow. Chagrined, Simba looked down worriedly as the insect struggled to move, but its wings were broken and it was now missing a couple of legs. Concerned, Simba got Pumbaa to look at it.

“What should I do?”

“Don’t eat it, kid. They’re bitter.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean—it’s going to die. I broke its wings. Is there something I can do to fix it? Can YOU fix it?”

Pumbaa stepped forward, crushing it with his hoof. “That’s all I can do. It would have suffered.”

Simba looked horrified. “Pumbaa,” he asked, very disturbed, “when you hurt something--by accident for instance--does God punish you if you’re really, really sorry?”

“I guess it depends on how bad you hurt them, and how sorry you really are.”

“What if you hurt them really bad? You know, like maybe they died or something? But it was an accident and you were really sorry?”

Pumbaa looked at him suspiciously. “Hey, little guy, this friend that did the hurting—did you know him well?”

Simba’s whiskers trembled slightly. “Uh, no. I was just wondering.”

“Well that’s good. But the way I see it, this person you don’t know should apologize for what it is they did. And if that person was a lot like you—you know, nice and kind and thoughtful—I think God would not hold it against them.”

“Yeah.” He nuzzled Pumbaa, then goaded the warthog into a wrestling match.

As the day wore on, however, Simba found many moments to reflect on the conversation. Deeply troubled, he padded quietly away from Timon and Pumbaa that evening as the stars began to emerge into the sky. He made his way quietly to his favorite spot; atop a rotted tree stump near a muddy washout.

The cub padded slowly through the dead undergrowth, broken stalks and twigs showing clearly that he had passed this way before many times. He leapt lightly to the top of the stump and craned his head up to look at the reason he came here so often. A small break in the triple canopy foliage overhead offered an unobstructed view of a swath of stars that he had come to know well.

Pumbaa eased through the buses to the opening the cub had made and peered through, wondering why Simba wandered off to this desolate clearing. As he caught sight of the cub, he drew back, embarrassed; Simba’s face was stricken as he searched the heavens above.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” He opened his mouth again, but all that emerged was a choked sob.

Timon clambered up Pumbaa’s back to perch atop his head. “Well? What’s he doing-” His jaw shut with a snap as he saw Simba hunched on the stump, head buried under his forepaws and bawling hoarsely. “Aw, jeez...” He slid down Pumbaa’s snout, preparing to run over to the cub, when Pumbaa flicked his head, sending the meerkat sailing back behind to land on his broad back. “Whattya doin’?”

“No. Let the little guy alone.” Tears ran down Pumbaa’s cheeks. “He’s a little guy with a big problem.”

CHAPTER 47: OIL AND WATER

Uzuri sighed as she looked across the rocks at her hunting party. “Oh, gods,” she thought. “This is never going to work.”

Assembled in front of her were her huntresses: Sarabi, Isha, Yolanda, Ajenti, Tameka, and Beesa. Uzuri had intended for Sarafina to join them, but the lioness had uncharacteristically begged off, asking to remain at home with her daughter, Nala. Uzuri had queried her lightly on this, but had not pressed the matter; when it came to hunting, none of her lionesses were slouchers, least of all Sarafina. She had readily consented and substituted the young Tameka in Fini’s place. But Uzuri would have much rather have had Sarafina’s experience along for what lay ahead of them tonight.

She glanced over at the other half of her hunting party. Supposedly chosen for their hunting prowess, the six hyenas she had been assigned did not do much to comfort her. At the present moment they were busy arguing among themselves about a particularly nasty fight they had witnessed a few months back.

Clearing her throat, she stepped forward. “Excuse me. If you’re quite finished...” At her penetrating stare, the hyenas subsided slowly. “We’ll be hunting in the northern meadows tonight. Now, as you are unfamiliar with our hunting tactics, I wanted to go over a couple of things that I thought-”

“We can’t eat tactics,” one of the hyenas quipped. “I need red meat and lots of it. I think could eat a whole lion!”

The other hyenas erupted in a gale of raucous laughter. Uzuri set her jaw and endured it until it subsided, then looked at the one who had spoken. “I take it you are Pipkah?”

“Yes, I’m Pipkah, but you can’t take it.” Some of the other hyenas nearly went into fits at this jibe. Others hid their faces and groaned.

Uzuri blew out her breath in frustration and turned to Isha. “I give up. We’ll just have to hope they know what they’re doing.”

Isha stared hard at Pipkah as Uzuri passed by her, muttering. The young lioness glanced back at Uzuri, noting the peculiar set of her head. She envied the hunt mistress’s powers of concentration; already the incident was put behind her as Uzuri began running attack patterns and possible hunting sites through her head.