by Erin Hunter
“Leave him alone,” hooted Lily as she bounded past. “Can’t you see he’s busy talking to Berry?”
“Ah.” Moss wrinkled her muzzle. “Sorry, Thorn.” She padded away.
Berry smiled wryly at Thorn, then nodded toward the empty Crown Stone in the middle of the clearing. “You see what I mean? That seems to be yours by right.”
“I told you, I don’t want—”
She tutted. “We need a Crownleaf, Thorn! And you would be perfect. Every member of this troop looks up to you, respects you. Make it official—call an election!”
Thorn shook his head rapidly. “No, Berry, no. I’m not meant to be the leader. I know they asked me after the battle but—it’s not me. Truly.”
She shook her head in frustration. “But who else?”
Thorn thought desperately. “Mango,” he said, nodding. “Mango’s well liked, and she’s respected. She’s got the right qualities.”
“I’ll do it!” Nut shambled to a halt beside them, grinning. “I’ll be Crownleaf—I’d quite like to lounge on that rock all day, being waited on paw and tail. It’ll be great—I’ll get sun-streaks in my fur, and all the females will love me.”
Thorn and Berry hooted with laughter. “Nut!” scolded Berry.
“Hmph! It’s no laughing matter. Or it won’t be when I’m Crownleaf.” Haughtily, Nut tilted up his chin and flapped a regal paw. “My first order will be to exile you both for gross disrespect.”
“You, Nut, are a scoundrel.” Berry was still chuckling. “I have to go and see Mother now. I’ll ask if she has a cure for your delusions, Nut.” She squeezed Thorn’s paw. “Think about what I said, won’t you? Please.”
“Seriously, Thorn—I agree with Berry.” Nut gazed at him thoughtfully. “You should consider it. I know I’d vote for you.”
“There,” said Berry. “You see, Thorn?”
“Lots of baboons are on edge right now,” Nut added. “Having no Great Parent is unsettling for every animal.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Thorn evasively. He and Nut used to be enemies, and Thorn usually found Nut’s reformed, more thoughtful behavior refreshing—but right now he rather wished Nut would stick to his frivolous remarks.
“Some certainty and authority would be a real positive,” Nut went on. “At the very least it would put the troop more at ease.”
“I guess they need that,” mumbled Thorn. “Have you seen Mud anywhere?”
“Ha!” Nut chortled. “He’s probably off on his own again, messing with those stones of his. He thinks he’s some kind of Starleaf. Try the stinkwood glade.”
“Thanks,” murmured Thorn. “I’ll go look for him. Berry, say hello to your mother from me.”
He scampered away before there could be any more talk of Crownleaves and votes. Berry and Nut are both wrong. I don’t want to hear any more about my responsibilities. I’m not cut out to be Crownleaf any more than Great Father!
Wrapped in his worries and resentments, he loped over a fallen log and broke out of the edge of the forest to run across the open grassland. The sky above him was an intense blue, cloudless from horizon to horizon, and there wasn’t another baboon in sight. Thorn felt a guilty surge of pure relief and freedom.
There were black specks in the blue above him, and as he glanced up he realized they were growing larger. Sucking in a breath, he put on a burst of speed, but within a few strides he could recognize the shape of them. They were no longer drifting specks; they had broad, black wings and bald heads, and they were swooping rapidly lower.
Go away! I don’t speak Skytongue, I don’t, I don’t . . .
One of the vultures tipped its wings and flew lower, its call a harsh, strange rasp that echoed across the plain’s emptiness. But he could understand it, all right.
“Thorn Highleaf,” it cried. “You can’t outrun your destiny.”
Just give me a moment to try. Thorn sped up, his paws pounding on the dry yellow earth.
“The Great Spirit is within you, Thorn Highleaf. Listen to its call.” With a sudden banking turn, the vulture was in front of him. Arching its wings, it stooped down and came to a lurching, hopping halt.
Thorn scrabbled to a stop, breathing hard. The bird stretched its wings, folded them, and stared at him with piercing eyes. Behind it, the rest of its flock landed and clustered, silent.
Thorn glared at them. Then, spinning, he took off at a rapid lope toward the east. “You’ve got this wrong!” He paused and turned back, resentment flaring inside him. “You don’t know everything! Leave me alone. It’s not me!”
The leader of the vultures began to hop toward him, half running and half flapping. “Thorn Highleaf. Great Father.”
“No!” He twisted and ran faster, glancing over his shoulder. Were they still behind him?
Yes. The leader had lurched into flight, her great wings beating the air, and she was coming after him. Seized by panic, Thorn crashed into a patch of long grass and kept running, his breath coming in rapid gasps.
He didn’t dare look back again. They can’t talk me into it if I refuse to listen. Barely even registering his surroundings, he burst out of the long grass and skidded to a halt at the edge of a small, sharp drop.
Trembling, dry-mouthed, he stared at the shimmering gleam of a watering hole in the distance: a huge, silver lake, its far shores indistinct in the hazy distance. He knew it well—he could make out the jutting peninsula that Stinger had renamed Baboon Island; small groups of animals lingered on the dried mud at its edges, dipping their heads to drink. Through the heat shimmer, he could make out a cluster of zebras, a couple of hartebeests, and a lone rhinoceros; all of them except the rhino were keeping a respectful distance from a single leopard that crouched low, lapping at the water. And beyond them all, their feet submerged in the shallows, stood a herd of elephants.
As he watched, one of them plunged her trunk into the pool and blew a silvery spray of water over her own back. Others were drinking; two calves were splashing and capering as if they had nothing more important to do than play. Thorn squinted hard. One of the elephants seemed very familiar, even at this distance.
For a moment, his delight overcame his worries. Yes, he recognized that young female who stood a little apart from the others. He couldn’t make out the creamy color of her tusks, the creases of her skin, or her dark wise eyes. But he’d know her anywhere.
Sky Strider!
CHAPTER 2
At the edge of the shrinking watering hole, Sky waited near the rest of the herd for her leader’s decision. There was a palpable anxiety in the air. Sky could feel the tension in her hide and the sensitive tip of her trunk; only the little ones played, carefree, and Sky felt a little envious of them. I remember when I trusted the grown ones to do the right thing. I never doubted Great Mother would lead us down the best path.
Feeling the weight of the decision was part of growing up, she understood that; but surely the worries of the herd had never been so agonizing, their faith in their matriarch so shaky? Comet had been head of the Strider family only since the death of Rain in their misguided, Codebreaking attack on Stinger. The truth was, Comet hadn’t had long enough to learn the ways of a leader; she was their youngest matriarch in generations. Unlike Great Mother or Rain, she did not have many years of experience and knowledge of the paths of Bravelands. And even those two great matriarchs might have had trouble now, with a landscape so changed by the calamitous weather of the last few seasons.
“It’s difficult,” said the rangy matriarch now, squinting into the sun. Anxiously, she swung her head and her long, mottled tusks toward the south. “It all looks much the same. But I think I know which way to travel.”
Swinging her trunk, Sky tilted her head toward her aunts and cousins. They flapped their ears, exchanging nervous glances. The tension was unbearable now. Only the oblivious calves continued to romp in the watering hole. Creek, the youngest male, cantered past, squirting Sky with a trunkful of water, and she started and shook her ears
.
“I think,” said the sturdy Cloud, blinking her long brown lashes, “we should be quite certain before we set off. Don’t you think so, Comet?”
Other elephants nodded, murmuring their agreement. They’re right, thought Sky. If the herd took the wrong direction it could be disastrous, and it would be the young and the very old who would suffer. They’d all heard tales of whole families wiped out with a wrong turn into drought-stricken wilderness or flooded, muddy swampland. Sometimes, Sky had seen their lonely bones, bleaching under the sun with no one left to take them to the Plain of Our Ancestors.
But Comet’s doing her best. We have to support her. “I’m sure you’re right about the direction, Comet,” she said hesitantly, “but perhaps we don’t have to leave quite yet? There’s still plenty of water here.”
“The dry season is coming, and we must move to greener lands.” Comet pounded the exposed mud at the lake’s rim with a foot. “Sooner rather than later, we must move on.” Hesitantly, she twitched her trunk toward Sky and gave a slightly embarrassed rumble. “Sky . . . you’re young, but you carried the Great Spirit for a season, and you seem to have absorbed some of its wisdom. Do you, ah . . . Do you have any ideas about our path?”
Sky blew uneasily at the water’s edge. No matriarch should have to ask for advice. But then, these days all the grown elephants deferred to Sky for answers—and they seemed almost nervous when she gave them. It should be flattering that they did, Sky supposed, but it made her anxious. It wasn’t how things were supposed to be.
“Just . . . listen for the spirits of our ancestors, Comet. Be at one with them, and they might guide us.”
“I’m sure Sky’s right,” put in Cloud, “but I have a bad feeling about our journey. Why is Bravelands still without a Great Parent? The False Parent is dead, his followers defeated. All should be well again, but no new Parent has revealed themselves!”
“I don’t know why there’s a delay,” said Sky, “but I do know we have to trust the Great Spirit. It’s never failed us.”
But Cloud had a point, thought Sky: the new Great Parent should have come forward by now. She had carried the Great Spirit inside her for almost a moon, but it had left her after the battle when the Great Herd had beaten Stinger. The Great Spirit had found its home—the new Great Father or Mother of Bravelands.
They might be a hippo, a cheetah, a bushbuck. Sky had no idea what that would be like, but she no longer cared what kind of animal the Great Spirit had chosen. She knew only that Bravelands needed its Parent, and that the creature needed to hurry.
“Sky?” Cloud prompted her. “You seem very distracted.”
“We all know why that is,” put in Mirage, her torn-eared aunt. She waved her trunk dismissively at a ridge above the dry riverbed.
Sky turned to look, but she already knew what she’d see. Sure enough, there was the massive, dark gray shape of Rock lumbering toward the herd. Sky’s heart surged at the sight of his sturdy, broad chest, his deep-set green eyes, those huge creamy tusks.
Cloud shifted back, her ears flapping. A stir went through the other elephants as they tossed their heads and grumbled and raked the ground.
“It’s not right,” Mirage muttered.
“He shouldn’t be here.” Comet shot an accusing glance at Sky.
They were right, Sky knew it, and her gut twisted as warring impulses and instincts tore at her. A fully grown male should not be lurking around the herd—but how could she drive him away? He had stood so loyally at her side throughout all her troubles. What does he want now?
As they all stared at him, Rock stopped and raised his trunk. “Strider sisters! May I speak with Sky alone?”
Comet’s eyes widened, and she half turned to Cloud. “I don’t know about that, Rock. I’m not sure that—”
“I’m sure.” Cloud stamped the earth. “Tell him to go away, Comet. He doesn’t belong here.”
“Lone males are dangerous,” agreed Mirage, glowering at him.
Dangerous? Sky almost wanted to laugh, but she didn’t dare. The bull elephant she knew was so gentle, so caring, so protective.
But Cloud and Mirage were already pushing forward in front of Sky, their heads high and determined.
“This is unseemly behavior, Rock!” Cloud scolded him. “You know perfectly well that bulls may not mix with us!”
Sky’s other aunts were shambling forward now, joining Cloud and Mirage to form a protective line in front of her.
“Leave at once!” trumpeted Mirage.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” blared Comet.
“Comet, Cloud.” Embarrassed, Sky tried to shoulder her way through the line. “This isn’t necessary.”
“And what if he falls into the Rage?” demanded Cloud, her ears flapping. “We’ve told you all about it, Sky, about how unpredictable the bulls can be when they’re excited! Why, my own mate Ravine used to get into quite the frenzy—”
“He’s not suffering the Rage!” cried Sky in exasperation. “Look at him, he’s calm. And anyway, it’s not Ravine, it’s Rock, and he’s the gentlest elephant I know! I’m not scared of him—”
“You certainly shouldn’t be,” declared Comet, swinging her rump to obscure Sky’s view, “because we’ll look after you.”
“Times are quite bad enough,” said Cloud sternly, “without discarding our prized customs.”
“Be off with you, Rock, you rogue.” Sky’s aunt Timber sounded scandalized.
“Sky!” Rock’s thunderous trumpet rose above the herd’s voices for a moment.
Desperately Sky lifted her trunk. “I’m here, Rock, don’t worry—”
It was no use. Her aunts simply raised their voices, drowning out her cries with their loud disapproval, and as Sky backed away in dismay, they began to stampede toward Rock.
“Away with you! Don’t come back!”
Through their huge bodies and the dust they raised, Sky could just make out Rock, turning and making a hasty retreat over the ridge. Oh, I hope he doesn’t think I wanted this!
The ache in her heart swelled to a fierce resentment. Her family thought they were protecting her—but from what? From the friend who had stood bravely at her side through every battle, who had treated her with nothing but kindness and respect?
Turning abruptly away from Rock and her aunts, Sky cantered along the edge of the watering hole. The compacted mud felt gritty and hard beneath her feet, and the few straggling patches of grass were yellow and parched. To her right the winding course of the riverbed followed the line of the shore until it met the broad sweep of the bay; when she reached its bank, Sky halted, breathing hard.
The edge of the riverbed sloped away sharply at her feet; Sky clambered carefully down it. Rocks and stones lay exposed on the bank, abandoned where the stream had carried them on its way to the lake; miserable and lonely, Sky turned them over with the tip of her trunk.
Not all of them were rocks, Sky realized. Half buried in the silt of the bank lay scattered bones, crusty and yellowed with mud. One of them was round and smooth.
That’s no stone.
The recognition came out of nowhere, instant and certain. Sky knew at once what the thing was, and who it had belonged to. Her heart clenching, she stepped closer, circling the skull until she could make out the top edges of the empty eye sockets. Even now, even when flesh and fur had been gnawed away by the rot-eaters, those twin gaping holes held malevolence.
Stinger. Sky’s knees almost buckled, and dizzying heat swamped her.
The whole scene came back to her, vivid and awful. She’d snatched the baboon up by the tail as he’d tried to make his escape. She’d swung him up high as his maddened eyes blazed into hers.
It had haunted her since the moment she had made the decision to kill him. Indeed, it had barely been a decision at all: it had been instinct, and rage, and a fierce longing to save Bravelands. She’d tried so very hard not to remember that terrible day.
I could have set him down. He’d lost, it w
as over. I could have left him to the justice of his troop.
She could have shown mercy, but she hadn’t. Instead she had dropped him over the edge of the cliff, into the black water where crocodiles circled.
As the skull glared its hate at her, it all came back in blinding detail: the thrashing, churning water, the reddening foam. Stinger’s head, surfacing once, fur plastered against his skull, jaws peeled back in a grimace of rage and terror. Then, at last, he had vanished.
Until now.
Staring into those half-exposed eye sockets, Sky trembled with guilt and shame and horror. I murdered him as surely as he murdered his victims. The knowledge struck her with brutal clarity. I broke the Code.
Was that why the new Great Parent had not appeared? The Great Spirit had left her that night, it was true—but did that mean it had found the Parent? Perhaps, instead, it had been sickened by her act of violence, so much that it could remain inside her no longer. Perhaps, because of her, it had abandoned Bravelands forever.
Her trunk quivering, she reached for the skull. She could hardly bear to touch it, but she made herself nudge and tug until it was dislodged from the mud. It rolled clear, the empty eyes staring up at her.
She didn’t want to read this bone. With all her being, she recoiled from the thoughts and memories and dreams it held.
But I have to. With a deep, shuddering breath, Sky curled her trunk around its smooth bone and raised it high.
Animals. Animals of every shape and kind, galloping and pounding, fleeing in hordes across Bravelands. Sky could feel their primal fear; it crackled in the air like lightning. Every one of them ran in the purest, coldest terror, and not just the most timid of the grass-eaters: she saw lions, rhinos, hyenas, buffalo, their eyes white-rimmed, their jaws foaming in panic as they fled.
What could frighten them so? Flesh-eaters, savage horned herd-leaders, predators that feared nothing! Why were they running as if the ghosts of every evil creature were hard at their heels?
After all, running could not save them. One by one the animals were vanishing, their bodies spinning into sand and whirling to nothing in the air. As the front-runners dissolved, the creatures behind them ran on, oblivious to the fate that awaited them, until they too fragmented and were sucked into nothingness.