Bravelands #4

by Erin Hunter

  All the same, lingering guilt hung over him. He was so distracted, he almost yelped when Claw Deeproot sauntered out of the bushes right in front of him. Claw’s snaggletoothed face brightened, and he grinned in greeting.

  Thorn skidded to a halt, slipping on moss. “Hello, Claw. Are you looking for me?”

  “Yes! I am! I’ve got something for you, Thorn.” Claw Deeproot smiled and gave a rather obsequious little nod as he handed Thorn a fat fig. “I thought you might be hungry.”

  “Thanks, Claw.” Absently Thorn took it from him, his claws digging into its soft flesh. In fact he wasn’t particularly hungry, but it was a kind gesture, he thought. He brought the fig to his jaws and sank in his fangs.

  Stench and rot flooded his mouth, and he gagged, spitting furiously. Claw jumped back, eyes wide.

  Thorn stared at the bitten fig. It was rotten, the flesh blackening with mold, and a maggot writhed between the seeds. “Claw! What is this?”

  Claw put his paws to his mouth; Thorn had the sneaking suspicion he was hiding a grin. “I—I don’t know, Thorn! Honestly, I had no idea.”

  “Don’t worry.” Thorn gritted his fangs and rubbed the flesh inside his lip. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

  Claw scurried away. As Thorn spat again and snatched a handful of leaves from the nearest bush to try to take the taste away, he thought he heard a muffled chuckling.

  “Traitor,” he heard as the bushes rustled, and at least two sets of paws scampered away.

  He clenched his jaws, anger kindling in his gut. So the rotten fig hadn’t been an accident.

  On the surface, at least, everything had seemed normal for the last few days; Berry and Mud were as friendly to him as ever, of course, and most of the troop chatted and laughed and complained with him as they always had. Thorn knew, though, that something wasn’t right. The mutters, the swiftly silenced conversations. The averted eyes. The baboons who turned quickly away when he looked at them.

  They know I’m not telling the truth. A shiver of guilt rippled across his hide.

  Besides, traitor wasn’t the only word he’d caught mumbled as he passed. He’d heard coward, too.

  How could they think that of him, after all that had happened with Stinger and the Great Herd? Easily, he thought miserably. His story wasn’t believable in the slightest. If some other baboon had vanished in the middle of a battle and trailed home days later with some lame excuse about rot-eaters and a knock on the head, Thorn wouldn’t have believed it for a moment.

  His secrets felt like sodden mud, clinging to his fur, filling his whole body from throat to gut, weighing him down so that even his paws felt too heavy to lift. And he was so tired of keeping them: the secret of his trip with the vultures to the mountain, the secret of Spider.

  Worst of all, there was the awful secret of the Great Spirit that lived inside him. For how much longer could he keep it all to himself?

  Hauling himself to his paws, Thorn slouched off in search of Mud. At least his oldest friend was always there for him, always ready to listen, and these days Thorn knew where he could find him—in the stinkwood clearing to the west side of Tall Trees, studying his stones.

  Sure enough, Mud was crouched on the grass in the dappled sunlight, a reddish-brown pebble clutched in his paw. The other stones lay scattered around him where they’d fallen; Mud frowned at the red stone as if he expected it to form a mouth and talk to him.

  “You’re wrong,” Thorn heard him mutter as he tapped the stone with a claw. “This can’t be true, you stupid thing. Is it me? I’m reading you all wrong, aren’t I?”

  “Mud,” Thorn hailed him. “What are they saying?”

  Mud leaped to his feet and spun around, his eyes goggling. “Thorn! Sorry, I didn’t hear you coming.” Hurriedly he crouched and scooped all the stones into his paws, clutching them against his chest and blinking in embarrassment.

  Thorn smiled. “What are they saying now? Are we all going to be eaten by hyenas tomorrow?”

  “No, no, no.” Mud made a quiet groaning noise. “No, nothing like that, nothing.” He backed off, but his eyes were riveted on Thorn in a kind of embarrassed dread.

  Thorn’s blood chilled a little. Oh stars. Surely he didn’t see something about me. . . . “No, really, Mud, what did you see? Is it bad?”

  “No, no,” said Mud again. He shook his head violently, almost dropping one of the stones. But he was still gaping at Thorn. “No. No, no, no.”

  “Well.” Thorn paused and tilted his head. Whatever Mud had seen, he wasn’t telling. Forcing himself to sound bright, he said, “What about becoming the Starleaf, Mud? Have you spoken to Berry? Have you pressed your case?”

  “I . . . I haven’t had time,” Mud stammered, seeming to gather himself. “Everything’s been so, uh, busy.”

  “But you’ve obviously been practicing so much,” Thorn pressed him. “You must know the stones so well by now. It would be a shame to waste all this experience by not even asking.”

  Mud hesitated and stared sadly down at the stones. “I don’t think anyone will take me seriously,” he murmured.

  “Of course they will!” said Thorn heartily. “I’ll tell you what, Mud. I’ll speak to Berry if you like.”

  “Would you?” Mud’s muzzle twisted uncertainly. “Thank you, Thorn. I just feel so . . . so awkward. Like I’m shoving myself forward, and I . . . I don’t like that. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

  “I will speak to her.” Thorn was firm. “And it’ll be worth it, I promise. Berry will listen.”

  “If you say so,” said Mud feebly.

  He wasn’t as excited as Thorn had thought he might be, but it didn’t matter. Mud would cheer up soon enough when Berry made him Starleaf. And it gives me a reason to talk to Berry, Thorn thought, clenching his jaws as he padded away.

  It was time to put a stop to all the secrets gnawing inside him. Why was he so afraid of telling Berry, after all? He’d start by pleading Mud’s case, and then—then he would explain the truth to her, about the vultures and the mountain, and all that nonsense about him being Great Father. It might be a wild story, but that was just the point: it was too crazy to be a lie. It didn’t sound any more stupid than the story he’d invented, he thought wryly.

  In fact, why not tell the whole troop? The vultures thinking he was Great Father was clearly too ridiculous to be true. The troop would agree. They’d have a laugh about it, and Nut would tease him relentlessly for a while, but it would all be worth it. He wouldn’t be carrying around this lump of guilt in his belly anymore.

  Thorn picked up his pace, filled with a new eagerness. Nothing could be worse than the sidelong glances and the muttered suspicions. The sooner he got this over with, the better—

  “Viper!” He came to a halt, smiling at the gruff-faced baboon who squatted at the entrance to Berry’s favorite shady glade. Viper had become so protective of the new Crownleaf, carrying messages for her, bringing her food, and conveying her instructions. Thorn felt a twinge of irritation.

  No. No, it was good. Berry deserved all the help she could get, now that she had responsibility for the whole troop.

  “What do you want, Thorn?” Viper sat back on her haunches and glared at him. “The Crownleaf’s very busy right now.”

  “I just need to talk to her,” said Thorn, a little taken aback. “I’m Berry’s mate, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Well, she’s got a lot to do and she hasn’t got time for—hey!” Viper staggered in shock as Thorn pushed past.

  Berry’s gentle laughter rippled through the trees; she didn’t sound busy. Frowning, Thorn padded on into the glade, ignoring Viper’s indignant protestations.

  Berry Crownleaf sat in the center of the dark-leafed glade, surrounded by an awestruck circle of young baboons. Something skittered on the ground at her paws; narrowing her eyes, Berry stabbed down a length of forked twig, pinning the creature in place. Deftly, she snapped off its curled tail. The small baboons looked enthralled and d
elighted, clapping their paws as Berry smiled and lifted the tailless creature, and as she bit into it, they erupted in oohs and aahs.

  A scorpion. She was teaching the youngsters how to catch them, just as Stinger used to do. For a moment—just a fleeting instant—she was her father’s image: focused and smiling and charismatic, and—

  Thorn shook off the chill that rippled through his fur. Berry glanced up and she was his mate again, warm and loving and easygoing. He grinned and raised his paw in a greeting.

  As Viper chittered angrily behind him, Thorn padded into the circle to Berry’s side. She smiled up at him. “They’re learning fast, Thorn! Oh, Viper, don’t worry, I don’t mind Thorn interrupting me. Here, you youngsters. Share this scorpion, and I’ll find you another.”

  “Berry,” murmured Thorn, as Viper padded sulkily away. “I need to talk to you.”

  “I’d love to talk with you, too, Thorn,” she said warmly. “We get so little time together now. What was it you wanted to say?”

  “It’s delicate, but it’s important. There’s something I need to tell you—”

  “Frond, wait, use the two prongs on the end of the stick! Don’t try to pierce the scorpion, that’s too difficult—here, I’ll show you again. You mustn’t try with a live one till you get this right!” Half glancing at Thorn, Berry smiled. “Sorry, Thorn, what were you saying? It’s so all-consuming, being Crownleaf. I never realized there was so much to do!”

  “I understand, Berry.” He stroked her shoulder.

  “Come and help me with these young ones, and we can talk while we teach. Oh, what is it now, Viper?”

  “Berry Crownleaf.” Viper dipped her head respectfully. “You asked me to remind you when the marula trees were coming into season. And they are. We should send out a party to gather the nuts.”

  Thorn sighed inwardly. This clearly wasn’t a good time. “If you like, I’ll go and organize a foraging party,” he told Berry.

  Before Berry could answer, Viper had rolled her eyes and curled her muzzle. “Oh, you’re much too important for such a basic mission, Thorn Highleaf.” She paused, and a mean light sparked in her brown eyes. “Besides, we wouldn’t want you getting lost again.”

  Thorn drew an angry breath, but Berry seemed oblivious. “Viper’s right, Thorn—you are too important, and there’s so much I need you to do here. Viper, get some Lowleaves and Deeproots together, will you? They can handle this.”

  “Of course, Crownleaf.” Viper gave Thorn a smirk as she stalked away.

  He seized his chance. “Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it,” he told Berry. “But can we talk first? It’s about what happened to me—”

  “Oh, it must have been awful. Waking up, wounded, not knowing what had happened . . . Yes, Creeper?”

  Thorn clenched his paws and breathed deeply as Creeper loped up and bowed. “The Crown Guard is ready for inspection at the Crown Stone, Berry.”

  Thorn stiffened. Crown Guard? What?

  “Oh! Already? Very well, Creeper.” Berry touched Thorn’s arm and gave him a soft smile. He returned it, firmly quashing his unease. Why should Berry’s Crown Guard be anything like the Strongbranches her father had appointed to terrorize the troop? Besides, a Crownleaf was perfectly entitled to organize the troop’s defenses in her own way.

  “I’m so sorry, Thorn,” she murmured. “I did ask Creeper to fetch me. Perhaps we can speak later?”

  “Or I could come with you now,” said Thorn with strained patience.

  She smiled at him warmly. “That would be perfect.”

  Thorn followed Berry as she strutted after Creeper toward the Crown Stone clearing. “Berry, what’s the Crown Guard?” he asked. “That’s new.”

  “It is!” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. “I want a rank of baboons who will be our first line of defense in any attack. Dawntrees must be better prepared if there’s another assault like Tendril’s, don’t you agree?” Without waiting for Thorn’s answer, she went on fiercely: “I won’t see the most vulnerable hurt anymore. Every baboon will have the Crown Guard’s protection. The Guard are the best fighters, the toughest and most experienced baboons in the whole of Dawntrees Troop. Oh—the name was Viper’s idea! What do you think?”

  Thorn shuddered. “I, uh . . .”

  “I’m so glad you approve. I knew you would, Thorn! Tendril and her gang are still in the vicinity, you know.” Berry frowned. “I’m putting a new rule in place, just while the danger is out there. Baboons have to stay in groups of at least three when they go outside the forest. Don’t you think that’s safer? And it’s only for a little while, as I say. Only until we deal with Tendril—ah!”

  Berry halted, her face rapturous with approval. Lined up before the Crown Stone was her new Crown Guard: fifteen or so baboons—big, sturdily built individuals, Thorn noticed, and drawn from every rank. Highleaves and Deeproots; Middleleaves and Lowleaves; every one of them was gazing at Berry with a solemn, fierce loyalty. She bounded onto the Crown Stone.

  Watching from the edge of the glade, Thorn was speechless. How had all this been organized without him realizing? Clearly it was common knowledge in the troop, yet Berry had said nothing to him. Why would she keep it from me? he thought, unable to repress a pang of hurt. But the answer was obvious.

  Because she knew I wouldn’t approve.

  Rising onto her hind legs, Berry clasped her paws and let her gaze drift across the ranks.

  “I thank you, my friends and comrades,” she murmured, her voice breaking slightly. “I thank you all for agreeing to be part of my Crown Guard. You have willingly lent me your strength, to protect the vulnerable among us.”

  Blinking, Thorn stared at her. Berry looked so strong, so noble and so gentle. He should feel proud. He was proud. He admired her, he loved her. . . .

  So why are spiders crawling along my spine?

  “You, my Crown Guard—you will be my delegates, my representatives, when I can’t be there. You will act as my own paw.” Berry smiled again. Her gaze swept toward Thorn, but she didn’t quite meet his eye. “In times of war and trouble, you will be our defenders. You will be the strong and sturdy branches that protect the great central trunk of our troop.”

  Creeper stepped respectfully forward. “I have personally selected each of these baboons, Berry Crownleaf. They’re strong, and they demonstrated their bravery in the battle against Tendril and her horde. They want to swear their oath to you now.”

  “Oh.” Berry raised her paws, eyes widening. “Creeper, I don’t need an oath to know these baboons are strong and loyal in the defense of Dawntrees.”

  “With your permission, Berry, they want to do this.” Creeper bowed his head, then lifted his remaining eye to hers. It was dark and steady. “All of us feel it’s right that we proudly display our allegiance to you.”

  Berry hesitated. Then, at last, she gave a nod. “Very well, Creeper. I thank you—all of you. I understand what this means to you. The oath is not for me—but for Dawntrees itself.”

  Creeper rose up on his hind paws, and in a single movement, the Crown Guard followed his example. Creeper thumped his chest with his right paw, and as he spoke, the baboons behind him joined in, clear and confident.

  “Berry Crownleaf, solemnly elected leader and guide: We vow our allegiance to you. We fight for you and for Dawntrees. We fight for the security of the troop. We follow you, we shed our blood for you, and if called upon we will die for you. This we swear, by the mothers who bore us and the trees that sheltered us. May Dawntrees prosper!”

  Staring at them, and at Berry, emotion surged in Thorn’s chest. This was wrong. Deep in his gut, he was certain of that. This—this creation of an elite force answerable only to the Crownleaf—it was something Stinger would have done. No—it was something Stinger had done, disastrously for the majority of his cowed and terrified troop. Of course Dawntrees must be defended; Thorn knew that as well as any baboon. But this wasn’t the way, this was dangerous.

  Berry’s words echoed in
his head: You will be the strong and sturdy branches that protect the troop. . . . It was right there, from her own mouth—the spirit of Stinger’s Strongbranches. What if the Crown Guard was just as cruel? What if Berry had changed, now she had tasted power? What if she took after her malevolent father after all? What if—

  “Stop it!” Thorn hissed to himself. His claws were dug into his palms and he was shaking. He knew Berry. She was his mate, and he loved her. Why was he thinking this way? What made him doubt her like this? He hated it—and suddenly he knew what was responsible.

  Great Spirit! he snarled inwardly. I never asked for you! If this is how you make me feel, then get out!

  Berry jumped lightly down from the Crown Stone. The Crown Guard surrounded her, bowing their heads and declaring their support as she smiled at them. Thorn’s gut felt cold and tight, but he ignored that and pushed his way toward her.

  “Berry, you did so well,” he told her warmly. “That was a moving ceremony.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” She rubbed her brow as the Crown Guard dispersed, their faces solemn and proud. “Completely unexpected, but such a good way for my Crown Guard to establish their camaraderie, their spirit.” Her eyes shone with emotion. “I’m so proud of them.”

  “I know. And you should be.” He was convincing himself, he knew it. “You deserve all the loyalty baboons can give. And you have mine, too, always. You know that.” He hesitated. Now. Now was the moment to tell her everything: about the vultures, about the mountain, about the Great Spirit. He wanted to silence that awful, doubting voice in his head once and for all. What truly mattered—the only thing that mattered—was him, and Berry, and their love for each other.

  “Berry.” He gazed into her eyes. “Can we find somewhere to be alone?”

  “Of course, Thorn,” she said softly. “You wanted to talk to me, didn’t you? Come on, let’s—” She glanced over her shoulder. “Twig?”

  The thin baboon dipped his head. “With respect, Berry Crownleaf, the Highleaf committee is waiting for you.”

  Thorn clenched his jaws so hard, they hurt. If he punched Twig in the muzzle, right here and now, he was sure the Great Spirit would forgive him that.