Chapter Text
Suhar's windy descent allowed for a burst of foolish hope to bloom within her frail chest.
One eye squinched open at the buffeting of his mighty wingbeats. Adaeze lifted her head, pushing through the dehydration-induced vertigo to search the sky for signs of the oncoming storm that would bring this time of cruel scarcity to an end. What was above was as barren and empty as the terrain below. She was met with a disappointment she was too exhausted to feel crushed by.
The vulture landed with a grace many would consider unearned if they were to never look past his sinister appearance. His talons clicked smoothly upon the rock as he crossed the surface of the kopje to where the mother and her brood were taking shelter. The lioness had been stripped of all strength, but she could scent blood on his feathers with the effortless talent of any carnivore, and she knew it to be her mate's.
"Suhar," she rasped, not wishing for her newfound ally to go unacknowledged, even if she had yet to find the will to stand and greet him properly. "I knew it would be Tanguy... that he would... do this to us."
He cast a furtive look at the pair of slumbering cubs. With an agonised groan, she hauled herself to all four blistered paws, indicating with a limp toss of her head that they would discuss matters as far from her offspring as was possible in such confined quarters. The vulture hopped along beside her in a fashion that may have been comical if there was anything left to laugh about.
At this level, he had no trouble witnessing the prominence of her ribs, nor the flies that threatened to nest in her shredded flesh. Those wounds were a testament to her loyalty to him. One he would not soon forget.
"How long has it been?"
"How long?"
"Forgive me for any ignorance," she continued, turning her head down toward him so that their eyes might meet. "But I thought your kind only took interest in those who had long since returned to the earth. How long since he passed, do you think?"
Suhar, by nature, embraced the process of death. This was the way of the carrion-eater. He harboured no shame nor reservations for his lot in life, for he had been raised to believe that his role was integral to every being in the Great Circle. He and his kin ushered their vacant bodies out of this world in a way that meant that every death, however mystifying or needless it may seem on the outside, was a worthwhile service in the name of the Circle, and his duty, while grim and widely misunderstood, was irrefutably noble; he ensured no disease or plague that claimed one life might come after another.
He was an expert in death. Grief was another matter.
"Hard to say. The sun is never kind to any who fall," the vulture said. The strange mechanisms of his eye worked, mimicking a pensive blink. "It often seems that in times of especial strife, the Circle becomes merciless. Thama – she is the one who leads our flights, such as a captain leads the pride's hunts," he explained, "she recognised his body. His eyes gave it away, of course. I would not have been able to identify him without her; she controlled the feed, so that by the time I got there, I could look upon him and still know his face, too. She may know something about what happened in his final days. If you wanted me to..."
The mother's fierce gaze was trained on the mixed congregation of animals resting in scattered groups on the bone-dry plains below the kopje, but she did not see them. She saw only a vision of the worm-riddled corpse of her mate.
"I already know what happened to him," she scoffed weakly. "He died a rogue's cowardly death. He met a predictable end. Isn't it always the same way with them?"
Suhar tucked his wings in closely to his sloped body. This was not the Adaeze he had come to know, and he felt it wise to merely listen.
"Now he lives in sweet paradise, and leaves his children behind to scrape by and suffer," she went on, but the bitter lacing in her tone subsided. She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes against the prickling damp, while her thin body trembled violently underneath the perpetual blanket of scorching heat.
"I am sorry that our acquaintance must end this way," the vulture offered meekly. "I had hoped I could have had better news for you. And to have sufficiently returned the kindness you showed me."
"You have, my friend. You have made my choice for me – no more nights of wondering and waiting. He is gone." Saying the words aloud stiffened her spine and corrected her slouching stance. "I have no one to wait for now."
Invigorated by the hint of renewed conviction in her words, the vulture nodded smartly. "You can follow the elephants with no hesitation. You can make a new start for yourself, wherever you all end up." Just as you planned, he thought. Forget not the dreams you shared with me... you, the young mother with nothing to her name, fearlessly guarding a rot-eater with a torn wing out of the goodness of your own heart...
An elephant trumpeted the coming of nightfall, which the congregation recognised as a signal that they were ready to move on. It mattered not whether the weary collection of travellers were game for it; the pachyderms would delay their departure for no one.
"Your journey awaits," Suhar said, readying himself to take flight. "I should like to cross paths with you again, one day. What size might that boy be then, I wonder!" He affectionately flapped a wing toward the larger of the cubs. "Judging by those paws, he'll be a terror upon the whole savannah!"
"I fear that your means of repaying me will amount to more than what you owe, Suhar."
Suhar froze in a crouched position. The wrinkled flesh on his bald dome furrowed concernedly. Her expression affected him in a way that even the night could not aspire to during this searing season. It chilled him to the core.
"I owe you my life, Adaeze. Speak."
"We cannot continue with the elephants," she confessed. "Kisi is barely chewing her food, and I have been dry for days. She won't survive much more of this journey. Perhaps if there were two of us hunting..."
But there is not, and there never was. Her face hardened, and she held her chin high, in spite of the waver of her cool voice.
"I must return to my pridelands. To my mother and father. I can't raise these cubs as a lone nomad. I need their help."
"Adaeze..." He was stunned. They had exchanged their stories during his convalescence. He knew what this would mean for her.
"There are whispers among the congregation. Another half moon at least until we find enough water for all. I can return home in less than that time. I have to believe their land has been kinder to them. There may even be a new mother in the community to help Kisi transition. I need you to lead us, my friend."
The lioness stepped closer. The vulture noticed the bloody streaks her paws left behind, staining the ancient rock. To cut this odyssey short would cost her more than her freedom. Her body will have paid a terrible price for nothing more than a meandering trek. Most of it spent carrying her burden entirely alone.
"At least some of the way. The sun is relentless, but where there is light to see by, I can protect my babes. There is no place for mercy in the night. You must know that."
Suhar shifted uneasily.
"If I were to... I would have to tell Thama – we have females on eggs; she may refuse…"
"Of course."
"And what trail would we follow?"
By the time Adaeze had explained her route, only the shine in her eyes defied the shadows that had swallowed the withered lands.
"We would be passing his resting place," he noted. "If you were to want to say goodbye, I'm afraid we will have already taken what is ours. You know our way."
"You have a right to survive," she said. "We all do. I don't care to see him again. Or what's left of him."
"What about your children?"
"Perhaps it's better to know him in death," she said in sick jest, though both knew her heart wasn't in it. "At least in death, there is permanency. Only in death can he have a place in their lives forever."
The vulture nodded gravely. "I'll have my answer by morning. If I'm permitted to be your scout – and you're already on the move – I'll do my best to catch up. Take care, Adaeze. You and your cubs."
"May you be loved by the sun, my friend," Adaeze said, in the traditional way of parting, though such blessings stung now. She watched him soar toward the spread of stars, envied him furiously for it, then slowly hobbled back towards her progeny.
The larger of the two had stirred at the elephant's familiar signal, which he had learned to diligently and uncomplainingly heed, even when the fleshy parts of his paws started to crack and seep. His half-lidded eyes pulled open wide at the sight of his approaching mother. Instinct encouraged him to stretch his forelegs in a lazy greeting, but he was mindful of the smaller cub curled up beside him, her face pressed into her older brother's soft, warm middle, to hide from the dust and sand.
The lioness summoned a smile as she lowered her head to nuzzle him. She cringed at the layer of dirt that coated her firstborn; she hadn't a wet enough tongue to clean him properly.
"Are we going now, mama?" He asked.
"We are."
"Well, the sooner we go, the sooner we get there," he said, echoing her words from the beginning of this journey. Back when the sunlight was something to bask in, not cower from. He nudged the little bundle of fur beside him. "Come on, Kisi! Wake up!"
"Perhaps we'll let her sleep a little longer," his mother advised.
The cub frowned. "Won't we get left behind?"
"We'll find them again. Or maybe..."
Her son's round ears pricked up in anticipation.
"We'll go on a journey of our own," she finished, with a knowing grin.
The cub looked doubtful. She saw in his blue eyes reflections of his grandfather, whom he inherited those eyes from, and who wore doubt and skepticism as naturally as a cheetah wore its spots. Adaeze swallowed painfully and extended a clawed toe to gently tip his chin upward.
"My big, strong boy – walking before he ever squeaked out a single word," she cooed. "You could carry your sister while she sleeps, couldn't you?"
He nodded eagerly. "Of course I could! I wouldn't even feel her! She's so small." He pressed his pink nose to her cheek, which prompted her to mewl. His whole body seemed to quiver with love for her. "Was I ever that small, mama?"
"Never!" His mother laughed.
"Tell me the story about when you lived with the mongooses," he said.
"Ah, that was right before you were born. In those grasslands out east. Our neighbours there were all of the little folk: mongooses and gophers and such. They couldn't even bear to look at me when we met at the waterhole. They thought I had an entire pride growing in my belly, just waiting to snatch them all up... but it was only you, my love." With whatever moisture she had left, she licked some debris from the blond tufts sprouting on his head. "Your father thought you'd come out with your mane already grown. I almost believed him."
The tuft of her tail twitched expectantly. A kind of twisted satisfaction settled in her bones at her son's lack of interest in his father. Even his smile seemed polite, not wistful or speaking to any paternal pinings. She wondered if she ought to tell him of Tanguy's fate then and there.
But the nights were longer than ever. They had all the time in the world to talk.
"Cassius," his mother murmured sleepily. "Pick out a star."
Obediently, the cub pointed his nose to the shimmering sky. His mouth dropped open in wonder as he roamed the rows of twinkling lights. There were more stars up there than there were wildebeest in a migration! How could he choose?
"That one, mama," he said, eventually. "That one that flickers."
"Are you sure? What about this one over here–"
"That one!"
"Then that will be your star," she said impressively. "We'll call it Cass's star, and that is the one we will follow."
"Where? To Journey's End?" He always spoke of it as if it were an actual place, a tangible location. He was too young to question the fluidity of it, how Journey's End was no longer discovered by relying on the aged wisdom of elephants, but by tracking one single star. Adaeze longed for this unconditional acceptance and guilelessness to last. Soon there would be questions she would have no answers for.
"Yes, my love." She pointed her own nose to the sky and did what she could to mirror her son's awed reaction at what kind of new life this distant star would lead them to. Only in her crimson eyes was the depth of her sadness revealed, and tonight, only the heavens bore witness to it.
"To the very end."