“Yet out of the ashes, we shall rise to greet the dawning of a new era, in which lion and hyena come together in a great and glorious future!” At his signal, the hyenas emerged from their hiding places, slinking down the rocks and crawling from ravines and gullies, eyes gleaming ferally in the faint light of the crescent moon which hung over the Pride Lands, looking for all the world like the scythe of the reaper come to claim his own.
Later that evening, a stunned Rafiki was led out of the cave by Krull and two other hyenas. As he stumbled down the rocky path, shoved and pushed about by the two thugs, he recalled numbly the manic look in Taka’s eyes when Rafiki had confronted him. “Oh Taka,” Rafiki moaned as the guards led him away. “What has happened to you?”
“Shut up,” one of the hyenas growled roughly. He butted Rafiki in the back with his nose, sending the mandrill reeling into the dirt. Raucous laughter resounded in Rafiki’s ears as he lay there, staring at the coarse grass which fluttered in the light breeze. A shadow flickered over his vision, and he glanced up, expecting to see the guards looming over him.
Instead, his eyes met empty air. He frowned uneasily as Krull tongue lashed the other two into a semblance of obedience, then motioned to him with a paw. “Get up, old one. We don't have all night.”
As they neared the baobab, he wondered nervously if the shock of Mufasa’s death had clouded his senses. Shadows flickered in and out of his line of sight, yet whenever he turned and tried to seek them out, they melted away into the night. As they ascended into the tree, a small voice spoke something inaudible in his ear, and he glanced at Krull curiously. “What?”
The hyena glared at him. “By the gods, are you feebleminded? I haven’t said anything!” Nosing him inside, the hyena looked him squarely in the face. “By the King’s authority, I have been appointed captain of this guard detail. Know this, prisoner; your life lies in my jaws. Disobey the boundaries His Highness has set, and I will crush it between my teeth. Understood?”
“Clearly,” Rafiki snapped.
“It is good, then.” Krull nodded to him and departed.
The mandrill watched him descend and take up station at the foot of the tree. He sighed and sat down, legs dangling over the side of the tree as he looked wistfully at the empty spot where Makedde’s bed had once sat. He missed his brother terribly, but at least he had been spared having to see this tragedy. Rafiki rubbed his eyes, groaning, and glanced at his shadow next to him, sharp and neat in the light of the moon which hung low in the sky in front of him-
His face pinched in confusion. The crescent moon sat before him in the sky. A quick glance behind him confirmed that his shadow was right there at his back, as it should have been. He glanced to his right at the puddle of darkness that lay next to him, wondering where the other light was coming from.
His eyes bulged as the shadow streched out and flitted away, seeping into the crevices of the baobab. A tenebrous whispering sound reached his ears again, making him twitch his head reflexively. His hair stood on end as a chill ran down his spine, making him shiver. Kneeling, he muttered a quick prayer to Mano and Minshasa, then opened his eyes again and looked out at the savannah, a moan escaping his lips as he peered about.
The air about his tree swirled with dancing shapes, flitting here and there from shadow to shadow without revealing detail. A faint hissing sound, like rain on the savannah issued from them, and occasionally he would catch a swatch of unintelligible whispers. He glanced up at the sky, and saw them whirling about overhead, in a faintly circular pattern that seemed vaguely familiar.
He bolted forward, seizing a limb and swinging upward, flitting from branch to branch agilely until he was perched as his favorite lookout spot. It was from here that he loved to watch the sun rise and spread its golden rays across the Pride Lands, but he stood now helplessly, jaw agape as he watched a much darker dawning take place.
A roiling mass of blackness, tinged with angry purple at the edges danced and shivered over the elephant graveyard. At one end, a long tentacle-like extrusion was protruding towards the spire of Pride Rock, and it was from the tip of this that the shadowy shapes emerged, to go spiraling down the pinnacle and flowing out over the ground below.
“The Makei,” he whispered. “The Makei are everywhere, oh gods what is happening to us?” He raised his eyes beseechingly heavenward. “Aiheu, help us. Guide us in our time of need-”
One of the dark shaped arrowed from the sky, enveloping his chest and freezing his breath in his lungs. A second darted down and surrounded his face. Total blackness enveloped him, and with a startled cry he fell through the air, flailing blindly. He collided with several branches before coming to halt with a bone-jarring thud. Feeling about, his hands roved over his staff. Snatching it up, he swung wildly around him, but the only response was a faint trace of laughter. The cold feeling in his chest spread as he groped feebly, hunting for some kind of weapon, but his searching hands only found his medicine pouch. Falling to his knees, it spilled across the floor of the tree, sending roots and herbs in a hectic sprawl. He sank to his side, fingers twitching, and felt the smooth silkiness of a lock of hair at the bottom of his bag. He drew it to him weakly, wanting to feel the brush of the fur against his face one last time-
An unholy shriek drilled into his head. Suddenly, the veil was ripped away, and he saw the brilliant sprawl of stars above him. The benumbed feeling had left his chest as well, and he drew in a deep breath, coughing as he glanced at the lock of fur in his fingers. It shone in the dark tree, glowing faintly from within.
“Mano,” he whispered. “Thank you.” Dragging himself to his feet, he looked about. There was no sign of the dark shapes he had seen earlier, but the feeling of malevolence in the air was unmistakable. It beat upon him, and he felt the well of despair threatening to return, eagerly waiting to swallow him whole. He clutched the white fur to his chest, and the feeling faded immediately. Nodding to himself, he picked up a torn piece of leather he used to wipe up spilled medicines. Wrapping it carefully around the fur, he tied a thin leather thong securely around it and slipped it over his neck. The makeshift locket felt warm against his chest as he made his way to the edge of the tree. He gazed at Pride Rock slowly, then walked over to the shrine Makedde had so carefully hewn into the side of the trunk. His fingers traced the outline of Simba he himself had drawn into the bark as a tear ran down his cheek.
“Poor child. Innocent and now dead because of me.” Sadly, he took his hand and wiped over the painting, smearing the mark of his anointing. “Somehow, some way, I will undo this evil. I swear I will never stop trying till death takes me.”
CHAPTER 45: THE DROUGHT
As the months wore on, Rafiki found himself increasingly distrusted by the new monarch and his associates. Taka was no fool, and realized that a shaman who could look into the future could just as well look into the past; it is far easier to determine what has been than what might be. Rafiki was forced to watch as his scrying bowl was reduced to splinters by his hyannic overseers.
One particularly odious guard took great delight in tormenting Rafiki as he wrecked the priceless artifact. “Don’t fret, Painted Face,” he said. “I’ll help you tell the future. Let me predict what will happen if you don't keep your mouth shut about our great and noble king.” He bared his fangs in a cold grin.
Krull, who took no pleasure in tormenting the old mandrill, cut him off with a glare. “Enough, Skulk. You are dismissed.”