Ruler of Beasts

Oz hasn't been interesting in a long time,
the Lion thought, picking his teeth.

There was that whole business with General Jinjur, when he'd helped his old friend the Scarecrow attempt to oust the vicious and bloodthirsty usurper to the throne of Oz. Truth be told, the Lion had almost admired Jinjur. She might have been ruthless, but at least she wasn't boring. He hadn't had so much fun since he'd helped little Dorothy to defeat the Wizard. The battles had been terrible, of course, and he was sorry about the many casualties, but he had found that he enjoyed fighting—especially when he knew he was on the side of right. The Wizard had given him courage, but in battle he truly felt alive—as if he was channeling his real lionish nature. None of this loafing around the palace, watching the Scarecrow read encyclopedias thicker than the Lion's paws.

But the battle with Jinjur was ages ago. Now, the Queen
Ozma ruled Oz, and the Scarecrow had retired to a corncob mansion out in Munchkin Country. The Scarecrow had a good heart, but the Lion wasn't sure if this dear old friend had been a very good king. He'd thought his newfound wisdom would make him a better ruler, but, as the Lion himself knew, it wasn't wits alone that made a successful ruler. Ozma, on the other hand, seemed born to rule—which, technically, she was. She was a fair and just queen, making sure her subjects were happy and peaceful and content.

And bored. The Lion yawned and stretched. He was lounging on his platform at the heart of the Kingdom of the Beasts. Ozma had been queen for a year, and absolutely nothing had happened. No mysterious invaders, no battles, no bloodthirsty girl soldiers. His subjects were peaceful and obeyed his decrees. The birds sang prettily in the branches, beautiful wildflowers bloomed amid the rich carpet of moss that covered the forest floor, bees hummed merrily in the warm summer air, and if something didn't happen soon, he was going to chew off his own paws.

“Cornelius!” the Lion roared. Moments later, his closest adviser appeared at his side, bowing deeply. Cornelius was a rabbit, but unlike most of his kindred, he was an extremely clever one. His pronounced buckteeth gave him a slightly sinister air, but he was always neatly dressed in the latest Ozian fashions; he made sure the most current catalog scrolls—printed in glowing sunfruit ink on leaves from the giant sailflower plant—reached the forest, so he could keep up with trends.

“Your Majesty,” the rabbit said, bowing again.

“I'm bored,” the Lion said petulantly, rolling over on his back and waving his paws in the air. “I'm
dying
of boredom. Nothing happens anymore. Everyone is so
peaceful
.”

“Isn't that a good thing, Your Majesty?” Cornelius asked cautiously.

“NO!” the Lion roared, springing to his feet. The rabbit jumped about a foot in the air and stood eyeing the king nervously. Cornelius was important to the Lion—and useful—but the King of the Beasts had a reputation for snacking on his subjects a little too regularly for even his most trusted advisers to feel entirely safe.

“We could, er, invade a neighboring county,” the rabbit suggested hastily. “If His Majesty wishes. I am sure the beasts would be happy to go to war.”

The Lion sighed loudly, his breath none too sweet, and settled back on his paws. “No, you're right,” he said sulkily. “War isn't the answer. Not this time, anyway. Oh, if only something would
happen
!” He brightened. “Have I told you about the time the field mice had to rescue me from the poppy field?”

“No, Your Majesty,” said the patient rabbit, who had actually heard the story at least fifty times.

“Well,” the Lion began, “this was back in the early days, before I had my courage, and when little Dorothy was traveling through Oz—you wouldn't have met her, of course, but she was . . .” The Lion trailed off, staring into space. He thought of the trip down the Road of Yellow Brick often. It was before
he had courage. But that time with Dorothy, Tin, and Scare at his side remained the standard against which he compared every experience after. He had never felt more terrified. But he had also never felt less alone. He had been a part of something. And now he was alone with his crown. Was it possible that the seeking was better than the having? Or were his old friends just better than his subjects?

“She was?” the rabbit prompted.

Dorothy was everything. She had pushed them all to change from heartless to full of heart. From dumb to smart. From fearful to fearless. It had been forever, but he still hated that she had gone from here to home.

“Dorothy was
interesting
,” the Lion finally roared crossly, waving his paws. “Not like this bloody stupid forest and all these wretched animals! What am I going to do with the rest of my life, Cornelius? Being king was fun at first, but now all I do is sit around all day. I can't even go on an adventure, because kings aren't supposed to leave their subjects on their own.”

Cornelius's whiskers twitched as his mind raced. “You could have a tournament, sir,” he suggested.

The Lion brightened. “A tournament!” he exclaimed, clapping Cornelius on the back with an enormous paw. The rabbit winced. “You're a genius! That's the perfect thing. It'll kill an entire weekend, at least, and afterward we can have a feast. Spread the word at once.”

Cornelius hadn't seen the Lion so excited in months. He raced off into the Forest of the Beasts to tell the Lion's subjects,
feeling very pleased with himself. He'd succeeded in distracting the Lion—and saving his own skin—for the time being. Let the Lion eat some other hapless forest creature. Cornelius was intent on keeping his post—and the Lion's gratitude.

The morning of the First Annual Beasts' Boredom Battle was clear and sunny. A cool breeze rustled in the branches. Cornelius had gone to great lengths to turn the Lion's royal clearing into a suitable battleground. The grassy center had been dug up, and the earth beneath packed into a hard, flat surface. The perimeter of the clearing was hung with banners. A group of stoats and weasels played a rousing march on tiny trumpets, and birds fluttered through the air with brightly colored ribbons in their beaks like living streamers. Dozens of animals, ranging from fierce-eyed hares to massive, muscular wolves and bobcats, were assembled in the clearing, ready to fight. The Lion sprawled on his platform, eyes heavy-lidded, feigning indifference to the clamor below him. Only Cornelius could tell from the glint in his eyes that he was following the action eagerly.

Once upon a time, the Lion had feared them. It seemed almost impossible looking at him now. But a broken twig behind
him in the forest would have sent him scurrying up a tree back then. Once, he had literally hid in one all night until the tiniest of hares had moved from his spot beneath it. The Lion knew he was larger than the hare, stronger than the hare, but it didn't matter. He couldn't bear to have the hare's beady little eyes boring into his. Somehow, he would always blink first. Now he could gobble anything up before it had a chance to blink. Now they were his subjects. Now they were the ones who jumped at the mere hint of a wave of his tail.

The weasels blew a fanfare on their trumpets, and the first of the competitors stepped forward into the ring: a hare and a badger. The badger bared her sharp little teeth, and the hare boxed at the air with his powerful forepaws. Barely waiting for the signal, the two animals leapt at each other.

This is what he was waiting for. Action. The Lion clapped his paws in delight, and then remembered he was pretending to be bored and sank back on his haunches. The Scarecrow had told him once that a ruler was not supposed to appear to be excited about anything—he'd read it in one of his books. But the Lion wasn't so sure. Wouldn't his excitement encourage his subjects to do more of what he wanted? He wanted—he needed—more of this. He didn't know how to put it into words like the Scarecrow could, but seeing the animals facing off in the makeshift ring was the first time he had felt anything at all in days.

The hare clocked the badger on the side of the head. Snarling, the badger sank her teeth into the hare's side. The assembled animals cheered fiercely as the smell of blood carried across the
clearing. Ordinarily, they were more or less peaceful, and took the worst of their disputes to the Lion to be settled. But they were still animals, and deep down there was something inside each of them that would rather bite and claw their way to a solution than talk it out.

The Lion wasn't sure who he was rooting for. The hare was feisty and fast. But the badger was single-minded and would not let go. The hare pummeled the badger furiously with his fists, but she only sank her teeth in deeper. His eyes glazed over with pain, and finally he flopped to the ground in defeat. “I yield,” he gasped. The triumphant badger released him. The hare limped off to lick his wounds as the other animals crowded around the badger in congratulations. Cornelius quickly swept the ring to prepare it for the next fight.

The Lion stretched and leapt lightly down from his platform, pacing toward the defeated hare. “Good fight,” he said, nodding his head at the competitors.

“Thank you, sir,” the hare said, still cleaning blood from his fur. The Lion smiled and licked his lips, opening his jaws wide.

“Too bad you lost,” he said, and swallowed the hare whole.

The Lion had surprised even himself. He hadn't intended on eating the hare. But seeing the hare give up had been too much for him. The Lion had run away one too many times in cowardice. Giving up was not to be tolerated.

A momentary hush descended on the clearing as the animals realized what had just happened. “No one will be permitted to drop out of this
delicious
contest,” the Lion remarked. “I haven't
enjoyed a meal this much in
years
.”

But what he really enjoyed was the reaction of his subjects. There was a tremble that went through the onlookers. One that he had caused.

“The winners will be awarded the finest dens and burrows in the Forest of the Beasts. The losers will be eaten!” he announced in a fit of genius that was worthy of the Scarecrow. He clambered back up to his perch, settling down with a satisfied burp. “Who's next?”

As soon as the Lion's subjects realized their lives were on the line, the fights grew even more fierce. “Law of the jungle!” the Lion remarked happily to no one in particular as a fox furiously battled a beaver. (The fox won; the beaver scrambled for the edge of the clearing, but the Lion quickly pounced and devoured him. “What fun!” he roared.) But as the afternoon wore on, the Lion grew full—and bored. The losers, at first resistant, gave up and stopped putting up a fight. The Lion pardoned several of them at random, just to give himself something to do. Relieved, they slunk off into the trees, fleeing the Lion's temporary mercy without a backward glance. As the next competitors, a bobcat and a ferret, stepped into the ring, the Lion roared in exasperation.

He couldn't explain it—somewhere between swallowing the hare and this moment, the thrill had subsided again.

“This isn't interesting at
all
!” he complained. “Just go home, all of you.” The beasts froze, staring at him in confusion. “Go home!” he bellowed. “Did you hear me?” None of the animals
waited for him to say it again. Seconds later, the clearing was empty except for the Lion and Cornelius.

The Lion sighed. “So much for that,” he said. “I thought a tournament would be exciting, but it's nowhere near as fun as a real battle. Maybe I should go to war against the winged monkeys.” He brightened. “I've never eaten a monkey. I suppose they might taste interesting?”

“As you like, sir,” Cornelius said patiently, but his red eyes blinked more than usual.

“No, you're right,” the Lion said. “That's not the thing either. I thought it was so nice, being a ruler, when I first came here. But the forest is
boring
, and so are all these wretched animals. I miss adventure, and cities, and seeing new things. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be King of the Beasts.”

But he wondered—if not this, what? He had spent his whole life wanting not to be a coward. He had never really thought how it would really feel to be king. Cornelius tried not to let his surprise show. He'd never heard the Lion talk like this before.

“But Glinda gave you the forest to rule, sir,” he said. “Who else could do the job?”

“You could, probably,” the Lion said. “Or anyone, really. I wonder what she would think if she could see me now.” No sooner had he spoken the words aloud than the clearing filled with a soft pink light. A cloud of tiny pink fireflies swirled through the air in a spinning column that gradually took on the shape of a woman.

“Glinda?” the Lion asked in astonishment as the witch
floated forward. She was dressed in her usual pink ball gown, and her hair was piled on top of her head and secured with amethyst-studded combs. She hovered daintily a few inches from the ground, fluttering her long eyelashes at the Lion.

“My dear Lion,” she said sweetly. “If I'm not mistaken, were you just questioning my judgment?”