“So, the man has left the Jungle,” Shere Khan drawled.
“Yes. You and I no longer have a quarrel, and most importantly,” said Akela, tilting his head down to address Shere Khan more directly, “we have peace.”
“Well,” said the tiger, “I guess it’s done, then.”
And just like that, Shere Khan leapt down and took three steps away. Raksha could sense Akela and the others relax, but something wouldn’t allow her to do the same.
“Unless I can draw him back out…”
Suddenly, Shere Khan spun and launched his great body at Akela. The wolf leapt to his feet to defend himself, but it was already too late; the tiger was too fast. The sheer force of the larger animal knocked the wolf back against a rocky ledge, slamming his head into solid stone. Taking no chances, the tiger lunged at the wolf’s exposed throat. Raksha looked on in horror, and before she, or anyone else, could lift a paw, her mate, the father of her cubs, was dead in the tiger’s jaws. Their entire world had changed in less than a heartbeat.
The pack watched, frozen, as Shere Khan dropped Akela over the edge of Council Rock. His lifeless body plummeted to the cold, hard ground below and the vultures quickly seized the moment, diving for their feast.
All around Raksha the other wolves retreated to their caves, scattering to hide and mourn. The fear was palpable. Raksha could taste it, but she still didn’t move. She watched the tiger, an impostor standing atop Council Rock, now red with Akela’s blood, clean his teeth with his tongue and address her people.
“HAVE I GOT YOUR ATTENTION NOW?” roared the tiger. “I didn’t want it to be this way. I made it so simple. All I asked was for one thing, and you denied me.”
Raksha stared at the tiger, feeling the presence of her cubs in the den behind her, a fury burning in her breast and legs and teeth.
“Well, that ends now,” continued Shere Khan. “Spread the word: until I have the man-cub, these hills are my hills. You didn’t respond to reason; now you will know fear.”
The tiger lay down, satisfied, and began to clean his coat, his giant pink tongue lifting the red stain from his hide.
In the midst of her torment and rage, Raksha’s thoughts turned to Mowgli. She was glad he had not been there to witness Shere Khan’s savagery, and hoped beyond hope that he was safe.
INSIDE THE DARK, a sliver of light found Mowgli’s face.
It crept slowly and warmly over his cheek and up to his eye, waking him. Mowgli sat up, his left hand bracing him as he wiped his eye with the meat of his right. He turned his head side to side, trying to make out his surroundings—a cave.
Mowgli jumped to a crouch, balls of his feet planted firm, ready to move at a moment’s notice. His finely tuned senses waited for a subtle shift in the shadows or a tiny noise in the dark. What he did hear was weird, like a bird calling from the belly of a tree.
The man-cub barely had time to register just how strange that warbling was before he caught sight of movement just to his right; there was something in the cave with Mowgli. Something big and furry. Something that was chewing.
Then Mowgli’s stomach growled, loud and gurgly, giving away his position.
The chewing sound stopped suddenly and a big furry paw came out of the shadows into the light, offering a berry branch.
It was a bear—a bear easily six times Mowgli’s size.
“Hey there,” said the bear, his mouth full. “Hungry?”
Mowgli yelled and leapt backward against the cave wall, legs kicking at the floor.
The gargantuan bear was a mottled brown and very heavy, though it was hard to tell what was fur and what was bear beneath his great coat. His warm brown eyes looked out intelligently across a long black snout, one smeared with liberal amounts of berry juice. He didn’t seem to mind. He pulled back the berry branch he had offered to his visitor and looked it over, running it under his dark wet nose, inspecting it, hunting for some clue to explain Mowgli’s extreme reaction.
“Get away from me!” hollered Mowgli.
“So it talks. How about that?” said the bear, who’d gone back to eating. He seemed much more interested in the food than in the man-cub. Once he was done picking the branch clean of anything edible, the bear lazily turned his body and put his large nose in Mowgli’s face.
Without thinking, Mowgli smacked the bear on the nose.
“Ow,” hooted the bear, rubbing his face.
“You better not eat me,” warned Mowgli, trying to scale the cave wall. He climbed and clambered, but it was useless. Mowgli slumped down onto his haunches, keeping his arms up just in case the bear tried to get close again.
“I’m not gonna eat you, kid,” said the bear. “I don’t eat monkeys.”
“I’m not a monkey,” Mowgli said, offended.
The bear scratched his chest, raising his brow.
“You’re not?”
“No,” said Mowgli, standing up.
“Oh. Well, you look like a monkey,” said the bear.
Faster than he should have been able to, the bear moved closer to Mowgli again, backing him all the way up against the cave wall, sniffing at him.
“Long arms, little tuft of hair,” said the bear. Then he took a big sniff and scrunched up his nose, cringing. “Oooh, you sure smell like a monkey.”
“What is wrong with you?”
Mowgli pushed the bear away and quickly slipped under his arm and into another corner of the cave.
“Hey, hey, settle down, would you, kid?” said the bear. “There’s no need to get all worked up.”
“Where am I?” demanded Mowgli.
“My cave. Lucky for you,” said the bear. He stared at Mowgli for a moment.
Mowgli scowled back at him. “What?”
“Don’t you remember what happened?” asked the bear.
Mowgli crossed his arms. Are all bears this dumb? he thought. “No…”
The bear smiled proudly, closing his eyes.
“Well, I saved your life, that’s what,” said the bear. “Snatched you right outta the jaws of death!”
The bear moved his giant clawed paws in the air as he told his story.
“Or coils of death was maybe more like it. That python had you all wrapped up, son. Lucky for you, ol’ Baloo was passing by.”
The bear put his paws on his hips and pushed out his chest.
“Who’s Baloo?” asked Mowgli.
“He’s the bear,” explained Baloo, deflating instantly. “I mean, me, Baloo is me. I’m Baloo.”
Baloo the bear produced another berry branch seemingly out of nowhere and offered it to Mowgli.
“You sure you’re not hungry?” asked the bear. “These berries are tasty enough to make a grown bear weep.”
“No!” said Mowgli. He folded his arms and kicked the branch away.
Suddenly, the bear sat up straighter, mouth hanging open. He snatched the branch back and held it close to his chest.
“Hey, monkey,” said Baloo. “There’s no need to be rude….”
“I told you, I am not a monkey!” said Mowgli, standing.
“Fine, you’re not a monkey,” said Baloo, chewing. “And neither am I last time I checked. No monkeys in the house. Okay? Just tell me this. Can you climb?”
Mowgli scrunched up his nose at the bear.
“Yeah,” said Mowgli. “I can climb.”
Baloo got to his feet and made his way out of the cave. Mowgli moved out of his path.
“Good,” said Baloo. “Then let’s stop wasting time and get to it.”
“Get to what?” asked Mowgli.
Baloo turned and smiled, his giant teeth gleaming in the low light.
“Payback, kid. Payback.”
IT OCCURRED to Mowgli that Bagheera probably wouldn’t approve of his spending time with this big lazy bear, and that helped Mowgli make up his mind rather quickly.
As fast as his little legs could carry him, Mowgli was following Baloo into the Jungle, which was buzzing and breathing, drinking in the morning as i
t woke.
Mowgli took two steps for every one of the bear’s, enjoying the sights around him. Picking the occasional berry from the packed bushes as he passed them, he could hear a river mumbling quietly nearby. Sunlight bounced from leaf to blossom and back again, filling the air with pollen and color.
“What do you mean, ‘payback’?” asked Mowgli. “Payback for what?” He wiped his juice-covered chin with the back of his hand.
“The Third Law of the Jungle clearly states that when someone helps you,” explained Baloo, who was still chewing berries, “you gotta help them back.”
In front of them stood a great cliff, rising high above their heads and blocking out the morning light. Baloo walked right up to the cliff face and stuck his paw against a trail of moisture coming down the rock. When he pulled his paw back, it was covered in honey.
Baloo licked the liquid in great goopy gulps. His closed eyelids fluttered and the corners of his mouth turned up.
Mowgli licked his lips. He hadn’t had honey since he was very small. He put his hand in the honey trail, pulled it right back out, and licked his fingertips.
The man-cub was starting to enjoy all the eating that came along with being in this bear’s company.
“I never heard that law before,” said Mowgli.
“Well, now you have, so pay attention,” said Baloo, licking his lips. “You see this lovely golden honey? Now if you look way, way up, there’s a whole stash of this. Right there. And there. And there.”
Baloo pointed his dripping paw as he spoke, up toward the top of the cliff.
Mowgli craned his head up. Up and up. Then higher. And higher, till his neck was sore. At the very top of the cliff was a large crack in the wall. And in and out of the crack flew enormous bees. As soon as he saw them, he could hear them buzzing as if they were in his head, the sound of their fast-beating wings flowing down the cliff with the river of honey.
Baloo stepped back, putting his paws on his hips. Then he sat down with an ungraceful plop and scratched at his chin. Mowgli could smell the sweet honey still on the bear’s breath.
“So all I need you to do is shimmy on up there and get me some of it.”
Mowgli’s face dropped.
“You’re kidding me.”
Baloo closed his eyes, lowered his head, and placed a paw to his chest.
“Ordinarily, I’d do it myself…” said the bear.
“You saved my life so I could steal you some honey?”
Baloo smiled.
“Something like that, yeah.”
“No way,” said Mowgli.
Suddenly, Baloo was on his feet again. He really could move fast. When he wanted to, anyway.
“Why not?” asked Baloo. “You can do it. I know you can.”
“No, I can’t,” said Mowgli. “Not without…”
Mowgli hesitated, his thoughts drifting back to Akela, Raksha, and Bagheera. They had told him not to.
“Not without what?” pressed Baloo.
Mowgli sighed.
“Not without my tricks,” he admitted. “I’m not supposed to use them in the Jungle.”
Baloo grabbed the sides of Mowgli’s head, almost laughing as he spoke. “What? That’s crazy! If you’ve got tricks, use ’em! That’s what I say!”
Mowgli pulled away from Baloo’s paws.
“I can’t.”
Or could he? Mowgli felt torn inside. Like a vine that had been pulled in too many directions. He walked away from Baloo.
Even out there, so far from home and those who had always told him what to do, his life was still determined by their rules and laws. Everywhere he went it was their Jungle, and never his. They told his story for him, stealing it from his mouth and his heart.
Baloo followed the man-cub, almost running to catch up.
“Kid, try to understand. I’m a bear,” said Baloo, “which means I’ve gotta eat my weight every day for, uh, um, hibernation purposes….”
Baloo had seemed to lose his tongue, but it was enough to make Mowgli pause mid-mope.
He turned and looked at the bear.
Baloo stepped closer, lowering his large head again but keeping his eyes on Mowgli’s.
“Look, I know I’m asking for a lot,” pleaded Baloo, “but I really need your help. Winter’s coming.”
Baloo patted his large belly.
“I’m not gonna make it, kid,” said Baloo, making his bottom lip quiver as best he could. “Whattaya say?”
Mowgli looked from Baloo to the bees high in the cliff, then back to the bear. The man-cub considered. Maybe it was time to start telling his own story.
MOWGLI WAS MAKING something.
Baloo tried to peek over the kid’s shoulder to get a better look, shifting back and forth quickly from foot to foot, but Mowgli moved to block his view.
“How much longer is this gonna take?” asked the bear.
Baloo’s stomach grumbled. Loudly. Birds in nearby trees were startled by the sound and took to the air.
“You want your honey or not?” asked Mowgli.
“I do, but can’t you pick it up a little? I’m starving.”
Mowgli moved again, turning to reveal a group of vines he had braided together to make one longer, thicker vine. Baloo had never seen anything like it before.
“‘Starving’? You just ate all those berries,” said Mowgli.
“I got a fast metabolism,” said the bear.
Mowgli pulled a tree branch from its trunk, snapping it clean away, and began fashioning some kind of weapon with it. To Baloo, it looked like a long tooth, one end pointed and serious.
“Hey, kid. I hate to keep bringing this up, but I did save your life.”
Mowgli threw the length of wrapped vines over his shoulder and across his chest. He planted his tooth-stick in the ground and cocked his hip.
“I’m ready,” said Mowgli.
“What is all that?” asked Baloo.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Mowgli.
“You need any help?”
“Nope,” said Mowgli. “Just stay out of my way.”
Mowgli marched past the bear, determined.
“That I can do, little brother,” said Baloo, smiling a bit. “That I can do.”
Baloo saw that something about the little monkey-not-a-monkey had changed. Something he couldn’t quite put his paw on, but he liked it.
Mowgli was a spider, dangling from a handmade silk line.
The rope he’d fashioned from vines was working. He’d been nervous at first, but with one end of the rope around his arm, the other end tied firmly to a tree above, and his spear attached to his back, Mowgli had gone from scared to thrilled. His trick was working.
He lowered himself from the top of the cliff until he was level with the first opening in the cliff side and he could see the honeycomb. He used his feet to maneuver against the rock face, stepping cautiously and keeping a careful distance from the humming honeybees. Mowgli looked down and saw Baloo.
The man-cub knew what he was doing was very dangerous; it was a long way down and the honeycomb was well guarded, but none of that bothered the bear, who was too busy scratching his huge bottom against the nearest tree to worry. Mowgli was doing all the work for him.
“You’re doing great, kid!” said Baloo. “Far as I can tell, anyway….”
“There’s a hive up here, all right.” Mowgli grimaced as a rather large bee buzzed by, inspecting him before quickly moving along.
Baloo made satisfied growls as he leaned against another tree and scratched his back up and down.
“Describe it for me,” said Baloo, licking his lips. “Talk slow. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Well,” said Mowgli, “there’s a lotta bees here….”
Another two bees flew past Mowgli’s ears. Then a third. They were getting more curious about their new visitor. Mowgli felt sweat break out on his brow.
“Don’t worry,” said Baloo. “They don’t sting.”
“Ow!” said Mowgli.
A bee had stung him.
“Except the females. They sting. A lot.”
Mowgli decided he’d better hurry this along. He took his spear and poked the honeycomb, swatting at it and the bees that were now circling him.
Below, some scavengers trotted out of the foliage and made their way toward Baloo, the hornbill leading the way, squawking at nothing in particular. The pangolin and the giant squirrel padded behind.
They squinted at the monkey hanging from the vine and poking at the honeycomb in the cliff.
“Hey, Baloo,” said the pangolin, unsuccessfully attempting to scratch himself with his exceedingly short claw.
“Hey, fellas,” said Baloo, not taking his eyes from Mowgli.
“Who’s the monkey?” asked the giant squirrel.
“Man-cub,” corrected Baloo. “I’m, uh, training him.”
Mowgli was stung again, hard. He instinctively recoiled, losing his balance. He slipped, howled, then grabbed hold of his vine rope just in time.
“Looks like you got your work cut out for you,” observed the pangolin.
“Yeah?” Baloo scowled at the pangolin. “Looks like you got a pointy face, so mind your own beeswax and let me tend to mine.”
“Okay, Mr. Sensitive…” said the pangolin, half curling into a ball.
Above, Mowgli was swinging in the air and making war with the bees.
“Ow. Ow. Ow,” said Mowgli. The bees were winning.
The hornbill landed on a branch near Mowgli and squawked loudly.
Mowgli swung at him with the stick.
“Get away, noisy bird! Ow! Ow!” said Mowgli, getting stung a few more times.
“Everything okay up there?” asked Baloo from below.
“I’m—ow—getting—ow—stung—ow!”
“That sounds about right,” said the giant squirrel.
“Stay with it, kid!” hollered Baloo. “Don’t let that get you down!”
“Down is right,” added the giant squirrel.
Mowgli ignored them and the bees, using his toes to grab the edge of the cliff where the honeycomb was waiting. He pulled tight on the vine rope and arched his back, slowly straining his body forward over the edge and onto the relative safety of the ledge. He let go of the rope, stood up on the ledge, and was instantly swarmed by bees.
The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack Page 5