CHAPTER 43:  OMLAKH

	Melmokh banned private prayer, asking instead for the hyenas to 
come directly into the presence of their God and speak their mind.  He 
appeared on Ul Khalil rock each night at high moon in the form of a 
beautiful female hyena, speaking softly and with an outward kindness 
that hid the blasphemous, dark purpose of his plans.
	Though many were convinced that God was among them, others were 
not so easily swayed.  Ber and a lot of the intellectuals saw something 
strange with the new doctrines of the false Roh'kash.  They relied on 
their faith instead of what their eyes told them, and in this regard 
they could peer through chinks in the armor of Melmokh.
	This small group held a secret prayer vigil each night while the 
others were paying homage to the demon.  Once when Ber was lying on his 
back in the depths of prayer, he called upon Roh'kash in tones that 
melted the hearts of those who heard him as perspiration broke on him 
and his fur matted.
	"Almighty mother whose gentleness is like the sunrise, your broken 
remnant looks to you for deliverance.  Is there no word for us?  Is 
there no truth that we must be subject to the lies of traitors and 
blasphemers?  My life for a word.  My life for one word of truth to 
leave behind with these poor souls that love you!"
	There was a smell of jasmine, and a soft golden light.  To Ber's 
surprise, the lithe, graceful form of a beautiful white lioness emerged.  
A deep purr emenated from her as she regarded him benevolently, her tail 
stirring restlessly as she spoke.  
	"Ber, my child, do not listen to the lies of the demon Melmokh who 
claims to be God.  The true God has heard your prayers.  There will be 
night before the dawn, but even in the night there are stars that shine.  
Be brave, my child."
	The lioness quickly kissed Ber on the cheek, then dematerialized 
as quickly as she came.
	Ber got up, rubbed his cheek with a paw, than said, "Quick, hide!  
We are not safe here!"
	The dissenters hurried away to the caves, and none too soon, for a 
fierce female hyena came hurtling in.  She nosed about quickly, trying 
to smell the tracks and identify who was there, but the only scent to be 
had was that of jasmine.  "Damn you, Minshasa!  Stay out of here!  This 
is MY land!  I was invited here!  This is MINE and you can't have it 
back!"
	For a brief moment, the false Roh'kash rippled and changed, 
becoming a furious, seething male.  Looking around with eyes shining red 
as coals, Melmokh peered into the surrounding grass and rocks looking 
for those who dared discover his secret.  But the lioness had sent a 
brisk wind that swept the tracks away without a trace.  "Come back, and 
I'll kill you!" he said in a voice that tore at the air, making the very 
stones in the earth tremble and vibrate with its gutteral fury.  "One on 
one, you meddlesome witch!  See if you're so strong when it's just you 
and me!!"
	Ber and his intellectuals and the gentle-minded formed a sort of 
clan within a clan, which got the informal name of The Omlakhs, "the 
different ones."  They prayed to Roh'kash and to the white lioness in a 
different place each night, sang the ancient hymns and worked to keep 
the spirit of their faith alive in the descending spiritual darkness.
	The temptation to follow a visible god who worked miracles was too 
strong for most of them.  They believed whatever the false Roh'kash told 
them, losing the purity of their faith to the new doctrines of Melmokh, 
doctrines that sentenced his enemies to a horrible death.  Ber and his 
group continued to worship as their heart told them, holding to the 
ideals of fairness and freedom that underpinned the old faith and gave 
it true meaning.  Eventually brothers in the same family split over this 
issue.  The Omlakhs kept strict secrecy, terrified of what would happen 
if someone betrayed them.
	While not a terrorist organization, under the leadership of Ber, 
the Omlakhs did try in subtle ways to subvert the will of the Makei.  
And for this they ended up becoming persecuted.
	Finally one of their number was found out.  A female named 
Belvalen was trapped and condemned by the false Roh'kash to be tortured 
to death.  For it was Melmokh's wish to snare other Omlkahs.  
	Melmokh made it a test of loyalty that each member of the clan 
bite her hard enough to draw blood and make her scream.  Some of the 
hyenas were loyal to the false Roh'kash, but they felt cold shudders to 
pierce the hide of the young female.  Melmokh, sensing this, kissed each 
of the hyenas that bit her.
	Den'beer was coming up in the line.  He shuddered, knowing that he 
could not hurt her.  Of course he knew that he would be given away, and 
not only die but be used to trap other Omlkahs who would have to torture 
HIM.  He thought of a desperate plan in that moment.  He knew that the 
only hope for his people was something that Melmokh did not understand--
an act of profound love.
	Belvalen was crouched in the niche where she had been held 
prisoner, the forbidding rock walls preventing her escape.  She cringed 
as a blast of steam belched from the thermal vent beside her, bathing 
her in its gusty breath and making her break out in a sweat which was 
not entirely due to the heat.  She shook with the pain of the wounds 
that had been inflicted on her body, her blood running down her sides in 
fine streams to pool near the lip of the cauldron next to her, bubbling 
and hissing as it emitted a hot coppery odor.  Her limbs trembled from 
fear and the loss of blood, and she prayed that the pain would end soon.
	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 44:  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 abouot 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."

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