The Lion King Live Action Novelization Page 12

  “I will,” Nala replied.

  Simba looked over at her and smiled. But then his smile faded. “It’s going to be dangerous,” he warned.

  Nala laughed. “Danger?” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “Ha! I laugh in the face of danger! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

  Hearing the words he had spoken years ago when he was so young was just what Simba needed. In that moment, the tension broke and the two friends began to laugh. It didn’t matter that there was a twinge of hysteria and fear to the laughter; it soothed both their souls. For the first time since they had been reunited, Simba felt like he and Nala were back to where they should be. A team. Best friends who would have each other’s backs no matter what. Protect each other through thick and—

  Suddenly, a strange sound broke the moment.

  Turning, Simba and Nala watched as a shape appeared on the horizon. Simba squinted, trying to make out exactly what it was. An animal of sorts? It was round—ish. And tall—ish. But also sort of squarish. And it seemed to have three—or maybe four?—heads. Just then, the shape burst out of the shadows, and Simba let out a cry of recognition.

  It wasn’t one animal…it was four! Pumbaa was running toward them as fast as his warthog legs could carry him. Riding atop his head was Timon, his arm raised high. And on Pumbaa’s back sat the bush baby and the elephant shrew. Behind them came the honey badger.

  “What are you guys doing here?” Simba said when they stopped, breathless, in front of him.

  “Dying would be my first guess,” the honey badger answered.

  “I don’t recommend riding on the back of a warthog,” piped up the bush baby, his wide eyes even wider than usual and his big ears flipping back and forth frantically. He crinkled his nose. “I’ve been holding my breath since the gorge.”

  Simba bit back a laugh as Pumbaa shot the bush baby a look. He was so glad to see his friends, but he still didn’t understand what they were doing there. Why would they risk running toward a place they didn’t know to help fight an enemy they had never seen? When Simba pressed them for an answer, Timon and Pumbaa—well, mostly Pumbaa—pointed out that they were friends. And friends stuck together. End of story.

  “We are at your service, my liege!” Pumbaa said, bowing.

  Timon, who had been oddly quiet, pushed past Simba and Nala and looked over the ridge toward the plains below. He raised an eyebrow. “So,” he said, “this is the place you’re fighting for?”

  “Yes, Timon,” Simba said. “This is my home.” Saying the word aloud made everything seem more real. A renewed sense of urgency filled him and he began to pace, eager to get going.

  But Timon was on a roll. “Talk about your fixer-upper! I like what you’ve done with it—a bit heavy on the carcass.”

  Ignoring his friend, Pumbaa pushed forward. “Simba, we’re with you to the end,” he said solemnly. “Just tell us what to do.”

  Simba stopped pacing. Looking at his friends, he smiled. Scar might have an army, but he had these guys. And when it came to a fight, he wouldn’t want to have anyone else behind him. Turning, he gazed out at the dark clouds and the devastated Pride Rock. It was time to put an end to Scar’s rule.

  Simba was beginning to think he might have bitten off more than he could chew.

  Together, he and the others had made it safely across the plains without being spotted. Simba had been anxious that the hyenas would smell his scent, but he must have been lucky. He and his friends were able to get all the way to the bottom of Pride Rock without a single encounter with one of the slobbery, smelly creatures.

  But then their luck ran out.

  Ducking behind a large rock, Simba, Nala, and the others paused to take stock of the situation. Slowly, Simba lifted his head and peered over the edge of the rock. He groaned and lowered back down. Two large hyenas were guarding the entrance to Pride Rock. And while most of the hyenas Simba had dealt with had dull eyes to match their dim brains and dingy bodies, these two hyenas looked bigger and tougher than the rest.

  “We’re dead,” the bush baby said when Simba gave his report.

  “Looking back, I wasted so much time on grooming,” the elephant shrew added, his long nose twitching nervously.

  Shoving the others aside, Timon leaned in close to Simba. “What’s your plan for getting past the slobbering guards?” he asked, getting to the point.

  Simba’s eyes narrowed. He peeked back over the rock once more. Then he sat back and looked around at his friends. His gaze landed on Pumbaa. The warthog was busily rubbing at an itch on his round, meaty hindquarters. Simba smiled. It seemed he did, in fact, have a plan. “Live bait,” he said.

  Following his gaze, the others looked at Pumbaa. Oblivious, Pumbaa looked up from his itching. “Great idea!” he said genuinely. “Those guys would never resist fresh meat! Now all we have to do is find something plump and juicy!” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Maybe a gnu?”

  Simba shook his head.

  “No gnu?” Pumbaa said, suddenly looking a bit nervous as he realized everyone was staring at him a little too intensely.

  “It’s you,” Timon said.

  Pumbaa gulped. Simba tried to smile reassuringly, but he knew that Pumbaa had just been nominated for a job he didn’t want. Still, it was their only hope of getting past the hyenas. Quickly, they came up with a plan. It was simple: Timon and Pumbaa would distract the hyenas by walking in front of them. And with the guards preoccupied with the warthog and the meerkat, Simba and Nala would run as fast as they could through the entrance and up to Pride Rock.

  Simple.

  In theory.

  But none of them could have taken into account just how hungry—and surprisingly fast—the hyenas would be. Or how dramatic Timon could be. Jumping out from behind the rock, Timon stood up like an auctioneer and began his sale. “Are you achin’ for some bacon?” he called out. Immediately, the two hyenas turned and looked over to where a very nervous Pumbaa stood. “Want to dine on some tasty swine? Step right up and get in line! Who’s hungry?” Timon had barely finished before the hyenas began drooling. And then—they came barreling toward them.

  “RUN!” Timon shouted.

  Pumbaa didn’t need to be told twice. He took off and sprinted away, screaming, the hyenas close behind.

  Simba and Nala waited until the hyenas had passed them and then quickly made their way over to the entrance to Pride Rock. Taking a deep breath, Simba looked over at Nala. She nodded.

  It was time to save the Pride Lands.

  Scar looked out at the approaching storm. Lifting his head, he breathed in deeply. He had always liked a good storm. The electricity. The danger. The darkness. He knew storms put the lionesses on edge and had heard Sarabi’s endless warnings that the next storm could set the dry and dead plains ablaze. But he ignored those warnings, the same way he ignored all the lionesses’ complaints.

  Turning his attention from the impending storm, he looked over to where Sarabi lay on the hard stone of Pride Rock. Her body was weak, her head heavy and her breathing labored. The days since Nala had left had been hard on her and the others. Scar had punished them all for Nala’s betrayal, feeding them only scraps—if the hyenas left any.

  “Sarabi,” he said, walking over. “Seeing you hungry breaks my heart. You can’t live off scraps for much longer.” While his words were caring, his tone was not. It was cold, just like his eyes. As he came closer, Sarabi struggled to her feet, the effort exhausting her. She swayed for a moment, trying to get her balance. “All you have to do is be my queen,” he said.

  The lioness shook her head. “It’s over, Scar,” she said weakly. “Don’t you see that?”

  Scar’s eyes narrowed. He was growing tired of this conversation and Sarabi’s stubborn answers. “You’re suffering for what?” he snarled. “The memory of a life you once knew. A king you once loved.”

  “Still love,” Sarabi answered.

  “I tried to make you understand what a true king can be!” Scar said, growing angrier by the minute.r />
  But Sarabi didn’t seem to care. Lifting her head and looking him right in the eye, she spoke softly and with conviction. “A true king’s power is his compassion.”

  Scar let out an angry roar. He had had enough. For years he had watched Sarabi belittle him, undermining his authority and denying his advances. He had watched her pine for Mufasa like a lovesick cub and seen the power of that love keep her going when others wanted to run. While he would never admit it out loud, she was a queen, through and through. And stronger than he had ever imagined. But he was not going to stand it any longer. She was too much of a liability. She would bow to him—or die. His body vibrating with rage, he stalked closer. “I am TEN times the king Mufasa was!” he screamed. “And I will prove it with my own claws!”

  Lightning flashed in the air as he lifted one of his paws. Thunder boomed and Pride Rock trembled. But as the thunder faded, it turned into a roar. Looking up, Scar widened his eyes in fear.

  Standing on a rock above them, illuminated by the flashes of lightning, was the shadowy figure of a lion.

  “Move away from her, Scar,” the lion said.

  “Mufasa,” Scar whispered. “It can’t be…”

  Behind him, he heard Sarabi’s sharp intake of breath. “Simba…”

  Looking up once more, Scar narrowed his eyes as the lion jumped down in front of them. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. Sarabi was right. It was Simba. Fully grown and the spitting image of his father, with the brawn and ferocity to match.

  Slowly, Scar began to back away.

  “You’re alive? How can that be?”

  At the sound of his mother’s smooth voice, Simba nearly cried. He had never thought he would see her again. Yet here they both were. Walking over, he nuzzled his head against hers. It felt familiar and strange at the same time. When he had left, his head had barely reached her knee; now he had to bend to meet her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Simba said, finally pulling himself away. “I’m home.”

  “Simba,” Scar said, his voice breaking the moment. “I’m so happy to see you. Alive.”

  Turning, Simba looked over at his uncle. While his mother looked thin and weak, Scar looked well-fed and rested. Simba narrowed his eyes. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rip you apart!”

  “I can give you more than one,” Scar said. He nodded over his shoulder. While Simba and his mother had been reuniting, the hyenas had gathered. Now they came from every corner of Pride Rock, their lips pulled back in snarls, their hackles raised. “You see, they think I’m king,” he said with a shrug.

  Simba looked at the growing number of hyenas. He shifted nervously on his feet. Nala had told him to be prepared for the hyenas, and he had seen them in number back in the Elephant Graveyard all those years ago. But now, face to face with them, Simba grew worried.

  “Simba is the rightful king!”

  At the sound of Nala’s voice, Simba turned. She had gone and gathered the other lionesses while he was with his mother. They now stood behind her, their strength renewed as they saw Simba for the first time.

  Emboldened once more, Simba turned back to Scar. “The choice is yours, Scar,” he said. “Step down or fight.”

  “Must this all end in violence?” Scar said, always the politician. “I’d hate to be responsible for the death of a family member. To feel the shame of knowing I took the life of someone I loved.” He stopped, raising an eyebrow at Simba as if daring him to argue.

  Simba shook his head. He wasn’t going to let Scar talk his way out of this. “I’ve put all that behind me—” he started to say.

  “But have they put it behind them?” Scar interrupted. He gestured to the gathered lionesses. “Do your faithful subjects know what you’ve done?”

  “What is he talking about?” Nala said, looking back and forth between Simba and Scar.

  Simba looked over at Nala. She stared back, a look of doubt creeping into her eyes. He bit back a groan. He should have told her the truth back in the jungle. He should have known that Scar would use his past against him. But he had been scared, and he hadn’t wanted to see the uncertainty in her eyes—the same uncertainty he saw now. He opened his mouth, wishing for the words to come, but they didn’t.

  Instead, Scar went on. “Well, Simba,” he said, clearly enjoying the moment. “Now’s your chance to confess. Tell them who’s responsible for Mufasa’s death.”

  All eyes turned to Simba. He felt each one like a lead weight on his back. He sighed. There was no use pretending anymore. Scar was right. If Simba wanted to be king, the lionesses needed to know the truth. “It was me,” he said.

  “No,” Sarabi said, shaking her head. “You were a cub! This can’t be true.”

  Meeting her eyes, Simba nodded. “It’s true,” he said, his heart breaking as he watched his mother’s face crumple. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He admits it!” Scar shouted, unconcerned with the moment unfolding between mother and son. “Murderer!”

  Out over the Pride Lands, the storm grew fiercer. Lightning flashed, and thunder boomed. As Simba hung his head in shame, the lightning came faster and faster, approaching Pride Rock as though laying judgment on him. Suddenly, one of the flashes struck the ground at the bottom of the rock. In an instant, the dry, dead grass burst into flame.

  Unaware of the growing fire below, Simba looked up. His head swung between his mother and Nala and the other lionesses. “It was an accident,” he said, his voice sounding small. I didn’t mean to hurt him. An image of his father falling flashed in front of his eyes.

  Scar sneered. “If it weren’t for you, the king would be alive,” he said, each word landing like a blow to Simba’s heart. “It’s your fault he is dead! Do you deny it?”

  “No.”

  The single word reverberated over Pride Rock, louder than the thunder above.

  The air crackled with tension as the lionesses and hyenas watched uncle and nephew. On the ground below, the fire grew bigger, the flames rising up and tickling the top of Pride Rock. But Simba was oblivious to the heat and the danger. All he could hear was his own pounding heart, and all he could feel was the horrified looks of the lionesses.

  “You’re guilty!” Scar screamed at him.

  Simba shook his head. “I’m not a murderer!” he cried. I’m not! he added silently. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. It was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident. But the words stayed locked inside him, unable to escape. He bowed his head and lowered his shoulders, as if trying to hide inside himself.

  “We should believe a son who takes the life of a king?” Scar said. He turned and looked at Sarabi. “A son who abandons his own mother!” Stalking forward, Scar reached out a paw and swiped it across Simba’s face.

  “No! I’m—I’m—” Simba struggled to explain.

  “You’re what?” Scar sneered. “Say it! Are you the king? ARE YOU THE KING?” Once again, he reached out and hit Simba.

  As he felt Scar’s paw across his face, pushing him back toward the edge of the rock, Simba cowered. Over and over again, Scar swiped at him, and each time, a flash of that horrible day overcame him, making Simba grow weaker. It was as though he were a small cub again, unable to do anything to stop the horror happening in front of him. He saw Mufasa clinging to the rocks, trying to live. His powerful muscles rippling as he struggled and then the horrible moment when he disappeared into the stampede.

  “You’re what?” Scar pushed. “Say it!”

  Another image of his father flashed in his mind. Mufasa, looking out over his kingdom, the sun on his mane and his eyes wide—every inch the king Simba could never be. “I’m—I’m—nothing,” Simba said.

  Letting out a roar of triumph, Scar hit him one last time, the motion sending Simba flying off the rock. As he fell back toward the fire, he heard Nala scream his name. Instinctively, he reached out and grabbed at the rocky side. He could hear the crackle of the approaching fire below. Desperately, he clung to the edge.

&nb
sp; Above him, Scar’s face appeared. In the light from the fire, his scar was even more pronounced. He looked down at Simba—and then he smiled. “Now, this looks familiar,” he said. “Where have I seen this before? Oh, yes, I remember. This is the way Mufasa looked before he died. I looked down—saw the fear in his eyes…” He paused, leaning over so only Simba could hear his next words. “And here’s my little secret: I killed Mufasa.”

  Simba’s head snapped back. His eyes met Scar’s and, in that instant, he knew what had happened. Simba hadn’t killed his father. Scar had. Scar had had the chance to save his brother, and instead, he had let him fall. Just like he was going to let Simba fall now.

  Rage flooded through Simba, and before he could even think about what he was doing, he let out a roar. With all his remaining strength, he lunged forward, biting into Scar’s mane.

  Shocked, Scar pulled back, taking Simba with him. As they tumbled back onto Pride Rock, Simba got to his feet and charged, hitting Scar head-on, his momentum fueled by adrenaline and the life he had missed out on because of Scar’s betrayal. “My father!” he shouted. “Your own brother! How could you?”

  Scar backed up. Looking at the lionesses, he tried to keep the charade going. “First he kills Mufasa, and now he wants to kill me!”

  “YOU KILLED HIM!” Simba screamed. “TELL THEM THE TRUTH!”

  Scar shook his head. “Don’t believe his lies.”

  “Scar.” Sarabi’s voice was loud, even over the thunder and the encroaching flames. She stepped forward so she was close to Simba. Looking at his mother, Simba saw that the disappointment was gone from her eyes. Her eyes looked clear—and angry. “You told us you didn’t get to the gorge in time,” she said, each word measured.