Often a flood began with a few drops of rain, and a fire began with a few small sparks. The first few times Simba felt discomfort after a meal, he thought nothing of it. But finally as days passed into weeks, eating became an exercise in frustration for him. It finally got to the point where he had to be nagged by Pumbaa to eat enough to get by.
He was growing thin. Pumbaa looked at his ribs and said, “Hey, it’s not right for a young fellow not to be hungry like that.” He took Timon aside. “I’m worried about him.”
Finally even Timon became worried. He felt of Simba’s forehead and asked him to stick out his tongue. Everything looked fine, even when he peered at the whites of Simba’s eyes. Though he was no healer, Timon decided that it was probably nothing to worry about—just a childhood disease.
In fact Simba’s appetite kicked in when Pumbaa uncovered a whole nest of Cleoptrid Beetles. They were large, crunchy, and actually had a taste that appealed to Simba. While Pumbaa and Timon were very hungry, they were so glad to see their friend actually eating like his old self that they let him have his fill, even though he ate every last one.
It wasn’t very long until the nausea came back. “Maybe I overate,” Simba said. “I need some water to wash this down. Or I need something.”
“There’s a stream not far from here. Come on.”
“No, Timon. I don’t think I can make it.”
“Do you want to up chuck? Hey, we won’t watch, will we Pumbaa?”
“Just let me....” Simba’s face was a picture of suffering. He coughed, then wretched. “Oh no,” he stammered. Another great heave nearly bent him in two. His meal came up, mixed with a few spots of blood. “Help me! Oh gods, help me!”
“What can I do?” Pumbaa was in despair. “Can I get you anything?”
“No!”
Simba fell on his side and curled up. He wretched repeatedly, splattering the ground with the rest of his meal. But the contractions did not stop.
“Is it gas?”
“Pumbaa, with you, everything is....” Timon looked at the pain in Simba’s eyes. “We have to do something!”
“Let’s pray,” Pumbaa said.
“It’s been so long. I wonder if God still knows I’m here.”
“There’s one way to find out.”
Timon put both of his small hands on one of Simba’s paws. “Don’t you leave me, pal! God, give the little guy a break. He’s had a hard time of it, and he needs something Pumbaa and I can’t give him. Give us a clue. I mean, even if I could help, I don’t know how.” He started as Simba’s paw quivered in his hands, the cub’s muscles flexing with the force of his exertions.
Pumbaa began to cry. “Look at the little boy, God! He’s hurting. Make him stop hurting, please?”
Simba broke out in a sweat. He still retched, though nothing came up but a yellowish drool.
Timon looked up at the sky. “Look, God, I don’t mean to rush you or anything, but if you don’t do something quick, it’s going to be too late! Geez, he’s only a little kid! He deserves a fighting chance.”
A rustling in the underbrush startled them, and they turned to see two hyenas step out slowly, scenting the air. The bigger female stepped forward and spoke, stumbling slightly in the common language. “We take care of him.”
“Hey, you’ll have to kill us first!”
“You’re Timon, are you not?” The male saw by his startled expression that he must be right. “We here-” He shook his head and tried again. “We are here to help you with the sick child. You were the one that asked God to give the child a fighting chance, aren’t you?”
“You could have overheard us. That’s not a miracle.” Timon did not trust them. “Get lost before my buddy here stomps you flat.”
The male fixed Timon with his gaze, stilling the meerkat as he stared into the deep set eyes of the hyena. Sparkles winked on and off in there, a dancing firelight of silver as the hyena spoke softly. “There is nothing whatever to fear from us."
Timon answered back, "I'm not afraid."
"We trust we will have your full cooperation."
Timon nodded. "If there's anything I can do for you, just let me know."
The male said, "You will introduce me to the child."
"Sure. Simba, these are two good friends of mine. They have come here to help you."
"Who are they?" Simba asked, cringing from another spasm.
"I don't know," Timon said, looking puzzled. “I must have forgotten their names.”
Simba cringed away from the huge hyenas as they moved closer. "I am Gur'bruk, and this is my bak’ret Kambra. We are--how you say--healers. We were sent by Minshasa, the lioness of white hair. You know her, don’t you?"
Simba’s eyes flickered for a moment, but another spasm of pain wrenched at him, and he simply moaned.
"I don't know any white lionesses," Timon said, puzzled. "But hey, I'm glad she sent you."
Kambra sniffed of the spots on the ground. “This is bad. We must act now.”
“I could have told you that.”
Gur'bruk frowned at Timon, and the meerkat silenced. Then Gur’bruk had Simba lay on his side. "Look at my eyes, son. Can you tell me what color they are?"
"Sure. They're brown."
"Are you sure? Are you very sure?"
"Well I--no, they're green. No wait, they’re blue. Hey, how did you do that?"
"I will tell you in a minute. But right now, what color are they?"
"They're still blue but there are little white things--oh, it's the sky! I can see the clouds move!"
“Very good. If you look at the clouds, some of them are shaped like things you know.”
Kambra was feeling over Simba's body with a paw. Though she was barely touching him, it was clear from her face that she was concentrating very hard.
"Look past the clouds,” Gur’bruk asked. “Are there birds in the sky?"
“Yes. Lots of them.”
Kambra’s roving ceased as she stared intently at a spot on Simba’s side. Nodding, she glanced up at Timon and winked. Then she looked at Gur’bruk oddly for a moment, and turned back to Simba.
"Are all of the birds the same?"
“Yes.”
“Every one?” Gur’bruk cocked an ear slightly. “How about the one in front?”
"I see it now. Most of them are black, but the one in front is red."
"That is your pain, Simba. See it fly away? He takes your pain with him. He is going far away, and he is not coming back. Do you feel the pain smaller?"
Simba's tense features softened. He had a relaxed smile. "Oh yeah. Oh that feels better! Make the bird stay away."
“I promise you we will. I had a little ban’ret like you in the past. When he hurted, I play the bird game with him. It made him feel better.”
“Where is your boy now? All grown up?”
“He go to died,” Gur’bruk said.
“That’s so sad. Gur’bruk, there are dark clouds in the sky now. It looks like a storm coming.”
“Yes, I feel it” Gur’bruk’s eyes misted up and a quiet tear trickled down his cheek. “His name was Gur’mekh. Simba is a pretty name. What does it mean?”
“Lion.”
“I think it fits you maybe.”
Timon moved forward as Kambra nosed Simba’s side again, her tongue flicking out for a second. “Hey! What’re you DOING--” He stared, gaping in astonishment as Kambra drew back and then plunged her muzzle inside Simba, her nose disappearing into him as if she were penetrating her reflection at a water hole.
“Oh my gods!” Timon wavered drunkenly and sat down hard, head swimming as he watched the impromptu operation in progress. There was no blood, and Simba certainly gave no sign of pain as he continued to stare into Gur’bruk’s eyes. Kambra pulled suddenly, and out came a pink growth which she discarded in the brush. Sitting back, she sighed satisfactorily. “All done.”
Timon glared at her suspiciously and ran over to Simba. Gritting his teeth, he felt around gingerly under the fur, expecting to find the matted wetness of blood and the ragged edge of a wound in his side.
Instead, he found nothing. he began combing through the soft fur, poking at the firm hide of the cub. “Where’d ya hide it?!”
Simba giggled slightly at the touch, and Gur'bruk smiled. “The game is over now. How do you feel, young ban’ret?"
Simba got up and shook off. "I feel hungry!"
Gur’bruk nuzzled him, as did Kambra.
Timon breathed a sigh of relief and grinned at Kambra. "I could just kiss you if you didn't eat carrion."
"I could just kiss you back if you did not eat the grubs."
"Good point." He patted her and pecked her cheek. "We owe you one."
“Owe me one what?” She thought for a moment. “Oh it’s a figuresque of speech.” She looked at Timon closely. “Now listen, old ban’ret. Fate the path goes--if you--how you say ‘ta’kher ohvi gabrukh....’” She stopped, putting her paw on his face and concentrating. “Your charge will find a glorious destiny,” she said in flawless Suricati.
Stunned, he dropped back into his native tongue. “I’d believe it. He’s a great kid.” Timon scratched behind his ear and shifted uneasily. “Tell me the truth: will the problem come back?"
"What is he eating?"
"Grubs and beetles, mainly."
"Oh gods! That's what caused it. You have to teach him how to hunt. Or at least how to scavenge."
"Scavenging we can do, but I'm no carnivore."
"Bugs are not what Roh'kash meant for lions to eat. You must change his lifestyle, at least a little. There are some herbs you can try to stall the problem, but someday you'll have to let him be what he was born to be, a hunter."
“I guess so. But hey, where did you guys come from? I mean, you’re not from around here, are you?”
“No.” Kambra closed her eyes and sighed. “But where we came from, we cannot go.”
Timon fell silent as he looked at her, recognizing a kindred soul of one who has been cast out. Yet he knew somehow that this was much more than a simple outcast before him. Gur’bruk came to stand beside Kambra, kissing her face and nuzzling her neck. Timon regarded them soberly, seeing the comfort they took from one another, but there was an evident look of sadness on their faces that was at once noble and poignant.
Reverting to common speech he said, “Look, why don’t you guys stick with us? I mean, we don’t have a home either. Not really.”
“We go where Roh’kash sends us, like the restless wind.”
“In a way, so do we.”
Pumbaa looked at them wonderingly. “Will we ever see you again?”
“If you need us once more, you will see us.” Without explanation, he looked up and said, “Yolanda, we paid the debt.”
The two vanished back into the undergrowth in a quiet rustle of leaves. Timon and Pumbaa stared after them for a long moment, until they were distracted by a cough behind them. They turned to see Simba rising unsteadily on all four legs, a look of disgust on his face as he spat into the dust.
“Yech! My mouth tastes like five day old pond scum!”
“Must’ve been something you ate,” Timon said dryly. “C’mon, kid, let’s go get some water.”
“Yeah!”
From the concealment of the lush undergrowth, Gur’bruk and Kambra watched the trio meander away, the cub leaning against Pumbaa’s shoulder as Timon perched on his head, directing the way to the water hole. Gur’bruk blinked as his thoughts raced unspoken to his mate. “Do you think they’ll be all right?”
“They’ll be fine.” She smiled at him. “Have faith, love.”
“I trust Roh’kash implicitly. THOSE two...”
“...are fulfilling their destiny. Just as the cub will one day, with their help.” She looked after the odd trio, her smile fading. Gur’bruk felt an odd feeling emanating from her, something akin to awe. He looked at her curiously, and she met his gaze, her eyes shining. “I told the meerkat the child was destined for great things, and he is. When I removed the growth, I was caught up in his Ka. He’s the one true king! And he is the anointed.”
“The anointed? What are you saying??”
“He bears the mark of Duhbrek. Roh’kash had chosen him from his birth to bring freedom to the captives and mercy to the oppressed.”
“And we were sent to save his life!” Gur’bruk closed his eyes and muttered, “Thank you, Lord!”
She fell quiet, trembling. “Yes. We have paid the price. Husband, he has set us free!”
“I think so, dear. But we must wait on the Lord. Roh’kash will send us a sign.”
“What kind of sign?”
“I don’t know. But when it happens, we’ll know.”
Just then they heard a rustling in the undergrowth. “Muti? Maleh?”
Gur’bruk gasped. “My gods, it’s the sign!”
Kambra cared nothing for signs. She shrieked, running to Gur’mekh’s ka. As tears streamed from her eyes, she rubbed him and smothered him with kisses, yipping a string of wordless utterances that were wrongly called “hyena laughter” by those who did not understand. Raising up on her back legs, she wrapped her forearms around his neck, pushing him to the ground and nuzzling him desperately. “My precious little boy!” she finally choked out between her sobs. “Gur’bruk, it’s him!”