by Erin Hunter
He swallowed hard, fighting back the agony. “Where do you suppose Titan has gone? Did I see elephants chasing him, or did I imagine that?”
“Oh, they went in pursuit,” Nut told him grimly. “But we don’t know what happened. With luck they caught him.”
“Spider doubts that,” said Spider with a shrug.
Fearless gave a rumbling growl deep in his throat. “I don’t believe for a moment that Titan’s dead.”
“I can find out.” Thorn padded forward. He sat back on his haunches and closed his eyes. After a moment his face relaxed, looking almost serene. His eyelids flickered.
In the silence, Keen nudged Fearless with his shoulder. “You’re in no state to go looking for Titan, let alone fight him.”
Fearless took a deep breath, straightening his limbs. He would not let his pain show in his face. Nor would he reveal to Keen just how close he was to collapsing. He gritted his jaws.
“I’m fine,” he lied. “I was stunned, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with me now.”
Keen stared at him for a long time, his penetrating eyes full of concern. But he said nothing more.
Thorn’s eyelids flickered again, more rapidly this time, and Fearless was glad of the distraction. The baboon opened his eyes, rubbing his temples hard.
“Was it bad again?” asked Mud.
Thorn shook his head. “I looked through Sky’s eyes; that’s not a bad place to be.” He smiled slightly. “I have good news and bad news, Fearless. Titan hasn’t got away altogether, though they haven’t caught him—he’s cornered.”
“Where?” Fearless felt his heart lurch with urgent excitement. Even that hurt.
Thorn’s dark eyes grew very serious. “He’s sought refuge on the Plain of Our Ancestors,” he muttered. “The elephants are distraught. He has no right to defile that place.”
Fearless tensed, though he had to suppress a wince at the pain. “He’s trapped there? And the elephants aren’t attacking?”
Thorn shook his head. “The elephants won’t follow him. It’s too precious a place to spill Titan’s bad blood; Sky knows it. She’s held the bulls back.”
“But she won’t hold me back,” snarled Fearless. “Sky knows I have this right, and it won’t be an elephant who spills Titan’s blood.”
“Fearless!” Keen started forward, his eyes wide with distress.
Fearless turned to him. “You can’t stop me,” he said softly. “Not this time. You know it.”
Keen took a breath. He seemed about to argue, but he shut his jaws and nodded. “Very well, my pride leader.” His eyes narrowed. “But we all go with you.”
“And so do we,” said Nut. “We may not be much help, but we’ll be at your side.” He grinned. “Time I saw Big Talk turn into Action Lion.”
Fearless gave him an affectionate lick on the side of his muzzle.
“Ew,” said Nut, wiping it. But he looked pleased.
“All-go-together,” sang Spider. “Spider is very happy to have lion-friends.” He patted the crouching Resolute between the ears; Resolute’s eyes started wide. Fearless was amused and relieved when the big lion simply harrumphed in irritation.
“Thank you,” Fearless told them all. “It’ll be good to have you with me.” He began to stride away from the lakeshore, but then turned back for a moment. He gazed at Keen, at Thorn, at Valor.
“But don’t forget.” He tossed his mane, as proudly as he could. “Titan is mine.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
At its highest point, the trail that led to the Plain of Our Ancestors was crowded with elephants, entirely obscuring the gap between the cliffs that led to the plateau. The huge beasts swung their tusks and raked their feet through the gritty white dust; now and again a bull would raise his trunk and trumpet his fury. Bounding between their colossal legs, Thorn did his best to keep up with Fearless, who was loping ahead as quickly as he could. Thorn could not help noticing his bad limp, the slowly clotting blood on his flank and under his nose, and the way his friend winced when a paw hit the ground too hard.
He’s in no shape to take on Titan, Thorn thought. He could only hope that Titan was too afraid and unsettled right now to respond to the young lion’s challenge. Stay on the Plain, Titan. For once I want you to hide like the coward you are. . . .
“Hey!” thundered a bull crossly, as Fearless bumped into his leg and pushed past. He glared down, but the young lion bounded on.
“Titan is going to pay for all he’s done,” snarled Fearless, as one by one the elephants turned to stare. “And I’m the one who will make him do it.”
A single, huge elephant turned at the head of the pass. He gazed down at the lion loping toward him; instead of shifting, he stepped very deliberately to block his way. Fearless lurched to a halt, breathing hard as he glared at the great bull. Thorn recognized the elephant.
It’s Boulder. Sky’s brother.
“You go no farther, Lion,” rumbled Boulder, lowering his tusks.
Thorn felt a wave of relief. At last, there was someone to say no to Fearless. Boulder would stop his friend getting himself killed.
But to Thorn’s astonishment—and quite clearly to Boulder’s, too—Fearless squared up to the massive bull, peeling his lips back in a snarl of defiance. “Don’t try to stop me.”
Boulder’s eyes widened in surprise; then he began to swing and toss his trunk. His long tusks gleamed, and his ears flapped wide in threat. A tense hush fell.
This was not going to end well. Thorn had seen in the past what a full-grown bull could do to a lion. Fearless wouldn’t stand a chance if Boulder put those feet and tusks to use.
There was rumbling and shuffling in the elephants’ ranks. Some glanced over their shoulders and shifted aside, and Thorn saw Sky step forward between the two antagonists. She glared at her brother, then turned to the lion.
“You don’t understand, Fearless.” Sky’s voice was quiet, but clear and full of authority. “Boulder cannot let you enter the Plain of Our Ancestors. It’s a sacred place to us, and blood cannot stain the ground there. It’s bad enough that Titan is already fouling it with his presence.”
Thorn eyed Fearless, feeling a sick nervousness in his belly. It was quite obvious that his friend was battling pain; Thorn could see it in the tension of his muscles and the trembling of his jaw. But the lion’s eyes were full of vengeful fire, and Thorn had a feeling that if not for his injury, Fearless might have flung himself at Boulder. The elephants were silent, staring at Fearless, and Sky’s ears twitched.
The standoff was shattered as a mocking hoot sounded from the ridge above them. Every creature turned to stare up.
A twisted, windswept old juniper grew at the edge of the cliff; in its branches hunched an ugly, one-eyed baboon, his fur patchy and ravaged with red scars.
“Creeper!” Thorn rose onto his hind paws, glowering up at the baboon.
Creeper peeled back his lips and gave a screech of contempt. “Thorn Greatfather, huh?” He lifted his fist. In it he clenched a long, curved bone, bleached by the sun. Sky gave a gasp of distress and trotted a few steps up the trail.
“That bone belongs to our ancestors,” she cried. “Leave this place. Now!”
In response Creeper only laughed harder and tossed the bone from paw to paw. “This is no longer the Plain of your pathetic Ancestors. It’s the den of Titan Wolfpride, and a fine den it is too!”
A rumble of fury rose from the assembled elephants. Rock gave a trumpet of rage, and Boulder raked the stony ground with his foot.
“You won’t come in, will you?” jeered Creeper. He flipped the bone, catching it just before it could clatter to the ground. “Is it because it’s your holy place? Or is it just that you’re all scared of Titan? Don’t worry, poor little elephants. Titan won’t hurt you, and he won’t even gnaw on any more of your grandfathers.” The baboon put a finger thoughtfully to his jaw. “Well. Not if you give him a sacrifice.”
“You will regret this, intruder,” bellowed Rock.<
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“Sacrifice?” seethed Sky. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, it’s not much. Not much at all. Such a little, insignificant thing, though he thinks himself the most important creature in all of Bravelands.” Creeper picked his teeth and swung the bone carelessly in his fist. “Give us Thorn.”
Mud gave an indignant shout; Nut a derisive laugh. Sky swiveled her head toward Thorn and shook it slightly.
“We will not give you up to this impudent baboon,” she told him, her eyes sparking with anger.
“I would if I were you,” sang Creeper. “Titan is tired of your Great-Father-Monkey and his tricks. If Thorn doesn’t give himself up, Titan won’t ever leave your precious graveyard. You know, the wolves need to keep their teeth sharp, and this place is very helpful. I daresay it’ll take them a long time to grind so many bones to dust, but eventually they will. Maybe they’ll leave after that? I don’t know, it’s such a nice view from up here. Maybe Titan and the Wolfpride will stay forever.” His eyes glinted bright with malice.
Thorn watched Sky as she glared helplessly up at Creeper. Her face was tormented; she looked as if she didn’t know whether to weep or rage or sink to her knees in despair.
Thorn turned to his friends. “I have no choice,” he said quietly. “I cannot let them do this.”
“Thorn, no!” cried Mud.
“I agree with Mud,” said Nut. “Don’t you dare, Thorn!”
“Spider thinks this would be the stupidest thing ever,” said Spider, tickling his lizard’s throat.
Truth to tell, Thorn thought the same. It was a stupid notion. I’m going to die if I go in there.
But how could he let Sky down? How could he disappoint the Great Spirit? Maybe this was what he’d been meant to do all along.
“I can’t let those brutes desecrate the Plain of Our Ancestors,” said Thorn. His head sagged. “I’ll go with Creeper. I—”
“We reject your terms!”
Sky’s furious bellow made Thorn jump. He gaped at her in astonishment. The young elephant raked the ground with her tusks, her eyes blazing. “You’ve crossed a line, Creeper Blackheart. You may not threaten us! Rock is right.” She nodded at her betrothed, and her voice was deadly. “You will regret what you’ve done today.”
Creeper tilted his head. He stared down at her for a long moment.
“Very well,” he growled at last. “Let your bones be cursed then. Or rather, the bones of your ancestors.” Springing down from his perch, he vanished between the rocks and into the plateau.
Thorn shook himself. He could not let the baboon out of his sight. Clenching his jaws, he flung his mind forward, seeking out his enemy and plunging into the dark and hateful clouds of Creeper’s consciousness.
He was racing back across the plateau, the piece of rib bone still gripped in his paw. His casual mockery of the elephants had been nothing but an act; it was hot anger that roiled in his chest and gut.
Thorn won’t get out of this so easily; Titan will see to that. And then the baboons will be rid of that arrogant, self-righteous troublemaker forever.
He leaped over another pile of bleaching bones, scrambled over a broken skull. Thumping to the ground, he scratched at his raw hide. It maddened him that Thorn and his cronies had tricked them with a bees’ nest.
Vicious, spiteful Thorn: oh, he’ll be sorry he ever thwarted me.
When he took Thorn’s head back to Dawntrees, the troop would thank him. And they’d beg for a Crownleaf: Creeper Crownleaf.
No more of that council nonsense, no more equal leadership. It’s all vervet-dung.
The Crown Guard would serve him, and they’d do it happily. Once he was rid of Thorn, and Titan ruled Bravelands . . .
A few wolves sprawled in the stubby dry grass ahead, chewing on bones; their big ears twitched, and they gave him dismissive glances as Creeper dodged through them. His paws hurt. His skin hurt. Bees! Fire! Oh, he’d tear Thorn’s throat out slowly. . . .
Titan lay on a flat white rock in the middle of the plateau, his annoying daughter at his side. Nearby sat the other Crown Guard baboons, picking and scratching grumpily at their own bee stings. As Creeper approached, Titan lifted his black-maned head and showed his fangs. Creeper slowed, bowing his head, catching his breath, and finding a respectful tone.
“Why are you here, Baboon?” growled Titan.
“They refused!” panted Creeper. “They wouldn’t give up the Great Father.” He snorted and spat.
“I can see that for myself,” drawled Titan, licking his jaws. “You’re alone. So I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”
Creeper opened his mouth to explain once more, but his words dried in his throat. There was something in Titan’s eyes that he didn’t like.
Menace sat up, tilting her head to peer at him curiously. “Are you going to explain, Creeper? My daddy said you weren’t to come back without Thorn.”
“But I tried,” Creeper blurted, feeling the first stirrings of real fear. “It’s not as if I could force them! I came back straight away, Titan. I knew you’d want to know. I knew you’d want to do something about those impudent animals.”
“Yes.” Titan sat up on his haunches and shook his mane. “Impudent animals. I can’t tolerate impudence . . . or failure. I’ve given you two commands, and you’ve failed me in both.” He licked his jaws. “If that isn’t impudence, what is?”
Creeper swallowed. He glanced from one side to the other, then back at the two lions. No. Titan’s bluffing. He needs me.
Menace nodded slowly. Her jaws parted a little, and she breathed faster; Creeper could distinctly see the gleam of her fangs.
Creeper glanced at his Crown Guard comrades; they looked nervous. Viper backed away, as if she was trying to conceal herself behind the others. There would be no help from those so-called friends.
“I’ll make this right, Titan,” blurted Creeper, turning back to Titan. “I’ll bring Thorn back myself if I have to!”
“That was the original idea.” Titan yawned, his fangs and his black throat showing. “I’m not keen on second chances.”
“Generous Titan,” hissed a voice behind Creeper. “Benevolent Titan.”
Creeper started and spun around. Silent, unnoticed, the wolf pack had formed into a group behind him. He had nowhere to run. Panic clenched his chest.
“Your heart, Creeper,” mused Titan. “I think perhaps it’s dry and wizened, with little spirit left.” He turned to cock his head indulgently at his eager, slavering daughter. “But it’ll do.”
“Titan, no!” The time for pleading was over; Creeper knew he could only scream and beg. “No, I—”
His voice and breath were knocked from him as the wolves sprang. He felt a terrible, ripping agony, heard the crunch of his own bones, knew the most absolute and despairing of terror, and—
Thorn drew away with a lurch of his mind, scrabbling desperately to leave Creeper. He found himself, panting, with the elephants once more.
“Thorn? Thorn!” Sky stood over him, her trunk-tip touching him gently. Mud and Nut and Spider were gathered around, their eyes full of concern.
“What happened?” Mud clutched his arm. “Thorn, what did you see?”
Thorn could still feel the bite of those savage fangs, the hot breath of death, the unbearable knowledge of his coming demise. In his Thorn-self, he felt a surprising sadness for the baboon who had once been his troop-mate. He shook himself violently.
“Creeper is dead,” he said, hoarsely.
His friends fell silent. Mud put his hands over his mouth. Nut made a disgusted face.
“Oh dear,” said Spider, quite happily.
Thorn gathered his breath and his composure. “Sky . . . There’s something more important.” He laid his paw on her trunk. “Titan has already started to desecrate the dead.”
“I’ll go in there. Don’t try to stop me.” Fearless limped between Nut and Mud, his eyes hard. “Listen to me, all of you. He must die. Now. And I am the lion to do this. Titan has
already turned the crocodiles, and some baboons”—he gave Thorn a respectful nod—“and even the herds are submitting to him. They’re scared of him, and they’re right. We have to deal with this threat to Bravelands now—or never.”
Thorn reached out to stroke his friend’s muzzle. A memory came back to him with a bittersweet pang: That first time Fearless let me stroke his muzzle . . . He’d been only a little cub, nervous but brave, surrounded by a troop of baboons—half of whom had wanted to eat him. But the rest had cooed over the adorable baby lion, had agreed readily to Stinger’s proposal: Brightforest Troop will have a grown lion of our own one day! Imagine, my friends!
Thorn had stepped cautiously forward through the curious ranks, had reached out a paw to the scared little cub. He remembered how his paw had shaken, how his heart had raced. But when he’d touched the lion’s nose, it had been softer than he’d expected. Big brown eyes had gazed into his, suspicion melting into anxious trust. And the Cub of the Stars licked my paw. . . .
Those fangs of Fearless’s had been small, then. Now they were long, and sharp, and deadly. His eyes were older, fiercer, lit by the dark flame of experience. This young lion’s heart was ablaze with righteous vengeance.
But he was hurt, and Thorn had a feeling he was hurt badly.
“You’re right, Fearless,” he said at last. “But . . .” He drew a deep breath and glanced around at the elephants. Weren’t they famously wise? Perhaps they knew some way to save his friend . . . some way to level the odds . . .
There, at Sky’s side, stood Rock, her staunch, courageous betrothed. That elephant had literally walked through flames to rescue the animals of Bravelands, and Rock was a true friend of the Great Spirit. The evidence was there, in the still-raw scars and patches on his dark hide.
“Fire,” said Thorn suddenly.
“What?” Sky blinked.
“Fire will drive Titan out. Out of the Plain, and out of Bravelands.” Thorn smiled at Spider. “Fire will help us this time, not harm us.”
“Now wait a minute.” Boulder barged forward. “Fire is not something to be treated lightly, Thorn.”