by Erin Hunter
“He’s on the run!” screeched the monkeys. “Sneer! Sneer! Kill him!”
Sneer gave a growl of mockery and twisted to follow. Thorn waited, his heart pounding. The huge monkey was only a tail-length away when Thorn dug his claws into the gritty earth and tore up a great billow of dust. The wind caught it and hurled it into Sneer’s face.
Sneer Grayfur gave a howl of pain and reared up, clutching at his eyes. Thorn couldn’t afford to hesitate. He barreled into the monkey’s exposed belly, knocking him to the ground, and there was a hideous cracking sound.
Sneer’s skull had hit a stone. A low moan of pain gurgled from his throat as he clawed at his eyes; blood had begun to trickle from a spot behind his ear. Desperate, Thorn shoved him to the side and wrenched the blood-spattered stone from the earth. Without pausing to think, he smashed it hard down onto the monkey’s head.
His heartbeat throbbed so loudly in his ears, it was as if the whole world had gone silent. Thorn panted hard, poised above Sneer’s limp corpse, terrified he would suddenly leap up and fasten those bloodstained fangs in his throat.
But Sneer Grayfur didn’t move. Sand and grit blustered across his body. Only kill to survive, Thorn told himself through the ringing in his ears. And if not for that rock, he’d be dead in the monkey’s place. Thank you, Great Spirit.
“Well.” Stinger’s voice broke the silence, and Thorn couldn’t help hearing a note of resignation in it. “That settles that.”
Spite Cleanfur was staring at his dead champion, his lips peeled back from his fangs in disbelief. He raised his glittering eyes to the baboons.
“Thornwood Troop,” he screamed. “Attack!”
“Now, wait a minute—” Even Stinger sounded surprised.
Monkeys poured from the trees like ants swarming from their nest. There were scores of them, far more than had shown themselves before, covering the tree trunks so thickly they looked like rippling moss. Thorn scrambled toward his troop, but the monkeys were already upon him. Small, strong bodies pushed him down into the dirt, tearing at his skin. Something heavy slammed into him, and there was a moment of piercing pain. A monkey had landed on his back, Thorn realized; it dug its teeth into his neck. Flailing, he shook it off.
“Thorn!” From under the mass of monkeys, he heard Mud’s scream. The baboons were rushing into battle, fangs flashing. Thorn was released as the monkeys spun to meet them, and he staggered to his feet.
Notch swung a sturdy branch, striking monkeys left and right, and Fly bit and tore with his chipped teeth. Frog was fighting her way through a mass of greenish fur, sending monkeys flying. But the baboons were heavily outnumbered. A big monkey had its long arms twisted around Mud’s neck. Another monkey leaped, and Mud crumpled, disappearing beneath scratching, biting furies.
“Get off him!” With one blow, Thorn sent a sharp-faced monkey tumbling head over tail off his friend. Knocking another to the ground, he dragged the wounded, shaking Mud to his feet.
“Fall back!” Stinger’s command rang out across the chaotic battle. “Brightforest Troop, fall back!”
Thorn slashed at a monkey blocking his path. Dragging Mud along with him, he scrambled through the acacias after the rest of the fleeing troop. Monkeys hung from the branches above the retreating baboons, hooting and jeering, flinging nuts and twigs.
“Run away, long-snouts!”
“Cowards!”
Limping across the grassland, hauling their wounded, Brightforest Troop straggled back toward their temporary den. Even though it stank of death and hyenas, even though it was dank and sodden, Thorn had never been so glad to see its yawning entrance. One by one, the baboons crept into its shelter. Thorn sagged with relief as he shepherded Mud inside.
Gently, Mud pushed him away. “I’m all right,” he said. “You’re more hurt than I am. It’s just a few scratches. You’d better go join Stinger.”
Thorn gave a shaky nod. Only now was he beginning to feel the true pain of his wounds. With a last reassuring hug from Mud, he limped across to the other Strongbranches.
“Ah! Our champion!” Stinger clapped his paws together as Thorn approached, and the other Strongbranches turned to stare. Frog’s eyes shone.
“Congratulations, Thorn Strongbranch!” Stinger went on. “Your victory is one thing we can celebrate today. We are all proud of you! I knew you had the brains to beat that thug of a monkey.”
Thorn was too exhausted to do anything but nod. He wasn’t sure Thorn Strongbranch was a name to be proud of.
“You are truly one of us now. You’ll do anything to defend our troop, won’t you?” Stinger slapped an arm across his back and squeezed his shoulders.
Thorn flinched with pain and shuddered. “Yes, Stinger,” he managed to mumble.
“Fly did a great job,” said Worm. “Those teeth may not be the prettiest, but by the Great Spirit, they’re effective.”
Fly puffed up with pride and exposed his chipped fangs. “Stinger, did you see how Worm pummeled that monkey’s face into the dirt?”
“We’re the Strongbranches, and we whip monkey-tail!” bellowed Fang, slapping the ground.
“We did all right,” murmured Frog, “though there were too many of them. We can’t be complacent.”
“Well,” said Worm with a shrug, “you did fine, Frog, but some of the others from the troop were just make-weight. Mud Lowleaf was useless.”
“Waste of space,” sneered Grass. “I don’t know why he came.”
“Thorn had to save him,” said Fly, shooting an ingratiating glance in his direction.
Thorn glared at him. “That’s just not true,” he lied. “Mud got in some good hits. Why don’t you worry about your own performance, Grass?”
Grass glared back, but the conversation was interrupted by other baboons who crept forward to reassure the Strongbranches about their own achievements. Notch was tugging on Grass’s fur, telling him about his prowess with the branch; Moss was reenacting her battle with three monkeys.
Frog edged to Thorn’s side. “Grass is just jealous,” she whispered. “You were wonderful, Thorn! I was so afraid you’d lose. I mean . . . I was scared for the troop, of course. But mostly for you.”
“I was scared for a while myself,” Thorn told her, trying to keep his voice lighthearted.
She touched his scratched and bleeding arms and gazed down into his eyes. “I hope they don’t hurt too much,” she murmured.
“Frog . . .” Very gently, Thorn drew his arm away. “Listen, I . . . I’m sorry.” He bit his lip. “I like you, I really do. A lot. But I’m in love with someone else.”
The change in her eyes struck his heart; she looked desolate. “Oh. Thorn, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .” She swallowed hard and backed away. “I understand.”
He’d hurt her again. Thorn’s stomach twisted with remorse. It’s all I seem to do to my friends these days.
Gathering herself, she gave him a smile, one that was a little forced. “Can we still talk, though? There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Of course,” he said. “What’s happened, Frog?”
She was solemn again, her brow furrowed. “I’ve been back there,” she whispered. “To Great Mother’s body. And I found something strange.”
He watched her intently. “What?”
“I can’t explain. Will you come with me and see?” Her eyes slanted away. “I promise I won’t make it awkward.”
“Frog, of course I’ll come,” he assured her. About to squeeze her arm, he restrained himself. “But we’d better be careful. I don’t think we want anyone else to see us.”
“No.” She nodded in agreement. “But this can’t wait, Thorn. We need to go soon.”
CHAPTER 15
Sky’s legs trembled, but she held her head high as she faced the rhino down. She was all too aware of the narrowness of the rocky pass. If the rhino chose to charge, Sky had nowhere to run. At least Moon was already heading for the Plain of Our Ancestors; she would block the rhino long enough for him to get ther
e, and perhaps find a hiding place among the protecting bones of his forebears.
She won’t get near him unless it’s over my body.
The wind howled through the ravine, dislodging scree and grit that swirled in flurries into Sky’s ears and the folds of her hide. She ignored its sting, fixing her stare on the deep-set black eyes of the rhino. She looked young, thought Sky, and not nearly as dangerous as Stronghide. But she was still a rhino, and rhinos were not to be underestimated.
“You’ve been following us all day.” Sky spread her ears wide in fierce challenge. “What do you want?”
To her surprise, the rhino lowered her eyes and shifted from hoof to thick hoof. Now that her posture was meek, she seemed small standing among the vast walls of rock.
Sky lowered her trunk. This wasn’t what she’d expected at all. It felt like facing an equal, not an enemy.
“I just . . .” the rhinoceros mumbled, and hesitated. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Ask us . . . ?” Sky’s ears flapped in confusion. “We thought you were . . . going to attack.”
The rhino flinched. “No! I wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh,” said Sky lamely. The angry determination was draining from her muscles.
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” said the rhino, her top lip working anxiously. “I was following you because I guessed where you were going.” She swallowed and looked up. “I know this place is sacred to the elephants. I know how special it is to you, but please—may I go there?”
Sky let her ears relax. She had never seen or heard of another animal venturing onto the Plain, but neither had she heard of a rule against it. She paused, playing for time. “Why?”
The young rhino glanced away. For long moments, she stared at the rock walls, her throat jerking. At last she said hoarsely, “I did something bad. Don’t ask me what, please. I can’t tell you what, but I’m so sorry about it.” She swallowed hard. “I hoped that maybe . . . maybe, if I visit the bones of the Great Parents, I can start to make up for it.”
Sky’s heart warmed with instinctive sympathy. “That’s a good idea,” she said gently. “Whatever’s happened, whatever’s gone wrong, being on the Plain always helps.”
The rhino visibly sagged with relief. “Thank you, uh . . . ?”
“I’m Sky,” Sky told her. “Sky of the Strider family.”
“Thank you, Sky Strider. My name’s Silverhorn.”
“I’m glad to meet you, Silverhorn.” Sky realized with surprise that it was true. “Come on, follow me. It isn’t far.”
Her heart much lighter, Sky led the rhino up the last stretch of the pass and over the crest. The walls of the valley opened out before them, and she heard Silverhorn take a sharp breath of wonder.
Side by side, the new companions walked forward onto the broad sweep of the grassy plain. Almost at once, the wind dropped. Clouds still raced overhead, but here on the Plain the lush grass rustled in a warm and gentle breeze, and delicate flowers bloomed undisturbed. Instead of the howl of the gales, there was only birdsong and the hum of bees.
Sky took a deep breath of the scented air. It was so peaceful here, despite—or maybe because of—the sun-bleached bones scattered through the grass.
Silverhorn tilted her horn, gazing in awe. “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice trembling with reverence. “The bones . . . there are so many. Are those the Great Parents?”
“Not just the Great Parents,” Sky said softly. “When an elephant knows they’re going to die, they make the journey to the Plain. If they can’t come, their family carries their bones. We come here to remember all the elephants who have gone.”
“Oh,” whispered Silverhorn. Her eyes lingered on a skeleton nearby, its tusks jutting skyward. “Rhinos don’t have this tradition. It must be . . . nice.”
“It is.” Sky’s gaze roamed the valley. “And it’s safe here. Ah, Moon, there you are!”
In the shadows at the edge of the meadow, her little cousin waited, sucking nervously on the tip of his trunk. His gaze was riveted on the rhino. Sky beckoned, and at last he crept toward them. Sky reached out her trunk to draw him closer.
“It’s okay, Moon,” she said, stroking his ears. “This is Silverhorn. She didn’t mean to scare us. She just wants to visit the Great Parents.” She turned to the rhino. “This is my cousin, Moon.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Moon.” Silverhorn bowed her horn.
Moon started, his eyes widening, but recovered his nerve. He dipped his head awkwardly, then wandered a little way away, peeking up through his eyelashes at Silverhorn.
“He’ll get used to you,” Sky whispered.
“I hope so,” said Silverhorn wistfully. “I’m sorry I scared him.”
Still holding carefully to Great Mother’s tusk shard, Sky gestured with her trunk to the calodendrum in the center of the plateau. Its wide canopy was in bloom, its long green leaves almost hidden by clusters of pink. “Do you see those blossoms, Silverhorn? That’s the Mother Tree. The bones of all the Great Parents lie beneath it. When my family travels here again, we’ll bring Great Mother’s bones, too, so that they can rest with the others.” Great Mother’s bones . . . Sky caught her breath at the thought and blinked hard. “Why don’t you visit them now?”
Silverhorn nodded. She stared at the tree for a moment, then shambled toward it, her horn dipped in respect. Moon was still watching her; he had retreated once more to the shelter of the rock walls.
Carefully Sky placed Great Mother’s tusk fragment on the grass. “I’ll be right back, I promise,” she whispered. “I know you’ll understand. I want to see my mother.”
The skeleton she longed to see again was at the very edge of the plateau. Grass studded with delicate violets had grown over the bones, but not high enough to conceal the great skull and spine. Sky parted the grass gently with her trunk, exposing her mother’s bleached white ribs.
“I’m back,” she said softly. “I’m sure you didn’t expect me so soon.”
Her own bones ached with sorrow. It had been a long time since her mother had been killed by lions—Sky had been very small then—but she still missed her fiercely. She imagined she always would.
“Mother,” she whispered, “I need your help. The family thinks I’m Great Mother, but I know I’m not. I don’t know what to do.”
Despite her longing, Sky hesitated. The last time she had touched her mother’s bones, expecting a beautiful memory, she had instead been shown a terrible vision: a burning red landscape, a watering hole turned to blood, Bravelands lurid and distorted. Striding through the ominous flaming colors had come a huge lion and, riding on its back, a sinister, evil-faced baboon. The vision had shaken her to her core.
Much later, she had learned that the twisted baboon was the murderer of Bark Crownleaf. But even now, with the vision of the bloodstained watering hole fulfilled in the worst way possible, Sky had no idea what the rest of that vision meant, or why she had been the one to see it. If she touched her mother’s bones now, would she see something just as terrible? Or even worse?
There was only one way to find out. Sky took a deep, shaking breath, and laid her trunk against her mother’s skull.
Grasslands stretched around her, flat and empty in every direction. No animals, no birds, just a gentle breeze stirring the sun-touched grass so that it rippled, golden and green, as far as Sky could see.
And in the center of it, straight ahead, stood a tree.
It was an acacia, but its canopy rose higher than any Sky had ever seen. She walked closer, her feet silent on the grass.
The tree’s trunk rose high into the air, and, above her head, branches twisted and spread out, dark against the blue, blue sky.
Something in the silhouette of the branches seemed strange and wrong. High above her, she could make out a huge shadow. Sky creased her eyes, straining to understand.
And then she recognized it: the stocky form of a rhinoceros. It balanced there impossibly, each foot on a
branch.
With a rumbling, awful shudder, the tree began to shake. Its thick branches bounced and creaked, shifting wildly below the rhino’s feet. “Watch out!” Sky tried to call, but no sound came.
The rhinoceros lifted its heavy head toward the sun, oblivious to the danger. Below its feet, the branches snapped and cracked, yet the rhino stayed there still, its horn high, gazing at the white dazzle of the sun—
The vision faded. Swaying, Sky pulled away from her mother’s skull.
It hadn’t been as bone-chillingly terrifying as the last one, but this vision was just as confusing. Was the rhino Silverhorn? Was she in danger? Mother, I don’t understand!
In a daze of bewilderment, Sky plodded back to collect Great Mother’s tusk fragment, then carried it toward the calodendrum. Moon, emerging from his shelter by the rock face, trotted in her wake.
When Silverhorn caught sight of the two elephants, she backed respectfully away from the bones beneath the tree. Sky studied her bulky shape from the corner of her eye. The rhino in her vision had been bigger than Silverhorn, surely? But it was so hard to tell. Beating down her perplexity, Sky tried to focus on finding a place for Great Mother’s tusk fragment.
“Sky, what are you doing?” Moon prodded her curiously with his trunk.
“This is why I brought Great Mother’s tusk,” she told him. “This is where it belongs.”
There was a patch of green, soft grass between the bones of two other Great Parents; Sky parted the blades with the tip of her trunk and laid the tusk fragment there. It gleamed in the sunshine, and it seemed to Sky that it was whiter than any of the other bones around it. Like the sun surrounded by stars.
Whenever Sky had tried reading that shard of tusk, she’d seen nothing. Would it help that it was here now, where it belonged, among the Great Parents who had gone before her grandmother? Drawing a deep breath, Sky laid the tip of her trunk on its smooth surface.
Please, Great Mother. Tell me who the new Great Parent is. Tell me what I should do.
Nothing. The tusk might as well have been a rock or a stick.
“Did Great Mother tell you where the Great Spirit is?” asked Moon eagerly.