Bravelands #4

by Erin Hunter

  In only moments, he heard the light thud of paws again, but Fearless knew it wasn’t Keen disobeying orders. He’d known Valor’s pawsteps all his life.

  “Fearless,” came her voice at his side, more conciliatory now. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” he gritted, staring ahead.

  “That’s not true, Swiftbrother,” murmured Valor. “Something’s really got under your hide. Let me help?”

  Fearless stopped and swung his head, glaring at her. “I don’t need your help!”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Come on, Fearless, that isn’t true. We’re supposed to help each other. Remember what Mother said before she died?”

  It was the lowest of paw-blows. Staring at her pleading eyes, Fearless realized she hadn’t meant to hurt him, but he winced at the memory. Yes, Mother said we were to look after each other. Though that doesn’t mean Valor always has to do the looking-after!

  He hated fighting with his sister; they were all that was left of their Gallantpride family. The two of them had been separated for so long, and their reunion had been one of the best moments of his life. But they weren’t the same lions now. At least, Fearless wasn’t.

  All his life he’d thought of himself as the cub of Gallant, the brother of Valor. And now he knew that was all a lie. Everything he’d believed had been ripped away after the Great Battle, the death of Loyal, and the revelations that had come to light when Sky Strider touched the great lion’s body. Because he wasn’t Gallant’s cub—he was the son of Loyal, the bravest lion he’d met but an oath-breaker too.

  As Fearless watched Valor’s glowing eyes, she tilted her head in appeal. “After all, Fearless, we’re brother and sister!”

  A stab of pure, angry grief tore through him, and he sprang back. Baring his teeth, Fearless gave a shaky growl.

  “Are we?”

  He spun and walked off into the night. Valor stood silent and didn’t follow.

  CHAPTER 5

  His shoulders hunched in threat, his forepaws driven hard into the leaf litter, Thorn snarled at the oncoming enemy. At his back, the fighting members of Brightforest Troop were lined up in their defensive ranks. The hostile baboons might not yet be in sight, but everyone could hear the rattle and crack of branches as Tendril’s invaders approached. Dislodged leaves fluttered into the clearing, and birds flew squawking into the sky. Thorn drew a deep, determined breath and gave a ringing whoop of defiance. Behind him, the rest of the troop joined in, shrieking and hooting, jumping up and down and pounding the forest floor.

  But as Tendril finally broke out of the undergrowth and halted, her fighters emerging to flank her, a tense quiet fell.

  The lanky Crownleaf of Crookedtree glared at Thorn, her golden eyes brilliant in her hollow face. “You! You’re the leader of this worthless troop?”

  “Hello, Tendril,” he growled levelly. “No. Actually I’m not.”

  Her lip peeled slowly back from her upper fangs in elegant disgust. When she spoke, her voice was as eerily calm and distant as he remembered.

  “I should hope not. It can’t be good for any troop to be commanded by a traitor. You and your crony Nut—you made me a pledge to stay in Crookedtree Troop. You broke it.” The serenity cracked, and Tendril slammed a paw onto the ground. “Liar!”

  With an effort, Thorn kept his breathing steady and calm. “My paw was forced, Tendril Crownleaf. Perhaps there’s a way I can atone for letting you down? A war would damage both our troops.”

  For a long, tense moment, she stared at him.

  “Very well!” Tendril rose onto her hind legs—Great Spirit, she was tall!—and gave him a cold sneer. “Surrender your territory to me.”

  Thorn’s eyes widened. “All of it?”

  “All of it!”

  Thorn shook his head slowly, almost amused. “You know I can’t do that, Tendril. If you made a more reasonable request . . .”

  “I make no request!” She slammed both fists into the earth, her rage erupting. “I demand!”

  “Oh, you do, do you?” Berry stalked forward to Thorn’s side, her fangs casually bared. “Then this is our demand: leave now, or face the consequences.”

  “Come now.” Berry’s mother, Pear Goodleaf, bounded forward, shooting anxious glances from her daughter to Tendril. “Let’s not rush into a terrible fight.”

  Tendril looked nonplussed. Her snout twisted, and she glanced at her second-in-command before turning back to Pear; for a moment her eyes softened with respect.

  Pear pressed her advantage. “Tendril, I’ve known you your whole life.” She gave the Crownleaf a gentle smile. “Do you know I saved your life once, when you had a fever?”

  “That was your job,” spat Tendril, gathering her brittle dignity. “Of course you did.”

  Pear seemed not to have heard her; her smile was still in place and her voice was soft. “I knew your mother and grandmother well. What noble baboons they were. They’d be proud of you, Tendril, for all you have done for your troop!”

  “All I have done for my troop?” Tendril’s voice was smooth and soft once more. “Oh, Pear, yes. How I have tried to protect them! I kept them safe within Leopard Forest, I swore no invaders would ever threaten us. My troop would remain secret, confined within our perfect, beautiful territory; why should we ever leave?” She pointed a thin, languid paw at Thorn and Nut. “Why, I even took in two lost baboons, offered them companionship and shelter. They vowed their loyalty. And what did they do? They betrayed me.” The level sweetness of her tone grew sinister. “My authority was challenged, Pear! Other baboons now question and defy me, thanks to these two. Many things I will tolerate, because I am reasonable, a kind and patient leader.” Fangs flashed in her muzzle again. “But this? This I cannot stand!”

  Pear hesitated, biting her lip. “But Tendril, taking our forest will not prevent disloyalty in your troop!”

  “Let me be honest, then.” Tendril rubbed a claw idly across her forehead. “I do not really want your forest. It does not appeal to me.”

  Berry stared at her, perplexed, then frowned at Thorn. “So why come here?”

  Tendril’s coolness became a frigid, contained violence; Thorn saw it in her eyes, and he stiffened.

  “Because I must demonstrate to my troop that traitors suffer. Is this not quite clear?” She shrugged. “Thorn and Nut must die.”

  “Tendril!” Pear surged forward, aghast. “Violence is not the answer!”

  “Why, Pear, I believe it is.” The lanky baboon flapped her paw at the old Goodleaf. “You too betrayed and abandoned your troop, so if you do not want to get hurt, stay out of this. Because the time for talking”—she swiveled once more to glare at Thorn with contempt—“is over.”

  With a ringing screech, she threw herself at Thorn, her long arms striking out, her hind claws raking at his belly as he fell backward. As his head thudded onto the ground, Thorn saw his own troop as a blur of gray and brown fur; they raced past him, hurtling into the Crookedtree ranks. The angry uproar was instantaneous, filling the forest and sending yet more birds clattering in alarm from the trees. War cries and hoots made the boughs tremble.

  Thorn himself was only momentarily dazed; with a snarl he twisted and kicked out at Tendril, dislodging her, then sprang on top of her. Her jaws were open in his face; as she bellowed in fury, he felt spittle fleck his snout. Together they rolled, biting and scratching, into a green patch of lantana. As Thorn briefly got the upper paw, he took his chance and hammered at her face with his fists until she went limp, groaning.

  Leaping off her, he spun toward the battle, taking a moment to find where he was most needed. Berry was holding her own, he realized with a surge of pride: she was tearing mercilessly at a big baboon beneath her, who curled and rolled away as he tried to protect his eyes. Creeper was methodically swinging his enormous arms at two enemy baboons, driving them back into the trees; together Moss and Mango held down a huge, snarling male. Nut, no stranger to a beating himself, was punching another’s snout
, his paws a blur of furious power.

  A high-pitched squeal of pain made Thorn snap his head around. Mud—always smaller and weaker than the rest of the troop—had been backed against a mgunga trunk by two thuggish-looking baboons. Mud winced as the prickly bark dug into his skin, but when the bigger of his attackers lashed a fist into his jaw, Mud only shook his head and peeled back his snout in defiance.

  “Nut!” yelled Thorn. “Quick, help Mud!”

  Turning from his dazed opponent, Nut raced to Thorn’s side. The two enemy baboons were snapping their savage jaws into Mud’s shoulder and belly, and he was fighting courageously back; the two brutes didn’t notice Thorn and Nut till it was too late. With a howl of rage, Thorn flung himself at the bigger one, dragging him away from Mud and pummeling his chest; close by, Nut had knocked the other baboon to the earth and was kicking and raking ruthlessly with his claws. Freed, Mud staggered forward.

  “Go, Mud!” yelled Thorn.

  “Thank you,” gasped his small friend, needing no second urging. All the same, when Mud bolted, it was straight back into the fight; he slammed into a baboon that was closer to his own size, and the two fell to the ground in a snarling tangle.

  As Thorn himself bounded back toward the melee, a maddened screech split the air. “Traitor!”

  Tendril had recovered, then. She was loping toward him, her eyes bloodshot with rage.

  Thorn glanced swiftly from left to right. If he led Tendril into the high branches, he decided, it would keep her apart from her main force, and Crookedtree Troop might descend into chaos. Lunging for the lowest branch and hauling himself onto it, Thorn began to climb, paw over paw, swift and determined.

  “Get back here, coward.” Tendril’s shrill voice was only a little way below, and he could hear the crack of twigs as she scrambled after him. “Stay and fight, you wretched Brightforest monkey!”

  “I will, then.” With a hoot, Thorn twisted abruptly and lunged down, digging his claws into her shoulder.

  Tendril gave a shriek of surprise and pain, but she recovered fast, driving him back along the branch till he was pressed against the thick trunk. Thorn kicked her away and dodged to climb higher, then turned again, lashing out as she leaped up to follow him. Gripping each other with their claws, they wrestled precariously but viciously, their snouts so close their fangs clashed.

  She’s tall, but I’m bigger and more powerful. If he could tire her out, exhaust the energy of her fury, Thorn knew he could land a strike that would finish this fight. Throwing back his head, he screamed another war cry and flung himself bodily at her.

  Tendril stumbled back, but she didn’t lose her footing. She skipped nimbly aside, then leaped into the next tree, bounding higher through the thickly leaved boughs. Grimly, Thorn pursued her.

  All right, I’m stronger—but she’s faster. Her brown tail and hindquarters were a blur of speed through the leaves, and Thorn panted desperately as he put on a spurt.

  Springing over a branch, he drew up sharply. Tendril stood facing him, elegantly balanced on all four paws, her tail high and waving. Her grin was unnervingly smug.

  And no wonder. Above and below Thorn, and crouched on either side of him, waited five of her Highleaf warriors.

  They were Tendril’s elite; Thorn recognized them from his time in Leopard Forest. With a screech of angry warning, Thorn began to back off, but the Highleaves moved almost too fast to see. He felt powerful bodies crash into him, and as he shut his eyes to protect them from scratching claws, he felt himself topple.

  No!

  Thorn crashed down through the boughs, snatching wildly at pawholds that were just out of reach. Leaves whipped his snout as he twisted in the air, his limbs and shoulders striking what seemed like every branch on the way down. He grunted as his spine thudded against a broken stump. A jutting twig tore at his fur, leaving spines in his skin; at last, inevitably, he crashed to the stony earth, knocking the air with brutal abruptness from his lungs.

  Helpless, Thorn gasped, his body shuddering with pain. The forest spun around him, and in his blurred vision he saw brown-furred figures swinging down from the trees above him. Thorn couldn’t even draw a breath to defend himself as they fell on him, biting and pummeling and ripping. One of them shoved his snout into the ground, and he felt the weight of another on his back, making it impossible to recover his breath. Frantically he twisted his head, seeking air.

  There are too many. They’ll kill me. In his wobbling line of sight, the streaks of brown and gray faded, darkening in his vision; even the pain began to seem distant. Yes. I’m dying.

  Then his body jerked, his spine arching high, and air rushed into his lungs as he clutched hopelessly at the earth.

  No. Not dying.

  I’m dead.

  He must be. Because suddenly Thorn was weightless, flying, rising up through the dark green of the forest and breaking abruptly into a world that was blue and clear.

  My spirit. It’s flying to the stars. I’ll see my parents again.

  His head fell forward and his jaw hung loose; below him was all of Bravelands, golden and green, with stubbly dark forest where silver streaks of river ran. The whole expanse of it swung in his vision, magnificent and dangerous and beautiful. Farewell, Bravelands. I’ll miss you.

  I’ll miss . . . Grief surged in his chest, the first weight he’d felt since dying. Berry. Berry, my love. Farewell to you, too. And to Brightforest Troop. All of you, please . . . survive. Have long, happy, peaceful lives, all mangoes and cool shade and fresh water.

  Oh, Berry, I love you. Win this battle. Live on, even if it’s without me. . . .

  It hurt to see his whole world shrink and recede beneath him, vanishing into his past. With a mighty effort, he lifted his head, squinting into the wind.

  Before him, in the far distance, lay a blue line of mountains, shimmering in an ethereal haze. His flight was taking him there, straight and true.

  Have we all been wrong, then? Did the Starleaves misunderstand? Do we go to the mountains, and not the stars?

  It hardly mattered now. As his whole body sagged, his fur rippling with the speed of his flight, blackness and oblivion claimed him.

  CHAPTER 6

  “It’s time.” Comet raised her trunk in an age-old signal, her gray eyes bright with determination. At the water’s edge, the other elephants gathered behind the matriarch, flapping ears and nodding heads. “I know the way we must travel,” Comet declared.

  The herd didn’t look nearly so confident as Comet, Sky realized; her aunts and cousins did not argue or contradict their leader, but she caught their apprehensive glances. All the same, the young ones were crowding to the legs of their mothers, and the older aunts were shepherding the stragglers into position, touching and caressing them with reassuring trunks. Cloud closed her eyes; Mirage lifted her head and blared a last call.

  “Thank you, Great Spirit!”

  “Thank you for guiding our matriarch on the true path,” cried Timber beside her.

  Nervously eyeing the dry grasslands that lay before them, Sky edged closer to Comet. “Are you sure about the way?”

  “Of course she is,” snapped Mirage irritably, before Comet could answer. “She’s the matriarch!”

  As Comet took a pace forward, the whole herd moved slowly behind her. Great feet struck the ground, raising clouds of red dust, and with unspoken understanding they began to form a line. One by one, implacable, the elephants trudged up the bank and onto the great expanse of plain, the low rumble of their tread resounding in the still air.

  Sky gathered herself, ready to stride after her family. Her muscles bunched, she took a deep breath—

  She did not move.

  Her heart slammed inside her chest. Her head swam as a vision of a skull filled it: bone, crushed in my trunk, shattering into fragments. She gasped in a breath, and her blood buzzed and tingled.

  I can’t go.

  The urge to follow the herd was a powerful one, buried deep in her gut, yet she could not
make her feet obey that instinct; they remained planted solidly on the riverbank. And now she knew: she had to stay. There was no choice.

  Timber glanced back in puzzlement, her ears flapping. “Sky?”

  Another cousin paused, turning. “Hurry, Sky. Don’t be left behind.”

  Impatiently, old Mirage stirred the earth with her foot. “Come along.”

  “I can’t,” Sky told her. There was fear and foreboding in her gut, but it was overwhelmed by an absolute certainty.

  Timber started. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  Cloud too turned, narrowing her eyes. “You mean you won’t.”

  More of them were hesitating now, swinging their trunks quizzically. A small elephant squealed, “Why isn’t Sky coming?” but her mother shushed her and hurried her on.

  Mirage took a pace back toward Sky, then halted, angling her ears forward.

  “You have to put that young bull from your mind, Sky,” she said. “Us females must stick together.”

  “Yes, forget about Rock,” scolded Timber. “You can’t stay here! It is the way of those stubborn males to live alone. That’s not our way.”

  “I . . . I have to stay.” Forcing her muscles to stop trembling, Sky took a step backward. She gazed resolutely at the older elephant. “It’s not Rock, I swear, Aunt Timber. I can’t explain it.”

  “You can’t explain it because it’s nonsense,” exclaimed the old elephant.

  “It isn’t nonsense,” blurted Sky, shaking her ears. Inside her, there was an almost unbearable conflict; it hurt her heart. “I want to be with you all, but something is tugging me back.” She stared around them, meeting their eyes. “It’s the Great Spirit, I know it is.”

  “You said the Great Spirit had left you.” Mirage’s gaze was severe.

  “Yes, but now it wants something from me. Something I have to do here,” Sky insisted. “I feel it, Mirage. I’m so sure.”

  Even Comet had turned now, and was walking apprehensively back toward her. The whole herd came to a halt, shifting impatiently, blowing at the dust; mothers calmed their infants, shooting annoyed looks at Sky.