Bravelands #4

by Erin Hunter

  Berry stared at him. She was trembling slightly, but her fangs were still clenched hard.

  “I don’t even know you anymore, Thorn Highleaf. Maybe I never did.” She jerked her head away and stared into the shadows between the trees. “Get out of my sight.”

  Thorn stood immobile for a moment, disbelieving, stunned by pain. But Berry didn’t look at him again.

  “Thorn,” murmured Nut, coming to his side. “Thorn, come on. There’s nothing more to say, is there?”

  Thorn stared at Berry for a moment longer, at her stiffly averted head. He felt Mud’s paw touch his arm, heard the rustle of leaf litter as Spider wandered diffidently closer.

  At last he turned, flanked by his friends, and stalked out of the Crown Stone clearing. Berry didn’t call him back.

  Heart aching, Thorn blundered through the undergrowth, not caring that prickles scratched his hide. He could hardly think straight. It had taken all his strength to make his confession to Berry—and she had rejected him. So far, the Great Spirit had brought him nothing but grief and trouble. Is this what you wanted when you chose me? Anger and resentment flared inside him along with his misery and doubt. It’s not fair, Great Spirit. You know I didn’t want this.

  “Thorn,” Mud murmured as they halted beneath a cluster of date palms. He still wore a look of sympathetic incredulity, and he swallowed hard before he could speak again. “It’s true, then? What you said to Berry?”

  Thorn halted, swamped by remorse and shame. His head drooped. “Yes,” he muttered. “Yes, it’s true.”

  “The stones,” whispered Mud hoarsely. “They were right all along.”

  “Yes,” said Thorn. “I’m sorry, Mud. Sorry I didn’t say anything. But they were telling you the truth.”

  None of them expressed a word of disbelief, as Berry had. They just gaped at him. Nut and Mud looked overwhelmed, their expressions a mixture of awe, respect, and growing delight. But as Nut began to grin and Mud placed his paws over his mouth, Spider only tilted his head to one side and poked in his ear. Finding some parasite, he popped it into his mouth and chewed.

  “Well, there’s a thing,” he said. “That’s nice.”

  For some reason, it released all the tension in Thorn’s body. His shoulders slumped, and he found himself on the verge of actual laughter.

  But there was no time for that. “We have to stop Berry,” he blurted. “If her Crown Guard harms Tendril, she’s going to regret it bitterly. In the end, she will—I know it.”

  Mud, Nut, and Spider exchanged looks. “You’re right,” said Mud, nodding.

  Nut frowned in thought. “One of my Deeproots said he saw the Crown Guard taking Tendril away, toward the south of the forest,” he said. “That’s where we can start to look for them.”

  “But what should we do?” asked Mud. “What can we do?”

  A moment ago, he hadn’t really known. But now Thorn felt something kindle inside him: a fierceness that began deep in his chest and radiated out to the tips of his paws. He was suddenly filled with certainty, and that gave him strength.

  “We’re going to stop them,” he growled. “Come on!”

  He turned and bounded from the clearing, the other three at his heels. He didn’t feel doubt or hesitation anymore, and he wasn’t afraid. Yes, the Crown Guard could hurt him, Great Father or not—but what he was doing was right.

  Is that the Great Spirit talking? he wondered. Because if so, it’s suddenly got a lot louder . . .

  Once they broke through the Tall Trees boundary, it was easy enough to follow the fresh tracks of the Crown Guards. There were paw marks, scratches in the yellow earth from their claws—and signs, too, that a baboon had been dragged across the dry ground: broken blades of grass, paw scrapes in the dirt, smudges of blood. A sense of urgency seized Thorn, and he ran faster, bolting across the grassland toward the deep gash of a dry streambed. He knew it. It was the place where the Strongbranches had taken Frog Deeproot, their former colleague, when she began to doubt Stinger. It was where they had murdered her.

  As he heard the sounds of a commotion, Thorn slowed his pace and prowled more quietly to the edge of the gully, signaling with a paw to the other three to take care. Mud, Nut, and Spider crept up to his flanks as he paused and peered over at the fracas.

  “I swore an oath!” Tendril sounded confused as well as terrified. She grunted as Creeper grabbed her shoulders and flung her against a slab of white rock. Grit stood to the side, grinning. “I don’t understand! I’m loyal, I said I was!”

  “Loyal to who?” snarled Viper, giving her a clout on the jaw that made Tendril’s head snap back. “You think we’ll take that kind of risk with you?”

  “Hold her still, Viper, Grit.” Creeper snatched up a jagged stone. “I’ll make this faster than you deserve, Tendril Deeproot.”

  With a holler of rage, Thorn leaped down the bank and flung himself at Creeper’s blind side. Belatedly, Creeper spun around, gasping; he dropped the stone as he flung up his paws to defend his face. Viper screeched in shock and began to run at Thorn, but Nut launched himself at her, and they rolled, kicking and scrabbling. Between them Mud and Spider were wrestling Grit to the ground; the big baboon snarled and lashed out, and the air filled with the panting shrieks of fighting baboons.

  Creeper slammed a paw against the side of Thorn’s head, and he tumbled sideways, dazed. But Thorn could already see Tendril fleeing up the bank; she was limping badly, but she vanished over the edge and was gone.

  Creeper staggered to Thorn and dragged him up. Thorn shook himself angrily, clearing his head, and snarled in Creeper’s face.

  “She got away!” howled Creeper. “You pack of traitors!”

  “And we’ve stopped you from breaking the Code,” yelled Thorn. “You should be thanking us.”

  Mud, Spider, and Nut were scrambling to their paws with the other two angry Crown Guards, brushing dust from their fur and growling. The fight was over, then; it had been brief, if savage. And we did what we came to do, thought Thorn with grim satisfaction.

  “The troop’s in danger now,” hooted Viper, “because of you four!”

  “We’ve upheld the Code,” growled Thorn. “You lot were about to shatter it. Who gave you the right?”

  “Our Crownleaf!” yelled Creeper. “That’s who. We’re defending Dawntrees—and you’ve ruined everything. You don’t deserve to be Berry’s mate, Thorn. You don’t deserve a place in the troop at all.”

  “That’s why you should never have come back,” snarled Viper.

  “Right!” shouted Grit, glaring at Mud and Spider. “Get yourselves away from Tall Trees for good. The lot of you!”

  “Do as he says,” growled Creeper, his one eye flashing dangerously. “It would be the biggest mistake of your lives to return to the troop. And the last.”

  Panting, Thorn stared at him. But there was no mistaking the serious intent in his glare, or the coiled menace that oozed from Grit and Viper.

  “We’re going back to report to our Crownleaf now,” sneered Viper, padding away. “You’d better be far from here by the time we tell her what you’ve done.”

  Thorn watched them go, his heart wrenching. They were right; that was what hurt so bitterly. He’d done the right thing—but Berry wouldn’t think so. Not right now, anyway.

  Great Spirit, when does something good come of this?

  “We’d better get away from here,” he said dully. “I’m sorry I dragged you all into this.”

  “You didn’t drag us,” Mud corrected him, his eyes shining fiercely. “We came with you because we trust you. And we believe in you.”

  Nut shrugged. “You’re the Great Father, after all. How could we say no?” He shot Thorn a cheerful grin. “Rot you, Thorn Highleaf, you keep making me do the right thing.”

  “As for Spider, he doesn’t mind a bit about your Tall Trees.” Spider scratched his armpit and yawned. “Spider’s at home anywhere.”

  The enthusiastic support of his friends made Thorn feel a l
ittle less wretched. He gave them all a wry smile.

  “But I have to go back to the mountain now,” he said. “There’s something I must do there. Something important.”

  “Then we’ll come with you,” cried Mud, slapping his forepaws together.

  “Of course we will,” said Nut, and began to strut ahead toward the mountain range on the horizon. “We’re with you all the way—Great Father.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Fearless slunk through tall, wispy grass, his paws raising puffs of pale dust. Keen was at his flank, and Ruthless just behind them both; the cub seemed much more cheerful since he had discovered that his sister, at least, had survived the attack on the elephants. But all three of them padded on without speaking, keeping their bodies low; they were moving now across the plain between Titanpride’s territory and Mightypride’s. It wouldn’t do, thought Fearless, to be spotted before they were ready for a confrontation.

  Fearless came to a halt, breathing hard. The rising sun already beat down warmly on his back, and the trilling of bee-eaters sounded very loud. From a distance came the grunting call of a serpent-bird. He flicked his ears, tensing, and glanced around to find its quill-crested head, but there was no sudden roar of alerted lions. Relaxing a little, he turned to Keen.

  “You stay here,” he growled softly. “I’m going to go on with Ruthless and warn Mighty about Titan.”

  Keen laid his ears back in alarm. “I should come with you.”

  “No. I need you to stay and scout, let me know if Titan or his crew are approaching. Will you do that?”

  Keen hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Be careful, Fearless.”

  He was going to be as careful as he could, that was for sure. Silently, Fearless beckoned Ruthless and slunk on once more, heading for the camp where he had last seen Mightypride.

  That serpent-bird grunted again, loud and resonant. Fearless paused and glanced over his shoulder. Keen was well out of sight. Ruthless glanced up at him, his head anxiously tilted.

  “This way,” murmured Fearless, and set off at a sharp angle to their previous path.

  “What are you doing?” Ruthless trotted after him, confused.

  “Hush.” Fearless frowned at him. “We’re not going to Mightypride. We’re going to intercept Titan before he can attack them.”

  Ruthless sucked in a shocked gasp. “Fearless, you can’t. Keen would be—”

  “I can and I will. If Keen doesn’t know, he can’t try to stop me. I’ll have the advantage of surprise, Ruthless, so don’t worry.”

  “Titan is still so much bigger than you,” objected Ruthless. “I’m scared, Fearless.”

  “Don’t be. You’ll see, I’ll take him by surprise—and he’s lame, you told me so.” Fearless took a breath of the morning air. “Your father owes me a fight, Ruthless, for many reasons. And I’m tired of waiting.”

  “I still don’t think this is a good idea.” But the cub crept along with him, his small tail quivering with nerves.

  Keeping his body low, Fearless prowled on, his nostrils wide and alert. The Misty Ravine was close to this point, he knew; there could be no mistakes, no accidental noises to betray him to Titan.

  A low line of sandy rock became visible through the grass, and Fearless slowed his steps, his shoulders stiff with tension. That was the edge of the gully; he recognized the jagged crest of the stones.

  “Stay here, Ruthless,” he growled. “And keep your head down. This is my quest, and mine alone.”

  “Be careful, Fearless,” whispered the cub. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Leaving the youngster looking forlorn and anxious, Fearless bounded up over the crest and began to stalk down into the gully. Its slopes were horribly steep and high, but there were ridges he could follow, leaping down from one to another. True to its name, the ravine lay shrouded in a pale gray mist, and as Fearless descended, skittering rocks beneath his paws, it only grew denser. As the sun rose, he knew, the mist would burn away; now was his best chance to catch Titan unawares.

  And Titan was here, he knew. The big lion’s hot and bloody scent was distinctive.

  Paw by paw he crept on, ignoring the tremors that rippled through his fur. There was something deeply unnerving about pressing on down into this gray cloud, his own paws half obscured as he placed them carefully on the narrow rocky ridges. But he could not afford to obey his instinct to run. Not now, when he was so close to the thing he had wanted for so long.

  Vengeance, he thought. Justice.

  Ahead, a great dark rock loomed through the mist on the almost-sheer hillside. As Fearless paused, one paw raised uncertainly, the rock moved.

  It was a mane. And that was no rock: it was a lion.

  Titan crouched on a flat, broad ledge, hunched intently over some motionless thing beneath him. As Fearless drew closer, he realized his enemy was gnawing and ripping at a carcass.

  Fearless halted. Tendrils of mist drifted between his forepaws as he stared down at the massive beast. Titan did not even glance up.

  As Fearless watched, Titan threw back his head and gulped down a lump of dark flesh, his throat jerking once, twice. He licked his jaws, slowly and lasciviously.

  “Ah, Fearless,” he drawled at last. “I smelled you in the air. I knew you would come.”

  Fearless had to clear his throat; the dampness of the morning seemed to have affected it. He took a pace forward. “Then you know why I’m here.”

  “You are here as a lion should be.” Titan’s growl was distant, unconcerned, and it seemed to rebound from the mist itself, echoing oddly. “A son must avenge. Sometimes, a son must die. Such should be the way of the lion.”

  “I won’t die today,” said Fearless.

  “Every lion dies,” murmured Titan, “except, perhaps, those who learn the truth. Those who draw their life from the land itself. Such a lion may live forever.”

  “You’re mad,” said Fearless. It wasn’t that he had an urge to insult the great lion; it simply struck him, with the force of a falling tree, that it was true.

  Still Titan did not rise to his paws. Slowly, methodically, he rasped his tongue along the spine of his prey. An antelope? wondered Fearless. A zebra? It was impossible to tell. It didn’t matter.

  “You have grown powerful,” murmured Titan, his voice lingering on the last word. “I compliment you, young lion. You bring yourself to me in strength, fit for sacrifice. I thank you.”

  A tremor juddered along Fearless’s spine; he couldn’t repress it.

  Titan at last stretched his forepaws, lazily and slowly. He rose to a standing position and shook out his great mane. He took a pace toward Fearless, then another.

  For all his determination, Fearless quailed. Ruthless had been wrong. There was no longer a sign of Titan’s limp from the wound he’d taken at the Great Battle; the huge lion looked as powerful and remorseless as ever. His fur gleamed palely in the misty dawn, and his eyes were brilliant.

  Had he been too rash, wondered Fearless, too impatient? Sudden doubt clenched his heart, and his blood raced. I don’t know if I can beat him.

  But this was what he had prepared for, all his life. As Titan stalked toward him, Fearless was reminded of the first time he’d seen this brute: on the day he’d come to kill Gallant and take his pride. Fearless had been so small then, so helpless for all his youthful bravado. There had been nothing he could do to stop Titan.

  That wasn’t true anymore. And what he was about to do now: that was for Gallant. And it was for Loyal, too, his true father. It was for his mother, Swift, blinded and ruined by Titan’s cruel mate. It was for Valor, deprived of her family and forced to work for a pride she hated. It was for Keen, whose father, Dauntless, had suffered the same murderous death as Gallant. It was for all the lions Titan had warped and brutalized and terrified.

  Fearless still didn’t know that he could beat him. But he could no more back down now than he could sprout wings and fly.

  “I, Fearless of Fearlesspride,” he ro
ared, scraping his claws across the rock, “challenge Titan of Titanpride. For the honor of my father. In memory—”

  Titan’s onrush was so sudden and brutal, Fearless almost fell back out of sheer shock. The huge lion bore down, his jaws wide and dripping. For a fraction of a moment, all Fearless could see was those long yellow fangs, still stained with the blood of prey: those, and a gaping ridged throat, and the billowing black mane, and Titan’s freakishly bright eyes.

  Staggering, dodging the worst of the blow, Fearless rolled and sprang back to his paws, snarling. Titan’s claws had raked his shoulder, but the wound was shallow. Titan landed with a crash that shook the hillside and then turned once more, his movement slow and lithe as a python’s. Muscles rippled and contracted beneath his glossy coat.

  Clenching his jaws, Fearless feinted, swerved, and slammed into Titan’s body. Striking out with his claws, he felt them dig hard into fur and flesh, and he ripped with all his might. Before Titan could strike back, he rolled again and leaped upright, his flanks heaving.

  Titan stood calmly, eyeing him. He barely seemed out of breath. And he did not flinch or growl, even though a flap of flesh had been ripped from his flank by Fearless’s claws. The raw wound dripped blood down his torn hide, and Fearless saw the gleam of exposed white ribs.

  Yet Titan only stood, quite still, and watched him.

  The huge lion sprang again, without warning. This time his forepaws smashed into Fearless’s chest, tumbling him backward off his paws. Fearless hit the rock with a grunt of pain and felt Titan’s claws tear at his belly; panicking, he squirmed and kicked, dislodging the brute at last. He rolled up and staggered back, just managing to stay on his paws. Pain bit into his soft underbelly, and he could feel his own blood dripping. He could hear the sound of it on the bare stone.

  The repeat attack came out of the mist, overwhelming and inexorable. He had barely seen Titan move, but the great lion flung him onto his back and straddled him. Hot slaver dripped onto Fearless’s face and neck from those gaping jaws.