by Erin Hunter
MAP
DEDICATION
Special thanks to Gillian Philip
CONTENTS
Cover
Map
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
About the Author
Books by Erin Hunter
Back Ads
Copyright
About the Publisher
PROLOGUE
A great white moon hung in a sky scattered with stars; it was so bright, it cast a shadow alongside Gangle the ostrich as he thundered across the dry plain. His splayed talons slammed onto the ground, raising puffs of gray dust as he strove to lengthen his strides, but he was still barely keeping up with Flash. Flapping his stubby wings, he ran grimly on.
Flash, with his long, muscular legs and his glossy black-and-white feathers, had always been stronger and faster. Gangle remembered his friend’s tiresome, often-repeated joke: I don’t have to run faster than the lions, he’d tell Gangle; I just have to run faster than you!
In other words, they’d catch Gangle first and be satisfied. Gangle had always laughed, because he knew Flash didn’t really mean it. But it didn’t seem so funny now, as they raced across the savannah under the unforgiving moon. Gangle wasn’t sure if there were really lions behind them, but he could make out snarls and the thud of clawed paws. The creatures chasing them were predators, and they had to be led far away from the flock’s shared nest—and the precious eggs that lay inside.
Dust from Flash’s feet stung Gangle’s eyes, and as one of Gangle’s claws caught a rock, he stumbled and almost fell. Flash was drawing ever farther ahead. Perhaps this would be the night his joke came horribly true.
It doesn’t matter, Gangle told himself. This is part of our job. We owe it to the chicks who will come.
Gangle’s breath was rasping now, and his breast felt as if it might burst. He risked a look back and caught sight of dark, menacing shadows and the glittering orbs of eyes. His heart stuttered and leaped as he put on a burst of speed. What are they? They were relentless, and he was sure he could hear more and more of them, a horde of intent pursuing paws.
“Hurry!” boomed Flash. “Come on, Gangle!”
“Wait!” gasped Gangle. “Please!”
But Flash didn’t. With a burst of new and desperate energy, he sprinted farther ahead.
Oh, Great Spirit, spare me!
Gangle knew it was a hopeless plea. Was the Spirit even watching? Did it care anymore? Bravelands had been without a Great Parent for far too long, and its creatures were on their own.
Including me. From the sides of his huge eyes, Gangle could see the running shadows drawing closer, spreading out to either side, hemming him in. Wildly beating his wings, he swerved, almost crashing into one of his pursuers; he lashed out a foot, catching something hard as bone. The thing tumbled aside with a screech. Panicked and desperate, Gangle thudded on blindly, knowing they were on him now, knowing he couldn’t kick away a whole pack, knowing he was doomed. . . .
He could run no farther. He was finished. Slowing, he staggered and lurched. In moments, he knew, savage claws would rake through his feathers, dig into his skin, bring him crashing to earth. Teeth would fasten on his long neck—
No predator sprang. The moon gleamed down on the flat, silent plain. No loping shadows darted across his vision to cut him off.
Gangle halted, his heart racing, his feathers drooping. He was alone on the savannah. No pounding paws, no eager, panting breaths disturbed the quietness. As he recovered his aching breath, he lifted his long neck and swiveled his head, blinking.
Nothing.
Unnerved, he shook out his plumage, letting the cool night air soothe his hot skin. He opened his bill to call to Flash, but his cry caught in his throat.
Distantly came wild snarls and then, horribly, a booming cry of terror. Its notes rolled across the dark plain, frantic at first, before dying to a despairing echo.
Flash! Gangle beat his wings in agitation and began to lope once more across the savannah, toward that awful silence. His heart trembled in his rib cage. Would the shadow-creatures bring him down too?
He had to take the risk. He had to know if Flash was all right, or if the worst had happened.
Terror rippled through him. He could hear the flesh-eaters’ triumphant snarls, but faintly, as if they were drawing farther away from him.
As Gangle crested a low rise, the moon’s silver light picked it out plainly: a tumbled mound of feathers on the earth. Slowing, Gangle approached his friend, his throat constricting. Flash lay lifeless on the sandy ground, his long neck twisted, one huge eye half open and glazed with terror. There was not even a breeze to ruffle his feathers.
Gangle listened. There was nothing now, not a breath or a pawstep. The crickets and cicadas trilled their constant, monotonous song, but the predators were gone.
Lowering his bill to prod gently at his friend, Gangle ached with grief and pity. Apart from a gash in his chest, Flash’s body was unmarked. Uncomprehending anger stirred in Gangle’s gut.
Only kill to survive: that was the ancient, sacred rule of Bravelands. Everyone knew what it meant—animals could kill to defend themselves and to eat, but nothing more. Yet Flash lay here, his life ripped away, and those creatures had done it only for the sake of killing.
Does the Code mean nothing, now that we have no Great Parent?
Shaking out his plumage, Gangle bent his head once more to his friend’s. His voice hoarse and cracking, he managed to hiss the traditional farewell.
“Now, Earth-Runner, you will fly. Soar with the birds who went before you.” He hesitated, and whispered, “I will miss you, Flash.”
Swallowing, he turned away. For all his friend’s joking, being faster than Gangle hadn’t saved him. Why hadn’t the predators chosen him, the weaker of the pair? Perhaps the Great Spirit had heard him after all. . . .
But that seemed a forlorn and guilty hope. More likely, he’d simply been lucky. Luckier than he deserved.
What mattered, he reminded himself as he plodded sadly homeward, was that the nest was safe.
As safe as anything could be, in a world without a Great Parent.
CHAPTER 1
The mango tree had been a part of Thorn’s life for so long, casting cool shade over the Tall Trees clearing and bearing its prized fruits each year without fail. It’s always so beautiful, thought Thorn. New mangoes glowed there now, their red and gold peeping out from the glossy splayed leaves. It should bring him contentment, he knew; but even as he gazed up at the bounty, his father’s voice came to him across the years, gruff and wise: Remember, Thorn—the fruit is juiciest just before the rot sets in.
Blinking, he turned away from the tree and rubbed his head hard. Last night’s nightmare had been the worst one yet; he still felt dazed from its horror, and his nerves were raw.
If only the dreams didn’t feel so real. This time he’d been an ostrich, of all creatures, bounding across the plains under a stark and brilliant moon, a horde of shadowy predators at his heels. He hadn’
t been able to see them, he hadn’t known what they were, but they had filled him with a bone-deep, heart-freezing terror. He’d barely been able to lift his feet.
And why should he be able to lift those hefty, two-clawed feet? I’m not an ostrich! Clenching his fangs in irritation, Thorn shook himself. Maybe he should tell Pear Goodleaf about these vivid, strange visions? She was so wise, and she’d seen so much in her life as a healer.
He dismissed the thought with a flick of his paw. No, Pear couldn’t give him anything to help. This wasn’t a torn tail or a bitten ear; it was a bug that had crawled inside his head.
“I have to get over it,” he muttered to himself, “or put up with it. That’s all.”
He had to think less about his ridiculous nighttime dreams and more about the troop. His fellow baboons weren’t strange dream-creatures—they were very real, and he should be happy that life had gone back to normal for them. Or rather, as normal as it could be after the Great Battle with Stinger.
Thorn couldn’t believe that it was barely a year since he and his best friend, Mud, had set out to complete the Three Feats. All the two of them had wanted then was to rise in the troop’s ranks and find their place in the world. Life had been so much simpler. That was before Stinger Highleaf—the baboon he’d thought of as his mentor and friend—had murdered his way to leadership of troop.
Even that hadn’t been enough for the power-hungry baboon. As Crownleaf, Stinger had gone on to manipulate Stronghide the rhino into killing Great Mother, the elephant who was leader and guide to all Bravelands. Then he’d talked the poor rhino into replacing her. And he’d done that because he’d known Stronghide would be a disaster as Great Parent—and that the Great Spirit’s anger would engulf them all. Stinger had foreseen that when terrible heat and floods tormented Bravelands, its creatures would clamor for a new, strong Great Parent—Stinger himself.
Thorn had discovered the truth—and he’d almost been destroyed as he tried to bring down the tyrant. He’d nearly lost everything: his troop; his lion friend, Fearless; his best friend, Mud; and his beloved Berry, Stinger’s own daughter.
But Sky Strider, Great Mother’s wise young granddaughter, had seen through Stinger too. She, Thorn, and Fearless had rallied the animals of Bravelands and led a Great Herd against the False Parent. And in a final, bloody confrontation, Sky had flung Stinger into the watering hole, where the crocodiles had put an end to him at last.
That terrible battle had been less than a moon ago. Since Stinger’s death, Brightforest Troop had been leaderless; they had simply been too busy and preoccupied to hold an election. That was disconcerting for every baboon—but good things had happened, too. The Great Herd’s Crookedtree baboons had united with Brightforest after the battle. And it had been a wise decision to come back to Tall Trees, Thorn thought. Before Stinger’s reign of terror, Brightforest Troop had been as safe and happy here as baboons could be.
Not that their return had been easy. Before Stinger’s downfall, the vervet monkey Spite Cleanfur and his troop had launched an attack on Brightforest. The monkeys had badly damaged Tall Trees—and torn the mango tree so badly, Thorn had feared it wouldn’t recover. But over the past few days the troop had worked hard, clearing debris and stripping away broken foliage, and Tall Trees was almost restored. The new crop of mangoes seemed to promise hope for the troop’s future.
There were still squabbles, of course—sometimes Thorn thought the original Brightforest Troop and the Crookedtree arrivals would never agree on anything, from the best way to hunt lizards to which trees were safest for sleeping in. He sighed. He could hear some of the sentries now, returning from their duty; their voices were raised angrily and several of them were chittering and snapping their teeth.
Trust Viper, thought Thorn with an impatient roll of his eyes. He remembered the sharp-tongued baboon from the old Brightforest Troop, and she had always been a troublemaker.
“Oh sure, Kernel, you might have been a Highleaf in Crookedtree Troop,” Viper was saying, her teeth bared in a sneer as the sentries padded into the clearing. “But you’re barely qualified for dung-clearing in Tall Trees.”
“You’ve got some nerve,” snarled Kernel. “Crookedtree Troop always had better fighters than you Brightforest baboons. We never let our territory be invaded by vervets!”
“Are you calling us soft? You flea-ridden monkey!”
“You’re calling me a monkey when you practically invited them in?” Kernel threw back his head in a sarcastic hoot of laughter. “You all deserve to be Deeproots!”
“You take that back!” With a screech of rage, Viper twisted and sprang.
Thorn threw himself between them, only just in time to stop her blow landing on Kernel’s snout. They both staggered back, shocked eyes blazing.
“Stop it, both of you!” Thorn glared from one to the other. “You know the last time the troop argued like this? When Stinger was Crownleaf.”
Viper and Kernel scowled at the ground, truculent.
“Listen to me, ranks aren’t important.” Thorn rose onto his hind legs. “They’re just a way of organizing the troop, that’s all. Every baboon has a role, and every baboon should be pulling together for the good of the troop—especially now, while we don’t have a Crownleaf. Deeproots, Lowleaves, Middleleaves, Highleaves—nobody is better than anyone else, they’re just better at certain things.”
“Yes, like Highleaves are better fighters,” muttered Viper.
“Maybe they are,” snapped Thorn, “and that’s why they’re Highleaves. But Viper, you were here when Stinger appointed some of the baboons Strongbranches and told them that they were more important than everyone else. Remember how awful that was?”
Viper glanced at him slyly. “I remember that you were one of them.”
“I was,” said Thorn. “And I hated how Stinger made us bully the other ranks, and how scared everyone was all the time. Do you really want us to go back to that?”
Viper had stopped muttering. Kernel was picking at dead leaves with his forepaw, and the other sentries shared embarrassed glances. They all looked ashamed.
“You’ve had a strenuous turn of duty,” said Thorn more kindly. “Go and eat. You can all take double rations.”
“Thank you, Thorn.” Kernel hesitated as the other sentries began to slouch off toward the food pile. “You know, there are still hyenas prowling around. They’re just outside the border, but some of them are venturing into the trees.”
Root Highleaf, a sturdy former Crookedtree member, looked back over her shoulder. “There are a lot of vultures hanging around, too. It’s strange, because there isn’t any rot-flesh nearby.”
“Maybe it’s another sign,” remarked Grit, an older male. “The Great Spirit is still displeased, after all. No Great Parent has come forward yet.”
“Or maybe they’ve found some rot-flesh that you missed,” said Thorn quickly, scratching at his arm. “Hurry up, all of you. You must be hungry.”
He watched them disappear into the trees, chatting together now in a friendlier way. As the foliage rustled back into place behind them, Thorn swallowed hard and shut his eyes.
It had been many days since the vultures had spoken to him, yet he still hadn’t gotten over the shock of understanding their weird Skytongue. And that had been nothing compared to what they had actually said.
Because they’d hailed him as the new Great Father.
Thorn had told himself many times that it had all been just another fever-dream; maybe he’d gotten it from eating a rotten mango. The birds were deluded, because he couldn’t be the Great Father. He wasn’t up to it. It was too much responsibility. He didn’t have the skills. He didn’t have the patience. Most importantly of all, he didn’t want the job.
Thorn hadn’t told his troop, and he wasn’t going to, not ever.
If I don’t say it out loud, it isn’t true.
Unease squirmed in his gut. When the branches of the mango tree creaked and rustled above him, he jerked his head up,
startled and a little afraid. If that was the vultures, coming back to harass him again—
No, he realized with relief: it was Berry. His elegant, golden-furred mate was leaping purposefully through the branches toward him. He smiled. Her grace and balance were still breathtaking, even though her beautiful tail had been bitten to a stump by the brutal monkey Spite Cleanfur. Springing down to the ground, she rose onto her hind legs and returned his embrace. “Thorn. I heard Viper and Kernel bickering again. They’re such a troublesome pair. Did you manage to sort them out?”
“It’s fine. They’re obsessed with ranks and status, and they’re a bit too proud of being Highleaves.” He puffed out an exhausted breath. “I told them every rank is important. I think they took that in.”
To his surprise, Berry looked hesitant. She sucked her lip and gazed at him thoughtfully.
“You’re right in a way,” she said slowly, “but there is one rank that’s more important than the others—the Crownleaf. And we don’t have one. As long as that’s the case, there are bound to be fights. We need a strong leader, Thorn.”
“We just need a leader.” The words strong leader made him want to shudder, but he repressed it for Berry’s sake. Stinger had been a strong leader; he’d also been a tyrant and a villain who had endangered all of Bravelands.
“You’d be a good leader, Thorn.” Berry drew him closer and nuzzled her face into his shoulder. “You’ve more than proved that.”
Unease rippled through his skin. “Oh, I’m happy as I am,” he said lightly, and rubbed her snout with his to distract her. “This is all I wanted. Us being together is the best thing that’s happened to me.”
“And not having to hide that we’re mates. My mother likes you very much, you know.” Berry drew away, smiling and clutching his paws. “As you know, that’s the most important thing!”
Thorn laughed. “For a mother, it is.”
“Hey, Thorn!” a baboon interrupted, padding toward them. “Lots of us have been asking—when are the Three Feats going to start again? Everyone misses them.”
Thorn looked around. “I don’t know, Moss. I—”