by Erin Hunter
A flock of storks prodded the shallows with their great yellow bills, occasionally stirring the water with their feet. The crocodiles ignored them; some had already turned in the water and were eyeing the baboons.
In their tree, Mango and Branch became suddenly alert. Thorn followed their gaze to where Fang, one of Nut’s friends, was hopping into the water. He swam quickly past the crocodiles, driven more by panic, Thorn suspected, than determination. His head bobbed like a shiny wet fruit until he reached the far bank, where he scrambled up and leaped around, hooting and hollering his victory. The Highleaves gave nods of approval.
Thorn sighed, wishing he’d been the first to go. The crocodiles were ready for them now. One of them crawled from the water, chasing Notch, who had ventured close, but she scampered out of reach with a shriek of fear. The crocodile subsided back into the river and muttered something to its neighbor in harsh Sandtongue. Both reptiles rasped something that sounded horribly like a laugh; a chill went through Thorn’s bones at the sound.
“Be careful,” whispered Mud shakily. “Mother says crocodiles don’t follow the Code. They don’t hunt only when they’re hungry. They kill when they like and they answer to no creature—not even Great Mother.”
Thorn took a deep breath. If I want to be with Berry, I have to do this. I don’t have a choice.
A sharp movement caught his eye, and he turned to see Nut springing into the water, cheered on by his gang watching on the shore. With one eye on the looming crocodiles, Nut paddled a little distance, then scrambled up onto some tangled, floating debris.
That raft won’t save him if he doesn’t move, thought Thorn, his heart in his mouth. The crocodiles will just knock him off! He disliked Nut, but he did not want to see him get eaten.
But Nut was already leaping nimbly from log to stone to fallen branch, darting away from snapping jaws. His final leap took him right onto the ridged back of an enormous crocodile. Before it could twist in the water and dislodge him, he was off again, leaping and splashing for the bank. When he reached it, scurrying easily clear of the pursuing jaws, he gave a whoop of triumph.
“I’m a Middleleaf! Chew on that, crocs!”
Mango and Branch, eyeing him from their shady vantage point, exchanged a nod of agreement. Nut’s friends whooped and slapped the sand.
“Nut’s done it.” Thorn couldn’t help but be impressed, but a glance at Mud told him his friend was more frightened than ever.
“Come on, Mud,” he said, trying to sound confident. “It’s now or never.” Thorn gently nudged his little friend toward the water’s edge.
“Good luck!” growled Fearless. “Remember, just keep moving.”
Thorn’s paws were in the water now; crocodiles drifted lazily around to watch him. They clearly knew there was no hurry. “Stay close to me, Mud,” he whispered. Maybe I can just drag Mud with me if we get into difficulties. . . .
With a gasp of determination he plunged into the river, Mud right behind him. One of the floating branch-rafts Nut had used was not far ahead, and Thorn headed for it, swimming furiously.
“We can do this!” he panted to Mud.
There was a sudden, wild thrashing in the water of rolling bodies and crashing tails. Startled, Thorn raised his head to see what was happening.
“It’s Nut,” exclaimed Mud, spitting out green water. “He’s throwing stones at the crocs!”
Thorn looked over to the far bank and saw Mud was right. The vicious young baboon bent to grab another stone.
“Let’s make this interesting!” Nut hooted. Grinning in malice, he stretched back a long foreleg and hurled his stone at the scaly spine of a crocodile. The huge reptile erupted from the river in a fountain of white foam, jaws gaping.
“Oh,” moaned Mud. “Its teeth.”
“Sky and stone,” breathed Thorn, shuddering. The jagged teeth were savage, brutally big, and they lined the crocodile’s entire mouth from front to back.
More stones pattered down as Nut flung one after another; they rattled on tough crocodile hide and splashed into the water, driving the reptiles into a frenzy of fury. The surface churned and a wave swamped Mud’s face; he came up spluttering.
“Nut! Stop it, you idiot!” yelled Thorn.
Ignoring him, Nut grabbed and threw more stones. Storks flapped out of reach with a noisy beating of white wings, and incensed crocodiles were speeding through the water toward any baboon they could see. A huge one submerged, and Thorn could see ripples rising and arrowing from the spot where it had vanished. The pointed wake moved swiftly toward him and Mud.
It’s swimming straight at us!
“Get out, get out!” he hooted in alarm, and turned, splashing back toward shore. Even as he and Mud reached dry land, he heard the crocodile break the surface of the water behind them, muttering angrily in Sandtongue. On all fours, the two young baboons raced back toward Fearless, who was waiting among the trees; the crocodile gave up, grunting, and slid back into the river.
“That selfish, mean little—monkey!” spat Thorn, using the worst insult he could think of. “Nut just wants to stop anyone else completing the Feat!”
“And it looks as if he’s succeeded,” remarked Mud dolefully, gazing back at the now wide-awake crocodiles.
“Mango! Branch!” Thorn yelled at the two Highleaves. “See what Nut’s doing?”
Branch gave a regretful shrug. “We’re only here to report on the successful baboons. Mango, what do you think? Is this against the rules?”
“I don’t know.” Mango scratched her armpit. “Not sure. Never heard it’s been done before, but there isn’t a rule about it. Not as far as I know.”
Infuriated, Thorn cursed the two Highleaves under his breath, then padded back to Mud. “I’m not giving up,” he growled. “Not because of Nut. There’s got to be something we can do.” He glanced around, thinking hard. “Logs, Mud—remember we practiced with logs? Maybe we could lay a log over the river?”
“That’s a great idea,” said Mud.
Together, they picked their way through the trees, peering at the ground, pawing at the forest litter, and dragging supple boughs aside. Spiders scuttled away as they turned over stones and broken wood. There was a deep layer of rotting leaves and moss, and plenty of overhanging ferns and foliage, but a distinct absence of broken branches.
“There isn’t anything long enough to use,” sighed Mud at last. “On the other hand, there’s one up there. . . .”
Thorn and Fearless followed his pointing paw. Mud was staring up at a thick kigelia branch that dipped over their heads.
“No fruits on it,” mused Fearless. “It could be dead. Might snap quite easily.”
“How would we do that, though?” wondered Thorn.
“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Mud told him. He nodded at Fearless. “He’s broken branches before!”
“Exactly!” Fearless opened his jaws to give them both a grin. “For once a big heavy lion might be useful in a tree.”
“It’s worth a try.” Thorn slapped the ground with excitement. “Go on, then, Baboon-Lion!”
He watched, biting his paws as Fearless circled the tree, studying it. At last the young lion jumped up, grabbing and hugging the trunk with all four limbs. Paw over paw he dragged his weight up, claws raking the bark.
Thorn swallowed, his heart in his mouth. “I hope this works, Mud. I hope he doesn’t hurt himself.”
Fearless’s tail lashed as he hauled himself up to the big, low-hanging branch. Then, taking a deep breath, he edged out onto it. Thorn could hardly watch as, digging in his claws, Fearless pulled himself farther along. Beneath him, the bough dipped and creaked.
“It’s working!” cried Mud.
Fearless bounced the branch a little, making it sag farther. “I think it’s pretty rotten,” he called.
“Can you go a bit farther?” asked Thorn shakily.
Fearless crept out along the branch. It sagged wildly, and there was a hollow cracking noise.
“Yes!�
� he roared, just as the branch snapped off. Together he and it crashed onto the ground, but this time the fall wasn’t nearly so far. The young lion bounced up and off the broken bough, unhurt.
“You’re a hero, Fearless!” exclaimed Thorn, rubbing his paws.
“Now,” said Mud with satisfaction, “let’s get it to the river!”
Together, the three friends began to shove the log toward the bank, the baboons using their paws and Fearless his teeth. It was hard, awkward work, since the branch caught on every rock and hummock and jutting twig, and they were panting with exhaustion by the time they rolled it to the water’s muddy edge. The other young baboons still waiting to attempt the crossing, their efforts frustrated by Nut, watched them with a mixture of skepticism and envy. At last, they managed to maneuver the log into position, jammed between two stones and thrusting out over the lazy river. Crocodiles surged through the water, lurking and watching.
“It doesn’t quite reach the other side,” grunted Mud in disappointment.
“It’s all we’ve got,” said Thorn grimly. “We have to give it a go.”
“I’ll sit on this end,” offered Fearless. “That’ll help keep it steady.” He slumped over the splintered end of the branch, his weight anchoring it to the riverbank.
“Now.” Thorn rubbed his paws together and climbed up onto the branch. Mud scrambled up behind him, and the two young baboons began to creep out over the water.
“Ow,” yelped Mud, as one of Nut’s stones smacked his flank. Nut’s gleeful hoot carried across the water.
“So he’s still at it,” growled Thorn. “And it’s still winding up the crocs.”
Some of the crocodiles had clearly figured out where the rocks were coming from, and they were lunging out of the water after Nut. But he was quick and agile, and he danced easily away until they gave up. Then the huge reptiles would return to take out their irritation on the other baboons, and Nut would resume his stone-pelting.
The vast, open jaws of a crocodile surged out of the water and snapped together far too close to Thorn’s paw. “Ahhh! It’s going to knock us off. Go back, go back!”
“I hate Nut,” muttered Mud, skittering quickly back toward shore once again.
“I know,” agreed Thorn grimly, retreating with him. “But we’ll show him.”
Back at the bank, Nut’s friends cackled mockingly as he and Mud scrambled up the sand. Thorn ignored them and cast around desperately in search of an idea. “Ah!”
The storks had settled a little upriver and they were probing the water once more, stirring up the riverbed with their long feet and taking no notice of the crocodiles or the baboons.
Thorn grinned at Mud. “I’ve got an idea.”
He turned and loped along the bank toward the storks, Mango and Branch watching him curiously. When he was within easy reach of them he took a deep breath and bolted straight into the middle of the flock.
It was a lot more fun than trying to cross a lethal river. Thorn plunged in among the birds, screeching and yelling, “Out of my way, monkey brains! Sludge sitters!” From their angry stabbing beaks and shrieks in Skytongue, they clearly recognized insults even in a strange language. Thorn waved his paws and hooted and whooped, ducking as the storks flapped in alarm. One by one, the birds took to the air on white-and-gray wings, their red faces indignant. The whole flock was soon airborne, a flurry of feathers and long legs, soaring away from the leaping, screeching baboon.
Surrounded by a cloud of storks, Thorn bounded back toward the branch-bridge. White wings slapped his face as he ran but he didn’t care; he dashed whooping toward Mud.
“Now!”
Under the cover of the mob of milling storks, Thorn sprang up onto the branch and began to run across. Mud gasped, catching on to his plan, and raced behind him.
It was hard to see more than glimpses of the end of the branch, through the chaos of feathers and legs and yellow beaks, but Thorn kept his eyes fixed ahead of him. He was aware of snapping jaws and the crashing showers of spray as crocodiles snapped wildly at the storks and fell back into the water, but he ignored them. The tip of the branch was in sight now, and he sped faster. Reaching the very end, he launched himself into the air.
His paws thudded down, splashing in shallow water, and they kept moving until he felt the gritty dry sand of the bank between his toes: I made it! I’m a Middleleaf!
Hooting with delight, he dodged and sprinted away from a land-bound crocodile, outpacing it easily and springing up onto a low overhanging branch.
“I did it, Mud, I did it!” he whooped. “You’re nearly there! Run!”
Mud was almost at the end of the branch, but the cloud of storks was clearing now, the birds calming down and skidding in to land, fluffing their wings and preening their ruffled feathers.
“Hurry up!” Thorn yelled in sudden panic.
But Mud had frozen, terrified. The storks had settled completely; they were already beginning to dip their beaks in the shallows again, and Mud was completely exposed on the branch. Crocodiles shot toward him through the murky water, jaws widening to show those huge, jagged teeth; more of them lurched in from the bank. One of them rolled, exposing a pale, leathery belly, and its mighty tail lashed.
The tip caught Mud, and for a moment he wobbled on the branch, eyes wide with panic. With a scream of terror, he plunged beneath the foaming surface.
CHAPTER 7
Mud vanished in a mob of thrashing crocodiles, swallowed up by the green river. The two Highleaves and the watching young baboons shrieked and pounded the ground, aghast.
Fearless leaped to his paws, horrified.
“Mud!”
His small head came up once, spluttering, his face twisted in terror; then he sank under again.
“No! No!” Fearless sprang toward the river and launched himself in, the muddy water turning silver as it showered up around him. For a few paces his paws sank into the soft riverbed, and it was hard going—and then abruptly there was no bottom at all, and Fearless was afloat.
Instinctively he thrashed his limbs. Discovering that he didn’t sink, he paddled and swam forward to the place where he’d last seen Mud. The river was a boiling riot of crocodiles, snapping at one another as much as at their prey, and Fearless tried not to imagine unseen jaws, closing suddenly around his legs. He had to find his friend.
Then a sodden head rose out of the water once more, lips peeled back in a screech of fright. Fearless powered through the water, ignoring the lashing tails of crocodiles and the screeching of baboons from the bank, and grabbed Mud’s scruff gently in his jaws.
The baboon was fighting, and Fearless’s head was yanked underwater with him. When he came back up, he saw why Mud was struggling—and why he couldn’t move him.
Mud’s leg was caught in a crocodile’s jaws.
Horror shot through Fearless. Letting go of Mud, he swiped at the reptile’s head, snarling and clawing. The crocodile only glared at him, its savage pointed teeth still buried in Mud’s flesh. Fearless realized there was no way he could shift those massive, powerful jaws, or drag Mud away without leaving his leg behind. Gasping for breath, he lunged again, this time scratching wildly at the crocodile’s eye.
The crocodile shook its head violently, making Mud yelp and splutter with pain. Its eye. That worked!
Finding purchase for his hind paws against the reptile’s scaly flank, Fearless lashed out again, roaring. He felt a claw catch in the beast’s eyelid; it grunted and snapped back its head, releasing Mud.
Fearless had no intention of hanging around for a fight, and he certainly didn’t have time to make sure that Mud was alive. He seized the baboon once more in his jaws and paddled as hard as he could for the muddy bank. He’d been swept downstream, out of sight of the other baboons, but he didn’t dare try to swim back to them. I have to get out of the water!
Dripping, Fearless scrambled ashore and sprinted away from the excited crocodiles. They were still in pursuit, running surprisingly fast on their stum
py legs, and when he glanced over his shoulder he felt his heart lurch. He bolted for the forest, trying to veer as far from the riverbank as he could.
I can’t wait for Thorn. He’ll have to head for the narrow crossing farther downstream, where there aren’t any crocodiles.
Fearless bounded on, Mud hanging limply in his jaws. He didn’t dare look back until he was certain the sounds of pursuit had faded. At last he risked another glance over his shoulder, and realized the crocodiles were no longer behind him. His lungs aching, his muscles burning, Fearless slowed to a trot. Not until the narrow crossing came in sight, and he felt it was safe to halt, did he lay Mud’s limp body gently on the ground.
Sure enough, Thorn was racing across the smooth river-rocks toward him, leaping from one to another until he was back on the bank. His eyes were wide and white-rimmed with fear, and he threw himself on Mud, rocking him gently. “Mud! Mud!”
“A croc had him,” gasped Fearless, panting. “It bit his leg.”
Carefully, his paws trembling, Thorn turned his friend over, and they both took a horrified breath. Mud’s leg was bleeding from a bad tear, fur ripped.
“Is he . . . is he . . .” Fearless couldn’t say the word.
“I don’t think so. Oh, Great Spirit, I hope he’s—” Thorn gave his friend a cautious shake. “Breathe, Mud!”
Mud gave a sharp, rasping cough, and his eyes blinked open.
“Mud!” they chorused together.
“You’re alive,” huffed Fearless, weak with relief.
“Thank you,” mumbled Mud, spitting out river water. “Thank you, thank you.”
“Yes, thank you.” Hugging Mud close, Thorn turned toward Fearless. “If it hadn’t been for you, Mud would have died!”
Fearless wasn’t calm enough even to nod in acknowledgment. “If it hadn’t been for Nut,” he snarled, “this would never have happened!”
“You’re right,” agreed Thorn. The expression on his gray-furred face was grim. “But all that can wait. Let’s get Mud home.”