by Erin Hunter
“Follow me.”
They already were. Thorn could hear Nut, Creeper, and Spider behind him as he ducked and wriggled through the gap. Creeper gave a grunt of annoyance, and Nut made an uncertain sound in his throat, but Thorn pressed on, squirming along a tight tunnel. Rough stone scraped his back, but he took a deep breath, wedged his paws against the rock, and shoved himself through. Behind him he heard Creeper’s panicked grunts as he tugged and wrestled his way through. The big baboon was much larger than Thorn, of course. I hope Creeper makes it, thought Thorn guiltily, but I’m not sorry he’s having to struggle.
The tunnel broadened, enough for Thorn to speed up into a crouching lope. Behind him, he could hear the slapping pawsteps of his companions, the click of claws, and their panting breath. Thorn didn’t look back; he knew he could trust them to follow.
The passage narrowed upward, and for a moment Thorn felt a lurch of despair. I’m not a bat. I’m a lot bigger!
But the earth was loose here. Clawing at it, he dislodged soil and small stones until the opening was wide enough to squeeze through. He dusted grit from his fingers and bounded on.
Beneath his paws, the rock was sloping upward even more steeply. Was that faint light he could see ahead?
Yes, I saw it not long ago. Through a bat’s eyes.
His heart leaping, Thorn scrambled up the last sloping stretch of tunnel, pebbles and dirt tumbling and rolling beneath his claws. The patch of blackness ahead of him was paler than the rest, dusted with stars.
Thorn burst into the open air and sucked in a joyful breath of freedom.
They bounded the whole way back to Tall Trees, not pausing for breath as they raced across the grassland and through the groves of starlit acacias. Thorn doubted they would have stopped for a pride of hungry lions; a desperate urgency drove at least three of the baboons on. What drove Spider, Thorn suspected, was something he was never going to work out.
“How am I going to tell Berry about her mother?” panted Thorn as they ran. He was dreading the terrible moment.
“Leave it for now, if I were you,” suggested Creeper grimly. “It should wait until the immediate threat is over. Dawntrees needs our Crownleaf to be focused.”
It sounded callous, especially coming from Creeper, but Thorn knew he was right.
The four of them broke into the undergrowth on the edge of Tall Trees. There was no sign of Tendril or her troop yet, Thorn realized with a grim sense of relief; the cunning Crownleaf must be so confident, she was in no hurry. Perhaps she was waiting until the deeper, darker hours. Before dawn, she’d said, though that could mean anything.
“Dawntrees Troop!” Thorn yelled as he bounded through the forest. “Dawntrees, wake up! Danger! Danger!”
Baboons were already scuttling down trees and emerging sleepily from bushes. There were cries of surprise and confusion as Thorn led the way, still running, toward the Crown Stone glade.
“What danger? He said danger.”
“Is that Thorn?”
“Yes, and Creeper.”
“And Nut, and the weirdo stranger. They’re back from reconnaissance.”
“What’s happening?”
The whole troop seemed to be at Thorn’s heels as he burst into the Crown Stone glade; Berry appeared at the same moment, loping into the clearing from the opposite direction. She was flanked by four of her Crown Guards, their faces grim and hard.
“Berry.” Now that he had halted, Thorn felt the exhaustion catch up with him, and he panted for breath, his body sagging. “Berry, Tendril Crownleaf is on her way here with her troop. They plan a sneak ambush. They’re going to target the young and their mothers.”
Berry’s eyes opened wide, flashing with shocked fury. “She what? How dare she?” Turning to her Crown Guards, she snapped out immediate orders. “Go to the family nests and get them all to a safer place. Make sure they’re guarded. Then station yourselves in the nests instead, but don’t reveal yourselves until the last moment.” She grinned coldly. “If Tendril can send assassins after our most vulnerable, she deserves the most brutal shock we can give her.”
“What about Tendril herself?” asked Viper.
“She’ll find she’s bitten a lion,” said Berry savagely. “And you kill a lion at the first bite, or not at all.”
Thorn crouched in one of the family nests, every muscle tensed. He could clearly hear Tendril’s bloodthirsty mob of baboons as they crashed through the forest foliage. Around him, he knew, the Crown Guards waited in nearby nests, and he found himself longing for the moment of the ambush. His heart hammered in his rib cage, but it wasn’t fear. It was fury.
Then, below him, Tendril and her troops emerged at a run from the scrub, their muzzles twisted with battle-fury as they bounded toward the trees. Thorn allowed himself a grin of satisfaction as he coiled his muscles. A baboon was below him, scrambling up the fig’s trunk; Thorn heard the quick, eager rake of its claws against the bark. Clearly it couldn’t wait to murder Dawntrees infants.
When its scarred face appeared at the edge of the branches, Thorn gave a wild holler. Baring his fangs in a vicious grin, he flung himself down at the startled Crookedtree baboon.
The attacker gave a gasp of shock and tumbled back. Around them, there was a sudden uproar as the Crown Guards sprang out of their own hiding places. But Thorn did not have time to enjoy the commotion and the shocked screeching of the Crookedtree baboons. He focused on his own opponent, bounding down after him and tearing at his face with his claws.
The attacker had never stood a chance. Thorn flung his bleeding body aside and spun around to find another enemy. Across the small clearing beneath the trees stood Tendril, spinning this way and that in confusion as the wreckage of her plan slowly dawned: her eyes wide and white-rimmed, her paws uselessly clenching and unclenching. The look on her face had gone from cold triumph to horror. Flinging back her head, she gave a shriek of impotent fury.
Tendril had thought she’d laid and baited the perfect trap. But she didn’t reckon with our Crownleaf! This, thought Thorn: this was a trap to boast about. His heart swelled with pride in Berry.
Between him and Tendril, an enemy baboon was trying to flee; Thorn sprang onto her back and brought her crashing to the ground. Around him, Dawntrees Troop was falling on the invaders like angry eagles, leaping down from the trees and setting about their enemies with claws and teeth and brutal blows. Nut had a Crookedtree baboon by the shoulders, slamming him over and over against a tree trunk till he collapsed. Mud was screaming with fury as he scratched and bit at a big warrior, and the warrior was reeling backward, stunned. Viper and Mango pummeled a baboon on the ground, screaming insults as each blow landed.
Dawntrees Troop was angry, thought Thorn as he pounded his opponent into unconsciousness. And that anger was justified.
A lanky Crookedtree fighter was sneaking up on Viper, his muzzle peeled back to show vicious fangs. And he was gripping a huge rock in one paw. . . .
Thorn flung aside his limp opponent and raced up behind the sneaky attacker. Just as the baboon raised the rock to smash it into Viper’s skull, Thorn leaped onto his back, sending him crashing against a tree. Viper spun around in shock.
The enemy baboon stared goggle-eyed at Thorn and went limp. Blood spurted from his chest. He had fallen against a spike of broken branch, and it had pierced him through. With one last angry gurgle, he died.
Thorn staggered back. He felt revolted at what he’d just done, but he knew he’d had no choice. Only kill to survive. The Great Spirit seemed to agree; he sensed no protest from wherever it lay within him.
Clearly Viper agreed too. “Thanks, Thorn,” she yelled, and he nodded.
When the troop is threatened—none of us are enemies.
A violent scream made him spin around. The battle had spilled into the Crown Stone glade, and in the melee he could make out Berry, fighting savagely on top of the Crown Stone itself. He recognized her opponent instantly: Tendril. And Tendril was so much bigger and stronger
than Berry, and the Crown Guards were occupied in their own duels. . . .
Desperate to fight his way to his mate, Thorn slammed aside an attacker, but another Crookedtree baboon snarled and lunged at him. Thorn snapped and scratched at her. Berry, hold on. I’m coming!
His fangs bit deep into his opponent’s shoulder, filling his mouth with warm blood. She screeched, wriggled away, and bolted, and Thorn spun around to run to Berry.
He was too late. Tendril was crouched over the stunned Crownleaf, her jaws wide to bite into Berry’s exposed throat. Thorn opened his jaws to shout in helpless warning, but at that moment, a shadow scuttled up onto the Crown Stone, lanky and quick, like a—
Spider!
Spider bounded onto Tendril’s shoulders, then hung on, biting and biting at her skull. Even from where he fought through the crowd, Thorn could see the blood spatter. Tendril reeled back, clawing at her head and her attacker, but she lost her balance and crashed back onto the flat top of the Stone.
As Berry scrambled to her paws, panting, Tendril finally toppled right off the Crown Stone and hit the ground hard. Immediately Crown Guards leaped on her, snarling as they pinned her down. Spider tumbled away from her shoulders and slumped against the Crown Stone, panting.
The battle was over quickly after that. Panting, bloodied baboons stepped back, swaying, some giving a last hard swipe at their defeated enemies. Around and between the trees, baboons lay dead and wounded. Groans of pain came from dry throats. Dawntrees baboons snapped their jaws and chittered in triumph.
The sun was rising, its rays piercing the trees of the forest, and above their heads, in the sudden quiet, the birds began to sing.
Dawn, thought Thorn. And Dawntrees is victorious. If this isn’t a sign from the Great Spirit, I don’t know what is.
He limped to the Crown Stone, where a stunned but still-living Tendril was being dragged roughly to her paws by the Crown Guards. Spider stared up at them wide-eyed. Berry squatted on the Stone, regal and angry, and stared down at her rival as her indignant troop gathered before her.
“Take the wounded of our troop, Goodleaves,” was her first command. “Then I shall deal with this would-be infant-killer.”
The Goodleaves rushed to do Berry’s bidding; Dawntrees baboons were slapping one another’s shoulders and hooting in triumph. The Crown Guard stood close around Tendril, their lips peeled back in menace. At last, an ominous quiet returned to the glade, and Berry still sat there, her face rigid with fury.
Thorn creased his eyes and peered closer. Berry was angry, of course, but her whole body quivered with what seemed an uncontainable rage. There was a visceral hatred in her expression as she studied the beaten Tendril.
Thorn’s heart skipped with sudden realization: She knows about her mother.
Creeper stood at Berry’s side with the rest of his Crown Guard colleagues. Thorn caught his single eye and saw its cold glint. He sucked in a breath.
Creeper had told her. He must have done it in the moments after the battle, Thorn realized with a sickening jolt. That was not your right, Creeper! Thorn was her mate, and Creeper knew it—and Thorn would have broken the news gently. He didn’t dare imagine how bluntly Creeper had imparted the news—and he didn’t dare predict how Berry might react.
Berry rose to her hind paws. As Tendril blinked rapidly up at her, her face streaked with blood, Thorn saw a new and unaccustomed terror in the enemy baboon’s face.
“Swear allegiance to me, Tendril Deeproot.”
There was a moment of heavy silence. “What?” rasped Tendril.
“Do it,” commanded Berry. “Do it, as is the custom for defeated leaders. Take the one opportunity I give you for survival. Swear me your allegiance.”
The whole forest seemed to go still, holding its breath. Even the birds in the canopy paused their chorus.
Berry hopes she won’t submit, thought Thorn suddenly. She wants to kill Tendril.
“Yes.” Tendril’s voice, breaking the silence, was a hoarse croak. She sagged in the grip of the Crown Guard. “I swear you my allegiance, Berry Crownleaf, and . . . I repudiate my former rank.” She spat on the ground, as if the words tasted like poisonous leaves in her mouth.
For a moment, a fleeting disappointment passed across Berry’s stern face. Then she nodded, once.
“I accept your submission,” she declared through bared fangs. “A Deeproot you will remain until you die. And your absolute loyalty and obedience will be to me, and to Dawntrees Troop. Now get out of my sight. Crown Guard: find her dung-clearing duties.”
Tendril was dragged away by Viper and Grit. The troop erupted in cheers and hoots of acclaim.
“Berry! Berry Crownleaf!”
“Long life to our Crownleaf!”
“May Dawntrees prosper under our wise leader!”
With the hoots and whoops ringing in his ears, Thorn loped toward Berry, shoving his way through the excited troop. He reached for her arm and clasped it gently.
“Berry. I’m so sorry about your mother. I—”
“Not now, Thorn. I’m busy.” Turning brusquely away, Berry beckoned another baboon to stand at the base of the Crown Stone.
Thorn blinked in shock. He took an involuntary step back, feeling pain sting his heart. She’d never spoken to him like that, so cold and dismissive.
It was Spider who she’d summoned. He was looking at her with his bland, guileless gaze, fingers scratching at the pink, wounded palms of his paws. “What can Spider do for Berry?” asked the scabby baboon, a little nervously.
Berry smiled down at him. “You can accept my pardon, Spider Prickleleaf. Or whatever you’re calling yourself now.” She laughed, her rage all gone. “In fact, I believe you shall now be Spider Highleaf. You did save my life, after all.”
Spider straightened abruptly, and his scrawny chest puffed out with delight.
“Spider thanks you, Berry Crownleaf! So kind, so kind. But.” He shut one eye. “Spider doesn’t care much about ranks, to be honest.”
Berry’s eyes glittered with what might have been amusement. “Then what does Spider want from me?”
Spider inclined his head humbly, and his eyes darted left and right.
“If there are any locusts around,” he said hopefully, “I’m absolutely starving.”
CHAPTER 22
The sun was melting into a line of violet and amber at the horizon, and silhouetted egrets flew lazily across its glow as Sky finished her tale. She felt more than worn-out; she felt empty, as if her whole body had been scraped hollow by scavengers. Boulder and his herd-brothers stood around her, watching in awed silence as she cleared her throat yet again.
“And since the death of the last False Parent,” she finished hoarsely, “no true Great Parent has come forward. All of Bravelands is waiting, as you know, but there’s no sign.”
Boulder was gazing at Sky in wonder. “Sister, it’s the most remarkable tale I’ve heard in Bravelands. This Stinger murdered Great Mother—and died himself in the jaws of crocodiles? Those reptiles do not follow the Code either—though at least they are honest about that—so it somehow seems fitting.”
“Nor should you feel bad about your part in his death,” said another big bull, sternly. “The False Parent deserved death, from all accounts. When you sent him to his doom, you saved all of Bravelands.”
Sky remained silent. She wished she could truly believe it.
“And really: you count a lion, a baboon, and these little cheetahs among your friends?” said a young male admiringly. “You’re an unusual elephant, Sky Strider!”
“I agree, Forest, that is astonishing,” said Boulder. “And your visit to the vultures sounds miraculous, Sky. You carried the Great Spirit all that time since then? I am a proud brother! But how desperately sad about little Moon’s death.” His dark gray eyes drifted sideways to fix on a stocky bull with a pale, brown-gray hide.
Indeed, all the herd turned to look at the bull. He stood a little way back, and he stayed far quieter than the
others. Sky thought she saw a dark depth of sadness in his eyes.
His head came up. “Brothers, I’ll leave you for now,” he rumbled. “I’d like to have some time alone to think. And to remember.”
They all nodded slowly. “We understand, Dune,” said Boulder softly. “Take all the time you need.” He turned back to Sky. “Dune was Moon’s father,” he murmured.
“Oh!” Sky’s heart ached for the grief-stricken elephant. He plodded slowly away, halting under a copse of trees with his head hanging dejectedly.
As the afternoon wore on, she expected the rest of the herd to mourn in sympathy; her own family would have taken time to grieve, to console one another. But the bulls seemed restless and boisterous. They split away in twos and threes, throwing up dust as they circled and stamped. Play-fights broke out, and a few of the sparring matches went beyond play; a thickset bull gave a sudden trumpet of irritation and stamped the ground hard, and that seemed to be the signal for another two to charge him, ears flapping wildly. Tusks were swung, feet thumped the earth, heads were flung back to give wild braying calls to the sky.
Dune stayed apart and alone, mourning in silence.
Boulder seemed to think nothing of any of it. He stayed close to Sky, talking calmly, but now and again he would half bolt toward one of the scraps and butt his head at the fighters as if he wanted to join in. Still, he would back away quickly as they tossed their tusks and raised their trunks, and then he would jog back to Sky, a little shame-faced.
When twilight began to dim the savannah, and the air grew misty and cool, it came as a surprise to Sky. The day had passed so quickly as she and Boulder caught each other up on all the news of their respective herds. All the hours of daylight, Nimble and Lively had played happily at her feet, ambushing each other into play-fights or pretending solemnly to hunt; now they were yawning, stretching out their forepaws to claw the earth and looking pleadingly up at Sky.
“It’s time you rested,” she said softly, extending her trunk to let them scramble up to her shoulders. Perhaps the cubs could have huddled under a bush again, but with so many enormous bull elephants milling around, it wasn’t worth the risk. None of them would hurt the cubs deliberately, Sky was sure, but watching the high-spirited males scrap and challenge, she didn’t have much faith that they would pay attention and avoid the tiny cats.