The Strength of the Wolf is the Pack

by Scott Peterson

  BESIDE THE ROILING RIVER, the battle raged.

  Baloo and Shere Khan reared up on their hind legs as they traded ferocious blows, with Gray and his brothers snapping at the tiger’s exposed flanks.

  Shere Khan caught Baloo under the chin with his razor-sharp claws, sending him sprawling. Bleeding profusely, the ravaged bear fell back, his vision blurring, darkness closing in around him.

  Bagheera, nostrils flaring, raced across the bloodstained ground to attack.

  Shere Khan lunged sideways, away from the wolves, throwing his entire weight against a rocky outcropping to knock one from his back. Nearly crushed against the rocks and momentarily stunned, the wolf would be an easy target for the savage orange-and-black beast above him.

  Bright eyes flashing with fury, Bagheera struck with full force, knocking Shere Khan off his feet, and they tumbled across the ground, flailing and swiping and clawing at each other. A wolf lieutenant fearlessly leapt between the two to help, but his interference worked to Shere Khan’s advantage. The tiger used his mighty hind legs, stabbing his fierce claws into the wolf and hurling him like a stone into Bagheera, knocking the panther back.

  Shere Khan leapt to his feet and whirled as Raksha raced toward him, leading her grown cubs in a coordinated attack, Gray right behind them, determined to help. The frightful tiger rose up again, towering over them. Barking, snapping, snarling, they leapt onto his exposed underside, knocking him back and into the rushing waters of the river.

  The great striped beast thrashed wildly, sending arcs of river water flying with each swipe of his paws. Shere Khan’s left arm caught Gray behind the head, lifting him clean out of the water and hurling him halfway to shore.

  The pangolin and the giant squirrel dove into the water, rushing to Gray’s aid. Together, they pushed and pulled him onto dry land. The wolf pup was alive, but he would fight no more that day.

  In the river, Shere Khan’s focus was on Raksha, the one who had so long denied him his due. She dodged and darted through the water, inflicting damage every place she could by tooth or by claw while avoiding his powerful blows. Then she latched on to the tiger’s belly and refused to let go, even as he plunged them both into the water, her dark fur disappearing in the blackness beneath the surface. She dug her claws deeper and held her breath as long as she could, only releasing when her lungs screamed for air.

  Shere Khan roared savagely and lunged at Raksha. Mowgli’s mother bared her teeth, ready to do as much damage as she could before the end.

  Bagheera leapt onto Shere Khan from the side, knocking him away seconds before he could take Raksha’s life. Together they plunged, bucking and twisting, back into the river.

  With everyone else wounded or debilitated, it was down to those two longtime enemies, battling beneath the water’s surface. Shere Khan relished the rematch as he wrapped his mighty arms around the panther, digging his claws into his dark haunches in a deadly embrace. With lightning speed, Bagheera raked a forepaw across the brute’s neck, missing his jugular but digging in where the cat had been severely burned so many years before.

  Shere Khan recoiled, his shrill scream smothered by the river water, and Bagheera broke free and launched himself to the surface.

  The tiger erupted from the water like a geyser, landing powerful blows on Bagheera, rending flesh from his dark hide. The two ferocious predators slashed and splashed through the river, tumbling up onto the shoreline.

  Bagheera hit the ground hard and winced in pain as one of his ribs cracked. Shere Khan sensed his opponent’s injury and exploited it, slashing Bagheera across the face, opening red ribbons above and below his eye.

  “You are no match for me,” Shere Khan roared, his voice rumbling like thunder, his soul consumed with hatred. “I am bigger. I am faster. I am stronger. I am Shere Khan.”

  Bagheera snarled and pounced on his larger adversary yet again.

  Shere Khan was right. He was the more formidable opponent, but Bagheera was the most tenacious adversary the tiger had ever faced. In the pit of his stomach, Bagheera felt the beginnings of fear seeping in.

  Digging his claws into the wet earth beside the river, Shere Khan flung mud into the panther’s eyes, blinding him, and attacked. The striped beast knocked Bagheera onto his back and quickly pinned him.

  “You never should have stood up for the man-cub,” the tiger howled, his lips pulled back in a snarl, flecks of saliva flying from his mouth. “And now you’ll pay for it in blood.”

  Shere Khan stretched his hideous jaws wide, his lips pulled back to expose the deadly curve of his canines, and lunged for Bagheera’s neck.

  Suddenly, Shere Khan let out a high-pitched whine of surprise and pain as he felt himself being lifted into the air like a cub. It was Baloo, using all of his strength and momentum to come up and under the loathsome tiger, hurling him away from Bagheera.

  “Not today,” Baloo wheezed, stumbling from the effort; it had taken all he had left.

  Shere Khan hit the ground hard, rolled swiftly back onto his feet, and wheeled to face his foes. One by one, he had defeated them and thrown them to the wind. Surely now they could see who truly ruled the Jungle.

  But what Shere Khan rose to see was not an enemy in retreat but an army emboldened and standing together. Where only the panther, the bear, and the wolves had stood against him, now others were stepping forward.

  Bison, rhinos, nilgais, and bucks joined the weary Bagheera and Baloo. Egrets, deer, wild pigs, and crocodiles stood shoulder to shoulder. The scavenging pangolin, pygmy hog, hornbill, and giant squirrel stepped forward. Even the vultures that had benefited so richly from Shere Khan’s hunt had switched sides. They all stood for the man-cub, despite the fiery destruction he had brought to the Jungle, still roaring in the distance.

  “This is a waste of my time,” the tiger snarled spitefully, turning and running toward the Jungle. “It’s the flesh of the man-cub I desire!”

  Then the tiger was gone.

  Baloo leaned wearily against Bagheera, clearly worried. “Is he going to be okay out there?”

  Bagheera stared into the Jungle. “He’s a smart kid. Don’t underestimate him.”

  THE JUNGLE WRITHED, at the mercy of the Red Flower.

  Shadows leapt from every tree as tongues of fire lapped at the stars. The eerie orange glow through the smoke looked like the sun and the night were at war with each other, the light eating the Jungle leaf by leaf, tree by tree.

  Shere Khan stalked through the madness, hungry for the taste of man on his tongue.

  “Where are you hiding, Man-cub?” he snarled. He would find the boy no matter how long it took, but he was in no mood to wait. The hunt was over; the story was at its end. Now was the time for blood.

  Leaves fluttered down past the snarling cat and his gaze shot upward. The man-cub was darting across a branch. Fool. The trees are no sanctuary from a tiger’s rage. Mounting a fallen limb, Shere Khan flew forward, up toward his prey.

  “You can fool them; you can’t fool me,” Shere Khan taunted. “I’m the one who saw your future. I saw what you’ll become.”

  Mowgli wasn’t listening. He had too much on his mind and was not about to be pulled in by the tiger’s cunning words again. The man-cub threw himself to the next branch, careful to keep distance between him and his deadly adversary. The dance had begun.

  Beneath them, the quickly spreading fire roared over trees and brush. As Mowgli leapt to the next bending bough, dark smoke obscured his vision and choked his lungs. Shere Khan traversed the middle canopy, and he couldn’t smell the man-cub over the overpowering odor of the smoke—but Mowgli couldn’t smell the predator, either.

  The man-cub slipped behind a large tree trunk, moving as quickly as he dared. His mind flashed to his final encounter with King Louie and he realized that once again he was being hunted by a much bigger, much more ferocious adversary and hiding from the battle. But against Louie, he had been in someone else’s world, without any weapons, without any plan, without any hop
e.

  That was no longer the case.

  The tiger moved quickly, carelessly, leaping from branch to branch high above the burning Jungle floor, eager to finish it. He would have his teeth in the man-cub’s throat that night if it was the last thing he ever did.

  Mowgli sidestepped onto another branch and felt it give more than usual under his weight. He heard a cracking sound, louder and closer than the popping of the trees below. He looked down and saw, wrapped around the branch, creeper vines with figs growing from them. The branch was dead.

  “How long did you really think you’d survive against me?”

  Mowgli ducked behind the tree trunk, just out of sight, as the tiger moved past. Quickly, furtively, the boy threaded several vines together. There was no time to test his idea. He would have only one shot at it. No more childish tricks. This was for real.

  “We don’t have to fight,” Mowgli called out loudly.

  The tiger smiled. The boy’s voice had given him away. Now Shere Khan knew exactly where the man-cub was hiding.

  “Did you think I’d let you grow old?” the tiger snarled, moving ever closer.

  Mowgli stepped out of his hiding spot, readying himself. Just below, a ring of wild Red Flower bloomed around the base of the tree.

  “I don’t know why you hate me,” Mowgli replied. “But I don’t hate you, Shere Khan.” He didn’t want things to end this way. He had harbored the smallest hope that there was still a way out of it that would allow them both to survive, but there was no turning back now.

  “Words are a man’s weapon,” Shere Khan roared. “Here, let me show you mine.”

  Shere Khan leapt to a lower branch mere yards from the bough where Mowgli stood. He stared the man-cub in the eyes. He was going to enjoy this.

  The tiger was so focused he didn’t notice the boy’s feet were bound to a handmade harness of vines.

  Shere Khan leapt at Mowgli, talons out, teeth bared, and landed hard on the weak branch.

  With a mighty crack, the branch began to split from the trunk, an ever-growing fissure widening under the tiger’s full weight. In disbelief, he looked up at the boy.

  “Dead tree,” Mowgli explained calmly.

  And then the branch snapped entirely, giving way beneath them.

  They plummeted, Shere Khan flailing at Mowgli in anger and terror. Then the vine harness snapped taut, halting Mowgli’s fall.

  The once mighty tiger looked back in horror as he fell into the fire below, consumed by his own blind rage.

  And just like that, the tiger’s story ended.

  Dangling above the roaring flames, Mowgli covered his eyes with his arm, unable to look. His fear and determination, once so powerful, were both gone, replaced with sadness at the fiery sight below him.

  ALL EYES were on the inferno that had once been the Jungle.

  From the edge of the river, the animals stared anxiously into the smoky darkness with no way of knowing what was happening inside. Baloo set one of his heavy paws on Bagheera’s shoulder. The old panther’s eyes were cold and heartbroken.

  Standing alone, away from the others, Raksha stared achingly into the burning horizon, hoping against hope that she would see her son one last time. No, not hoping. With every ounce of her being, she willed her son to be alive.

  Something moved in the brush, walking toward them. The smaller animals stepped back, cowering behind the larger ones. Bagheera stood his ground. If it was Shere Khan, they would all pay for what they had done. Gray was the only one to move forward, stepping up beside his mother, feeding the small ember of hope inside him

  A black figure, coated in soot, emerged from the smoke—coughing, exhausted, and clearly human. Mowgli fell to his knees at their feet, spent.

  “Mowgli!” Raksha cried.

  She rushed to him, her heart soaring, and nuzzled his head tenderly. Gray adopted a less subtle means of expression, leaping into his brother’s arms and joyously licking the ash from his face. Despite his fatigue, Mowgli couldn’t help laughing.

  “That’s my man-cub,” Baloo cheered. “He did it!” Elated, he hugged Bagheera, who was too tired and relieved to resist. The old cat smiled at the sight of his man-cub, his Mowgli, alive.

  The rest of the pack quickly mobbed Mowgli, barking and nipping and nudging him lovingly. The joy of reuniting with the brother they feared they had lost was infectious.

  But the moment was fleeting for the man-cub as he turned to look back at the flames, a hellish sunset reflected against the dark clouds of an impending storm.

  “I did this…” he said. He might have stopped Shere Khan, but at what price?

  “Come. We have to leave,” Bagheera said gently.

  “But I brought the Red Flower here. It’s all my fault.”

  He felt no sense of victory at defeating Shere Khan, no elation at having protected the others from his rage. He felt only shame. Shame and regret.

  “It’s all my fault,” he said again.

  Before anyone could respond, the ground beneath their feet began to tremble. The rumble of breaking branches and pounding feet grew louder and the earth shook. The sound was coming from the Jungle.

  Bursting out of the smoke was the matriarch of the great elephants, with her calf in tow, their silhouettes rimmed by the pulsing orange glow of the distant flames.

  Everyone along the river stepped back and bowed to the mighty elephant and the calf Mowgli had saved. Bagheera knew she had never ventured to that part of the Jungle before and many of the smaller animals had never been so close to a creature of such immense size. Was she leading her family to safety or was she there for something else?

  She walked up to Mowgli and stood over him. He was stunned but held his ground as she stared silently into his eyes for a long moment. She needed to let him know.

  Something big was coming.

  THE JUNGLE was running out of time.

  Mowgli searched the intense black eyes of the humongous creature towering over him. What was she trying to tell him?

  His answer came in the reverberating chorus of a distant call. All the animals turned and looked toward the sound.

  On a majestic cliff, high, high above the burning Jungle, a powerful bull elephant stood proudly, his trunk trumpeting into the air.

  One by one, more elephants appeared. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Massive beasts that appeared to those watching from below to have gone mad.

  The huge gray creatures were ripping trees from the ground with their tusks and trunks. Their heavy shoulders pushed mighty boulders from where they had lain for centuries. They yanked up bushes half their size by the roots and tossed them through the air.

  Mowgli couldn’t imagine what they were doing. Was it anger? For what he had done to the Jungle?

  “Look!” Baloo was the first to notice it: a thin trickle of water. It poured over the top of the cliff where no water had ever fallen before.

  Smashing headlong into trees, using their massive bodies to move mountains, the elephants were rerouting the river.

  The thin trickle turned into a heavy stream and then a gushing torrent. They were making a waterfall.

  The overwhelming volume of cascading river water flooded the Jungle like a tsunami, slowly but surely dousing the flames and arresting the wildfire in its tracks. White smoke replaced the black as the Jungle sent a signal into the sky. It had been saved.

  The animals cheered as one.

  “In all my years, I have seen a great many things in this Jungle,” Bagheera said to Baloo as he stared up at the elephants in utter disbelief. “But tonight I have seen something I will never forget.”

  “You got that, brother,” Baloo agreed.

  Mowgli, dumbfounded, turned from the gushing water and billowing white smoke to look up into the eyes of the mother elephant again. He didn’t know what to say. What could he say?

  In a gesture of respect, the elephant looked to her child, then ran her trunk along the man-cub’s arm. The favor was repaid.

  And with that
, she slowly turned, careful not to trample any of the smaller creatures celebrating below, and led her child away to rejoin their tribe.

  Bagheera turned and spoke to the animals.

  “Tonight I saw a boy without a people bring the entire Jungle together for the very first time.”

  “That was some trick, little brother,” said Baloo.

  As Mowgli stood silently watching the elephant and her calf recede into the distance, he knew that despite his mistakes, he had done something right.

  Raksha approached him, her head bowed.

  “I am sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m ashamed that I…” She could not finish.

  “I know, Ami,” Mowgli replied.

  Raksha moved close and nuzzled him. She wept, tears darkening her coat.

  Mowgli threw his arms around her neck and buried his face in her warm fur.

  “To me, you are not wolf. You are not man,” said Raksha. “You are my son.”

  Mowgli looked at her, then looked around—at Gray, at Bagheera and Baloo, at all his friends in the Jungle. He didn’t have a people; he had many peoples. And he was home.

  A DARK SHAPE moved swiftly through the Jungle.

  It bounded from ground to tree and back again, swinging through the foliage, leaping over obstacles, and flipping through the air.

  Mowgli raced through the branches at top speed, using the Jungle itself to propel him faster and faster.

  Bagheera tore across the Jungle right behind the boy, almost upon him. If Mowgli was intending to outrun the great cat, he would never succeed.

  But Bagheera joined the boy, running with him after a different sort of prey altogether, a new batch of young wolves dashing through the Jungle in an attempt to join the Council.

  “Just a few more turns,” Bagheera called.

  “I’m going high,” Mowgli said.

  “Stay low!” Bagheera ordered, but Mowgli had already grabbed a low-hanging vine and vaulted himself into the branches overhead.