“Chronicles of the Pride Lands” and “The Spirit Quest” shine like jewels on black velvet. A pair of beautifully cut gemstones that gleam with their own inner light, showing us hope, promise, and happiness. And like all jewels, they have many facets, many faces in which one can peer and perceive a distinctly different view of the world. Most are pure and clear, offering a unwavering view of what should be. And there are others which are flawed, offering an uncertain picture as to what the future might hold for us. And then there are those that are dark, giving nothing, promising nothing, and leaving us filled with doubt.

Yet what makes the jewel so beautiful? Perhaps it is the sparkle we see, the contrast of light and dark impressing itself on us. For what is the darkness without the light to give it shape? And in turn, what would the light be without darkness to give it definition? This is the very essence of the jewel. And this is the center of “Shadows of the Makei,” that glimpse into the flawed darkness of one facet that makes us perceive the beauty and clarity of the light all the more.

David Morris, Wilmington, North Carolina

December 15, 1996

As many ideas pulled from Chronicles of the Pride Lands appeared in The Spirit Quest, many ideas pulled from Spirit Quest appear here. These are different views of the same world. As such the works are complimentary but do not heavily overlap. This work is a separate story, but it would be vague and difficult to understand if you had not read Chronicles first, then Spirit Quest.

This work contains a lot of dark, frightening imagery. But it is not a work about dark, frightening things, any more than the Christmas Story is about finding a room in Bethlehem. Those who concentrate on the dark miss the point. We all have our source of strength. We all have the right to tap into that strength. If you learn anything from this work, perhaps it is this: prayer is not a measure of last resort but rather a first line of defense. Do not cower in the shadow of a Makei when you can step into the light.

John Burkitt, Nashville, Tennessee

December 15, 1996

From everlasting to everlasting, the Circle of Life rolls on, encompassing all beings from the tiny termite to the tall elephant. It permeates them, entwining itself through their physical forms of Ma’at into their essences, the Ka itself. It is a stream, whose current binds all of Aiheu’s children together and sweeps them gently toward him.

But there are rocks in that stream. Rocks that resist the flow, stirring up eddies. And some of the larger ones create still pockets where all manner of unwholesome things grow tucked away from the tides of change.

Two leaves were swept downstream. One slipped safely by the rock. One spiraled in the eddy, being pulled toward the rock where helpless it felt the first signs of decay taking hold in the stagnant pool of its confinement. It looked below and saw the sludge of withered leaves that lined the bottom, those who had lost forever the power to float. That’s when the despair took hold, and it rarely struggled against its fate as it sank lower and lower into the water.

On the quiet savanna a meerkat was standing guard while his neighbors were enjoying a sunbath. Suddenly a shadow passed over the ground and a chill wind swept him. The guard looked around but saw no one. He glanced up, expecting a large bird of prey, but there was none. With growing horror he watched the shadow amble along the ground with no owner and he trembled. As soon as he could find his voice, he yelled, “All down! All down!”

Within seconds, all of the meerkats had taken refuge in their burrows including the guard who huddled next to his wife and young, shivering too violently to explain. The shadow of a makei had fallen upon the land.

But the dark ka of Melmokh was not after them. Slowly, stealthily he approached young Taka, the son of King Ahadi. Melmokh had followed him since the kingdom was promised to Mufasa. He fed off Taka’s heartbreak as a jackal shredding the warm flesh from a kill.

Melmokh felt his wandering days would soon be over. Driven from love and joy by an agony he could not understand, he sought peace among the angry and the grieving. He sought to harness Taka’s pain, drawing strength from it while it was still fresh.

“If I’m not careful, the child will soon forget his misfortune,” he thought. “I must strike while the prey is weakened. Something that will not cripple him, only shame him.... Maybe a scar, perhaps?” He trotted ahead of Taka and looked back over his shoulder appraisingly. Taka’s eyes were soft and bright and beautiful. “An eye. Yes, an eye! It would freeze the hearts and turn the stomachs of the females. They would stare at it--they couldn’t HELP but stare at it!” Melmokh laughed coldly. “Be careful, little cub! Accidents can happen!”

Wind fingers fondled the golden savanna grass as pup voices of giddy joy bubbled from the hyena den. Shimbekh gamboled out, with her sister Kambra close behind. They rolled in the friendly grass, sparring and wrestling in a flurry of high spirits. Their muti (mom) looked out of the burrow, a tolerant smile on her kindly face. "You know it's time for your nap."

"Aw, Muti! Can't we play just a little while longer?" Shimbekh asked. She put on her best long face.

"Don't show me those Gazelle eyes, young lady! I know all the tricks. And don't go plotting something with that sister of yours. I can't hear your thoughts, but I’d know that look anywhere."

"What look?" Kambra thought.

"I don't know," Shimbekh thought back.

"Do you think she can really tell?"

"Let's see." Shimbekh looked at her muti right in the eyes and concentrated.

"Oh no you don't!" her muti said with a laugh. "I know when you're up to something, and you’re up to something! Guilty thoughts left their tracks all over your face!"

She seized Shimbekh by the scruff of the neck and hauled her into the den. Kambra followed dutifully. There would be no reprieve from nap time.

Life for the hyena pups was as warm and soft as the fur on their muti’s side. Muti would keep them clean and well fed, and Maleh (Dad) would tell them wonderful stories of midnight hunts under the silver moon. Giddy games melted into quiet naps, and always the love and care of their parents hovered around them like a warm hug. In those days, there was food enough for everyone, and each new day was an exciting step on the trail to adulthood.

Nature was their companion on the trail, working wonderful miracles that the jaded call “growing up,” a term that falls far short of the mystery and beauty of life unfolding. Very soon, too fast for their okash (mother), they had outgrown the den and spent their days in rough and tumble games. The naps soon ended, at least the enforced ones. Short puppy legs began to grow at an alarming rate. Shimbekh teased Kambra about her sticklike legs, heedless of the changes that were sweeping her own body.