revised chapters

Prologue
The lion cub strode back to take a better look at the statue. The marble eyes of the great lion returned his gaze. Some illusion of the falling snow on the cold marble caused the statue’s eyes to crinkle in kind amusement and the mouth to smile in benevolence. Just by gazing at this stone representation of their great leader could the citizens of Arthika fill their hearts with peace and contentment, and the cub felt no less joyful. He tried to copy the statue’s expression, crinkling his own eyes and stretching his mouth in an exaggerated smile. His fur stood on end from the strain.
He turned to his playmates sporting on the snow; they had built a snow fort and were involved in pelting one another with hastily rolled snowballs from both sides of its low walls. Still smiling, the cub turned its attention to the old fox on the granite steps of the pedestal. That wrinkled citizen was knitting a woolen cloak for himself, humming a century-old song. Behind and above him were praises carved in honor of the greatest lion of all time.
“Sir?”
“I have forgiven you, my son, if there’s anything to forgive.” It was the old fox’s turn to present a smile, and he did that, a toothless copy of the cub’s.
“I, too, have thrown snowballs at the old when I was a cub like you, and not by mistake, unlike you,” the fox cackled merrily.
“How old are you, Sir?”
“Old? I am ancient, hee, hee, hee! I was a young fox when the great Bherek was a cub like you.”
“Bherek?” The cub glanced at the statue, “Tell me what you know of him, Sir, please.”
By this time, the cub’s companions had begun to arrive at the foot of the statue, drawn by the promise of a story.
“It was in the second millennium AM, according to the calendar we had in those days,” began the fox, throwing his knitting aside.
“AM? What AM?” whispered a bear cub to his friend.
“Something like our RBW, ‘in the Reign of Bherek White,’I guess.”
“AM is After Man,” said one big bear, who had just come up, “There was a race called humans thousands of years ago. At least, that’s what they say. And nobody knows what they looked like.”
Many adults had joined the gathering by now, and the storyteller, delighted with his large audience, stood up, the better to tell his dramatic story.
“Arthika didn’t know Bherek White then. He was just an orphan boy come to stay with his uncle at the city. The city was not as it is now; it was a time of hatred and unrest, a time of jealousy and greed, a time of all bad things. When Accerbus the Luce, with his evil designs, wanted to make the whole of Arthika his kingdom.
But the gods decided to send one of their own to us, as an old saying goes, “When beasts descend to the level of men, the gods descend to the level of beasts.”
The old fox continued, completely capturing the minds of his audience.
A figure slipped away from the gathering, an old lion wrapped up in a dark red cloak, and walked off the gardens into the woods beyond. Being with his happy people always made the old lion happy, but today the old fox had brought back memories. Memories of those innocent years when he had not known his destiny, or done anything to change the destiny of the world. When he had been just a simple village boy…
1. A Shrunken Kingdom

“Bumpkin!”
The taunt bounced off the twelve-year old snow lion like an arrow shot at a rock. Bherek White smiled. He tossed his golden mane back, and stood with his feet wide apart on the pebble-paved alley. He was in his ‘bumpkin’ clothes, a single piece of ragged, yellow cloth wrapped around him, a red sash to hold it in place, and sandals of unfashionable cut and leather. He had no illusion about his looks. He had prepared himself for jeers and insults from the boys of the city, and he had told himself that he would not be provoked. His younger brothers, standing behind him with his friend, Zanny Vastt, were not as comfortable as he was.
Iovire and Staur held on to their brother’s arms with shaking paws. Having decided to explore the city, they had been having fun since the morning, gawking at the colorful clothes of the people, the carts selling strange and useless items, the noisy crowds and the tall buildings. Now they found themselves in a disused alley, in a deserted part of the city. Trouble!
Zanny, who looked like a tall crag of ice but moved like a forest fire, was raring to pick up a fight. Any fight. And this looked like an admirable opportunity to show off his wrestling skills.
“And just look at that stupid urchin,” continued the street-stained leader of the taunting pack, a spotted lion, or spotard, pointing at Bherek’s youngest brother, Staur.
“Yes, he’s four-handed!” laughed a sidekick, another spotard, “Hey, little monster, why don’t you help my poor mother in the kitchen? She always says she needs four hands!” The leader and the remaining two found this very funny and laughed, too.
Bherek’s smile faded to a stern tightening of his lips. He considered Staur’s four arms to be a special gift from the gods, not an ugly handicap.
“No, Zanny, wait!” he yelled, too late. The white lion had already dashed towards the four spotards. The leader, unprepared for an attack, froze for a moment. Then he went for Zanny’s head with his wooden stick.
But Zanny’s head was not there for the club. It dipped, and rammed the spotard in the belly, hurling him off his feet. The stick rattled on the pebbled street, a few feet away. Zanny placed a heavy foot on the chest of his fallen opponent.
The dazed spotard blinked; then opened his eyes. His stick was out of reach.
“Stinking spotards!” hissed Zanny, “Cowards to the core! Where are your brave friends now, Spotty?” The three had disappeared when their leader had gone down.
“Enough, Zanny!” Bherek strode over.
“Spotards don’t stink! They are only colored different,” he said sternly. He heaved his big friend off the spotard, who tried to sit up. Bherek grasped the city cub’s arm and pulled him to his feet.
“Let’s go,” Bherek said and herded his group away, towards the more populated street. Without turning, he added, “And villagers don’t stink, either!”
That was for the benefit of the spotted cub, standing there with hanging head and hunched shoulders. His dirty yellow mane, cut medium as per the latest trend, fell in a disheveled fringe, hiding his forehead, but not the shame in his eyes.

Later that evening, the boys had dinner with their uncle, Titon Rok, who had just returned from guard duty at the palace. Rok was a heryante, in charge of a hundred guards. He had no cubs of his own, and after the recent death of Bherek’s parents, Titon had brought the orphaned cubs to their home in the city of Auris.
Prava, Titon’s wife, was a wonderful cook, who believed in stuffing the children up with a variety of meats and sweets, almost all the time.
Bherek was served from a separate vessel, as he was a vegetarian. That was highly unusual for a lion, but his aunt cheerfully cooked him delicious dishes from all the vegetables, nuts and fruits she managed to grow in her garden. Anyway, Ohom-nia, the mother goddess who was their family deity, loved vegetarians best. She watched him affectionately as he riddled her husband with questions in between mouthfuls.
Bherek never tired of asking Rok about the city and its history, and Titon cheerfully supplied information and stories.
“Well, Auris has lost its past glory,” Titon said, stroking his bushy white beard, “Twenty years ago, it was the prosperous capital of the empire of the Aurian dynasty. The empire then encompassed almost all the present small kingdoms of Central Arthika.
Family feuds, and revolts fuelled by avaricious neighbors, caused the kingdom to break up into fragments and finally shrink to the size of a single city: the capital, Auris. The last of the Aurians, our king, has no issue, and honest citizens are worried about the fate of the country.”
He took a big swig from the jar of wine beside him.
“What is sad is the lack of unity in the city. And beyond. Nobody trusts anybody, the greatest wealth being a good sword, and if you are very lucky, you have friends. Each citizen trusts the other only a sword’s length away. That should change with the coming of the great lion.”
“Great lion?”
“A soothsayer’s tale. You will find them at temples and sometimes at the market place. They have foreseen the coming of a great lion who would unite all of Arthika, and eventually the world. He would be sent by the gods to bring about one world. One world of peace and prosperity.”
“What does prospity mean, Uncle?” asked Staur, and everybody laughed as Rok explained the word to the little cub.
“That would be wonderful, Uncle,” said Bherek, “One world of peace and prosperity. That should be everybody’s aim. I would do everything I can to help such a hero!”
Everybody smiled at that, in empathy, not mockery. Bherek always meant what he said.
The family had their dinner as Titon spoke of another danger.
“Auris also has a sword hanging over its head; the threat of an attack by the Luce.”
“Luce?”
“Accerbus, the evil ruler of the dark lions of the South. He has left a path of blood over the pages of history and most of the globe. He plots and kills for the supreme rulership of Arthika.”
That night, after everybody had gone to bed, Bherek gazed upon his reflection in a mirror that stood near the cubs’ bed. He had much to brood upon and dream. A young cub could do only that. For now.
2. An Ambitious Minister

Atop the tallest tower of the palace, another feline had a lot to brood upon, too. Gadhya Kraft, a thin and long firecat, the minister closest to the king, looked down upon the city and the wooded hills beyond, with unseeing eyes. Her robes were green, and her cloak purple. The woods were cleft in two by the river Swarole, a gleaming sword, its blade red in the twilight, reflecting dark trees and distant hills. Brightflies, butterflies that glow in the dark, thronged the window, a flickering curtain of little stars. The beauty of the scene made no impression on her; she was deep in her own dreams and plans.
“Your Excellency!”
“Shakun! You startled me!”
The cat who entered looked more a fox than a lion. Sneaking in as usual, with minimum noise, Shakun had chosen for himself the darkest corner of the room, next to the niche with the idol of Invinsa, the goddess of victory. The flickering flame of the lamp in the niche barely revealed his hooded form in the shadows. He always dressed in black, and that contributed to make him part of the darkness he hid in.
“Your Excellency waits impatiently for the time when you would be Your Majesty?”
Gadhya’s laugh echoed eerily on the stones. Disturbed bats flapped around the small room in all directions.
“Clever!” she said, “Very clever. I hope nobody else senses my secret ambition. Now tell me, you cunning rascal, what should I do to speed up things? What do you propose?”
Shakun bowed. “Have him disposed off, Your Excellency.”
The firecat froze. The fading twilight had, by now, painted the sky red and the shadows purple. A bat brushed her cheek as it flapped out of the window, tearing a hole in the brightfly curtain. She shuddered.
“No, Shakun,” she said, “No! There’s no need for blood. Yet. He has but a few weak drops left in his aging body. The king will die any day. Issueless.” She turned to stare at Shakun, but he just stood there, silent.
“Issueless,” she continued, looking out of the window, “and I have been with him, all these years, aiding him in keeping his precious city intact, with minimal battles and numerous intrigues.” She clutched the sides of the window with drawn claws.
“I am as a daughter to him!” She turned on her heel and shook her fists at the idol.
“A daughter, O Goddess! But why doesn’t he see that? Why doesn’t the old fool make me the heir?” Her cry echoed off the stones but drew no reply from Invinsa. Or from Shakun. He had slipped out as noiselessly as the bats.
“He gives me power,” she said to the walls, “but he doesn’t grant me heirdom.”
“Heirdom,” echoed the stones, “heirdom!”
3. A New Friend

“My name’s Vivus Fastus.”
The spotard, the one who had taunted them the day before, held out his paw. Gingerly. He had come alone, with humility, without a sidekick. And in cleaner clothes. Zanny looked down at the spotard with narrowed eyes.
Bherek and Zanny had come out for a morning walk, the day being fine. Sonnarus, the sun god, had cast away his cloudy clothes and allowed his glowing whiskers to warm up the city. The friends wanted to explore other parts of the capital, especially the streets around the palace. And enter the palace, if permitted. Uncle Rok had told them to ask for him at the gates.
Vivus Fastus, freshly scrubbed, and shiny clean now, had followed them for some time, and finally managed to speak to them near the gates of the palace.
“Don’t trust him a paw’s width, Bherek,” Vastt hissed, showing his fangs. Bherek hesitated, and then took the proffered paw. And smiled.
“Let’s give trust first,” he said as he clasped hands with the spotted cat, “We can give up trust after we grow old and bitter, Zanny. I’m Bherek White.”
“Your friends are loyal, Bherek,” said Vivus, “Not like mine. They were as false as a weak sword.”
“False friends are never friends, Vivus,” replied Bherek and frowned at Zanny, who was gazing pointedly at the pebbled road. With stern eyes and folded hands.
“Your friend hasn’t forgotten yesterday’s fight,” said Vivus.
“Or forgiven,” muttered Zanny, walking away.
“Oh, ignore him,” said Bherek, taking his new friend’s arm, “Let’s see if we can get into the palace.” Bherek was looking different that day. Prava had sewed him a flowing tunic of red, the cut of which was in keeping with the latest fashion of Auris. He also wore a head-band of silk, to keep his mane back neatly. Vivus noted that Bherek no longer looked a ‘bumpkin.’
On their way to the palace, the group was distracted by the laughs and shouts of a crowd at a street corner. A gathering of lions, foxes, bears and many cubs around an old fox who sat on the steps of a disfigured statue.
“It’s that mad old fox of the temple of the moon!” said Vivus.
“A soothsayer?” asked Bherek but Vivus shook his head and made a path for his friends through the crowd, till they emerged right in front of the fox.
“Nobody believes him. He has started saying that the great lion has finally come!”
The soothsayer caught sight of the cubs and sprang to his feet.
“The Great Lion has come to see me!” he cried, and started dancing. To Bherek’s embarrassment, the fox bowed before him as low as his old frame permitted.
“Hail, O Emperor White!” he said, and clutched at the embarrassed cub’s arm before Bherek could escape. The fox brought forth a piece of dirty black metal from the recesses of his layers of rags and pushed it into Bherek’s paw. Nobody in the gathering noticed this; everybody laughed to see a cub being addressed as emperor.


4. Rebellion in the Ranks

“Uncle, may we be allowed to meet Heryante Rok?”
The burly lion, dressed in the smart red and white uniform of the royal guards, smiled down at the brave youngster. He was secretly pleased with the ‘uncle.’ Setting his face into a professional frown, he replied, “And may I ask, what do you little cubs want with our big chief?”
Bherek was the only one of the three who was not awed by the grand guards of the palace. Even brave Zanny pulled back, acting bodyguard to Bherek. And poor Vivus was extremely conscious of his shabby clothes.
“I am his nephew, Uncle, and my name’s Bherek White,” Bherek replied.
The guard sent another one to pass this message to Rok, and asked the boys to wait.
“Now, how did that old fox at the market know you were White?” asked Zanny.
Bherek did not or could not answer.
“Maybe you are the emperor foretold by all these fellows?” said Vivus.
“Forget that you heard this,” said Bherek, blushing a bit. He became suddenly interested in the towers of the palace. Five in all, four at four corners and the fifth, built right in the center of the castle, rose taller than the others. Atop this the red flag, with the white insignia of the king, danced in the wind.
“That’s to keep a lookout and spot enemies approaching as early as possible,” said the guard, Jamus Fierhart, to Bherek. This reply encouraged Bherek to ask many more questions, and by the time the messenger returned with Titon Rok’s permission, the young lion and Fierhart had become great friends.
“Call me Uncle Jamus,” he said, waving them into the palace.

Titon Rok was delighted to see them.
“Welcome to the palace, boys!” he boomed, “Vastt I know. And this is…?” He smiled at Vivus.
“Fastus, Sir. Vivus Fastus,” answered Bherek’s new friend.
“Great! Now, come with me,” Rok said and strode out of his chamber, followed by the cubs.
He took them up to the battlements from where they could watch the city below, to the court hall where kings used to give audience to the citizens, (though not any more,) the center square where the royal family used to dine in the open, and the kitchen, full of serving people, cooks and a rich mixture of smells.
“Hey, look at that slurpy joint of meat!” exclaimed Vivus when he saw a whole bison being turned over in a roasting spit. He licked his lips. Zanny was impressed by the number being put to work, while Bherek noticed that nobody seemed to be happy about what he or she was doing. No merry shouts, no singing at work, as was the case in his native village when a group of villagers joined together to tackle any task.
As they emerged from the kitchen area, a fox dashed up to Rok and stood to attention, beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.
“Rebellion in the ranks, Sir!” he announced.
Titon Rok swore, asked the panting soldier to take the children back into the kitchen and dashed out, drawing his sword as he ran.
“Wish I was old enough to join him,” muttered Zanny.
5. Vivus in Danger

The soldier, beckoning Bherek and his friends to follow him, entered the kitchen. The cubs took a few steps but jumped back when the soldier staggered and fell, an arrow in his chest.
“Help!” screamed somebody. A group of rebels, probably aided by disloyal servants of the palace, had come in through the back. They stood in a circle in the center of the room now, letting fly arrows and spears. A cook brushed past Bherek, pushing him over two empty vats near the door. Bherek and vats rolled a few yards before Zanny helped Bherek to his feet.
“Hide in there!” said Bherek, pushing Vivus into one of the fallen vats. Bherek pulled it upright, while Zanny climbed into another. Bherek dived behind the tall vessels. Just in time. A brawny black bear, who appeared to be the leader of that gang, leaned on Fastus’ vat as he surveyed the proceedings.
“Stop!” he yelled, after a few minutes. His band of six approached him. He waved his sword in a dramatic flourish and sheathed it. They raised their paws in salute.
“Killed anyone?” he asked with a smirk.
“Not many, chief,” said one of the band, “Only this fox. The rest escaped.”
“We wait here till our friends…. What’s this?”
He had spotted Vivus in the vat. He dragged the struggling spotard out with one strong hand and dropped him on the floor in front of the band. They grinned and closed in.
Bherek peeped out from behind the vat. He whispered, “Zanny, in readiness.”
“We will make an example of this young spotard!” said the rebel chief. He drew his sword, while two of the gang held Vivus to the floor. Vivus screamed as he had ever screamed in his life.
With a sudden push to Zanny’s tub, Bherek sent it rolling towards the chief. Before the rebels knew what had happened, their chief tumbled head over heels into a heap of unwashed plates and bowls. Leaping out of the vat, Zanny fell upon two felines holding Vivus in position. Bherek snatched the fallen leader’s sword, and stood over that unfortunate fellow. Finding the familiar blade at his throat, the bear did not move a paw.
“Move, and your leader dies by his own sword!” cried Bherek.
The miserable rebels were relieved of their weapons by Bherek’s friends and tied to convenient pillars.
“By the whiskers of the sun!”
Titon Rok, who had come in with Jamus Fierhart and a band of soldiers, could not believe his eyes.
6. An Unpopular Minister

After being patted on their backs by Bherek’s uncle and Fierhart, the cubs emerged from the palace. By then, Sonnarus had journeyed three-fourths of the horizon. Vivus danced on the road outside the gates, and cheered, “Bravo, Bherek! Bravo, Zanny!” ignoring the amused looks of the passers-by.
“Enough, Vivus,” said Bherek.
“But that was quite an adventure, Bherek!” said Zanny, supporting Vivus for a change.
“That’s over, now and…what’s happening over there?”
The streets were strangely crowded, the throng being thickest near the main road. The friends ran over to find out.
“Here!” said Zanny as he hoisted himself up the steps of a disused building. “We can see better from here,” he said extending a paw to Bherek. After Bherek was helped up, Zanny hesitated, offered a paw to Vivus, who, with the help of that strong grip, clambered up, with a grin of gratitude.
A procession of guards marched past.
“She does nothing for the kingdom, but never fails to make her monthly appearance!” grumbled a fox below them.
“And pretends that she is already the queen!” said his friend, another vulpine.
“Whom are they complaining of?” asked Bherek.
“Gadhya Kraft, friend. A firecat. Only a minister, but looks like she’s going to be the next ruler, as the king has no issues,” replied Vivus, “Look, there she is!”

A chariot driven by four trequines came into view. Bherek had seen trequines in his village, but they were clumsy looking dirty beasts compared to these royal beauties, with silken mane and long tails, groomed to a perfect shine. As the golden chariot passed the crowds, the minister waved her bejeweled paws in the attitude of a queen.
“She’s the cause of most of these rebellions!” grumbled the fox again.