by Erin Hunter
The big maned lion and the six cheetahs faced one another, lips drawn back from bared fangs. The smaller elephant gave a dismayed gasp.
This meeting is falling apart before it even starts! thought Fearless.
“Loyal, it’s all right.” He nudged his friend’s shoulder. “You can leave me.”
“Absolutely not.” Loyal didn’t take his eyes off Fleet.
“Loyal,” rumbled Great Mother, “I am here to make sure nothing goes wrong. Nothing untoward will happen in my presence, I promise you.”
“Loyal.” Fearless butted his head urgently against the older lion’s maned neck. “This is my only chance to save my mother.”
“It might be your chance to get stomped. And even if you can put your faith in the elephant, how do you know the cheetahs won’t betray her trust?”
“Loyal, please. Let me do this alone. I’ll be all right.”
A low snarl rumbled in Loyal’s throat. But at last he said: “Fine. This time.” He glared up at Great Mother. “But make sure nothing happens to Fearless. And you”—he glared at Fleet—“my friend is to come to no harm, do you understand?”
Fleet curled his lip. “Lions may not respect the Spirit of the Bravelands. But cheetahs keep their word.”
Fearless was relieved the impasse had been broken, but he couldn’t help feeling a twinge of worry as Loyal padded off across the plain. I hope I’m not making a big mistake.
The cheetahs rose and slunk forward, forming a circle around him. They’d looked small next to Loyal—but now that he was facing them alone, Fearless realized the leader, Fleet, was actually a little taller than him. Despite the looming figure of Great Mother, he couldn’t help his fur rising with nerves. Not only that, but I’m seriously outnumbered.
“Well then,” growled Fleet. “What do you have to say, cub?”
Fearless coughed, to clear his throat and steady his voice. “Listen to me. All predators in Bravelands are hungry. I know of a food source—a good, plentiful one—that Titan isn’t aware of. I can tell you where it is, and you can catch as much prey as you like without interference from Titanpride.” He took a deep breath. “But I’ll only tell you if you return Ruthless to me.”
Fleet exchanged an incredulous look with Lightning, and all six cheetahs gave chirping, mocking laughs. “And how would you—a little furball—know of this, if Titanpride does not?”
“I’m not in Titanpride!” said Fearless, his hackles rising. “I left when Titan killed my father Gallant! I was brought up by baboons—and it was one of them who told me about this place. You know how smart and cunning baboons are!”
Fleet narrowed his eyes and muttered something to a cheetah on his left. “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” he growled. “A lion raised by baboons?”
“This much is true,” said Great Mother. “I cannot vouch for the lion’s claims about prey, but that he was raised by baboons is a fact.”
Fearless wondered how she could know such a thing, but decided it wasn’t wise to interrupt. The cheetahs had drawn aside into a tight cluster by themselves now, mewling and murmuring, their voices skeptical.
Fearless realized he was holding his breath. This has to work. They have to believe me.
His hide tingled, and he started a little as he realized the smaller elephant, Sky, had come to stand at his flank.
“I think you spoke well,” she whispered to him shyly.
He blinked up at her, too surprised to answer. By the time he had recovered his composure, the cheetahs were stalking back toward them in the darkening evening.
“Very well,” mewled Fleet. “You have a deal, lion—so long as no other lions are involved.”
The wave of relief was dizzying. Fearless’s heart thumped with nervous excitement. “I appreciate your trust—and I promise, there won’t be any more lions.”
“So?” Fleet tilted his elegant head. “Where is this mysterious source of prey?”
“It’s a ravine I know,” Fearless told them excitedly. “My friend the baboon found it. It’s far from where Titanpride hunts. A herd of gazelles grazes there. There are two narrow entrances—the herd can be surrounded and trapped!”
All the cheetahs were leaning forward now, a hungry, eager look in their eyes.
“Take us there,” purred Fleet.
Fearless nodded and turned to Great Mother. “Thank you,” he murmured. “This means a great deal to me.”
She nodded her massive head. Then she raised her trunk and trumpeted a warning.
“Remember!” Her deep voice rang and echoed, making Fearless’s fur rise at the roots. “Both sides must keep to their word.”
“Of course.” Fearless dipped his head to her, then turned to nod to the younger elephant. Sky flapped her ears in delight.
“I knew you’d persuade them,” she whispered happily.
He nodded, amused, then turned and led the cheetahs in the direction of the ravine Thorn had shown him. Night had fallen completely now; the savannah was alive with chirruping crickets, the rustle of small creatures in the grass, and the distant, eerie cries of jackals.
It felt uncomfortable walking ahead of the cheetah coalition. His rump tingled, but Fearless was determined not to betray his nerves by glancing over his shoulder. He knew they were still behind him, though their paws were light and silent; he could hear their murmuring voices now and again.
They’d been going some time, far from safety and the Lightning Tree, when one of them hissed, “Why aren’t we just eating the lion? He’s little. We could take him.”
“Shut up, Bolt,” growled Fleet. “We made an agreement.”
“And we follow the Great Mother,” came Lightning’s grave voice. “We’re better than lions.”
Fearless rolled his eyes in the moonlit darkness. He was tired of hearing other creatures’ poor opinion of lions. Why should he be judged by the standards of a lion like Titan? It wasn’t fair or just, and—there!
Only a few pawsteps ahead, the ground rose up in a tumble of rocks; the hint of a gash of darkest shadow was just visible beyond it. The secret ravine. Fearless swallowed the retort he’d been preparing to the cheetahs’ bad manners.
“We’re here.” He kept his growl very low.
“I don’t see anything,” mewled Bolt.
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” snapped Fearless. “You’ll see it once you’re up there. This is the main path down—you can just make it out, where the kopje rises. Near the top you’ll see the rocks divide—that’s where the path is.”
“And the other end?” chirped Bolt. “You said we could trap the herd in an ambush.”
“Follow the edge of the ravine southward, and you’ll come to the far entrance. You really can’t see the whole valley from up here. It’s well hidden, just by the lie of the land.”
“Good.” Fleet nodded in satisfaction. “The moon is full, but if your ravine is deep, there may not be enough light. Probably we won’t hunt until just before dawn is breaking. If the gazelles are here as you promised, we’ll bring the cub to the Lightning Tree at sunrise.”
It was the unspoken words that made Fearless’s throat dry. What if the gazelles have somehow vanished? What happens to Ruthless then?
He watched the cheetahs’ pale, slender rumps vanish into the darkness. The night closed in around him, its sounds seeming suddenly very loud and unnerving. He jumped as a nighthawk screamed.
Relax, Fearless. This will work. He turned and began to pad back across the grasslands toward the Lightning Tree.
All he had to do was wait.
The sky was paling, a gray dawn that slowly revealed the details of the land: the distant mountains, the gash of a river, the splashes of dark forest, and the lonely, distinctive streaks of acacias. Fearless hadn’t slept; he sat on his haunches beneath the Lightning Tree, peering out anxiously across the plain. As Bravelands lightened further, colors began to seep into the landscape: the mountain silhouettes became blue, greenness seeped into forest and tree, and the
savannah itself turned pale, ghostly silver.
Dazzling sunlight spilled across the horizon; indistinct shapes moved in the grass. Fearless rose to his paws.
It’s them!
The six cheetahs paced toward him, their muzzles drenched in blood. They walked in a loose pointed formation, and in the middle of their group a small tawny shape trotted to keep up.
“Ruthless!” Fearless loped toward the cheetahs.
“You kept your word,” mewled Fleet. Turning, he nudged the little cub toward Fearless.
Ruthless looked unharmed, if a little nervous. He sniffed uncertainly at Fearless and came to a halt. “Who are you?”
“I’m a . . . a lion of Titanpride.” It stuck in his craw, but it was the only way to convince the cub. Fearless lowered his muzzle. “I rejoined the pride recently. I’m going to take you back to your mother and father.”
“Oh!” squeaked Ruthless. “Thanks! The cheetahs were all right, but I miss my mother.”
“I expect you do.” Fearless nuzzled him gently. “Come on—”
But the cheetahs had gone still, sniffing the air. Bolt gave a low, warning growl.
“There’s another lion here!” he snarled furiously.
What? “No, that’s not—” Fearless began.
“Yes!” hissed Fleet. “We smell it! I told you, lion—no deal if any other lions showed up!”
“It’s a trap!” bleated Lightning, giving short, sharp cries of alarm.
“It isn’t, I swear by the Great Mother. My friend Loyal went back to our den! I—”
A great, muscled, tawny shape rose up from the grass at the other side of the tree. The lion was fully maned and badly scarred, and his ear was torn. He paced toward them, muzzle curled in a contemptuous snarl.
“Cunning!” gasped Fearless.
Bolt darted forward before Fearless could even move. He snatched up Ruthless by the scruff of his neck and sprinted back to his friends.
“Cunning!” roared Fearless, his frustration erupting into red rage. “You’ve ruined everything!” Titan’s going to kill my mother and me, and it’s his fault!
“No mangy half-grown prideless lion is going to get the credit for saving Ruthless,” snarled Cunning, stalking menacingly forward. “I’ll take the cub. Give him to me!”
“Don’t, you fool!” bellowed Fearless.
But Cunning ignored him. The huge lion sprang toward the cheetahs, landing with an earth-shaking crunch over Fleet and sinking his jaws into the slender cat’s neck.
Maybe he’d expected the rest of the coalition to run; he barely spared them a scornful glance. But he’d clearly misjudged them, Fearless realized: the other five cheetahs gave a united, screeching snarl and flung themselves at the lion.
Fearless saw a moment of shock light the big lion’s eyes as he glanced up; then he was buried under a biting, clawing mass of cheetahs. Lithe and fast as snakes, they clung and crawled over his body, ripping and mauling with savage claws and teeth. Cunning gave a bellow of agony, tottering as he tried to rise. A cheetah hung from his throat by its jaws.
Cunning swayed wildly, and the cheetah at his throat lashed its claws at his eyes. Flinching, the lion overbalanced and crashed to the ground, sending up a great cloud of red dust.
It’s over, thought Fearless, staring in horror. He won’t get up again. And he was right: Cunning’s paws flailed a few more times, and he gave sharp grunts of pain, but his struggles grew feebler, until at last the great lion went limp.
The cheetahs sprang off his bloodied corpse. Cunning lay lifeless, blood soaking into the earth from a ragged gash in his throat.
Fleet hauled himself to his paws, his face twisted in rage, his neck streaked darkly with his own blood. He shook himself, hissing. Lightning licked carefully at his blood-soaked fur.
“The deal is off,” Fleet snarled, as his coalition bleated and hissed their fury around him.
“What? What’s happening?” whined Ruthless.
“But that wasn’t my fault!” roared Fearless in desperation. “I didn’t know Cunning was there!”
“So you say,” spat Bolt. He snatched up Ruthless by the scruff and sprinted away with the other five behind him.
“No!” Fearless pounded after them. “No, you can’t do this!”
Panic rising hot in his throat, he bounded after the cheetahs, not even caring when he saw them glance back, slow, and stop. He raced right into the middle of the hostile circle and turned, frantic, finding Fleet’s cold amber eyes.
“You can get away now,” snarled Fleet. “One chance, lion. Only kill to survive. Attack if you like, but we won’t be breaking the Code when we kill you.”
“Help!” cried Ruthless. “Don’t let them take me!”
Fearless panted harshly, his flanks heaving. “Without that cub, I’m dead anyway,” he growled bitterly. “I might as well take you all with me.”
Bunching his haunches, he opened his jaws and prepared to spring at Fleet’s throat.
He hadn’t even left the ground when a heavy, muscled body slammed into him. That’s no cheetah! He gasped as a big, familiar lion rolled him over, knocking him onto his back and pinning him down with huge paws.
“Loyal!” he rasped. “What are you doing?”
“Saving your idiot hide.” Drawing back his muzzle and baring his teeth, Loyal turned his head to Fleet. “I’ll make sure this youngster keeps the Code,” he snarled.
“Let me go—Loyal, let me go!”
But Loyal ignored him. Fleet nodded once, then turned and led his coalition at a loping run toward a dense, sprawling woodland of chestnuts, kigelias, and stinkwood trees. Ruthless—the cub who could have saved Fearless’s life, and his mother’s—vanished into the shadows with them, gripped in Bolt’s jaws.
For what seemed like an age, Fearless struggled helplessly. They’re getting away! There’s no time! But the weight and strength of the bigger lion were remorseless; he couldn’t shift him.
At last, when he had to accept the cheetahs would be long gone, Fearless gave up and lay limp, panting in despair. Releasing him, Loyal stepped back.
“Loyal! How could you?” Leaping to his paws, Fearless roared in frustration and bared his fangs. “I’ll never get Ruthless back now! What if they . . . kill him?”
“They won’t,” growled Loyal, glaring at him. “You should be thanking me. It was Cunning who messed up your plan—and if I hadn’t stayed nearby to keep an eye on you, you’d be dead like him.”
Silenced by his friend’s pitiless reasoning, Fearless could only stare, sucking breaths into his lungs.
Loyal’s gaze softened. “Look, your plan was a good one,” he said gruffly. “I see that now. If Cunning hadn’t ruined everything, you’d be taking that cub back to Titan and Artful right now.”
Fearless blinked slowly, letting his head hang down. “You’re right,” he panted at last. “You’re right. Thank you. I wasn’t even thinking straight when I went for the cheetahs. But I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Don’t give up hope.” Loyal gave his muzzle a consoling lick. “You have until dusk. Come on, Fearless! You were smart enough to think of your first plan—now think of another. What would your baboon friends do now?”
Fearless stiffened, feeling the tiniest spark of rekindled hope. “The forest. The cheetahs went into the trees.”
“And lions may not know the tricks of the forest . . .” said Loyal thoughtfully.
Fearless felt a drop of hope. “But baboons do!”
CHAPTER 21
The Crown Stone stood empty. The Council waited solemnly nearby, but this time, as the troop gathered in the glade, there was little sense of excitement or anticipation. Grub Crownleaf’s death had been too awful, thought Thorn: too shocking and too sudden. His death came so soon after Bark’s. It’s not right. And the troop had accepted Bark’s death, thinking it had been an honorable one, in defense of the troop.
Not Grub’s. His death was cold-blooded murder, and everyone knows it.
He wondered if it was time that they knew the truth about Bark’s death too.
But when he glanced at Stinger, the older baboon looked calm and still. There was no hint in his face that he was about to reveal that appalling secret. He’s right, Thorn told himself reluctantly. Things are bad enough as it is.
Besides, Nut had gone, and they’d surely never see him again. He’d die a lonely death, shunned, in the depths of the forest. Or a flesh-eater would get him.
There were no excited whoops, and if babies yelped or chittered, their mothers shushed them at once. Around him, Thorn heard mutterings of shock, fear, and suspicion. He could see Mud on the other side of the glade; the little baboon hunched miserably next to his mother. Berry, crouched next to Thorn, gave an anxious, mournful hoot as she watched her father. This wasn’t just a solemn occasion; it was dark and unhappy.
Beetle shuffled forward. He looked older and more drawn than ever.
“The vote for our new Crownleaf,” he said, and cleared his throat. “The vote will take place immediately . . . as tradition demands. . . .” His voice was cracked and hoarse. He’s stunned, Thorn realized. He’s having trouble saying the traditional words. “I r-remind the troop that only Highleaf baboons may p-put themselves forward. Any . . . any of you who wish, please speak now, and address Brightforest Troop”—his voice faded—“from the Crown Stone.”
For a hideous moment, Thorn thought no baboon was going to step forward. The Highleaves were all glancing at one another, their faces wretched. The glade was hushed except for the whimpers of one tiny baby and the gentle rustling of the leaves in the canopy overhead.
There was movement among the Highleaves, and Thorn saw that Berry was muttering in her father’s ear. He shook his head, but she pushed him forward. Stinger looked back, then reluctantly padded forward to stand by the Crown Stone.
“Brightforest Troop,” he began, his voice quiet and solemn. “Last time you chose Grub, and he won your trust fairly. I am more saddened than I can say that he never had a chance to achieve his full potential as a leader of baboons.”