by Erin Hunter
After all, I trusted Rock, didn’t I? Too much.
“What will you do now, sister?” asked Boulder gently. “Will you try to rejoin the Strider herd?”
“I don’t think so.” Sky shook her head. “I miss them terribly, of course I do. Every moment I’m apart from them hurts.” She sighed unhappily. “But I still feel such a responsibility toward the Great Spirit. Until the new Great Parent comes forward, I don’t think I can go back to my old life.”
“I can understand that,” said Boulder sympathetically.
“And I understand the Great Spirit being hesitant.” Forest, taking a break from sparring with his brothers, had wandered closer to listen. “Given all the impostors you say have claimed the role, it wouldn’t surprise me if the Spirit has abandoned Bravelands altogether.”
“That will never happen,” said Sky firmly. “I trust the Great Spirit.” Perhaps she had had her qualms of doubt in the past, but she couldn’t allow herself to think that way again. Someone had to keep the faith.
“Well,” said Boulder, “I wish you good luck, sister. You deserve to see the Great Spirit’s return, after all you did for it.”
“Thank you, Boulder.” She butted her forehead gently against his. “I plan to travel as widely as I can across Bravelands. The Great Spirit still needs me for some purpose—I know it—so I’ll look for signs of it everywhere I go. I’ll talk to as many animals as I can. Now I have to—”
“Sky! Sky!” The little cheetahs on her back were wide awake again, bouncing with agitation. “There’s shadows moving! Out there on the plain! Coming this way!”
Sky jerked up her head, peering anxiously out into the deepening twilight. “Don’t worry, cubs. It’s probably noth—”
Falling silent, she raised her trunk, scenting the air. Yes, there was a dark tang on the breeze that drifted over the rustling grass.
Lions!
She could make them out now: a line of dark, menacing shapes, prowling straight toward the bull elephant herd. The lions’ shoulders were hunched, their heads low, their pawsteps light but deliberate. Even at a distance she could see their eyes beginning to glow pale in the oncoming night.
“Sky,” whimpered Nimble, “I can’t see. Are they lions?”
“Yes,” she told the cubs gently. She swallowed hard. When she had so recently retold the story of Moon and his death at the claws of Titanpride, the approaching pride was an especially unsettling sight.
Boulder rumbled angrily, and his foot raked the earth. “Don’t worry, little ones,” he told the cheetahs. “Lions won’t mess with a herd of bull elephants.”
“Then why are they still coming?” asked Sky with trepidation.
Boulder furrowed his brow, staring. The other bulls were abandoning their play-fights now, shambling over to Boulder, and assembling behind him. They grunted and flapped their ears, perplexed, as the lions drew closer and their eyes glowed brighter.
“That’s strange,” said Forest. “I can see about ten or twelve. Males and females.”
“And they’re not turning back,” remarked another male.
Sky shifted nervously. If she had been alone with the cubs, this might have been very bad news indeed. But with the bull herd ranged at her back, surely there was no threat? Surely the lions would never attack a herd of male elephants. . . .
Yet it was so odd. Why were those lions still advancing?
“They don’t look especially hungry.” Boulder shared a bewildered glance with his neighbor.
One of the lions halted, his posture stiff, his head held high and challenging, as the others walked forward. Sky narrowed her eyes, trying to study him in the rapidly dimming daylight. There was something about him: his size, his huge black mane, his arrogant stance.
She drew in a shocked breath. It’s Titan. I’m sure of it!
Boulder, looking angry now, raised his trunk and bellowed: “What do you want here, little cats? Do you have a death wish?”
The lions only glared at him. One of the lionesses bounded forward faster, drawing ahead of the others; she was a plump and well-fed creature, but the way her belly sagged suggested more to Sky.
She’s a nursing mother, Sky realized with shock. This grew stranger by the moment. A lioness with cubs to protect should not be taking such risks!
The lioness halted and drew back her muzzle to show her fangs. “We’ve come for the strongest elephant in this herd.”
“Are they mad?” Forest muttered to Boulder.
Sky stared at the lions, her heart fluttering in her chest. I’m with Boulder and his brothers, I’m safe, I’m safe. They’re not afraid, nor should I be. And sure enough, some of the approaching lions looked downright terrified.
But they weren’t retreating. Closer and closer they prowled, their fangs bared in nervous but menacing snarls. What was going on?
From the rear of the bull herd, Dune strode abruptly forward. “I’m one of the strongest here,” he trumpeted to the advancing pride. “And lions killed my son. Come for me, if you like.”
“Dune,” whispered Sky, “that’s the very same pride that killed Moon. I’m sure of it.”
He glanced at her, and the dull light in his eyes kindled to fury. He turned back to the lions.
“Come on, then, killers. You murdered my baby son. Now try to murder me!”
They took him at his word.
Sky could not believe her eyes. The pride was rushing forward, snarling, their paws thundering on the dry earth. The bull elephants stood stupefied.
The lions flung themselves on Dune, a mass of tawny, furred bodies, clawing and yowling and snapping. One clung to his hind leg; one was trying to haul itself onto his back.
Boulder gaped in shock. “I don’t believe I’m seeing this.”
He didn’t move to help; he didn’t need to. Dune was swinging his body from side to side, lashing with his tusks, lifting his great feet and slamming them into the dust. Lions were flung away, tumbling and rolling, some of them crawling in pain into the long grass. But still they came, jumping up frantically at his huge body like squirrels trying to bring down a great tree.
“Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” snapped Boulder at last. He waded into the fray, followed by his brothers.
But it was hardly a fight, thought Sky. The pride didn’t have a chance. Tusks flashed in the dying light, great gray bodies slammed into small yelping ones. Even the wind of the elephants’ flapping ears sent lions cowering into the dust. Yet the cats fought on, making increasingly desperate lunges at the perplexed and angry Dune.
A shadow moved behind Sky; squealing in fright, she turned and lashed out wildly. A lion, sneaking up on her flank, was caught by one tusk and flipped in midair, tumbling to the ground. Breathing hard, Sky stared at it, swinging her head from side to side. Blood leaked from its gored hindquarters, yet still it took a dragging step back toward her, its muzzle wrinkling back to expose its yellow fangs.
“Sky!” yelped Lively in fright. “Chase it away, chase it away!”
Sky drew a deep breath. The lion was reckless and vicious, but her brother and his herd were here! She lunged forward, pounding her forefeet onto the ground hard enough to make it tremble. At last the lion backed off, still snarling in disappointment, and fled back to its pride at a lurching run.
Sky stood very still for a moment, breathing rapidly. Then she shook herself and harrumphed in annoyance—as much at herself as at the lions. These creatures were not a threat; they never could have hoped to stand against these elephants! This is not Moon, you cowards, she thought contemptuously. This is Moon’s father, and all his father’s brothers.
Touching the two cubs with her trunk-tip to make sure they were still safe, Sky swung around to check that no more lions were close. But the bull elephants were keeping them thoroughly occupied. Dune seemed in a frenzy of violence, pursuing two young males across the grassland, bellowing and stamping. Boulder swung his tusks viciously to left and right, his eyes blazing at a lioness who cowered before h
im. Even the gentle-looking young male, Forest, was blaring his fury, thrusting his tusks with brutal force at a motionless lump on the earth at his feet. A tremor of apprehension rippled at the nape of Sky’s neck. Of course they’re angry. But this? The bulls seemed positively . . . enraged.
At last the lions were giving up, some bolting and some hauling themselves pathetically into the long grass by their claws; there were blood trails in patches of bare sand where they dragged themselves clear. A beaten rabble, they limped and slouched and lurched back the way they had come, heading as fast as they could for the distant ridge where their leader still stood, glaring at them with contemptuous disappointment. One straggler was too slow: Dune overtook him and halted with a trumpet of fury, then pounded his forefeet against soft flesh until the guttural whimpering of his enemy was silenced.
Sky could not feel triumph or pleasure; this had been a rout, and whatever she thought of Titanpride, she had no appetite for a massacre.
Shambling backward, her haunches touched those of a big bull; he turned with astonishing speed and blared a warning at her, his eyes blazing.
Sky froze in astonishment, then swerved as his tusks swung at her. She gave an involuntary squeal of terror and cowered. But despite the pounding of her heart, he did not seem to wish her particular harm; he was already charging aggressively in the other direction, toward his brothers. The lions had already fled, but now the elephants were brawling with one another. They jabbed their huge tusks, crashed their shoulders into their friends’, trumpeted in high-pitched fury. Forest barged furiously at Dune; two big bulls clashed tusks and hollered with incoherent anger.
The Rage. Sky’s heart chilled as she backed away from the herd. Boulder was close to her flank, and she edged behind him for protection.
“Hold on tight, Nimble and Lively,” she called. “Don’t fall now, whatever you do!”
Boulder spun around at the sound of her voice. Sky started. The hot glow in his eyes was the same light she’d seen in his enraged herd-brothers’.
“Boulder—?” she began.
He swung his tusks, driving her aggressively back. “Go, quick! Get out of here!”
Sky drew a shocked breath and tensed her muscles. She did not wait for him to repeat the order. Turning, she cantered away as fast as she could. She could feel the cubs’ tiny claws digging into her skin, and she hoped desperately that they could keep their precarious balance. Her head whirled with confusion and terror even as she fled gasping from the scene. So this was the Rage that had caused her beloved Rock to kill River: no one, not even her own kin, was immune to it.
She could feel the ground shaking beneath her, and was almost afraid she might lose her footing and trip. Her breath rasped in her lungs as she lurched up a shallow slope, and at the unexpectedly steep drop beyond it she gave a squeal of terror. Jamming her forefeet into the ground, she skidded to the bottom.
“Sky! Sky!” The cheetah cubs yammered in panic, and she felt the prickling of their claws dig deeper.
Don’t fall, cubs! she thought desperately, but she didn’t have breath to reassure them. Drawing a sharp breath, she cantered on.
Sky ran on, pounding through dry gullies and between acacia trees until her aching legs forced her to slow. She wasn’t built for speed, she knew, but at last she seemed far enough away from the still-brawling herd. Turning her head, she cocked an ear. She could still hear them, trumpeting and bellowing as their huge bodies crashed against one another. On her shoulders, she could feel the cubs trembling violently.
She gave a shudder of her own. About to walk on, her eye caught a flash of golden fur at her foot. With a gasp, she halted and peered down.
A lioness lay sprawled and immobile, her fur torn in a great gash along her flank. Dark blood leaked from the corner of her jaws and stained her fangs as she bared them at Sky.
It was the lioness who had led the ill-fated attack; Sky recognized her mean face and plump belly. As Sky stared at her in pity, the wounded cat gave a feeble growl of threat.
“Don’t waste your strength,” said Sky, touching her side. The lioness winced and whimpered. “You have broken bones.”
“Many of them,” snarled the lioness. “My name is Artful, and I have been first lioness of Titanpride for many seasons. That is my legacy, elephant, and I want to keep it. So kill me. Kill me now, and I will be free from him.”
Sky gaped. “Kill you? Of course I won’t do that!”
“I want it! Please.” The lioness’s face was agonized. “Please! Kill me, I beg you! Free me!”
“What do you mean, you’ll be free?” Sky blinked, stupefied. “Who is he?”
“Who is he?” Artful coughed a mirthless laugh. “Don’t you know of him?” Painfully she twisted her head, peering with apprehension across the darkling plain. “Quickly! Please!”
Sky followed her terrified gaze.
It was locked on a lion. He was visible only as a dark silhouette, but Sky couldn’t fail to recognize the great, black-maned creature who had stood back as his pride attacked. Titan. It was hard to see properly in the gloom, but Sky could scarcely believe what she thought she could see. Titan straddled the body of one of his wounded pride, his head leaning eagerly down.
Blood hammered in Sky’s ears and raced in her body. Was it a trick of the twilight? As she watched, the great lion gave a triumphant roar and flung up his head. A shapeless chunk of flesh hung dripping from his jaws.
A sound broke through Sky’s frozen shock; the thud of great feet. Dune was running toward her, black and huge against the last glow of sunset, his ears splayed, his tusks raised.
There was no more time to lose. “I’m sorry,” Sky told the lioness, twisted around, and fled. Even though you beg, I can’t break the Code. Not again.
Halting some distance from Artful, Sky turned to look back. Dune had not followed her after all. He stood over the motionless bundle that was Artful Titanpride, the first stars picking out his massive outline. Sky saw him lift one of those enormous legs and stamp his foot down hard.
So Artful had gotten her wish. In a way Sky was glad for her; the lioness had been wounded beyond hope and desperate for death. Free me from him. . . .
Another shudder rippled through Sky. Nothing she had seen, in all her dangerous adventures, had been quite so disturbing. The insane attack on the herd. Artful, begging for death.
And Titan, triumphantly ripping flesh from one of his own . . .
It was so unnatural, so against the proper order of Bravelands. The Code had been shattered back there in the darkness, over and over again.
Sky shook her ears hard, trying to dislodge her awful, clinging sense of dread. Tiny claws were digging into her neck. The cubs! How had she forgotten them? “Nimble! Lively! Are you all right?”
“We’re fine,” chirruped a shaky voice from between her shoulder blades.
“You ran fast,” piped up another, “but we hung on very tight.”
She curled back her trunk to touch them gently. “Well done, cubs. It was too dangerous for us, and I had to run.”
“What was that big lion eating?” mewed Nimble.
“He looked crazy,” added Lively.
Oh no. They saw. Sky swung her trunk, unsure how to explain to the cubs what she couldn’t explain to herself. But in the quietness of the night, with the insects just beginning to stir, she heard a sudden, querulous mewling.
“What’s that?” She turned and peered around.
“There,” came Lively’s voice. “By that fever tree. With the forked trunk.”
Apprehensive, Sky ambled cautiously toward the tree. The mewling was easy to follow; it was high-pitched, frantic, and constant.
She parted the grass with her trunk. A little lioness cub peered up at her nervously, her eyes wide in the starlight.
“Go away!” snapped the tiny cat, before Sky could speak. “I’m calling for my mother, not you!”
Sky blinked in shock. “Little one, I—”
“Who are you?�
� demanded the cub. “I want my mother! Where is she?”
Sky stared down at her. This baby was so small, and probably still nursing. . . .
With a sickening suddenness, Sky realized who she was. “You’re Artful’s cub?”
“Yes, I am! My mother is the first lioness of Titanpride,” declared the cub proudly. She flattened her ears and glowered to left and right. “Where is she? Where is my mother?”
Sky took a breath. There was no way she could tell the cub what had happened. “Your mother . . . she’s been . . . delayed,” she said at last. Tentatively, she touched the cub’s head with her trunk-tip; the cub winced and growled.
She was a prickly little thing, thought Sky. But she couldn’t abandon Nimble and Lively, and she couldn’t leave this cub either.
“Your mother can’t be here right now,” she told the cub softly. “She says you have to come with me. Just for a little while.”
“Oh.” The cub looked pensive. “Oh. All right, then.” Getting to her paws, she pranced out of the grass and cocked her head. “I’m Menace Titanpride. Who are you?”
“I’m Sky Strider.” Sky dipped her head; she was instantly annoyed at herself, but something about the cub seemed to demand a touch of respect.
“And we’re Nimble and Lively,” called Nimble from the crown of Sky’s head. “Come on up here, Menace. It’s comfy and it’s quite safe.”
Sky extended her trunk, and the little lioness scrambled up without a qualm.
It was black nighttime now, and the crickets and cicadas were in full-throated song. From a nearby grove of acacias, tree frogs piped a few experimental notes.
It was time to find shelter, Sky knew. She headed for the small copse of trees, glancing anxiously left and right. Yes, it should be safe here for tonight, she thought with relief. For her and her ever-growing “herd.”