by Erin Hunter
“That’s horrible,” breathed Fearless.
“Worse than that, Strong was a terrible leader. He was cruel and unfair and stupid; the pride fell apart in the end. He killed the cubs. Other lions died too.”
Fearless gaped at his sister. “But that won’t happen to Gallantpride,” he insisted. “No lion can beat Father. He’s the bravest fighter and the strongest lion in Bravelands!”
Valor didn’t reply. Fearless looked around at the other lions of their pride, and a wave of cold rippled along his spine. None of them looked as confident as he’d hoped; they seemed nervous and edgy, as if an army of ants were marching across their paws.
Gallant was walking out onto the grassland now, toward Titan. When they were almost close enough to touch muzzles, both lions halted and stared into each other’s eyes.
Titan was even more frightening up close, thought Fearless. His shoulders were broad and thickly muscled, and his paws were huge. There were deep, roughly healed scars drawn into his face and flanks, and when he opened his jaws to speak, his fangs were long, yellow, and deadly.
“Gallant of Gallantpride,” he snarled in greeting.
“Titan, Prideless Lion,” growled Gallant. “What is your business here?”
Titan drew himself up, his black mane rippling over his powerful neck and shoulders. He slapped the ground with a massive paw.
“By the laws of our ancestors,” he roared, “I, Titan, come to claim this pride of Gallant.”
Gallant’s muzzle curled back from his own long, deadly fangs.
“By the laws of our ancestors,” he snarled, “I, Gallant, fight to keep this pride.”
For a long moment they stared at each other, the air seeming to quiver with anticipation. Both huge males half crouched, their muscles coiled.
Then, as one, they launched their attacks, colliding with a terrible grunting roar and an impact that shook the ground. Rearing up, Gallant sank his claws into Titan’s shoulders; twisting, Titan shook his huge mane, gripped Gallant’s flank with his claws, and raked his flesh in return. They broke apart, only to slam together once more, jaws wide and claws tearing.
Fearless could hardly bear to watch, but neither could he look away. His heart was in his throat. Now that they were gripped in close combat, and he could see them together, the two lions looked equally matched.
The pride stood watching, their tails lashing with anxiety—all except Swift, who was pacing back and forth on the edge of the fight. She was the only one who was silent; the others roared their encouragement to Gallant, and snarled in contempt whenever Titan landed a good blow. But Swift said nothing, only paced and looked afraid.
“Mother,” pleaded Fearless, unable to watch her fretting anymore, “why don’t we help Father? Together we can beat Titan, can’t we? There’s more of us!”
“We can’t,” said Swift, her voice choked with anxiety. “I’m sorry, my son. Those are the rules. The pride leader must win this fight alone.”
There was a roar from the pride. Gallant had doubled abruptly and sprung for Titan, landing a mighty blow on the side of his skull. Titan reeled back, stumbled, then fell hard on his flank; Gallant pounced, slamming both his forepaws onto his fallen enemy.
“He’s won!” shouted Fearless in excitement, as the pride roared its approval.
“Yes,” cried Swift. “It looks like—” Then she gasped.
Titan’s sidekicks, the two lions who had arrived with him, sprang suddenly forward, attacking Gallant from both flanks. They hung on him, claws digging in, dragging him down and away from Titan.
“Stop! No!” roared Swift, and the pride joined in her protest. “Cheats! Traitors—”
She leaped forward, but Titan was already back on his feet. He lunged, as fast as a snake, and sank his jaws into Gallant’s exposed throat. Fearless saw his father stagger back, off balance, the two lions still fastened with their claws to his sides.
Swift and two other lionesses flew at Titan, but his companions released Gallant and turned on them, snarling and biting, holding them off. Swift gave panicked, roaring cries as she tried desperately to fight her way to Gallant, but the two big males were too strong.
As the rest of Gallant’s pride joined the attack, the interlopers finally backed off, teeth bared and eyes defiant. With a crash and a grunting exhalation, Gallant collapsed to the earth, and every lion froze and stared. Titan stood over his fallen foe, his jaws still locked on Gallant’s throat.
Fearless felt as if a cold night wind had swept through his body. Titan was not merely holding his father down. His fangs were buried in Gallant’s flesh, and bright red blood was pooling under his great black mane. Gallant’s paws, sprawled helplessly on the ground, twitched in a horrible spasm.
Swift gave a screaming roar. “No!”
“What— Mother, what—” Fearless’s words dried in his throat, and he gulped hard. He had never seen a lion die, but he had encountered plenty of dead antelopes and zebras. That was how his father looked now: limp, blank-eyed, his lifeblood spilling into the dusty earth.
Father can’t be dead! He is Gallant of Gallantpride!
The lions stood motionless, glaring at one another over Gallant’s body. An awful silence hung over them. Fearless closed his eyes, desperately hoping it would all go away. But when he opened them again, his father was still lying on the ground.
A hawk screeched. Swift glanced up at it, then her face twisted in rage and grief and she stalked forward, snarling at Titan.
“You broke the rules, Titan Prideless! Worse, you broke the Code! You may kill only to survive!”
Titan sneered. “What do I care for the Code? This pride is now mine—Swift Titanpride!”
With a roar, Swift leaped forward. Titan, shocked for a moment, staggered back, and the rest of Gallant’s pride joined the attack. Fearless gaped, horrified, as great tawny bodies clashed, jaws snapped, and claws tore.
But Titan was fighting back hard, and so were his two sidekicks.
“Kill them!” bellowed Titan above the chaos. “Kill the ones who resist! Titanpride will not allow rebels!”
Fearless hopped and bounced frantically, trying to see a way into the fighting. But the lions looked so big, and so terrifying. He might be crushed by one of his own pride before he could even reach Titan. At least Valor was at his side. . . .
Titan flung off a young lioness and shook his huge mane. His head turned, and his dark eyes locked with Fearless’s.
“The cubs!” he grunted, his face full of vengeful malevolence. “Kill the cubs, Cunning! Gallant’s heirs must not live!”
The lion with the torn ear wrenched himself out of the battle. He paused for a moment, seeking out the cubs. Then his cruel eyes lit on Fearless.
He sprang.
For an instant Fearless thought he was already dead. His heart froze in his rib cage and he could only watch the huge lion flying at him. But a golden body slammed into Cunning, knocking him off his feet. It was Swift.
“Fearless! Valor!” their mother gasped. “Run!”
Fearless was still rigid with shock. What did she mean? Run where?
Valor nipped his rump hard. “Go, go!”
He scrabbled around, half stumbled, then forced his paws to move. He ran, lengthening his stride, but the savannah was so broad, so open and flat; there was nowhere to hide, and the dust stung his throat and blurred his vision. He could hear Valor right behind him, panting with terror.
Fearless’s breath burned in his chest. He hadn’t known he could run this hard. Even Valor isn’t catching up. Terror drove him on, faster and faster across the dry red earth. Even Valor—
With a gasp he twisted and looked over his shoulder. And he realized why Valor wasn’t with him: Titan’s other companion had intercepted her, driving her back, roaring and swiping with his claws.
“Valor! Hold on!” Fearless squealed. He skidded to a halt and turned, ready to rush and save her.
“No!” she roared. She ducked another lash of her attac
ker’s claws. “No, Fearless, run! I can take care of—” She dodged, stumbling. “I can take care of myself! We all have to!”
The one called Cunning appeared a few paces away, his mouth red with blood. Fearless’s knees almost gave out beneath him. Whose blood? Mother’s?
“Run, Fearless!” cried Valor.
Fearless spun around and fled. He did not know if the sound of great pounding paws behind him was a pursuer, or the echo of his own panicked running, or just his imagination; he could only keep racing on, until his paws were stinging with pain and his chest ached. A lizard darted out of his way and a flock of bright blue starlings scattered with shrill cries, but he didn’t even pause. He sprinted on, desperate with terror, his eyes streaming from the dust so he could barely see where he was going.
And then, abruptly, his paws slid from under him. The ground sloped and rocks tumbled away, and he skidded helplessly. Tumbling head over tail, he crashed down, clutching frantically for a pawhold. The last thing he saw was the bright blue sky, somehow in the wrong place and at the wrong angle.
Then he was spinning in the air. A hard sudden impact, and one dazzling flash of light, and Fearless’s world turned black.
CHAPTER 2
Fearless blinked. The light was too bright, and his head hurt. There was something odd about the sunlight; it flickered and dipped and sparkled. For a moment he dared to hope it had all been a dream—that he was lying under the flat branches of the acacia trees with his mother and Valor and . . .
No. He gasped and opened his eyes fully, wincing with pain. He was lying not on grass, but on a rough tangle of twigs and sticks and green leaves. And of course, there was no Swift and no Valor. No Gallantpride.
I’m alone.
A great wrench of grief twisted his stomach. And Father is dead.
Strange smells drifted into his nostrils. Sniffing at them helped take his mind off his misery. Fearless frowned and looked around; there was one scent he recognized. Feathers. He remembered it from the time Valor caught a stork, pretty much by accident.
The instant of happy memory was drowned at once. Valor’s gone, he remembered again. Father’s dead, and she and Mother probably are, too. His chest heaved with grief. He tried to sit up, though every part of him ached. The twigs beneath him held steady: they appeared to be tangled together with deliberate care. It’s not just a pile of forest litter, he thought. Something had made the twigs into a broad, secure circle.
Panic rose in his throat. I’m in a nest, he realized. A really, really big nest . . .
And the nest was in a colossal jackalberry tree. Through the leathery green leaves he could see gray branches spreading out, and, peering over the edge, the solid earth below looked hazy with distance. Heart thundering, he shuffled back from the edge of the nest and whimpered in terror. How did I get up here?
Not by myself. I can’t do anything by myself. His grief was suddenly overwhelmed by terrible shame. I’d just been given my name: Fearless. I swore to Father I’d live up to it. And what did I do? I ran away at the first sign of trouble.
He had to do better, try harder. Hesitantly, Fearless got to his paws, being careful not to disturb the nest. It looked sturdy, but he didn’t want to dislodge anything; the whole thing might collapse and send him plummeting down. As he stretched his aching muscles, his flanks stung, and he peered at them, shocked. There were deep puncture marks, crusted with dried blood. Fearless gave a small mewl of distress.
He gritted his jaws. Mother isn’t here. I have to help myself, like Valor said.
Licking at the wounds, he made himself think. It was obvious, now, what had happened: a bird had brought him up here. It must have seen him lying where he fell. Swift had told him all about birds, and how some of them ate flesh or rot-meat: vultures, eagles, hawks. Whatever it was, it must have been huge. Maybe it was that vulture he’d seen and roared at. Fearless shuddered. And it might come back any moment. . . .
I have to get down from here!
Fearless swallowed hard and crept back to the edge of the nest. Oh, it was a very tall tree. He could see the green crowns of surrounding trees, so he was high above even them. The mountains far in the distance had never been much more than a thin blue haze, but now he could clearly make out farther peaks beyond; there were grooves and gullies in the savannah that he hadn’t noticed before, and he could see whole herds of grass-eaters, tiny and distant.
There was no way he could jump. He’d have to climb down backward, clinging on to the branches and the trunk with his claws. I might fall to my death.
It seemed a terrifying prospect, but what choice did he have? Something built this nest. Something big, with sharp claws.
If I don’t try to climb down, I’m going to get eaten instead. Another whimper of terror escaped from Fearless’s dry throat.
The nest had been built over a couple of thick branches; Fearless clambered over the edge and onto one of them. Just one paw at a time, he decided. And don’t panic.
Crouching low, he pulled himself along the branch. The nest was not far from the enormous, thick trunk. He narrowed his eyes. Come on, Fearless. Live up to your name!
He reached out a paw, dug in his claws, and dragged himself a little farther. His heart thudding, he stretched out his other paw and did it again.
Not far now. He looked down.
Ohhhh . . . that was a mistake. The ground seemed farther away than ever, now that he was outside the relative safety of the nest, and his head swam. The trunk, the trunk, I just have to get to the—
He lurched forward, too fast, snatching with his claws at the branch. He missed and flailed even more wildly, trying to keep his balance. But his body shifted sideways, and Fearless felt himself slipping around the branch.
There was another, thinner bough, just below him and to the left. Panicking, he let himself slip and grabbed for it. His claws sank into the bark. He was dangling by his forepaws, his hind legs swinging in the air, but his grip was good, and he gave a shuddering cry of relief.
At that moment, the thinner branch creaked and gave a little.
No, no, no . . . .
It snapped.
Fearless tumbled down through the branches. He snatched hopelessly with his claws, but couldn’t catch another hold. His rump thudded against a branch and he squealed, but it didn’t matter, because he was still falling, faster now, and in a moment he would hit the ground hard and—
Something seized his scruff, yanking him up short and halting his fall so abruptly the breath was knocked out of him.
For long moments, he could only dangle there helplessly, panting in high-pitched, whistling breaths. Wide-eyed, he stared through the branches and leaves at the yellow earth, still far below. The thing that had caught him must have long toes with claws—he could feel them snagged in his fur—but he was unable to twist his head to see more. Only when he was lifted and dumped on a branch did he get a glimpse of the creature.
It dusted its slender brown paws together, tilted its head, and studied him.
Fearless stared back. He had never seen anything like it. It sat perfectly comfortably on the bough in front of him, peering at him with dark amber eyes fringed with brown fuzzy fur. Its snout was long and black, a thin white scar slashed above the nostrils, and when it grinned at him, Fearless could see long yellow fangs.
He didn’t know what it was, but those teeth made it look very much like a flesh-eater. He backed onto his rump and lashed out at the thing with his claws.
He wobbled on the branch again and had to grab it with his forepaws. The creature tilted its head the other way.
“I wouldn’t move too much if I were you,” it said.
Fearless, panting and trembling, sat very still again.
“That’s better,” said his rescuer. “Shall we introduce ourselves? My name is Stinger.” Whatever this creature was, it didn’t seem about to eat him. If anything, there was a sparkle of humor in its eyes.
Though I can’t see anything to smile about.
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“Can you speak?” said the stranger. “This will be tricky if you can’t.”
“I’m Fearless,” Fearless growled, with as much ferocity as he could manage.
“Fearless, eh?” The creature yelped with amusement. “I should say you are. Do you know who made that nest? I don’t know many animals who would go visiting one of the biggest eagles in Bravelands.”
“I wasn’t visiting it, I—” Fearless stopped short when he saw the humor in the animal’s expression. Oh. He’s joking. He licked his jaws nervously. “What are you?”
“I’m a baboon, obviously.” Stinger shook his head and tutted. “Why, what are you?” he mimicked.
“I’m a . . . a lion. I’m Fearless Gallantpride!”
He’d heard of baboons before. Flesh-eaters, sometimes. This one wasn’t all that scary, though.
“Oh, you’re a lion.” Stinger grinned, and Fearless realized he was mocking him again. “Well, I’ve never seen a lion being carried away by an eagle before, so I came to investigate. And aren’t you lucky I did!”
Fearless swallowed. He glanced down and back up at Stinger. The baboon seemed friendly enough, even though his teeth did look nasty. “I guess so,” he muttered. “Thanks.”
“That’s better.” Stinger sat up and held out his elegant paw. “Now, let’s get you down from here.”
“I’m not sure I—ow!”
Stinger was quicker than he looked. In an instant, he had Fearless tucked under his long foreleg and was swinging elegantly down through the branches, springing with ease to the most secure footholds. Fearless barely had time to be scared. In fact, he barely had time to draw a breath. When the branches ended and Stinger began to climb down the last long section of trunk, Fearless could see that he hadn’t come alone: a big crowd of baboons was gathered at the base of the tree, and they were all staring up with curiosity.
The light beneath the trees was all green shadows, and the foliage grew dense and verdant, but everywhere Fearless looked he could see more baboons—they were perched on mossy branches, crouched on damp rocks, peering out from fern clumps, or simply staring at him from out in the open. The sheer numbers, combined with the strange, rich scents of the forest, made his head reel. Stinger’s pride—or whatever baboons called their groups—was much bigger than Gallant’s.