by Erin Hunter
At last Grayfeather himself spoke. His voice was reedy and harsh. “Every Great Parent drinks from this water. It seals the pact you must make with the Great Spirit.”
Shaking his head slowly, Thorn backed away. “Windrider. Grayfeather. I’m sorry.” He took a breath, almost choking on the pool’s reek. “I don’t know how I can be any clearer. You’ll just have to accept that I’m not doing this. My duty is to my troop, and only my troop. Do you understand?”
Grayfeather’s eyes gleamed, hard and angry. “It is you, Thorn Highleaf, who does not understand.”
“I understand very well. I know I’m disappointing you.” Thorn turned his gaze to Windrider. “And I thank you for saving my life. But I need to go home now. I’ve been gone too long.”
The two vultures turned to each other, their eyes unreadable. For a moment Thorn held his breath. Then Windrider turned back to pin him with her gaze.
“Then go,” she said. “But know, Thorn, that if you do not reconcile yourself to your destiny, it will find you anyway. It will overwhelm you, and the fate it brings you will be a far worse one.”
“I’ll take the chance,” said Thorn.
“Then we can no longer help you.” Windrider turned her face to the sun and spread her great wings, letting the breeze stir them. She flapped into the air as Grayfeather turned without a word and hobbled away.
Thorn’s eyes creased as he stared up at the vulture. “Does that mean you won’t fly me back down this mountain?”
Windrider said nothing at all. Her wings caught a current of mountain air, and the tips twitched. She banked, soared past Thorn, and vanished beyond the barren ridge.
CHAPTER 9
Fearless squeezed his eyes tighter shut, irritation gnawing at his insides. With luck, the pride would be convinced by his pretense of sleep. The late afternoon sunlight slanted beneath his acacia tree, almost as if it was trying to pry his eyes open, and he made a muffled growl in his throat.
His faked slumber had worked, thank the Great Spirit; no other lion had approached him. Letting one eyelid crack open, he peered cautiously around. Yes, there was that awful Mighty, snuggling up to his sister. Valor rolled lazily onto her flank, batting at the big lion’s ear with a paw, and he stretched his jaws in a mock bite, gently mauling her muzzle. Valor’s tongue came out to lick his jaw.
Yuck. Fearless curled his lip. The pair of them were acting like stupid cubs. It was undignified and embarrassing. If they could see themselves from where Fearless was lying, they’d—
As Mighty laughed at something Valor said, the big lion twisted around, and his idle gaze landed on Fearless. Quickly Fearless shut his eye again.
He found himself breathing hard. Had they been talking about him? Laughing at him?
“Hey, Fearless.” Gracious sauntered past, close to his nose, and swished her tail playfully at his flank. “Are you all right? You don’t seem at all like yourself.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” grunted Fearless.
Refusing to pay Gracious any attention, he glared past her slender legs at Mighty and Valor. Mighty was standing up, stretching out his forelegs, shaking his golden mane. He gave a brief, deep roar.
“I want to go hunting,” he announced.
Typical, thought Fearless sullenly. He never needs to do anything, he just wants to.
Valor got to her paws, then clawed lazily at the bark of an acacia. “Good idea. I’ll come.”
Mighty cast an inviting look around at the other lions. “I know a promising bit of ground, and we can easily get there before sunset.”
Tough rose eagerly, and Hardy gave Rough and his two cubs an affectionate lick before padding toward Mighty and Valor. Fearless lay glaring at his sister’s new mate.
Mighty was a fine lion, he supposed: he’d just hit his prime, and he was powerfully built, with broad shoulders, a glowing coat, and a luxuriant golden mane. Of course Valor likes him; they’ll make strong, healthy cubs together. Fearless sniffed with disdain. But that doesn’t mean he can prance about like he leads Fearlesspride.
Gracious had turned away from him, and she bounded toward the others. “Keen, are you coming? What about you, Fearless?” She gazed back, her eyes bright and hopeful. “It’ll be fun!”
Fearless gave an emphatic yawn. “I’ve got my own hunting plans,” he growled.
Valor nuzzled Mighty’s ear—Fearless suppressed another disgusted shudder—then padded casually over to her brother. Her expression was amiable as she leaned down, but her voice came out in a low snarl.
“What’s the matter with you? We can all learn something from an experienced lion like Mighty.”
“I don’t need to learn anything from anyone,” Fearless growled back. “This is my pride, not his!”
Rising, he stalked off, but stifled an irritated growl as he saw Keen sauntering toward him. He wanted to be alone.
“You should go with Mighty,” Fearless snapped.
Keen looked surprised—and a little hurt—but he slouched reluctantly toward the gathering hunters. Fearless could hear Valor’s paws again, trotting briskly after him.
His sister slowed and matched his stride, giving him a sidelong glare. “Stop sulking, you ridiculous lion.”
“I’m not sulking!” he snarled.
“How long have I known you? I know what your sulks are like. Epic.”
Black fury choked him. “I don’t see why everyone’s padding along with Mighty all the time! We don’t even know anything about him. We don’t know where he came from, what he’s really like, if we can trust him—”
“What?” Valor halted, baring her fangs. “Mighty is noble, he’s strong, and he’s done nothing but treat you with respect! He hasn’t tried to challenge you, even though you’re younger than him and you’ve barely got any mane!”
“‘Hasn’t challenged me’?” snarled Fearless. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s not supposed to mean anything.” She laid her ears back, exasperated. “It’s a fact!”
He couldn’t argue, which was infuriating. “Well, why did you deceive me, Valor? Why did you go sneaking around with Mighty and lying about where you were?”
“Why?” Valor looked him up and down, disdainfully. “Because I knew you’d react like this. You’re so defensive and prickly and—and paranoid!” She turned and raised a paw to set off back to her mate, but threw a last growl over her shoulder. “And I certainly don’t need protection from you, little brother.”
Fearless’s gut churned with fury. Valor had stalked off without even giving him time to come up with a retort. Hackles bristling, he marched off in the opposite direction.
“Fearless, wait!” Keen trotted after him.
“No, go with Mighty like all the others. I’m fine on my own!”
“I want to come with you,” insisted Keen. “Mighty’s got plenty on his team. You don’t.”
“His team?” Startled, Fearless felt the pitch of his rage quaver. He swallowed hard. “Keen, am I losing the pride?”
“Of course you aren’t,” Keen told him firmly. “You’re decisive, you lead the hunts well, you think of new ideas. . . .” He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “They get a bit unnerved when you talk about the Great Spirit, that’s all.”
“That’s their problem,” growled Fearless. “Lions are so arrogant, always thinking they’re the rulers of Bravelands and they don’t need anyone’s help.”
“I agree with you,” soothed Keen. “Lions have always strutted around like we own the place. I suppose it’s how we are.”
“Well, it’s time we all realized there are greater powers than us at play,” grunted Fearless. It was unsettling that Keen was undermining his bad mood. “But I don’t expect you to understand the Great Spirit.”
Keen twitched his tail, looking offended. “Why wouldn’t I? Aren’t I as clever as you?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“It doesn’t matter anyway.” Keen shook himself haughtily. “
As you’ve said yourself, there’s no Great Parent around to talk to about it.”
“Look, I’m sorry I said that.” Fearless came to a halt, remorseful. “Keen, there might not be a Great Parent—but there’s someone who I think can help.”
“Oh yes?” Keen flicked an ear forward.
“Come on. We’re going to see a friend of mine.” Fearless set off at an energetic trot. “He always gives good advice.”
Odd, thought Fearless with a ripple of unease; he would have expected sentries to have been posted at the boundaries of Tall Trees. Yet not a single brown tail flicked among the trees, and there was no chitter of alarm calls from the branches above him.
Slowing his pace, he picked his way through the trees, pushing undergrowth and creepers aside. Behind him he could hear Keen’s uncertain pawsteps and his nervous breathing.
“Is that blood?” murmured Keen.
Halting, Fearless raised his head and flared his nostrils. Keen was right: there was a hot, stony tang drifting from the depths of the forest.
“Oh no,” he growled, and began to trot faster through the scrub.
He hadn’t gone far when he caught sight of snapped branches; below them lay a baboon, its limbs sprawled at unnatural angles. Its jaws were drawn back in a death-grimace. Just beyond it, another lay facedown; his heart pounding, Fearless pawed it over onto its back. It wasn’t a baboon he recognized. But when he bounded ahead to the next corpse, slumped against a fig trunk, he drew in a shocked breath; this was Leaf, a Brightforest baboon.
“What happened?” asked Keen, gaping at the carcasses.
“I don’t know.” Fearless sprang over a fallen log and ran on past more bodies. The smell of death seemed to be everywhere now, permeating all of Tall Trees, and it was growing stronger. At last, Fearless burst into the Crown Stone clearing.
With screeching and hoots of alarm, baboons scattered before him, leaping for the trees. A big female swung around, hunching her shoulders and baring her fangs defensively, but as her eyes met the lion’s, she visibly relaxed.
“It’s all right, everyone!” she called. “It’s only Fearless.”
“Hello, Mango,” he greeted her. He twitched his tail in agitation. “Something’s wrong, what is it?”
But before Mango could reply, Berry Highleaf bounded toward them. “Fearless!” she cried, as some of the fleeing baboons began to make their way down from the trees. Her eyes looked strained, and her paws shook a little as she stroked his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, old friend.”
More of the older baboons clustered around him now, stroking his legs and neck and chittering in subdued greeting. “Moss. Lily,” he growled affectionately. “Nut! It’s good to see all of you, too. But the bodies back there—something terrible has happened, that’s clear.”
“We’ll explain. Who’s this?” Nut angled a wary look behind Fearless.
“This is Keen Fearlesspride. He’s my friend.” Fearless nodded at the young lion, whose eyes were wide with nervous awe.
“If he’s your friend, he’s welcome,” said Berry. Her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry we can’t be more hospitable. You’re right, it is a very bad time for us, Fearless. Nut, there are more wounded who need to be taken to the Goodleaves—”
“I’m on it. See you later, Fearless.” The scar-faced baboon nodded and loped away.
Fearless stared after him. Whatever had gone on, it was serious enough that Nut hadn’t even tried to make any snide or clever remarks. Fearless’s heart chilled.
A smaller baboon pushed through the others; Fearless noticed he was wincing with every step. “Mud.” He nuzzled him gently. “Tell me what happened?”
“We were attacked,” Mud told him, his eyes tormented. “Oh, I wish you’d been here yesterday, Fearless.” As another baboon squeezed past him to take a look at the lions, Mud flinched again.
Craning around to peer at his little friend’s back, Fearless gave a grunt of shock. Mud’s hide was covered in vicious scratches and cuts.
“This is terrible,” growled Fearless. “Mud, I’m sorry. I wish I’d been here, too. Is Thorn all right?”
The silence that greeted his question was heavy enough to send a claw of fear into his gut. Berry and Mud exchanged a miserable look.
“I . . .” began Berry, and gulped. She put her paws over her mouth and stared at the grass, blinking. Once again, she tried to speak and failed. A small whimper came from her throat.
Mud’s whole body was shaking, and his jaws opened and closed several times in distress. “Thorn is . . . Fearless, we think—we think he’s dead.”
“No!” Fearless froze, his heart clenching painfully. “No, Mud, how?”
“We don’t know,” whimpered the small baboon. “We haven’t found his body yet. Probably scavengers took it before we’d started the search.” He gave a strangled cry of grief. “It was chaotic. We should have looked for Thorn sooner, but the battle—”
“It’s not your fault, Mud.” Fearless nuzzled the top of the little baboon’s head. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Thorn.”
He could only stand in silence, letting Mud hug his leg as he comforted him. Fearless wasn’t sure he could move at all. His rib cage felt as if it was squeezing his heart to pulp. He was my friend since I was a cub. I’ve known him my whole life. We’d just survived the Great Battle, found each other again—
“I should have been here.” His roar was desolate. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his jaws. “Mud, Berry. Is there anything I can do for the troop? For either of you? I want to help.”
Drawing away from him, Mud gazed up into Fearless’s face. The small baboon’s eyes were huge, dark, and despairing.
“It’s too late, Fearless. There’s nothing any of us can do for anyone.” Mud sank to the ground, his face in his paws. “The Great Spirit has abandoned us all.”
CHAPTER 10
There was something ominous about the sky, a yellow stain of dullness that made it heavy and threatening. Dust from the dry savannah hung in the air; Sky was raising more of it as she trudged across the grassland. A little behind her, the two cheetah cubs plodded wearily; she could make out their movements when she glanced back, but they were hard to see, almost lost in the cloudy haze.
As Sky turned to face forward again, her foot dragged against a big stone, sending it rolling and bumping across the ground. A sand-colored snake darted from the empty hollow in a panic, skittering for cover. If I’d been faster, I could have stamped on that, she thought. It would have made a meal for Nimble and Lively. But Sky wasn’t fast, and she wasn’t a hunter. She wouldn’t know how to go after it now.
“Keep going, you two,” she called back to the cubs, trying to be cheerful. “You’re doing so well.”
The poor little cats looked exhausted, their tails and fluffy heads drooping. They’d long ago lost interest in chasing pebbles. The three of them had been trekking across Bravelands for days, and although Sky had found beetles and grubs for them, lodged in the branches she tore down for herself, she knew the cubs must be terribly hungry. They couldn’t eat leaves or branches or even the softer shoots of grass; they needed flesh, and they needed it soon.
If it hadn’t been for the occasional scuffed and windblown footprint in the dry earth, Sky knew she might have given up hope of finding Rock. But whenever she felt like doing just that, she would come across another huge print that could only be his, or she would catch an elusive scent of his dark, leafy musk. Breathing it in, she would feel hope surge within her, and on she would plod, the two cubs limping along at her heels.
His tracks were still going in the direction they were traveling, and that was a cheering piece of luck after so many misfortunes. If it diverged, Sky decided, she would give up Rock’s trail for now; the important thing was to find the little cheetahs’ aunts. But for now, the coincidence of her two purposes was a happy one.
“Do you remember antelope, Lively?” Behind her, Nimble’s voice was weak.
“Oh yes,” said Lively, f
aint and longing. “It was juicy.”
“And big,” said Nimble. “There was always too much.”
“Mother used to catch those gazelles too, you know? The ones whose tails never stopped moving. They were funny to watch.”
“We used to lie in the grass and watch them and you couldn’t see their tails, they were spinning so fast.” Nimble gave a throaty giggle. “They were so quick too. Mother didn’t always catch them.”
“And we never would.” Lively was suddenly forlorn. “I miss Mother so much.”
Sky’s heart constricted as the two cubs fell silent again. The poor little things. I had to bring them with me; there was nothing else I could have done. Left with their dead mother, they would certainly have starved, or been hunted and killed themselves. With her they had a chance.
The horizon ahead wobbled and shimmered in the heat, and it was hard to make out distinct shapes, but Sky was sure there was something there in the middle distance: a great, dark, humped shape. Was it Rock? Her heart thumping with renewed hope, she flapped her ears forward and picked up her pace.
But the shape lay so still, she realized with dread as she drew closer. And it was surrounded by feasting hyenas, a seething mass of brown-and-black bodies that squabbled and tore and growled. Oh, she thought, please don’t let that be Rock. . . .
Breaking into a trot, she raised her trunk and let out a bellow, startling the hyenas. They froze for a moment, then scattered. As they bolted away from the corpse, she stamped her feet in a thunder of warning; the last hopeful stragglers twisted and raced away, vanishing over a low hill.
With trepidation she strode toward the remains, but a dizzying wave of relief swept over her as she saw that her fears were groundless. It was a huge bull buffalo, its eye sockets wide and empty. Sprawled on its side, its stiff limbs jutted out oddly. Strips of hide and flesh had been ripped from its flank, and its splayed legs had been gnawed, but that was down to the hyenas: the wounds looked fresh, and not fatal. No, the wound that had killed it was the great raw gash in its rib cage, clotted with dried blood. The buffalo’s chest had been torn open along the breastbone.