by Erin Hunter
I have to warn them.
“Are you sure about this?” Valor halted, panting in the heat.
“Of course I am,” growled Fearless.
Valor glanced nervously at the lionesses padding ahead. She and Fearless had dropped to the back of the hunting party so they could talk without being overheard, but Regal or Daring might turn at any moment.
“You’d better go, then.” Valor gave a sigh of resignation. “If anyone asks, I’ll say you’ve taken off after a new scent. Try to bring some prey when you come back.”
Fearless rubbed his cheek against his sister’s. “Thanks for helping.”
“Good luck,” Valor whispered, glancing toward the other lionesses again. “And for our mother’s sake, be careful.”
Staying low, Fearless ran at a long, loping pace away from the hunting party. When he emerged from the long grass, the land dipped and stretched out before him, its yellow grass spreading nearly to the horizon. The acacias were few and far between; there was a large copse of them in the distance that Fearless wished was closer. He was going to need shelter, not just from the blazing sun but from his own pride.
Now that he was out of their sight, he picked up speed and bolted, panting, the hot air drying his tongue. His head swam with the glare, but urgency pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, and he didn’t dare slow down.
It felt like an endless, grim run, the land shimmering around him until he was no longer sure it was staying where it ought to be. Dizzily, he wondered if Bravelands itself was against him. Perhaps he would run across this broiling expanse forever and never reach the watering hole.
He was on the point of collapsing into a panting, sprawling mess when he spotted, not far ahead, the hill from which he and Valor had watched the Great Gathering. Fearless sagged with relief as he bounded over the kopje and plodded up the slope; he was no longer capable of running. Reaching the crest, he crouched and peered down.
The new Great Father stood at the edge of the watering hole, his legs in the muddy shallows, surrounded by wildebeests. As Fearless watched, Stronghide lowered his heavy head, tossing his horn and pawing at the water. A great crowd of gazelles, zebras, and buffalo clustered nearby; waiting their turn, Fearless reckoned, to bring their troubles to the Great Father.
Fearless didn’t have time to wait with them. Now that he had caught his breath and the end was in sight, he sprinted at full tilt down the hill, the incline giving his paws extra speed. He bowled toward the grass-eaters, almost cannoning into a herd of antelopes, who whickered in alarm and drew swiftly back. As whinnies and squeals rose around him, he shoved and wriggled through a forest of long, hooved legs and finally burst into the open, right in front of Stronghide.
The Great Father scowled at him.
“What do you think you’re doing, cub?” He lowered his horn. “Wait your turn.”
“This is important,” Fearless gasped. He swallowed hard, bringing his breathing back to normal. Remembering his baboon-taught manners, he dipped his head. “Great Father, you have to do something. Titanpride plans to kill the young rhinos and elephants.”
The closest animals blinked at Fearless, startled, and a murmur of shock and disgust rippled through the crowd. Two zebras pawed the ground in agitation, and a buffalo bellowed in anger. Yet Stronghide’s small eyes remained blank.
“See what I mean, Great Father?” grunted a wildebeest. “Titanpride is breaking the Code every day. They’ve been killing far more of us than ever before, and they don’t bother to eat half their prey. Please—tell us what to do!”
Stronghide lowered his head, looking truculent, and swished his stiff tail back and forth. “I’ve already told you what to do. Fight!”
The wildebeest looked stricken. In the hordes of grass-eaters near Stronghide, frightened exclamations of disbelief grew in volume.
Fearless huffed. “Fight? Great Father, do you know who Titan is?”
The rhino turned toward him, swinging his horn. “Do I what?”
Fearless hastily took a step back. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.”
Great Father glared at him. “How do you know Titanpride’s plans, anyway?”
“Well . . .” Fearless shot a nervous glance to both sides. “I’m in Titanpride.”
A nervous whinny went up from a zebra. Hooves stamped and rumbled as the grass-eaters shifted in a mass away from him.
“I mean I’m in the pride,” Fearless added hastily, “but I’m not a Titanpride lion. Not really. I hate Titan. I don’t agree with what he’s doing. Any of it.”
The wildebeest leaned closer, its breath musky with the scent of chewed grass. “What do you mean, you’re not really a Titanpride lion? You’re not a flesh-eater? You haven’t been killing our kind?”
That was a tough one to answer honestly. Fearless took a couple of awkward steps back. “No. Look, I’m a lion. Obviously. What I mean is—”
“I knew I recognized him,” a zebra neighed roughly. “This cub was with the pride that hunted our leader Sleekfriend. Hunted him for fun, as far as we can tell. They didn’t even eat him, just left his entire carcass for the rot-eaters.”
“You don’t understand,” insisted Fearless, his words tripping over one another as he struggled to justify himself. “I tried to help him. I killed him!”
The zebras reared back, neighing in horror. “Codebreaker!”
“Codebreaker!” The other grass-eaters took up the cry, but they weren’t shying back now. They were pressing closer, the herds tightening around him.
“That’s not what—” Fearless’s protests were cut off as a hard hoof punched into his flank, sending him tumbling. The wildebeest lowered his wide curved horns, pawing at the ground.
Fearless scrambled to his paws and backed away. “I’m telling the truth,” he shouted to Great Father. “Just protect the young ones! Tell the elephants and the other rhinos. Please!”
The grass-eaters were trotting toward him in a great hostile mass; there was no more time. Fearless bolted, darting through the striking hooves, swerving, ducking from horns. At any moment he expected the rake of a vicious horn or the hard blow of a hoof against his ribs, but he kept running and dodging, making for the hill. Were grass-eaters good climbers? He hoped not; he hoped his paws would provide surer grip than their clawless hooves.
Reaching the foot of the slope, he bounded halfway up, then glanced back, trembling and panting in the oppressive heat. The grass-eaters had fallen back and were gathered once more around their Great Father.
Fearless padded to the top of the hill, his muscles aching, and flopped onto the grass. His heart was pounding hard and he licked at his sore ribs. That was some kick. What had happened to the peaceable traditions of the watering hole? Fearless wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he’d messed everything up.
I don’t even know if Stronghide believed me, he thought miserably.
There was nothing for it: he’d have to warn the elephants.
He peered down the hill again. The grass-eaters were arguing with Stronghide once more, their voices raised high in protest. No wonder, if he’s telling them to fight Titanpride.
Much farther along the shore, so far away that it looked like a bird’s nest, was the heap of branches that concealed Great Mother’s body. Near her stood the great elephants, some of them tearing down branches for food, others talking intently.
Fearless circled along the top of the hill, staying high on the slope until he was sure he had left the grass-eaters at his rear. The sun was fierce and his neck and spine burned, but he didn’t dare head down into the shade of the trees until he was sure he wouldn’t meet any angry wildebeests. At last he bounded down a long spur of gravelly rock toward the elephants.
One by one they raised their vast heads to stare at him, their ears tilted forward. Fearless’s hide prickled. They were just so big, and some of them had tusks that were longer than he was. His heart sank as he realized Sky wasn’t among them—he was pretty sure she would have been f
riendly.
The huge creatures didn’t take their eyes off him, but they watched him calmly, as still and steady as the great trees of the forest.
“I remember you,” said one of them. She had kind eyes fringed with long lashes.
Another, older than the others, with heavy wrinkles crisscrossing her face, pointed her white-patched trunk at him. “You came with your baboon friend to meet with Great Mother. Fearless Titanpride, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.” Fearless winced a little at the pride name.
“I am Rain Strider,” the old elephant told him. “I’m the leader of our family now that Great Mother is gone. What brings you here?”
Fearless took a couple of tentative forward paces. “I’ve come to warn you, Rain Strider. Titan is planning to attack young elephants and rhinos.”
The elephants shifted in alarm, their trunks swaying. “Why?” asked Rain, in a voice that made his stomach quiver.
“Sometimes lions have killed our weakest, and our youngest,” said the long-lashed elephant, her voice much grimmer now. “But why would Titan plan such a thing?”
“If he kills the young of the great grass-eaters,” Fearless went on steadily, “he thinks every animal will respect him.”
“Have you spoken of this to Great Father?” Rain gave him an unsettling stare.
“I tried to talk to him,” said Fearless, swallowing, “but I don’t know if he believed me.”
The elephants huddled together, talking in frightened whispers, their tails stiff. Rain stayed quiet, deep in thought, her face a combination of anger and deep anxiety.
“Titan has not yet begun on this plan?” she asked at last.
Fearless shook his head. “He was talking about it for the first time today. I overheard.”
“Thank the Great Spirit,” one of the elephants breathed.
Rain eyed Fearless down her trunk. “It’s unusual for a lion to warn us of such things,” she rumbled, with an edge of menace. “Is this a trick?”
“No!” exclaimed Fearless, his ears pinning back. “I just . . . I don’t like what Titan’s doing.”
“Few animals do. But I didn’t know that included any of his pride.” Rain flicked her tail.
Nervously, Fearless glanced around the elephant family. “Is Sky here? I know her. I hoped she would be, because . . . because I think she’d listen to me,” he finished lamely.
Rain tilted her head, and the other elephants stared. “You know Sky?”
“I’ve met her,” he said. “When I asked Great Mother for help. I had a problem and they both helped me fix it.”
The elephants withdrew, talking once more in their deep, rumbling voices. Fearless wished he could hear their words; he hoped they didn’t include Squish that lion.
The long-lashed elephant gazed at him. “Rain, if he knows Sky . . . maybe the cub can help us?”
“Maybe he can, Star.” The old elephant studied Fearless, her eyes so penetrating he felt a shiver run along his hide. “Fearless, we shall confide in you and hope that your motives are true. The two youngest members of our family are missing.”
Fearless’s mouth went dry. “You mean Sky?”
“And my son,” said the elephant called Star, her voice cracking. “My little Moon.”
Two young ones: that’s what Daring said. Traveling alone . . . Fearless’s heart skipped, and he felt a hollow of dread in his gut.
So Titan already knew. He would be hunting the youngsters: these youngsters. Now Fearless had to hunt them too—and be sure to get there first.
“Do you have any idea where they went?” he asked with sudden urgency.
“We know they’re together,” Rain told him. “Their footprints showed us that. We’ve waited here because we were sure they’d come back, and we don’t want to be gone when they do.”
“What if Moon came and I wasn’t here?” Star swayed and swung her trunk, looking tormented. “But Rain, now it’s different—”
“Titan may be hunting them,” Rain said grimly. “We won’t catch up in time if that’s true.”
“We’re too slow,” Star moaned, as the other elephants gathered around to comfort her, pressing their bodies close.
“I’m not slow,” Fearless growled. “Will you show me where they went?”
Rain gazed at her herd. “My sisters. We don’t have a choice.”
Another of the females gave him a look of misgiving. “I agree. We have to trust the cub.”
Exchanging reluctant nods, the elephants turned to lead him along the shore of the watering hole. They shambled past yet more animals who had come to consult Great Father: an anxious-looking gerenuk who tossed his elegant horns, three giraffes who browsed idly on the tallest trees, and a sounder of warthogs who trotted away at the sight of Fearless, their tails stiff and high.
The elephants led Fearless into a lush patch of greenery, then pushed through thorny bushes and up to the edge of the scrubby grasslands, where everything became drier and browner, shimmering in the heat to a flat horizon.
“Their tracks led here,” Rain said, pointing with her trunk. On the dusty ground, Fearless could see prints left by two sets of elephant feet, one smaller than the other. He followed them for a few paces, but they disappeared when they reached more well-trodden ground, obliterated by the prints of a multitude of feet, paws, and hooves.
“Their prints are lost here, where the ground becomes rocky,” Moon’s mother said. Her eyes were wet. “But their scent lingers. Can you smell it?”
Fearless huffed at the tracks, his nostrils flaring. The hot dry ground held little scent but that of insects and dust; this was going to be harder than he thought.
Then he caught it: the dry, warm smell of elephant, mixed with grass and baobab flowers—Sky—and with it, something soft and milky. That must be Moon.
“I can scent them,” he said excitedly. “I’ll find them for you—and bring them back.”
Moon’s mother lowered her head to him, her eyes dark and pleading. “Will you?”
“I promise,” he said. “For Sky.”
Relief rippled through the elephants in a murmur. Rain stepped before Fearless and placed the tip of her mottled trunk on his muzzle. It felt dry and warm, and slightly ticklish, but he bowed his head and remained still.
“Thank you, young Fearless,” she said. “All our hopes rest with you. May the Great Spirit guide you in your search.”
Fearless nodded. Whiskers twitching, he picked up the trail once more and set off at a bounding run.
CHAPTER 17
If the constant wind had been unbearable, this turn of the weather was worse. At least the hyena den had provided shelter from the blast, but there was no escaping the suffocating heat. There was shade from the blaze of the sun, but the stench of hyena rot-meat was overpowering. Eating it had become a trial of endurance.
Thorn pressed a chunk of the foul carrion into Beetle’s paws; the old baboon lifted it to his mouth and chewed, looking pathetically grateful. Beetle was missing a tooth and one of his eyes was swollen shut, and even through the reek of rotting hyena Thorn recognized the pungent smell of sweetpulp on his breath and skin. He’s using it to numb the pain, Thorn realized, feeling sick.
What did Grass and Fly do to him? He didn’t like to think about it.
“Try to finish that,” he murmured to Beetle. “You need your strength.”
Beetle gave a dejected nod, and Thorn rose and padded outside into the shimmering heat. He had to find more food, even if it meant traveling a little farther; Beetle and the others couldn’t live off rotting corpses forever. And the others included Berry, he thought as his heart turned over. How was she expected to recover on a diet like that? Even though Stinger demanded the best of the foraged haul for her, supplies were getting desperately low.
Nothing seemed to be going right for Brightforest Troop at the moment. If they had a leader they could trust, a leader who truly wanted the best for every baboon, it would all be so different. The weight of
Thorn’s secret knowledge was almost intolerable. If only I could confide in Mud.
But there was nothing to be done, not right now. He could no more put Mud in danger than he could risk Berry’s safety.
The berries and nuts from the nearest bushes had all been stripped, the roots dug up. His head reeling from the intensity of the sun, Thorn made for the ditch that lay between the den and a copse of scraggy trees. There was at least one fig tree among them, he knew: maybe the other Strongbranches hadn’t cleared it yet.
The ditch was no more than a blurred line in the wobbling heat, the copse barely visible beyond it; sighing, Thorn trudged across the arid grassland, hoping the long walk would be worth it.
Distant screeches made him look up; there were black dots in the sky that became clearer as he drew closer. Vultures were circling over the little gully. Maybe there was a fresher corpse he could raid, he thought gloomily. But the vultures weren’t settling, which was odd.
The odor of hyena drifted into his nostrils, fresh and strong. If the survivors had found a new den near here, he’d have to be careful. It certainly looked like it, Thorn thought as he flinched from a fresh pile of droppings.
He frowned. The vultures seemed agitated. They were almost right above him now, soaring and wheeling. What was wrong with them?
Whatever it was, it lay at the bottom of that ditch. Thorn scrambled down into it, his nerves alert for trouble.
He stiffened, bristling. There was a body, sprawled in the muddy trickle that was all that was left of the rapidly drying stream. His heart clenching with dread, Thorn loped toward it.
He couldn’t stifle his yelp of horror. “Frog!”
The big, gentle baboon lay facedown, lifeless. Turning her over with trembling paws, Thorn stared at her clouded eyes. A surge of grief rocked his body.
“Frog,” he whimpered hoarsely. “Oh, Frog, what happened to you?”
There was not a mark on her brown-furred body, yet she was already rigid. Thorn touched her with trembling paws, his heart aching. No bites, no slashes; had she fallen?