by Erin Hunter
When he’d glanced round to make sure no one was looking, Thorn made a face. “Except for Frog, they’re driving me crazy,” he confided softly.
Mud grinned. “I’m quite relieved,” he murmured. “I don’t really like any of them. Frog’s all right, but she’s a bit—well, odd.”
“She’s very devoted to the Great Spirit,” Thorn told him, mock sternly. “Now your turn, Mud.”
He watched apprehensively as his friend crept along the branch, but Mud made it to the far bank without a problem. Thorn turned to the next baboon.
“I have to carry my baby.” It was a young mother, Lily, and she wore a beseeching gaze. “Thorn, will you make sure Snail gets across? She’s still quite small. . . .”
Thorn glanced at Lily’s older infant, who puffed out her chest and rose onto her hind legs. “I’ll be fine, Mother,” said Snail. “I’m actually big.”
“I’ll watch her,” Thorn assured Lily, stifling a grin, and he helped her mother up onto the branch. With a last anxious look at Snail, Lily ventured out across the raging river, one paw shielding the baby who clung to her chest.
“Your mother and sister are fine,” Thorn told Snail with a smile, as Lily made the leap to the fig tree. “Your turn now.”
Snail didn’t look quite as confident as she’d sounded, but she stepped bravely onto the branch, wincing as her paw touched a prickle. Remembering his promise, Thorn kept his eyes on her as she wobbled out across the churning water.
“Ow.” Snail stifled a yelp as she stood on another tiny spine. She danced her paw sideways.
The bark where she set it down was flaky; it peeled under the little baboon’s weight. With a yelp of surprise, Snail staggered sideways. Losing her footing, she slid helplessly and plummeted into the river below.
Lily’s shriek of terror resounded over the crashing water, and the whole troop erupted in hoots and screams. Below Thorn, Stinger charged to the bank.
“Strongbranches!” he shouted. “Get her out!”
With one glance, Thorn saw that Grass, Fly, Worm, and Fang were dithering on the far shore, their eyes dazed. The sweetpulp.
“They’re no use,” he snarled. “Frog, come on!”
He sprang down from the tree and with Frog at his heels raced downriver. A clumsy crashing of foliage told him the other Strongbranches were following, but they were far behind. He clenched his teeth in anger and picked up speed. It’s up to me and Frog.
Out in the water, rising and falling in the surging waves, he could just make out the drenched little head of Snail. She was tossed this way and that; at one moment sucked under, the next cast up to gulp for air. He and Frog were running abreast of her now, and he looked frantically around the river in search of some scrap of hope.
“There!” he shouted. A blade of rock jutted from the water not far ahead. “If she’s washed toward that, we could grab her!” Loping to the edge of the foamy water, he crouched to spring.
“No!” Frog grabbed his shoulder and pushed ahead of him. “I’m bigger, I’ll do it!”
Before he could even argue, she had leaped for the rock. Frog’s hind paws splashed into the river, but she hauled herself out and balanced on the rock, staring fixedly at the small bobbing head as it swirled toward her. Frog half rose, stretching out her arms; her face was taut.
Snail was facedown in the water now. As she eddied close to the rock, Frog made a grab for her, plunging her arms into the river. One paw snatched the little baboon’s scruff, and Frog yanked her out, limp and dripping.
Thorn’s heart raced as Frog tucked the bedraggled creature under one arm and leaped back to shore. They were bending over her when the other Strongbranches finally caught up, panting.
Snail’s head lolled backward as Thorn grabbed her by the shoulders. Desperately, he shook her. Frog groaned, punching the ground in frustration. The rest of the Brightforest baboons—the ones who hadn’t already crossed the river—were gathering now, and Thorn saw that Lily was there. She had recrossed the water without her baby, and she was shoving through the crowd, hooting in distress.
Oh no. Thorn shook the little baboon again, hard, and suddenly her head jerked forward. Coughing up water, she began to whimper feebly. As Lily reached her side she croaked, “Mother . . .”
Thorn staggered back in relief as Lily grabbed her daughter into her arms and rocked her. “Thank you, Thorn Strongbranch! Thank you, Frog!”
Thorn grinned and slapped Frog’s back. “You did it! You got her out!”
Frog turned and gave him a hug, her eyes shining. “We did it, Thorn!”
Beyond Lily, who was cradling Snail and crooning softly, and beyond the other shamefaced Strongbranches, Thorn caught sight of Berry. She was staring at him and Frog, her eyes unreadable.
As his gaze caught hers, she turned away.
“We baboons are the best organizers,” Stinger told the Strongbranches as he strutted across the open grasslands. “So it only makes sense that we try to bring order back to Bravelands. Since Great Mother died, things have been out of control.”
“I’m just glad that we’re with you, my Crownleaf,” Grass told him eagerly. Ever since the debacle with Snail and the sweetpulp, the big baboon had been trying to ingratiate himself again with his leader. “There’s so much disorder, anything could happen.”
“I’m glad to have you here, my Strongbranches.” Stinger shook his head sadly. “Even I need bodyguards.”
It didn’t seem that way to Thorn, but he kept his mouth shut. Every animal Stinger had spoken to had seemed wary rather than hostile. They had left the rest of Brightforest Troop sheltering in a clump of trees and now headed toward the sweeping stretch of savannah where the zebras grazed. The ground was sodden beneath their paws, and rivulets of water lay on the saturated surface, yet there was still no sign of the rain stopping. It teemed from a sky that was black with looming cloud.
Stinger had already met with a gazelle herd leader and a coalition of cheetahs, but there were scores of other animals still to see. Thorn was weary and thirsty from the long march around Bravelands, and he kept licking water from his snout; Stinger would not hear of stopping to rest. As the rain intensified, Thorn tilted back his head and let it run into his jaws.
A cluster of bee-eater birds perched in a tree; their plumage, red and startling blue, looked dull and lifeless in the rain. A lone hyena hunched under the same tree, but she didn’t even twitch as the baboons passed. Stinger, striding on with his tail held high, seemed like the only creature in Bravelands with any energy or purpose.
“Here we are,” Stinger said cheerfully as they crested the top of a low hill. On the plain below a herd of zebras grazed, tails swatting, large teeth tearing at the sodden grass. Every zebra herd Thorn had seen numbered several hundred, yet here there were only about forty of them.
He frowned. “Where’ve the rest of them gone?”
“Why should we care?” Stinger loped down to the herd, and Thorn and the other Strongbranches scrambled after him. A stallion with curving stripes came to meet them, his ears flicking in agitation.
Stinger nodded coolly. “Greetings to you. I am Stinger Crownleaf of Brightforest Troop, and these are my faithful Strongbranch escorts.”
“I see.” The zebra eyed Thorn and the others. Worm had drawn herself up, her stare menacing. Grass chewed arrogantly on a stalk of the grass he was named for. Fly’s broken-toothed grin was not a pleasant one. The zebra swallowed hard, his long throat rippling.
“I am Sleekfriend,” he said politely. “What brings you here, Stinger Crownleaf?”
“We live in difficult times,” Stinger said, his face grave, “and I hope your herd stays strong, Sleekfriend. We came to find you first. The zebras are the heart of Bravelands.”
Thorn knew these words by heart now. Stinger had already said the same thing to the gazelles and the cheetahs.
The zebra blew out a breath. His hoof pawed at the muddy ground as he dipped his head. “Hard times indeed,” he agreed. “This
is all that’s left of my herd, in fact. Most of them stampeded after Great Mother’s death, and we remain scattered.” His gaze flicked to a small colt shivering at his mother’s side. “If we don’t regroup soon, I worry we’ll be easy targets for flesh-eaters.”
Stinger nodded sympathetically. “I’m hearing the same thing everywhere,” he told Sleekfriend. “Discord, restlessness, herds and packs breaking apart. Nothing is as it should be.” His sigh was deep and sad. “That’s why it’s so important to make things right in Bravelands, and quickly. We must ensure everyone’s following the Code.”
As if you follow it, Thorn thought darkly.
Stinger launched into the same speech he had given the other animals, stuffed with flattery and false concern. “To settle things for the good of Bravelands, I’m proposing a Great Gathering at High Sun tomorrow. We need to find the new Great Parent—or decide how to live together until one appears.”
Sleekfriend’s ears were a blur of flickering anxiety. “At the watering hole?”
“Of course.” Stinger gave him a sober, direct stare. “I trust the zebras will be present? We need you, Sleekfriend.”
The zebra shook his thin coat, sending a shower of water flying. “Our herd . . . we feel uncomfortable at that place. Since Great Mother’s death.” He blinked, his long lashes glinting with raindrops. “You see, Stinger, the flesh-eaters have always left us alone at the watering hole, but without Great Mother we don’t trust them. We still drink there, when we need to, but we don’t linger. A Great Gathering could be . . . problematic.”
Stinger slanted his gaze deliberately at the Strongbranches. In response Worm puffed herself up even more, and Grass hummed softly as he chewed; it was almost a growl. Fang plucked a beetle from the mud at his paws and bit down so hard on it his teeth clashed. Fly’s chipped grin stretched wider. Frog and Thorn simply looked at the ground.
Sleekfriend shook his mane, and his hoof pawed even more anxiously at the mud. Thorn felt hot with shame, but he could say nothing.
Stinger looked thoughtful, as if he was entirely unaware of his bodyguards’ hostile air. “You may be wise there, Sleekfriend. Protecting your herd is the most important thing of all.” He scratched his chin. “But consider the alternative, my good friend. If the zebras aren’t represented at the Gathering, how can we be sure we’ll decide what’s best for you? Far better if you’re there to speak for yourselves. Really, it’s the only way to ensure your . . . safety.”
For long moments, Sleekfriend was silent. The whites of his eyes were visible as he shifted his wary stare from baboon to baboon. Then he raised his head, breathing hard.
“May animals always praise the wisdom of baboons.” There was a hint of a tremor in his words. “So be it, Stinger Crownleaf. My herd and I will be there.”
Stinger grinned, his fangs glinting despite the dull light. “Well said, Sleekfriend, and a wise choice, very wise. And now that we have the agreement of the zebras, we can invite the rest of Bravelands!”
Sleekfriend dipped his head quickly, then trotted back to his herd. Feeling more than a little sick, Thorn followed Stinger back up the slope.
“Elephants next,” Stinger said cheerfully. “They won’t be nearly so easy to handle.”
He’s too good at this, Thorn thought as he trudged behind Stinger, over the crest of the hill and slithering through a sodden stretch of brush. Even if Brightforest Troop would listen to Thorn, it would be impossible to convey just how menacingly Stinger was behaving. To rebuff him, Stinger would simply have to repeat what he’d told each herd leader. Every word that comes out of that baboon’s mouth is so polite, so reasonable—but so twisted.
Stinger wasn’t organizing this Gathering for the good of Bravelands; that was obvious. The creatures he intimidated must know that; yet they had to comply. Stinger was leaving them no choice.
Ahead, great gray shapes loomed through the thick mist of rain: a family of elephants, shifting restively around a massive heap of torn and broken branches. As the baboons drew closer, Thorn realized with a jolt what must lie beneath them: Great Mother’s body.
The elephants turned to confront Stinger and his escort as they approached. Thorn quailed as the huge beasts towered over them. Rain streaked down their great flanks in streams.
“What brings baboons to this place?” asked the largest elephant, flapping her ears in warning. Her swinging trunk was mottled with white patches.
“Greetings to you, Family Strider.” Stinger bowed his head. “I am Stinger Crownleaf of Brightforest Troop, and these are my troop-mates.” He gestured at the Strongbranches, his eyes sly as they struck their aggressive poses. “Brightforest Troop grieves for your loss, dear elephants. Great Mother was wise and generous, and we will treasure her memory.”
“As will all of Bravelands,” rumbled the large elephant, with a disdainful glance at the posturing Strongbranches. “I am Rain, matriarch of the Strider family.”
Stinger bowed even lower. “We live in difficult times, Rain. It’s our most fervent hope that your herd stays strong. I come with a proposal that, with your approval, I will carry to the other animals. The elephants, after all, are the heart of Bravelands.”
Rain waved her trunk dismissively. “You seek to flatter us, Stinger Crownleaf,” she said. “Just tell us why you’re here.”
As Stinger launched into his well-rehearsed speech, Thorn took the chance to study the elephant family. The Striders were all adults, he realized—the young one called Sky, whom he and Fearless had met when they’d come to plead a favor of Great Mother, was nowhere to be seen. Thorn hoped she was all right. It had been obvious that she and Great Mother were unusually close, even for elephants; the matriarch’s death must have hit Sky hard.
Stinger concluded his speech with a flourish; to Thorn’s surprise, the elephants had brightened. Rain glanced at the rest of her family, and they all nodded.
“We will come to the Great Gathering, Stinger Crownleaf,” she declared.
“We’re so glad to hear it.” Stinger bowed his head again, but Thorn had already caught the glitter of surprise in his cunning eyes. “All the animals of Bravelands owe you a debt for your generations of wise guidance. Until tomorrow, Rain Strider, farewell!”
The elephant nodded and turned her rump.
As the baboons set out once more across the rain-drenched grassland, Thorn noticed that Stinger’s jaw was clenched. In fact, his entire body was rigid with controlled rage.
He should have felt happy that things didn’t seem to be going entirely Stinger’s way, but Thorn found himself more uneasy than ever. Frog, at his side, seemed to think the same.
“Why is he upset?” she whispered. “The elephants agreed to come. So what’s wrong?”
Thorn shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The two of them had fallen a little behind, and with an anxious glance at the others, Frog cleared her throat. “Thorn, I don’t like this. I thought we were here to protect Stinger, but it’s more like the other animals need protection from us.”
“I know.” Hope rose inside him. Maybe Frog could be my ally! Maybe she’ll help me convince the troop. . . . “Frog, listen—”
“You two! Hurry up!” Stinger had turned and was glaring at them through the rain.
“Come on, we’d better catch up.” Frog bounded on.
With a sigh of frustration, Thorn followed. I can talk to her privately later.
Stinger hadn’t calmed down since his conversation with the elephants; if anything he looked even more annoyed. “They think they’re in charge, don’t they?” he snapped.
Thorn, loping at his side now, gave him an uncertain glance. “Who do?”
“The elephants, of course. Did you see the way they looked at each other?” Stinger picked up a stone and flung it at a flock of ibises; they scattered, squawking. “The Family Strider are up to something, and I don’t like it.”
“I’m sure they aren’t,” said Thorn, then added quickly, “I mean, they wouldn’t dare! E
lephants are always a bit . . . haughty. Aren’t they? It’s just . . . the way they come across. They’re so big. That’s all . . .” His words trailed off lamely to silence.
The Crownleaf’s eyes were dark and glittering. “You know what the trouble is with elephants, my Strongbranches?”
“What, Stinger?” asked Grass eagerly.
“They think they have a Spirit-given right to be Great Parent,” spat Stinger. “Well, they don’t.”
“No, they don’t,” chorused Grass and Fly.
Stinger ignored them; his eyes had narrowed. “I’d make a better Great Father than any of those colossal fools,” he murmured. “Elephants can read bones. So what?” He turned his head and threw them a smirk.
“I am a baboon. And I can read minds.”
CHAPTER 5
The young gazelle grazed intently, tugging at the wet grass with her blunt teeth. Crouched upwind, Fearless crept forward, a few paces at a time. Her scent was diffused by the heavy rain, but when he flared his nostrils and inhaled, he could almost taste her on his tongue. The gazelle was bigger than him, but he knew he had the strength to bring her down.
He just needed to get close enough—and the need was becoming more urgent all the time. With the herds scattered and storms raging across the savannah, hunting had been meager and difficult. Fearless’s belly growled with hunger, and he knew his muscles were already weakening. He and Valor could not afford to lose this gazelle. Tensing, Fearless slunk determinedly forward.
The gazelle’s head jerked up. Fearless froze. She looked around, ears twitching, but then dipped her elegant neck back to the grasses.
Now!
Fearless launched into a sprint, his legs at full stretch, his tail balanced behind him. The gazelle’s eyes snapped wide; she flinched, spun, and bounded through the grass.
Fearless willed his weary legs to work faster, harrying her as she tried to evade him. The gazelle stumbled, and he sprang, slamming into her flank. She buckled and fell, her spindly legs thrashing. Fearless twisted fast, pinned her down, and clamped his jaws around her neck.