Bravelands #4

by Erin Hunter

  CHAPTER 13

  Dawn was rising behind Tall Trees as Thorn limped homeward with Spider at his side. A pale yellow glow outlined the treetops, vanquishing the last stars one by one, and from the familiar canopy he could hear the vibrant sunrise song of the birds. A single thrush sang a fluid melody, and was joined in a cresting wave by the trilling and piping of bulbuls and orioles.

  “Morning, morning, it’s morning . . .”

  “The sun is rising, wake up! Sing, sing, sing . . .”

  A dove began to coo rhythmically. “Another be-a-utiful day, be-a-utiful . . .”

  Thorn wished they’d be quiet. It still shocked him that he could understand their lyrical Skytongue words, and they made him even more uneasy. His heart felt like a stone in his chest.

  I don’t know yet if there’s anyone left in Tall Trees to greet me. Thorn’s steps slowed, reluctant with dread, as he stared at the forest.

  “I hope they’re all right,” he muttered to himself. “Oh please, Great Spirit, let them all be safe.”

  “Well, well, you’ll find out soon enough,” mumbled Spider, his gaze roving across the grass and the trees. Suddenly, a spark of greed lit his eyes. “Oh, is that a mango tree I can see?”

  Thorn shot him a glance, hurt. “I’m more worried about my friends right now.”

  “Spider knows.” The mangy baboon shrugged. “I’m sure you’re worried. But Spider also knows that having close friends is more of a nuisance than anything. See how anxious you are? See how stressful it is?”

  “You must have cared about somebody in the past,” said Thorn, exasperated. “What about your mother? You must have been close to her.”

  “Spider doesn’t remember.” He shrugged again. “I might have been. Spider doesn’t know.”

  Thorn set his teeth. It was beginning to grate on his nerves, that habit Spider had of talking about himself as another baboon. “Well, Spider needs to understand that other baboons have feelings—ahhh!”

  The vision came on him like a thundering cloudburst, swamping all his senses and blotting out the world around him. He was straddling Stump Middleleaf, gripping him by the throat as he pounded the big baboon’s head against the ground.

  Fury washed over Thorn, lending him new urgent strength. Leaning close to Stump’s terrified face, Thorn tore at his muzzle with his teeth, drawing blood that splashed into his own eyes. Over and over again he slammed his fists into Stump’s chest and head. He couldn’t stop. He might want to, but he couldn’t; a force far bigger than himself had control of his body and his mind and his temper. Only distantly could he hear the helpless baboon’s feeble screams. Those cries didn’t matter, and they didn’t make Thorn feel any pity. Stump had to die. Stump had to suffer. STUMP HAD TO DIE—

  “Thorn-friend! Thorn!” Strong, lanky arms were shaking him, breaking the vision into fragments that blew away on the breeze. “What is it? Spider wants to know.”

  “Wh-what . . .” Dazed, Thorn sat up. His paws were trembling and his head stung as if a thousand bees were loose inside his skull. The hot pain was almost unbearable. Crying out, he clutched his forehead.

  “Hmph. That was funny. What happened?” Spider stepped back, tilting his head.

  “I . . . don’t know.” Shaking himself, Thorn staggered to his feet. “Listen, Spider, why don’t you, ah . . .” Ow. This headache, it’s the worst yet. “Why don’t you wait here for a while. Stay in those bushes there. I’ll go, uh . . . into Tall Trees. See who I can find.” In a miserable mutter he added, “If anyone’s left.”

  “All right.” Contentedly, Spider crouched in the scrub and began to play with his stone.

  Drawing aside a thick veil of creepers, Thorn edged into the forest. He realized he was holding his breath, and as he exhaled shakily, he felt his heart begin to pound almost as painfully as his head.

  It was so quiet in here. The birds still chorused, but they seemed very far above Thorn’s head, and their song was muffled by the ringing in his ears. Oh, Berry, he thought. Oh, Mud. Please be alive.

  The leaf litter felt soft and damp beneath his paws. It would have been bliss to be back, after the barren bleakness of the mountain and the plains, if not for the gnawing fear in his heart. Thorn gripped a fallen log and clambered over it, his paws slipping on wet moss. The forest smelled richly of damp earth and fungus and rotten wood, but beneath it all there was still a baboon-tang.

  That couldn’t give him too much hope, Thorn knew. After all, the familiar scent was overlaid with the unmistakable reek of death.

  Clenching his jaws, Thorn picked up his pace and bounded across a small glade. The scent was stronger here, powerful enough to pull him forward almost against his will. What if they’re dead? A snake darted away as he shoved aside branches. Taking a deep breath, he stumbled forward into the Crown Stone clearing.

  Baboons. They perched on branches, crouched on rocks, nestled babies against their chests. Every one of them snapped their heads around as he emerged from the undergrowth, and for a moment there was stunned silence. Then a screeching hoot of joy split the air.

  “Thorn!”

  Berry bounded down from a fig branch and flew into his arms. Right behind her came Mud, with Nut at his heels. As they embraced him, squealing with joy, Thorn could hardly breathe. His blood pounded in his veins, hot with relief and delight.

  “Berry, Mud! You’re all right!” His voice was muffled by Mud’s shoulder. “Nut! Moss, Lily—you’re alive!”

  He was surrounded by furred bodies, rocked back so that he almost fell, but he didn’t care. The baboons who couldn’t reach him through the melee were bouncing up and down, hooting, and pounding the earth with their fists.

  “The battle. You fought Tendril off, Berry? You won?” he gasped, breathless.

  “Yes!” Berry hugged him again.

  “But Thorn, we thought—we thought you were dead,” gasped Nut. “We couldn’t find you!”

  “I knew Thorn wasn’t dead,” shouted Mud joyfully. He danced on the spot, clasping his paws. “I never lost hope, I knew you’d be back. The stones told me!”

  Thorn glanced at him, startled. “The stones? You’re getting the hang of them?”

  “But where have you been, Thorn?” pleaded Berry, still gripping his shoulders tightly. “What happened? Why were you gone so long?”

  He took a deep breath. He didn’t know if they were going to believe this, but he’d been practicing his excuse for long enough inside his head. I can at least sound convincing.

  “I must have been knocked out when I fell from a tree,” he began. “I was fighting Tendril and some of her Highleaves—in one of the other clearings. She’d drawn me away, you see, lured me into an ambush. I lost my footing and hit the ground hard, and when I woke up I was lying alone. I was covered in broken branches and leaves.” Thorn gazed around at his troop, trying not to blink too rapidly.

  “I can’t believe it,” breathed Nut. “I thought we’d looked everywhere. Honestly, Thorn, we searched high and low—mostly low—and we couldn’t find a hair of you.”

  Thorn forced a wry laugh. “I’m as surprised as you are. I think—maybe something dragged me away. Some rot-eater who thought I was dead? Then they realized I wasn’t, and I could still bite and scratch, and maybe they got scared. It’s all a blur. But whoever it was, they’d hauled me a long way by then. I didn’t know where I was. I had to find my way home. And I couldn’t even think straight.”

  Creeper Highleaf prowled forward through the crush, an expression of suspicion on his battered face. He looked worse than ever, thought Thorn: one of his eyes was missing, and the empty socket looked raw and accusing. “It’s very convenient,” he muttered darkly. “You missed most of the battle, Thorn.”

  “That doesn’t matter, Creeper.” Berry’s eyes narrowed as she turned back to Thorn. “But you’ve been gone for so long. It’s been days. How did you get so lost?”

  She wants to believe me, but she doesn’t, Thorn realized with a sinking heart. Not entir
ely. “I have no idea, Berry. I had a bad crack on the head. I didn’t know where I was when I woke up.”

  “I thought you were dead,” she cried, sounding almost angry. “I was devastated!”

  “I know. I’m—I’m so sorry, Berry,” he whispered. He jerked his head up abruptly, remembering his alarming vision at the edge of the woods. “But Stump! How is Stump?”

  “Stump?” Berry exchanged a confused look with Mud. “He’s fine, Thorn. Why do you ask? He’s on sentry duty right now.”

  “And it looks like he’s asleep,” muttered Nut with a roll of his eyes. “He didn’t even notice Thorn arriving.”

  “Quite,” said Berry dryly. “Somebody should have a word with Stump later.”

  Viper Highleaf gave a hoot from the back of the crowd and slapped her palms against the ground. “I know this is exciting,” she called, “and I’m sure we’re all very pleased to see Thorn, but we should get on with the election. It’s important.”

  “Election?” Thorn glanced quizzically at Mud. “That’s why you’re all gathered in the Crown Stone clearing?”

  His friend lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry, Thorn,” he murmured. “You’ve missed your chance to stand for Crownleaf. The vote’s already in progress.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” Thorn squeezed Mud’s arm as the other baboons drifted back, gossiping excitedly, to their places in the glade. “I’m just so delighted to see you all safe and well. But who’s standing?”

  “Berry and Mango Highleaf,” Mud told him.

  “Berry?” Thorn blinked in surprise and turned to her. “I never thought you were interested in being Crownleaf.”

  She drew herself up a little, looking offended. “You may never have thought so, Thorn,” she said, “but you never actually asked. And someone had to step up once you were gone.”

  “Oh, don’t be angry, Berry.” He embraced her hastily. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. You’d make an amazing leader.”

  “Well, I admit I’d never thought of myself that way,” she said, sounding mollified, “but when the opportunity came, I thought: Why not? And—I’d like to do something good for the troop. My father caused so much damage. . . . This seems like a way to begin to fix that.”

  “I understand,” said Thorn softly, hugging her close.

  Together the three friends followed the other baboons into the center of the clearing; the votes were already being counted out in the flat space in front of the Crown Stone. Very carefully and slowly, Moss and Viper were checking two neat piles of pebbles. It was the way the baboons had chosen their leaders for countless generations, and the very sight was reassuring in its staid formality: each baboon given a pebble, each baboon placing it in the voting pile for the candidate they liked best. Mango and Berry loped forward to resume their places at their respective piles, and Thorn leaned forward eagerly to peer over Lily’s shoulder.

  “It’s no good,” declared Viper, rising onto her hind paws with an expression of weary disappointment. “That’s the third recount, and it’s still tied.”

  Mud pushed forward, his eyes shining. “Thorn hasn’t voted yet.”

  “But he wasn’t here—” began Mango Highleaf, starting up from her seat on a rock.

  “He’s here now,” Mud told her firmly. “And Thorn’s still part of this troop, isn’t he?”

  There were hollers and whoops of approval, and Thorn padded into the center of the clearing, feeling awkward. Every eye in the troop was fixed on him, and he couldn’t help worrying that they could see right through his skin to his secrets. No, that’s silly. And it didn’t matter that he’d missed his chance to be Crownleaf, did it? Berry was a much better candidate than he was. Besides, it was his own fault for prevaricating for so long. Thorn shook off a last twinge of regret and picked a pebble from the scattering of uncast votes that remained.

  Mango was still grumbling. “He’s obviously going to vote for Berry, isn’t he?” She slumped back against her rock.

  Thorn shot her an apologetic look. Yes. Of course he was. With a tiny shrug, he placed his pebble ceremoniously on the heap assigned to Berry.

  Every baboon knew there was no need for a further recount. The clearing erupted in whoops of celebration as Viper padded to Berry and placed a paw on her shoulder.

  “I declare that from this day on, Berry Highleaf shall be known as Berry Crownleaf of Brightforest Troop!”

  Hooting cheers rang out, and baboons pummeled the ground as a rather stunned Berry climbed up onto the Crown Stone. She swallowed hard as she gazed around at her new charges, and Thorn felt his heart swell with fierce pride.

  “I . . .” Berry cleared her throat and tried again, waving a paw to calm the enthusiastic baboons. “I thank you, all of you, for trusting me with the leadership of the troop. That includes those who did not vote for me—because, as is our tradition, I shall rule for the benefit of all.”

  Approving whoops chorused again, and fists pounded the ground.

  “Thank you, Mango Highleaf, for a fair contest.” Berry nodded to her rival and gulped. “I have only one announcement to make for now, but I think it’s an important one.”

  An attentive silence fell. Baboons glanced at one another, quizzical.

  “I propose to rename this troop,” declared Berry, her voice growing stronger and clearer. “We have come through terrible struggles, and a dark time for Bravelands, and I hope we can put it behind us and look forward to a bright future. This is a new beginning for us, and I think we should mark that in a very special way.” She paused, meeting each baboon’s eyes, and let her gaze rest fondly on Thorn. “From this day, Brightforest Troop shall be known as Dawntrees.”

  Thorn was first to shout his approval, but the clamor of cheers rose swiftly around him. Branches shook as baboons jumped up and down with delight. Nut beat his chest and hollered. Mud was dancing again, his eyes bright with happiness.

  Thorn watched as Berry slipped down from the Crown Stone and was instantly surrounded by baboons congratulating her and wishing her luck. The last vestiges of disappointment inside him dissolved. Berry looked as if she had been born for this position: she was every bit the Crownleaf of this troop. Thorn’s heart felt warm and huge inside him. I’m so happy for her. She deserves this, so much.

  “Well done, and well spoken,” he told her softly as she squeezed through the crowd to his side. “Berry, I’m so glad you’re Crownleaf. You’re going to be a wonderful leader.”

  She smiled up at him. “I hope so, Thorn. We’ve been through so much, all of us. Our troop deserves a better future.”

  He hugged her. Spoken like a true, inspiring leader, he thought.

  The baboons were darting off now, returning with gifts for their new leader: a spiky melon, a pawful of beetles, a cluster of ripe figs. Happy and proud, they all laid their offerings before her, and Berry looked overcome with affection and gratitude.

  “Thank you. Thank you, Lily. Oh, Grit, what a beautiful mango. I’m so thrilled to—”

  But before she could finish, there was commotion and crashing of foliage, and two baboons staggered out into the clearing, a hefty body carried between them. Berry gave a cry of shock as the troop rushed to gather around.

  “Stump!”

  The big baboon was unconscious, bleeding from a multitude of bites and scratches, and his flesh was swelling around bruises and cracked bones. Thorn stared at his limp form in utter horror. “What happened?” Berry demanded of the two sentries who had brought him back.

  “We found him like this,” said Root, grim-faced. “We don’t know.”

  Stump stirred as they laid him gently down on the soft moss. He muttered something inaudible. As Berry leaned down to listen, Thorn felt a prickling in his hide.

  He glanced nervously over his shoulder. Several of the troop were staring at him, and some were muttering among themselves. Viper, murmuring to Creeper, gestured at Thorn, and Creeper nodded.

  The realization hit him like a punch from an angry monkey. They think
I had something to do with this. Because Thorn had asked after Stump. You fool, Thorn Highleaf! How could the troop have known about his vision—and how could he possibly tell them? All they knew was that Stump wasn’t a particular friend of his, and Thorn had been suddenly asking after him with frantic concern. Even Mud was eyeing him in bewilderment.

  “Stump, can you speak?” Berry asked the wounded baboon urgently. “Tell us. Try to stay awake.”

  “It was . . .” he mumbled, and licked blood from his jaws. “Tendril. Some of her thugs. Couldn’t fight ’em, Berry. Sorry . . .”

  Thorn sagged, breathing again. Stump had exonerated him. He was in the clear.

  But Viper and Creeper were still gazing at him darkly, and his heart sank. They still suspect me. The pair looked almost disappointed, as if they’d wanted Thorn to be shown up as some kind of traitor. Perhaps they still thought he’d had something to do with the attack on Stump. . . .

  That wretched vision! Why had he blurted out his concern for Stump? Stupid, Thorn! He had to be very careful now. Viper and Creeper were the last baboons he wanted to know his secret.

  “I’m sorry,” mumbled Stump again. “Wish I’d spotted ’em quicker, Berry. . . .”

  “Don’t worry about that, Stump. And don’t apologize.” Berry’s face was hard as she patted Stump’s shoulder. “Just get better, my friend. We need you. Goodleaves! Take Stump to your glade and tend to him.”

  Berry leaped back onto the Crown Stone and rose onto her hind paws. She gave a commanding screech, and every baboon spun to face her.

  “The battle with Tendril’s troop is over,” she announced grimly. “But the war is not yet won. That much is clear. Dawntrees: we will have to fight another day.”

  The troop yelled and whooped angrily, chittering their fangs. Only Berry’s mother, Pear, looked nervous and uncertain, edging forward to speak to her daughter. Spotting her, Berry raised a paw for silence.

  The old Goodleaf coughed. “Berry. Please. Will you allow me to go to Leopard Forest and speak with Tendril? She may listen to the words of an elder, one she has known all her life. I can calm this conflict, I know it.”