Bravelands #4

by Erin Hunter

  Sky could not see what was driving them helplessly to oblivion, but she could feel it. Not Stinger, but the malevolence that had lived in him. It drenched the scene like a dark, invisible cloud of evil. And she was sure she could hear his laughter, high and triumphant, making her heart clench and wither in petrified horror.

  The skull shattered explosively in her grip. Starting back to reality, she realized her trunk was squeezed tight around nothing; shards and fragments of bone lay at her feet. She’d destroyed it.

  What did it mean? The vision had made no sense. Stinger was gone.

  If only, she thought with an inward cry of despair, she had someone she could talk to.

  “Sky?” said a familiar voice.

  She spun around, her heart lifting before she’d even laid eyes on the new arrival. “Thorn!”

  He stood before her on his hind legs, wringing his forepaws, his eyes bright with anxiety. There was no creature she could have been gladder to see. So few animals understood her part in Stinger’s death—but Thorn knew best of all why she’d had to do it, and why the survival of Bravelands had depended on it.

  Overwhelmed with gladness, Sky stretched her trunk, then hesitated just as the tip of it brushed his fur. She must not intrude on his memories—

  But it was too late. Thorn lunged forward and hugged her trunk.

  Nothing.

  Sky blinked. Not a single memory assailed her as Thorn hugged her. Not a sensation, or an image, or an emotion. Nothing.

  She swallowed hard, curling her trunk around his furred body.

  The power has left me. The gift the Great Spirit gave me—the gift of reading the living—it’s gone.

  Shock curdled her blood. The Great Spirit had truly gone, then. Perhaps, appalled beyond bearing by her murderous action, it no longer even watched over her.

  Oh, sky and stars. It has not left only my body.

  The Great Spirit has abandoned me completely!

  CHAPTER 3

  Sky Strider blew out an aching breath that ruffled Thorn’s brown fur. There was a sudden sadness and pain in her eyes, and Thorn stiffened in concern as he drew away from her trunk.

  But she blinked rapidly, and the look of torment was gone, or hidden. “Oh, Thorn Highleaf. You’ve no idea how good it is to see you!”

  “And you, Sky Strider.” He gave her a rueful grin. “I’m sorry that I’m here to ask for something. Again.”

  “You can ask me for anything,” she rumbled with warmth.

  “I need advice,” he confessed. “I’ve got a problem, Sky.”

  The elephant brushed her trunk across his shoulder. “How can I help?”

  Sinking back onto all four paws, Thorn averted his eyes. Then he sat on his haunches and picked at his chest fur.

  “I think . . .” He took a breath. “Sky, I think you know more than most about duty, and responsibility, and doing what’s right.”

  She chuckled wryly and lowered her own eyes. “I’m glad you think so, Thorn.”

  “You do. And that’s why I need your wisdom.” He nibbled his lip, trying to get the words right. “You see, Sky—what if you knew you were supposed to do something, but you weren’t ready for it?”

  Sky swung her trunk slowly, pondering. At last she looked up. “Your troop still doesn’t have a leader, Thorn. I know that.” She sighed. “It’s only to be expected. Stinger did so much damage, it’s no wonder baboons are hesitant about choosing a new Crownleaf.” She lifted her head and flapped her ears forward eagerly. “But you, Thorn—I think you’d be the best Crownleaf your troop has ever had. They wanted you to lead them, didn’t they? After the Great Battle—I know you said there would have to be a proper vote, but they seemed so enthusiastic.”

  He frowned, thinking hard. He could hardly tell her that he had an even bigger decision to make than whether to stand as Crownleaf—and luckily her advice could serve for both. “Yes . . .”

  Sky fidgeted, swatting a clump of reeds with her trunk. “The truth is, I don’t know what to advise. Our herd—we lost two matriarchs so quickly, and Comet isn’t ready to lead. She’s struggling. So although I think you’d make a wonderful Crownleaf, I understand if you feel you aren’t ready. Only you know, Thorn. You have to decide what’s best.”

  “Only I know, and I must decide,” he murmured, a little sadly. “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t make the decision for you. It must be so hard.”

  “It is,” he said. “It is.”

  For a moment they stood in dejected silence. Then Sky cleared her throat and asked brightly, “How’s Berry?”

  He gave her a grin. “She’s fine, Sky. It’s going well. We’re happy.”

  “I’m so glad you two are finally able to be together,” she said softly. “Actually, since things have worked out so well, I should ask your advice.”

  “Go on.” He tilted his head.

  “It’s Rock,” she sighed. “I want to be with him. I don’t feel at home with my aunts and cousins anymore. But it’s just—it isn’t done. Bull elephants live apart, they always have. We have to stay in our separate herds.”

  “Hmm.” Thorn scratched at his muzzle. “Sky, I don’t know much about elephant tradition, but if the last few seasons have taught me anything, it’s that these are strange times. And maybe strange times mean different answers. Traditions are all very well, but aren’t they supposed to help us? If they don’t, maybe we need to change them?”

  “I feel I should be the one to change,” murmured Sky, “but I can’t.”

  “Why should we be trapped by old customs?” Thorn gave her a long, solemn look. “If we’d stuck to old traditions and rules, Berry and I could never have been mates. She was a Highleaf and I was a Middleleaf, remember? I think you should follow your heart, Sky. Truly.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered closed. “If only it were that simple.”

  “It’s hard,” he said sympathetically. “I know just how hard. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.”

  “So am I.” She gave him a rueful smile.

  “Oh, don’t worry.” Thorn patted her trunk lightly. “As a matter of fact, you’ve helped me a great deal. . . .”

  So that was that, thought Thorn with satisfaction as he loped back toward Tall Trees. He had been certain his instincts were right, and his talk with Sky had only confirmed his decision.

  Only you know, Thorn.

  The Great Spirit was such a powerful presence. It was everywhere, and it was aware of all things; it knew the hearts of every creature in Bravelands. It must know that Thorn’s was not the right place for it to live. The Great Spirit would understand, and it would find another animal to carry its essence—someone strong, like a rhino or a buffalo or, best of all, another elephant. Thorn shook his head ruefully. It would be ridiculous for the ancient, wise, esteemed Great Mother to be succeeded by a not very competent, not even full-grown baboon.

  All he’d ever really wanted was to be with Berry. And now he could be. Yes, he might still put himself forward as Crownleaf; that was different.

  But Great Parent? It was nonsensical. Unthinkable. Wrong.

  Maybe the vultures had come to the same conclusion after all, because when Thorn reached the fringes of Tall Trees, there was no longer any sign of them. Anxiously he peered into the sky, but no broad-winged black shapes haunted him from above. His heart felt almost light, until Nut came charging out of the forest.

  Nut’s expressions had become much harder to read—the scars from his beating by Stinger’s thuggish Strongbranches had left his face battered and scarred and his snout misshapen—but right now the alarm in his wide eyes was obvious. “Thorn! Where have you been?”

  Thorn blinked. “What’s wrong, Nut?”

  In reply, Nut simply grabbed his arm and dragged Thorn through the woods after him. At a marshy clump of grass between two fig trees, he halted and pointed at something lying on the ground. “That. That’s what’s wrong.”

  Two baboon sentries stood before it. Thorn crept bet
ween them, unease already growing in his gut. The fur was black-streaked brown, and he recognized it at once as a hyena. And I think I even know which one. Its snout was peeled back in death, its eyes wide and glazed, and dark blood clotted a deep gash on its chest.

  Thorn crouched and parted the stiff fur to examine the wound. “Is this the hyena that was prowling around the camp yesterday?”

  “We reckon so.” Tough old Creeper sat down with his back to a tree, picking his teeth.

  “We drove it away.” Stump, the other sentry, shrugged. “I guess it came back.”

  “Nobody’s tried to eat it,” added Creeper, studying the corpse with fascination. “At least, not the creature that killed it. I suppose we can drag it back to the food pile, though.”

  “Though there might be something wrong with it.” Stump elbowed Creeper. “Why else wouldn’t a flesh-eater want it?”

  “I don’t know,” murmured Thorn, sucking his teeth nervously.

  “Well, we don’t either.” Nut shook his head. “We don’t even know what killed it.”

  “Probably your breath,” said Creeper.

  “Yeah, Nut,” agreed Stump solemnly. “That could take down a grown buffalo.”

  “Oy!” Nut twisted his brutalized face into its fiercest scowl and punched the air in front of their snouts.

  “You don’t scare us.” Creeper grinned.

  “Except when you breathe on us,” said Stump, miming a swoon of horror.

  Nut launched himself at them with a dramatic bellow of offense; instead of striking Stump, he grabbed the big baboon’s shoulders and panted deliberately into his face. Creeper sprang to rescue his friend, shrieking, “I’ll save you, Stump. Hold your breath if you value your life!”

  But as the three of them rolled around, wrestling and squealing, Thorn couldn’t bring himself to join in the fun. The corpse troubled him, and it wasn’t just that a hyena had come this far into Tall Trees unchallenged. Why wasn’t it eaten?

  By the time he had picked at the torn skin around the hyena’s wound and searched it for any more injuries or bite marks, Stump and Creeper were playing dead between the fig tree’s roots, and Nut was straddling both their bodies, pounding his chest as he hooted in victory.

  “Come on, you lot,” Thorn growled, irritably. “The fun’s over. Creeper and Stump, why don’t you go and check there aren’t any more hyenas nearby?”

  “All right.” Grinning, they scrambled to their feet, and with a last swipe at Nut’s head they bounded off.

  “What’s bothering you?” Brushing off twigs and dead leaves, Nut ambled over to Thorn. “I know it came into Tall Trees, and that’s bad, but it didn’t attack anyone. I didn’t know you’d be this upset.”

  “It’s too strange to be natural.”

  “It’s a dead hyena!” said Nut. “The best kind!”

  “A bad death.”

  The harsh screech came from overhead. Thorn jumped, then froze in despair, staring up through the branches.

  The vulture cocked its head as it soared in a circle; Thorn could feel its cold eye more than he could see it. “A bad death, Thorn Greatfather. The Code is broken. You must divine the cause.”

  Thorn shut his eyes tight, feeling his stomach lurch. They’d found him again. And making their crazy accusations and demands in front of Nut—

  “What are they squawking about?” growled Nut, throwing a twig uselessly at the birds.

  Thorn shook himself. Of course. Nut can’t understand Skytongue. “I’ve no idea,” he lied.

  “Well, they’re clearly hungry. And everybody in the troop went off hyena meat when you all lived in that abandoned den. Let’s leave the vultures to it.”

  Before either of them could scamper away, the vulture stooped suddenly, its black wings dislodging leaves. It landed heavily, glaring at Thorn, and hopped closer as three more of its flock flapped down behind it.

  “Thorn! Accept your destiny!” Their guttural voices filled the glade, resounding from tree trunks and beating on Thorn’s ears. “Do not dare walk away from the Great Spirit.”

  “What the—” began Nut, and snatched up a branch. He advanced on the huge birds, sweeping it to drive them back. “Go and eat the hyena, monkey brains! Not us!”

  The vultures flapped away from Nut, screeching angrily. But for Thorn there was no escaping their scolding. “You cannot evade this responsibility, Thorn Greatfather! Do the Great Spirit’s will!”

  “We should go,” he babbled, grabbing Nut’s shoulder.

  Only too gladly, Nut turned with him, and they bounded through the trees, finding the narrowest gaps and the lushest foliage to make sure the birds could not follow. Pausing to peer back, Thorn shuddered. The vultures were clustered around the hyena now, but they were not tearing at its fur and flesh; they looked from the corpse to him, their black eyes condemning.

  “Keep going,” he told Nut hurriedly, and they ran on.

  Deeply unsettled, Thorn almost failed to register the stinkwood glade as they passed it; it was only a muttered curse from a familiar voice that brought him up short.

  “Nut, wait! Mud’s here.”

  “Oh, him and his useless pebbles,” grumbled Nut. “What does he think he’ll achieve?”

  “You go ahead, I’ll catch up.” Still panting, Thorn ambled into the sun-dappled patch of bare ground between the trees.

  His oldest and best friend crouched in the center of it, gathering up his stones in both paws. They were bright and multicolored; some were translucent and smooth, some rough-surfaced and sparkling with chips of silver. Some glowed red or green or gold. Mud’s small face was creased with anxiety and frustration as he stared down at them.

  “It’s not working,” Thorn heard him mutter. “It doesn’t make sense. . . .”

  “Mud!” called Thorn cheerily.

  Mud’s head jerked up. Despite his surprised grin, the lines of worry did not leave his face. “Hello, Thorn.”

  “What’s the matter?” Thorn sat down beside him.

  Mud gave a deep sigh and shook his head. “I know I’m not a real Starleaf,” he murmured. “But I learned a lot from my mother. I thought I understood all the rules and all the meanings. I’ve been practicing for ages. But it’s not working.”

  Poor Mud, thought Thorn. He wanted so much to be able to follow in the pawsteps of his wise and skillful mother; he longed to be able to honor Starleaf’s legacy, after her death at Stinger’s paws. “Are the stones saying different things each time?” asked Thorn gently.

  “No. That’s the trouble.” Mud raked at the fur on top of his head. “Every time I throw the stones, they give me more or less the same message. But I can’t get to the root of it! It’s so vague.” Miserably, he added: “I’m sure my mother would have understood at once.”

  “All right,” said Thorn encouragingly, “it’s vague, but generally what are they saying?”

  “Something about a hidden menace. Coming to Tall Trees, yes, but also to the whole of Bravelands.” Glowering at the stones in his paws, Mud growled. “Why won’t they be more specific? This is useless. I don’t know if it’s a rogue hyena or—or—or a flood that’s going to drown us all!”

  “That’s not very helpful of them.” Thorn risked a mischievous smile, but Mud would not be cheered up.

  “It’s all because of the Great Parent, that’s what I think. Or rather the fact there isn’t one. Everything’s confused!”

  Ignoring the niggle of guilt in his rib cage, Thorn leaned closer to examine the stones. He’d seen Starleaf throw them so many times, but he’d never understood what it meant when they fell a certain way. There was more to it than that, anyway; the whole ritual was a lot more complex than some random pattern of falling pebbles. He could only admire Mud for trying—even though his friend’s efforts made him nervous. . . .

  “Mud. Can the stones, uh . . . Can they tell you who the new Great Parent is? Or where they can be found?” Trying not to let his voice shake, he added: “After all, if there’s a menace
threatening Bravelands, the Great Parent should surely know.”

  Mud shrugged. “Let’s try, shall we?” He clutched the stones tightly, then closed his eyes, whispered muted words, and tossed them into the air.

  They pattered down like colorful rain, rolling to a stop, and Mud leaned over them. There was an achingly long silence, and Mud’s eyes narrowed. He chewed his lip and muttered: “Yes, fine, but where?”

  “What?” said Thorn.

  “Oh, its nonsense, I tell you. Something about the Great Parent being nearby, but it won’t say where. Or if it does say that, I can’t read it. Hang on.” Mud leaned even closer over the stones, staring at them for an unbearably long time.

  “Any more details?” Thorn’s heart was pounding so hard, it came out as a harsh squeak.

  Mud shook himself and sighed miserably. “I’m sorry. Sometimes these stones talk nonsense. Or more likely it’s me. I’ll just have to practice more.”

  Thorn patted his friend’s paw. “Let’s go back to the Crown Stone clearing,” he suggested. His hide felt hot and tingly with relief. “You probably need a break, that’s all.”

  Mud didn’t seem to want to discuss the stones anymore, and Thorn was glad. They padded companionably through the trees, making light conversation about Berry and about the troop’s progress with the restoration of Tall Trees.

  “It’s going so well,” Mud remarked happily. “The mango tree has recovered, and things can only get even better when we elect a new Crownleaf.”

  “And when we have Mud Starleaf to advise us,” Thorn told him. “You’ll soon get the hang of it, you know.”

  “I hope so.” Mud’s eyes were bright. “I really am trying hard, and I want it more than anything. Will you nominate me, Thorn? I need support from a baboon from each rank—Highleaf, Middleleaf, Lowleaf, and Deeproot.”

  “Of course I will.” Thorn nudged him affectionately. “I’m glad you have faith in yourself, Mud. Because I certainly have faith in you.”