THE PROMISE by John Burkitt and David Morris Part Seven of Chronicles of the Pride Lands

FOREWORD:

After the stylistic experiment of “The Leonid Saga,” it was comforting to return to something tried and true. But would be unfair to say “The Promise” was not experimental. All of the Chronicles stories have been like exploring new worlds. Even my most devoted fans--and some of them are very wonderful--could not enjoy reading these stories any more than Dave and I enjoyed writing them. I recall with misty eyes the joys and suffering of certain favorite characters. Once in “Under the Acacias” I strove to capture in one short paragraph the way I felt about Uzuri before finishing the main Chronicles series. It was my way of thanking her for all the wondrous experiences she had given me. The sky outside was soft and purple, and the stars were winking into splendor one by one. I sat at the keyboard and typed the one short paragraph:

“Inside the cave, Rafiki sat bent over with age. In his lap was Uzuri’s head. She was too old and sick to pretend anymore, and when Rafiki put his hand down to stroke her cheek, she took his fingertips in her mouth and gave them a gentle squeeze between her teeth. Tears welled up in Rafiki’s eyes.”

I wept. Her charm was a two-edged sword that cut both ways. One moment I was Makaka circling her warm, soft neck with my arms and listening to her soft breath. Then I was witnessing an intimate and tender moment of grief. When Uzuri died, I knelt, put my arm around Rafiki and hugged him. “Look at her,” I said. “Isn’t she beautiful.” Only he didn’t hear me or see me. That’s when it really started to hurt, for we had switched roles. I was the imaginary character, the shadow without form or substance.

Writing another story always seems to help. Depressed, I turned my eyes to The Leonid Saga, and then to The Promise. I hope my simple therapy makes you feel better too.

-- John Burkitt

Nashville, Tennessee 1997

Everyone who takes the time to read or write fiction of any sort has favorite moments that they enjoy, things that take on a new meaning and characters that stand apart from the rest of the text.

How do they do this? It goes beyond the magic an author weaves into his or her work and into the characters themselves. Like us, each of them has their hopes and dreams. And all to often, like us, those are disrupted by forces beyond our control and smashed to lie in pieces at our feet.

It is those who pick up the pieces and keep on going regardless that earn our admiration. Those that endure the pain because they know that pain is as much a part of life as pleasure, and that pain cannot last forever...but love always endures.

Those like Mabatu and Isha.

-- David Morris

Wilmington, North Carolina 1997