The Deer and the Lion: A Postmodern Fable
(c) 1998 by Jacob Williamson

Once upon a time, the animals gathered together to decide which among them was greatest. It was not the first time they had done this, you must understand, and they did not gather together so for the purpose of self-aggrandizement or even as a complicated metaphor. The lions, who for several generations had consistently been the greatest, had become complacent in their appointed position, and had taken to lording it over the lesser animals. The antileonians had in fact called the confluence. Several species and subspecies had joined the antileonian movement; their philosophy held that simple position in the food chain did not mark "greatness" or a lack thereof. But they were herbivores, and nobody paid attention to them. It is enough to say that, on the whole, the animals felt it was time for a re-evaluation.

Many of the delegates were wondering if this was the year the lions wouldn't even bother coming When Charles arrived, the evening stars were beginning to show. He would, he knew, make an entrance--it was what he was born to do. Charles sauntered into the court, his tail swinging with an "I'm only here because it was on my way to the market" sort of grace.

The antileonians saw him first. Lowe, a white-tail deer, elbowed Samuel the ox, the party's champion. "He's here! The cats finally sent their mascot! The nerve, keeping all of us waiting. Probably afraid of a little competition. Look at him, like he owns the place." In fact, a crow by the name of Lysias owned the court. Samuel was eating one of her bougainvillea. The ox looked upward, a bruised purple blossom on his lower lip. "Last time they got out with that 'the master can never bend his neck to the yoke' defense. Not this year…" Samuel shook his head quietly. It took a moment. He wasn't built for speed. "Yeah," said Lowe. "We've got the cats this time."

The dogs had lost their case to the same defense, the last time. Johann, a proud mastiff, had taken the fall for the Canidae family. He was back. His left eye was bleary with cataracts and he walked with care, and now and again forgot names, but Johann had been a strong fighter at the last confluence, and dogs were nothing if not loyal. He got slowly to his feet, a token of respect to the cat's favorite. His brothers and sisters rose after him, and the mastiff gave Charles a dignified nod of his head. Behind him one of the younger dogs growled, so low only her kin would hear it, but Johann sneezed, and she was silent.

The primate quarter would show Charles no such respect. The Kung-hao was the loudest of the seven gibbons, chimpanzees and assorted simians, an Alouatta, a howler monkey, like the Kung-hao before him. The other six called and chattered at the lion, and the ungulates looked nervously between the cats' champion and the monkeys, but the Kung-hao's defiant howls echoed off the white pillars and into the black jungle beyond. Even the chirring insects in the wood went silent when he screamed. The monkeys lept and chattered and the younger ones started to look around their litter for something to throw.

Around the edges of the courtyard the rest of the delegates turned to watch the lions' champion, or to watch the monkeys. The rodents had sent three rats this time, Nick, Scratch and Shuck. Old Lambrose was representing the reptile order as a whole, but the tortoise was still sitting where he was last year--Johann, who actually saw the last confluence (though he saw the last one more clearly than now), guessed the chelonian was next to the same pillar he'd sat at so many years ago. Nobody recognized the horse--the skittish creature was claiming to be an independent, who knows what went through their minds.

The barks and yelps and the occasional baffled whinny rose as the assembled animals tried to call over the monkeys, when Charles cleared his throat. His two-inch fangs shined wet with saliva, his black lips drew back, and there was room in his mouth for any of the disorderly simians. When he dipped his head before raising it up to roar, the lion's mane rippled like wind over tall savanna grass. The echo of his call lingered in the chests and bellies of all the delegates, even as the champion of the cats began his speech.

"Brothers and sisters! Those with fur or scale, those on four feet or two, we are gathered together again, to mark which of us is greatest. I and mine welcome you." He looked around the court--most of the delegates had come in fives and sixes. No matter. "In the custom and manner which we have so long upheld--"

"The 'custom and manner' that put you on a pedestal!" one of the herbivores yelled.

Charles frowned, brows drawing together like furry landslides. He struggled to remember the next line of his speech. "And with dignity, such as becomes us, we will together appoint and raise up such a one as would best--"

"Pretentious little kitten, isn't it?" Lowe said. The rest of the herbivores--even hulking Samuel--took a step back from him. When Charles dropped from the marble staircase and sauntered over, the herd frantically drew further back. Only Lowe held his ground.

Is there any particular reason--" the lion stood nose to nose with the buck, "--you find it necessary to interrupt me?" The white-tail was a few inches taller than the lion, but the latter outmassed the former several times over.

"We're sick of the presumption and the pride of all of this," Lowe said. Charles blinked--prey didn't usually talk back. "You have dictated the terms here for the last time. No more will the lions decide that this trait is noble, that this role is inferior, that such and such an ecological purpose is unworthy. What marks a species as great--that a lazy cat can order his mate to pick off a gazelle for a meal, or that the gazelle gave up his life, his blood, to feed that cat? Who are you to decide which is great?"

Charles stared up at the deer. He wasn't as angry as the herbivores had expected. "What," he said, "do you propose?" Perfect control.

"We talk. All of us. We all decide what makes 'great,' then we make a decision, like rational creatures."

The three antelopes backing Lowe were dead the next morning. Of all the delegates, only Lowe was surprised. Antelopes died, that was one of the better things about them. But the white-tail wasn't accepting this. He paced in wide circles around Samuel. His mind, as properly paranoid as any hoofed mammal's, raced through plot and counterplot, until a tiny voice piped from the ground.

"Master Lowe?" Tiny black eyes, bare tail--one of the rats. They all looked the same. "Shuck, sir. Rodent delegate. I was just with Mr. Johann, he said he wanted to talk to you, sir."

"He wants to talk?" Lowe said. "Three of mine have left this earth, but the dog wants to talk. Perhaps there's hope here."

The rat began to leave. Lowe followed him. He spoke of the lions, of the long strife between their kind and the herbivores. The rodent was sympathetic; hadn't the mouse been victim as often as gazelle? When they reached the canines' quarter, Shuck started to draw away, then stopped.

"Master Lowe, be careful. It were probably the lion that hurt your friends--but I wouldn't trust the dog much further. Carnivores, they work together. Pack animals, you know."

Lowe met Johann in the heart of his quarter. The clearing reeked of dog; the pillars and trees smelled of canine. Johann was resting in the middle of the foul clearing. He looked up blearily at the deer. His pack was nowhere to be seen, probably out plotting Samuel's demise. Johann didn't look the part--didn't look like the favorite of the Canidae. His strength had left him years ago, as did many of his fierce teeth. His coat was patched with grey. But there was something of nobility to him as he struggled to his feet.

"Lowe, it is good that you came here. When you spoke to the lion...much of what you said was strong."

The deer stood, tense. There was a reason he was asked here; the dog would spring it soon enough. He waited, the dog waited. After a time, Johann sneezed. "Well. You wanted to talk, you are here, I am here. Talk." Still the deer was silent. Johann considered him, tried to read his locked muscles and bland eyes. "Feh. This is what comes of trying reason. The lions will be the greatest, again, like last time, while you stand, silent and scared. Then stand there. The monkeys will scream and rail, and we will accept what we are given. Like last time. Like every time." Lowe held his ground, waiting for Johann's lunge. "You have nothing to say? You who were so brave yesternight?" Lowe kept his silence. "Very well. I expected nothing more. This we get when we talk to prey."

That struck something. The deer's leg twitched, and he spoke. "Prey. You assume so much about me, because of what I eat, how I live. My kin sustain you, keep the lions strong, die that so many others can live. Who are you to say whether I am brave? Try to live as I do--that is greatness, the good done in a life, not strength or claws."

"You said that much last night. I hear nothing new. You have anything else? Any more words, any reason I should think you or your ox greater than the lion?" The deer responded by stiffening his legs, holding his head tighter, setting even stronger against whatever the dog would say against him. "I see nothing here. Go home. You are not fighting to be the greatest, you are fighting your place in the world. It is no wonder the antelope died--they stood still, just like you."

Not anger, but the pale light of paranoia glared in Lowe's eyes. "You killed them." He took a step forward.

"I've seen fifteen years. If I can scratch at a flea I'm having a good day. Why would I want to have your companions dead?"

"You couldn't stand it--the thought that one of mine could be the greatest." He walked stiffly toward the old dog. Whether he heard anything beyond his own thoughts, Johann couldn't say. "How long have you been working with him? Do you serve and play for him like you serve the humans?" He planted a sharp hoof in front of the dog. Johann winced, setting his weight on his weak hind legs.

"Calm down, mate! It's not like that, you were standing there and not saying your piece, look--" He fell back, dodging Lowe, wincing from the pain in his joints, but too slow. The deer brought his hooves down again, and the old dog fell. He breathed raggedly, then not at all.

Lowe listened to the dog's fading breath. Johann was as still as when Shuck had led the deer in, and the clearing just as silent, but something had escaped, what kept the dog vital and noble had fled, his eyes, still open, were going dim. The deer stepped backwards, looking left, right, backing out of the clearing. There was no friendly rat to walk him back to his quarter. His hooves grated in the thin soil. Johann looked into the darkness beyond the pillars.

By the time the dogs found Johann, Lowe was pacing wide circles around Samuel again. The ox was earnestly consuming another of Lysias's plants, but watched his friend as he passed in and out of his vision, regular as June. Mournful, discordant howls came from somewhere in the black jungle; Samuel ignored them. They didn't apply to the moment, the plant did. He wondered briefly what Lowe ate, as the deer walked past him again. He didn't see how Lowe had time to eat anything, he was so busy thinking.

The deer talked as he walked; who was left? The monkeys would think only of themselves, they had their king, and they wouldn't see any but the Kung-hao as the greatest. The lion was beyond reason, you only had to smell the decay on his breath. No, those two had their own champions. The rats, the tortoise, even the addle-witted horse--those were the only voices he could change. He walked past Samuel again, the ox raised his head, followed him, and fell back to eating.

"The horse--that one might listen. But he could go to the dogs, just as easily--both servants, of course." Samuel nodded, sagely, even if Lowe's words only half made sense, the other half were closed up in his head. "That's if they find someone new to back--they're good at that, the dogs are, finding somebody to look up to. They've probably already picked a new hero. Forgot all about their old hound, they did." He stopped, looked to Samuel. The ox felt something was expected of him, and nodded again. "And the rats, there's always the rats, they speak for so many, the only thing you could trust them for is that they hate the lions as much as any of us--but there's something in the monkeys, a kind of a cunning that links them both. The crow, she'll stay silent, says she's just there to listen--convenient, if you ask me--" He looked to Samuel again. The ox stopped chewing, opened his mouth, and shut it again. He lowered his head, as doleful as the cries in the jungle. "Of course, there's the tortoise, but I've never worked them out--like they know they're the greatest, and don't need to prove anything. Elitist bastards, and they never blink--of course, they don't have eyelids..."

He stopped. Samuel looked up hopefully, wondering if this was when the deer did something intelligent, like investigate the foliage. "We're not going to win any of them if we don't meet with them. We need to get back to the court." Lowe walked out, waiting for the ox to catch up. Samuel ambled after him. In the dark, the dogs had stopped howling.

The confluence had broken down into a string of screaming fits. The Kung-hao dominated them, shaking his fists at Charles and Johann's pack. The rest of the monkeys ringed the dogs and lion, chattering and cheering their king. His calls were deafening, and when Lowe entered the court, the smallest of the lot turned on the Kung-hao and bit at him, teeth clicking near his belly. The monkey king broke his rhetoric to scramble up a pillar, where the dog circled below him. The confluence had broken down into a string of screaming fits. The Kung-hao dominated them, shaking his fists at Charles and Johann's pack. The rest of the monkeys ringed the dogs and lion, chattering and cheering their king. His calls were deafening, and when Lowe entered the court, the smallest of the lot turned on the Kung-hao and bit at him, teeth clicking near his belly. The monkey king broke his rhetoric to scramble up a pillar, where the dog circled below him.

What had happened? The monkey king claimed the lion had Johann killed, covering the death with the bodies of the antelopes. There were legitimate ways to become the greatest, this was not one of them. After that, the discussion escalated. The horse rather uselessly claimed, over and over again, that the monkeys were behind all the deaths, a delusion brought on by its time as a plow-pull. It espoused this theory to whoever would listen, and shared its insights with Lowe. Somehow, old Lambrose had ended up on his back, and this, like the tragic antelope slaying, was the fault of the monkeys--after all, they had thumbs. Overhead, perched on one of her pillars, Lysias watched the chaos. Her feathers blended with the night.

Samuel stood dully by the door when his friend waded into the commotion, shoving monkeys aside with his antlers. Lowe broke through to face the lion. Charles turned toward him, what composure he might have had shattered by the screaming primates. "No more!" Charles said. "There's enough noise here without you adding to it!" One of the monkeys--it might have had a name--pulled at the deer's tail. He kicked back, the monkey let go and joined its scolding brethren.

"But I know who killed Johann."

"So does the horse," one of the monkeys said. The dogs picked up their argument again. Charles pressed forward, scattering them. Two circled behind the lion and started barking. He shouldered past two more dogs and moved toward the staircase, out of the court. The deer put himself between the lion and the stairs.

"I killed him," Lowe said.

That stopped the cat. He looked at his paws, and up to the deer. He tilted his head to one side. And then he laughed. It was more ridiculous than the horse's wild monkey theory; in the lion's experience, the deer had never picked up the habit of hunting dogs. One of Johann's pack asked, what was the joke? A moment later the dogs picked it up. It was unheard of, and besides, it broke the tension building in the court. Lowe looked from dog to lion, his triumph lost. The deer reared up again, and struck out at one of the dogs. Its breezy laugh broke into a whine of pain. But a pack of canines is nothing like a single, arthritic mastiff. The dogs closed on Lowe in a single motion, tearing at his stomach and throat. The monkeys pelted them with whatever was at hand, if only for novelty, but the dogs pulled the deer to the ground.

There was a strange silence, the dark of the jungle rolling in to mask the heavy panting of the pack. They drew back from deer's body, torn on the earth. Two deaths. Whatever peace marked the confluence was at an end. They disappeared into the undergrowth. The monkeys followed, moving along the pillars and supports to the treetops, and into the night. The horse, no one saw leave.

Across the court, Samuel watched the others fade into the jungle. And he watched the deer. The dogs had left the body alone. He lifted his head to meet the lion's eyes. For a time, the two looked into each others' lives. Then they turned to the jungle, and left the rats to eat.