Only two and a half months after Elanna married Taka, she began having contractions. She was in danger of having a miscarriage, or at least that’s what Kako could gather from a few snatches she overheard. The hyena guards would not let her too close to Taka’s cave, and they would not give her a straight answer.
An old mandrill was escorted quickly to the cave, his hyena guard supremely impatient with his unsteady, lumbering gait. Kako had heard of Rafiki. Whisperings from the hyenas and a few disparaging remarks from Taka would lead her to believe that some evil sorcerer was being confined in the baobab. The other lionesses, however, told a different story. She did not know what to believe.
Rafiki passed close by Kako. He paused and looked at her. In a kind and bashful voice, he said, “My dear, I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. Has it been that long?”
The mandrill yelped as one of the guards nipped his flank. Quickly he drew his fingers in blessing across her cheek and started on before he could be bitten again.
Kako was watching and listening, but was in a poor position to tell what was going on. She would have to ask Uzuri later. The conversation was anxious and rose and fall, but she could make out very little. Then she heard very clearly, “Rafiki! Do something! Anything! My son, my son!”
A few moments of near absolute silence went by. If this mandrill was really a great sorcerer, he would perform some great spell, probably in exchange for his freedom. That was the plan, wasn’t it? “Aiheu,” she whispered, “give him the power. Give him the power.”
After a few moments, she heard a loud cry from the cave. It was not an apelike sound but the heart-rending howl of a fully-grown male lion whose strength and courage could not even keep a small cub from dying before his eyes.
Isha, her ears and tail drooping, went past bearing a small dead male. “Oh Isha,” Kako whispered, pawing her shoulder as she walked by. Isha looked around, her eyes red with hopeless tears. Soon after that, escorted by hyenas, Rafiki dragged past as well. Kako watched the grief stricken mandrill limp by, leaning heavily on his staff. If possible, he looked even older and more bent than before.
Taka came out on the promontory and shouted in his anguish, “If there is a God....” He took in a deep breath and concluded, “....please help me!!” He sat on the end of the promontory, his face bent low and sobbed. Fabana slipped alongside him and held up her finely chiseled nose, howling like her heart would crumble. Even the lionesses that hated him most were silent, transfixed by the depth of their grief. Then Taka raised his muzzle to the sky, pulled in a deep breath and roared with pain. All of the lionesses took up the sound. The hyenas howled and yammered, and from a nearby acacia, a flight of weaverbirds scattered like a living cloud. The silence that followed could almost be nudged by a paw. All eyes were on the dark-maned lion as he trudged down the promontory.
Still weak in the knees, Taka wended his way down Pride Rock and crept slowly to where Kako stood with her son.
“It seems the Gods have spoken,” Taka said. “There will be no prince from my line.” His chin began to tremble and tears spilled down his cheeks. “She can never....the damage has....”
Fabana quickly pressed her shoulder against his. “Remember, son. You’re a king.”
Taka did his best to keep some royal dignity, but he looked like a trembling blade of grass caught in a strong wind. Kako quietly padded over and kissed him. “I’m so sorry. You poor dear—I mean, Your Majesty.”
“Kako, you came to me from the gods. Your goodness is one of the few things that can laugh at the curse that burns my blood.” He sighed, and with great effort said, “Mabatu is my Prince, and your future King.”
“You honor us, Bayete.”
He looked at Mabatu. “Hello, sport.”
“Hello, Your Majesty.”
“You are a prince now. You should call me by my name, or if you feel like it, you may call me...please call me....Dad?”
Mabatu came and sat next to him, burying his head in Taka’s mane. “I love you, Dad.”
“I love you too.” He kissed Baba. “You’re my last hope, son. Go to sleep a little early tonight ‘cause tomorrow, I’m waking you at sunrise. I have something I want to show you.”
“What?”
“You’ll see.”