Bravelands #4

by Erin Hunter

  “Oh, Twig, I almost forgot! I’ll come now.” Berry turned apologetically to Thorn. “It’s about reestablishing the Three Feats. I’m so sorry, Thorn.”

  “Of course,” he gritted, forcing a smile. “Life has to get back to normal. And we’ll have plenty of time to be together later.” Remembering his other promise, he seized his chance. “Only . . . speaking of getting back to normal, it’s time the troop had a Starleaf again. Mud is very keen.”

  “Mud?” Her brow shot up. “I didn’t know he was even interested!”

  Then you haven’t been paying much attention, thought Thorn dryly. “He really is, Berry. And he’s been practicing hard. I think he’ll be really good.”

  “Well,” she said doubtfully, “I suppose if he’s enthusiastic, we could let him do it. His mother was the previous Starleaf, after all.” Her muzzle wrinkled. “If you really think he’s capable, Thorn, I don’t have any obj—”

  “There is one thing, Crownleaf,” interrupted Viper, who had sidled up to Berry’s side. “Every potential Starleaf must pass the Moonstone Rite.”

  Berry slapped her forehead. “Of course.”

  “Mud is well aware of the Moonstone Rite,” growled Thorn tetchily. “And he’s more than willing to go through the test, Viper. In fact, it’s a full moon tonight, so it would be the perfect moment.”

  “Oh, you’re right,” exclaimed Berry, looking relieved. She gave a rather impatient glance into the forest, where the committee was waiting. “Well, that’s perfect. It’s all solved! Thank you, Viper.” She started to bound into the trees, then turned back, the stump of her tail quivering. “Thorn, by the way—have you seen my mother? She hasn’t returned from her scavenging trip.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll keep an eye out. I’ll see you, Berry, after—”

  But she was already gone, her haunches vanishing into the shadows between the mahogany trees. Thorn sighed in frustration.

  “Hmph,” muttered Creeper into the uneasy silence. “Don’t look so mad, Thorn. Berry’s our Crownleaf, now. She’s too busy to fuss over Middleleaves.”

  The barb took Thorn’s breath away. For a moment he could only stare at Creeper.

  The big baboon shrugged. “Well, you never officially became a Highleaf. It was only that barbarian Tendril who gave you that honor, while you lived with Crookedtree—and that was by default, right? She didn’t know any better.”

  “I’m a Highleaf,” barked Thorn angrily. “This troop conferred my status after the Great Battle, or had you forgotten?”

  Creeper hunched his shoulders, indifferent. “Yes, sure. Because you were so used to being a Highleaf, after being treated like one by Crookedtree. Actually, it wouldn’t be surprising if you still felt something for that troop.” He paused for devastating effect. “Loyalty?”

  Thorn gave a snarl of fury. “I’ve got no love for Crookedtree, and you know it,” he spat. “I’m a Dawntrees baboon to my bones. And I’m Berry’s mate, and I’ll never stop protecting and defending her.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Creeper set off into the trees and threw his last words dismissively over his shoulder. “The Crown Guard can protect Berry. That’s none of your concern anymore.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The moon hung huge and silver over the forest, its glow casting shadows across the path Thorn and Nut took toward the Crown Stone glade. The night was hot, the song of the insects muted.

  “I’m sure Mud will pass the test,” said Nut quietly. “Don’t worry too much, Thorn.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” Thorn told him, distractedly snatching up a grub and popping it into his mouth. “I’ve got confidence in Mud. I know he can do this.” He wished he could tell his heart; it seemed to be thumping far too hard.

  “It’ll be good for the troop to have a new Starleaf,” Nut went on, and hesitated for a moment. “It makes for a bit of balance. . . .”

  Thorn shot him a sideways glance. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, uh . . .” Nut scratched at his muzzle, then shook his head. “I just mean that there’ll be another voice. You know, guiding the troop. Advising us. Rather than it just being—you know. The Crownleaf.”

  “Huh?” Thorn stared at him in surprise.

  “I reckon it’s a good thing,” mumbled Nut, “when the Starleaf is a bit of an irritant. Sort of a bug that bites the Crownleaf, keeping them on their toes. If the Crownleaf gets annoyed with a mouthy Starleaf, it’s always a good thing. Remember how angry Stinger used to get with Mud’s mother? Because she sometimes contradicted him. Being inconvenient—being a nuisance to the Crownleaf—that’s a good thing. I reckon,” he finished lamely.

  “I think you’re right—a Starleaf is a good thing for any troop,” said Thorn. “But Berry’s our Crownleaf now! She won’t need one in the same way Stinger did. She won’t need to be contradicted or inconvenienced. Because she’s nothing like Stinger.” He could hear the volume of his own voice rising. Why am I shouting?

  “Well, of course she isn’t.” Nut looked as if he was about to say more, but instead he closed his muzzle firmly.

  “Come on, Nut,” Thorn coaxed him. “You can’t leave it there. What are you trying to say?”

  Nut took a deep breath, then puffed it out in resignation. “You want the truth, Thorn? I didn’t really want to vote for Berry.”

  “What?” Thorn halted, startled.

  “I just felt like I had to,” said Nut, giving him an apologetic look. “Because she’s your mate, and we’re all friends. All that. But really . . . I kind of thought a break with the past would be better.”

  Too taken aback to reply, Thorn caught his breath. Other baboons are thinking like this?

  Everything felt so wrong and confusing: half of him was resentful on Berry’s behalf, and half was relieved he wasn’t the only one with doubts.

  But I love her! I should be supporting her with all my heart! Opening his jaws to remonstrate with Nut, Thorn felt his forepaw land on a familiar patch of soft moss, and he glanced up, startled. It was too late; they’d arrived in the Crown Stone clearing, where the Moonstone Rite would take place.

  Thorn took his place in the crowd of waiting baboons. They were packed thickly in the trees and in front of the bushes, and in the empty space before the Crown Stone; on the Stone itself sat Berry, her brown eyes anxious. Now and again she would glance down at the Crown Guard who surrounded her; she would mutter an inaudible instruction, or bite her lip, or scratch at her shoulder. Her eyes wandered constantly to the fringes of the glade, as if she was looking for someone. She looked so very fidgety and ill at ease, thought Thorn, frowning.

  The troop had assembled in ranks according to their status, and the Highleaves were in the front row; Thorn made his way there, gently easing his way through the crowd, muttering apologies as he bumped into shoulders and stood on paws. As he moved to the front and Berry caught sight of him, her face brightened.

  “Thorn!” she called urgently, and beckoned him closer to the foot of the Crown Stone. “Have you seen my mother yet?”

  Thorn shook his head. “I haven’t, Berry. I’m sorry.”

  She chewed her lip again and sat back, her brow furrowing.

  So that was why Berry looked so anxious. It wasn’t unusual for baboons to wander off on their own errands, but Thorn too was starting to worry about Pear Goodleaf. Now that he came to think of it, he hadn’t seen her for a long time.

  If he could just summon one of his visions—deliberately this time . . .

  On the mountain he had entered the mind of a rat, an eagle, and an elephant, so why not Pear’s? Drawing back into the bustling horde of baboons, all exchanging their own gossip, it wasn’t difficult to stay silent and close his eyes.

  Creasing his face, Thorn concentrated hard. Pear. Where are you? He thought of her kind, wise face, the eyes darkened by years of sorrow at losing her daughter, the dimpled notch at the side of her mouth formed by all those sad half-smiles. Thorn frowned and squeezed his eyes tighter, th
inking himself into the old baboon’s head.

  But there was nothing, only blackness. Snapping his eyes open, Thorn gave a soft tut of frustration. He didn’t even have a headache. So much for my vaunted powers, Windrider, you old fraud!

  The chattering baboons were gradually falling silent around him, and Thorn forgot about Pear to concentrate on his friend. Mud was creeping hesitantly into the cleared space before the Crown Stone, his stones clutched tightly in his paws. Even from where he stood in the crush of baboons, Thorn could see that the little baboon was trembling with nerves.

  Come on, Mud. I know you can do this!

  Berry rose to her paws, her eyes roving across the troop. “We welcome Mud Lowleaf, candidate for the new Starleaf of Dawntrees Troop! Some of you have not witnessed this rite before”—her eyes softened—“and I freely admit this includes me!”

  A ripple of laughter went around the troop, and many baboons nodded.

  “But our elder troop members have advised me, and they have instructed Mud about what is required of him tonight. With his eyes covered so he cannot see, Mud must scatter his divining stones on the ground. Still blind, he must then choose his Moonstone from the others. In this way, he will prove that he has the abilities demanded of a Starleaf. I wish you good fortune, Mud Lowleaf!”

  “So do I,” declared Thorn, edging forward. His eyes met Mud’s, and he tried to convey all the reassurance and faith he could in a glance. “I know you can do this, Mud!”

  Mud gave him a nervous smile, but before he could reply, Viper stepped forward, bearing the ancient, bleached-white skull of a gazelle. Only its long, backswept horns were dark, patterned with rings all the way to their sharp tips, and its blank eye sockets were stuffed with red leaves. Standing behind Mud, Viper raised the skull high, then lowered it over his head.

  It looked ridiculous, Thorn couldn’t help thinking. The skull was enormous on Mud’s small body, and it slipped sideways so the horns jutted up askew. Yet at the same time there was something sinister about it, as if Mud was some unnatural creature of night, and his misplaced eyes were aflame with Spider’s fire-leaves.

  As Mud took a step forward, he swayed a little beneath the weight of the massive horns, but steadied himself. The skull glowed eerily in the white glare of moonlight. A hush fell over the troop as Mud lifted his paws and flung the stones in an arc across the ground.

  Thorn held his breath. Mud was standing very still, the skull turning slowly first one way, then the other.

  There were mutters behind Thorn, so quiet that he didn’t recognize the voices.

  “He can’t do it, can he?”

  “Ha, I knew it. He’s deluded.”

  “Right? He’s no Starleaf.”

  Thorn gritted his teeth and clenched his paws. Come on, Mud. Prove them wrong.

  Mud walked hesitantly forward; then he stopped, crouched, and reached out. The Moonstone glowed bright among the other stones, a beetle-length from his claw-tips. Mud stretched his paw farther, and it hovered over the white pebble like a confident hawk.

  Yes! I knew he could do it. I knew it! Thorn could hardly breathe.

  Then, abruptly, the heavy skull swung in the other direction. Without even hesitating, Mud seized a cloudy green stone and raised it above his head.

  Guffaws and gasps rang out around the clearing. A voice shouted from the Deeproot ranks: “He blew it!”

  Viper padded forward. Mud stood absolutely still as she lifted the gazelle skull from his head; his paw was still raised high, clutching the green pebble. He glanced at it, then back at the troop, and his face was oddly impassive.

  “That’s a shame.” Berry sounded distracted rather than disappointed. “Dawntrees, I’m afraid we are still without a Starleaf.”

  Mud shrugged, his eyes locked on Thorn’s. He ignored the teasing taunts from the rest of the baboons. “I thought I had the power,” he said flatly, “but I obviously don’t.”

  Thorn could only stare at his friend. Mud’s eyes, usually so bright and open, seemed opaque; Thorn had no idea what was going on in his friend’s head. Mud had wanted this so badly; why did he now look simply resigned? Misery, Thorn would have expected, but not this dull acceptance.

  Mud’s hiding something, he thought.

  “A pity, but Dawntrees Troop doesn’t need a Starleaf.” Creeper picked at his teeth. “With the Great Spirit absent from Bravelands, it’s time we started thinking differently. Prophecies, star-readings—what do they matter if there’s no guiding Spirit?” He indicated the Crown Guard with a paw. “What we need is a strong leader, certainty, rules to live by.” Turning his head, he looked meaningfully at Berry.

  Thorn shot a glance at Nut. Nut gave him a wry, knowing nod. Clearly he remembered as well as Thorn did what they’d talked about on the way to the clearing. Thorn swallowed hard.

  To his surprise, though, Berry rose onto her hind paws and looked severely at Creeper. “Every troop needs a Starleaf, Creeper. It’s not right to be without one. We will have another candidate by the next full moon, I’m sure of that.”

  She jumped down and padded away from the Crown Stone, escorted by her Crown Guard; the rest of the troop began to drift away, chattering and gossiping. Thorn searched through the press of bodies until he found Mud, small and insignificant now without his absurd skull head.

  “Mud? What happened? What was that all about?”

  “What was it about?” Mud furrowed his brow and peered up at Thorn. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do! You were so sure of yourself, Mud. I was sure of you! You nearly had the Moonstone, you were about to lift it! But you changed your mind. And you knew you’d chosen the green one, the wrong one. You knew before you picked it up.” Thorn took his friend’s shoulders and shook him gently. “And I saw your face after you picked the wrong stone. You didn’t look sorry. Something happened, Mud. You can’t lie to me—it’s me, your best friend, remember?”

  Mud’s taut muscles went suddenly slack in Thorn’s grip, and the little baboon went limp. His head hung forward in shame. “All right. I couldn’t do it!”

  “Yes, you—”

  “I don’t mean I wasn’t capable, Thorn.” Mud shook his head vehemently. “I mean, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take on the Starleaf’s mantle. It wasn’t right.”

  Thorn’s jaw slackened. “But why? Mud, I don’t understand—”

  Mud nodded. “I know. Come with me, Thorn, and I’ll show you.”

  The glade was almost empty now, and the forest was already quieting as baboons nested for the night. There was no one to disturb the two friends as Mud led Thorn to a nearby clearing, darker and overgrown and spotted only faintly with moonlight. Mud halted and took a breath, then cast his stones onto the mossy ground.

  They jolted and rolled and came to rest in a pattern that meant nothing to Thorn: two pebbles off to the right and three to the left, with the Moonstone at a point above them both. Resting against the pure white stone, and covering it slightly, lay a black pebble of obsidian.

  Shaking his head, Mud pointed to each stone in turn. “That is the problem, Thorn. That’s what I don’t understand. They always fall in the same pattern. Always.”

  “You know I can’t read these, Mud.”

  “No, but take my word for it, Thorn: the stones always tell me the same thing. And it isn’t right.”

  Thorn frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Mud took a deep breath, his eyes bright and serious. “The stones say we’re following the wrong leader.”

  “What?” Thorn blinked in shock. “That doesn’t make—”

  “Sense. I know. But it’s what they say, every time I cast them. We’re walking along a bad path, setting ourselves against the Great Spirit.” Sitting back on his haunches, Mud gazed sadly up at Thorn. “Now, you tell me, my friend. How could I deliver that message to Berry Crownleaf?”

  Thorn opened and closed his jaws, lost for words. He wanted to argue with Mud, tell him he must be wrong. That the ston
es were faulty, that he’d misunderstood the rules, that the interpretation had been skewed by—bad weather, broken branches, a moon that wasn’t as full as they thought—oh, he didn’t know.

  All he could hear in his head were Nut’s words earlier tonight: I didn’t really want to vote for Berry.

  Mud cleared his throat. “You know who should be our leader, Thorn. And it isn’t Berry.”

  Thorn stared at him, a hot coil of dread in his gut. “But she was elected! Fairly, by the whole troop!”

  “Because you weren’t here,” mumbled Mud, staring down at the pattern of the pebbles. “You saved Brightforest Troop, Thorn, and you saved the whole of Bravelands. It was clear as day who should be our Crownleaf, and everyone understood without having to say it. But the way things have turned out since then? It isn’t right, and the stones are telling us so. They know it. You know it. Be honest!”

  “But Mud, I . . .”

  Mud’s head jerked up, and he stared into Thorn’s eyes. His own were suddenly fierce and frighteningly certain. “You haven’t been yourself since you disappeared in the battle, Thorn. I don’t believe that stupid story, about banging your head! Something happened to you, didn’t it? Tell me!”

  Thorn felt as if his whole self was being turned inside out, as if he was raw and exposed down to his very bones.

  “Mud. Mud, I . . . I hardly know where to start.” Thorn’s throat felt dry and tight. “There’s so much I haven’t told you. So much I want to tell you. I—”

  Angry hoots and screeches of alarm erupted from deeper in the forest, so loud Thorn almost jumped out of his skin. He growled with furious frustration, yet somehow he wasn’t surprised; he was beginning to believe the truth was not meant to be told. Was the Great Spirit thwarting his attempts to come clean?

  Without another word he turned and bounded from the clearing, leaving a bewildered Mud behind. The commotion was coming from the Crown Stone clearing; other baboons were running toward it. Some were waking, blinking in shock, scrambling down from their nests in the trees.