Code of Honor

by Erin Hunter

  “It’s so hot,” he whimpered. “I’m so tired.”

  “It’ll be better when the sun goes down.” She glanced up at its glaring white light, willing it to sink toward the west.

  “How far is that big bird going to take us?” asked Moon after a while, licking his lips. He already seemed sprightlier; Sky had begun to worry he would drink the stream dry.

  “I think she’s leading us toward the mountain,” Sky said, kneeling and rolling to cake her hide in soothing mud.

  “I’ve never been on a mountain!” said Moon. “Have you, Sky? What’s a mountain like?”

  Silverhorn lifted her dripping muzzle from the stream and grunted. At first, the rhino hadn’t believed that the vulture was leading them anywhere, but it had gotten harder to doubt it: yesterday, the bird had led them on, step by weary step, until it was too dark to travel. Sky had been afraid to stop and sleep in case the vulture vanished, but this morning, there she’d been again: a black shape wheeling in the morning sky.

  “I’ve never been on a mountain either,” Sky told Moon, checking that his skin was thoroughly muddy. “We can find out what it’s like together.”

  In her tree, the vulture turned her bald head to stare at Sky. Spreading her black wings, she rose once again into the air.

  Moon broke into an impatient scamper. “I want to get to the mountain! It’s all blue! Do you think it has trees?”

  “I don’t know, Moon,” Sky said. “And calm down! You’ll tire yourself out.”

  The vulture landed on the branch of a black ironwood, farther up the valley. Sky and her companions left the stream behind and followed.

  “Maybe the trees are blue! Maybe it’s really cold, and there are animals with lots and lots of fur,” Moon suggested. “I bet they look like monkeys, and they climb on the mountain rocks, but they’re so furry they’re squishy and round.”

  “Like those puffball mushrooms in the forest,” said Sky. “Only not poisonous, I hope.”

  Moon giggled and whacked her side with his trunk. “You wouldn’t eat a monkey!”

  Sky laughed, too. “Maybe if I got hungry enough! Or a sweet little elephant!” She shook her trunk at him and he scampered away.

  “I think there’ll be lots of water on the mountain,” Silverhorn chimed in longingly. “It looks so blue and cool.”

  “Ooh, yes,” Moon said. “So much water we can’t drink it all. And we’ll have to wade through it, and silver fish will swim around our legs.”

  “Oh, Moon, don’t,” pleaded Sky. “You’re making me thirsty again.”

  “The mountain looks so high, though.” Silverhorn’s gray ears twitched. “We’ll have to walk up a long way. My legs aren’t great at that.”

  “You can do it,” Sky told her. “Elephants aren’t natural climbers, either, but we’ll manage if we just keep trudging along. One foot in front of the other, that’s all.”

  Moon’s eyes widened. “Maybe we’ll see where the stars fall to the earth,” he exclaimed, “like Cloud did in the story? Stars would land in a high place, and that mountain’s really high.”

  A hoarse cry interrupted them. The vulture had flown from her perch again and was rising higher than ever.

  “Is she moving already?” Silverhorn sighed. “We’re not even close to her yet. How does she expect us to keep up?”

  Sky furrowed her brow and stared. The vulture’s long bald neck was stretched out, and her head twitched as if she was scanning the earth below. Her guttural screech sounded again, loud and urgent, and although Sky didn’t speak Skytongue, there was no mistaking her meaning: it was a warning cry. She glanced at Silverhorn, whose small eyes had grown wide.

  Sky hesitated, glancing up and down the path. “I don’t see anything.”

  While Moon hopped and flapped his ears, she turned and climbed a few paces up the valley’s steep side. Stopping with her feet wedged against rocks, she peered around, her heart thumping. She had not liked the tone of the vulture’s cry.

  Silverhorn was clambering up the opposite slope. “Nothing to see from here,” she cried.

  “Nothing here either,” called Sky. She trod carefully back down to the track, and Silverhorn joined her.

  The vulture swooped low, the draught of her wings raising the sparse hairs on Sky’s back. Her shriek hurt Sky’s ears, and it sounded more frantic than ever.

  “What is it?” Sky asked helplessly. “I don’t understand!”

  Moon had stopped capering. His trunk trembled. “Sky, I’m scared.”

  Silverhorn was scenting the air, her top lip flaring. She gave an abrupt grunt of dismay.

  “Lions!” she cried. “Run!”

  “Moon!” Sky threw her trunk over his shoulders and pushed him ahead of her.

  The three of them thundered up the valley toward the mountain, their panicked footfalls making the ground tremble. Just above their heads the vulture soared, her hoarse screeches urging them on.

  The rank, blood-tinged scent of lion flooded Sky’s trunk. She didn’t want to glance to the side, but she had to. And there they were, plunging out of a line of scrub and sprinting toward them—nine powerful male lions, their jaws parted to reveal savage teeth. Ahead of them charged a huge, muscular leader, his mane jet-black.

  Silverhorn was keeping up beside her, the rhino’s sturdy legs working faster than Sky would have believed possible, but she could see that Moon’s pace was slackening. He glanced back and squealed with fear.

  “Moon, keep going!” Sky trumpeted. “Don’t look, just run!”

  “Sky, I can’t,” Moon sobbed, stumbling.

  Sky was aware of blurred, tawny shapes running to her right and left; the lions were gaining, pinning them in an ambush. The dried-blood smell of them was dizzying, and Sky could almost feel their hot panting breath on her rump. “Keep going, Moon! Run!”

  We need help. She barely dared slacken her pace, but the lions were alongside them now. And she knew instinctively that she and Silverhorn would not be enough to fight them off. That bull elephant we heard, is he still close? Slowing as much as she dared, catching a great gulp of breath, she let out an instinctive rumbling call, deep and tremulous.

  At the edge of her vision something huge and golden sprang past her. Shying in terror, Sky saw the great black-maned lion, his long legs extended, slamming into Moon’s rump. He clung on with his claws, almost as if he were hugging the little elephant. Moon squealed in pain and shock, staggering; then he stumbled to his knees.

  “No!” Sky skidded on the gritty earth. The lion was hanging onto Moon’s flank now, biting and shaking his great maned head. Moon squealed and thrashed, his eyes huge in his panic.

  “Get off him!” Sky trumpeted, and charged.

  Before she could reach the lion, a heavy weight thudded onto her own rump. Swaying, she fell to her knees. She couldn’t breathe—why couldn’t she breathe?

  She was smothered in hot stinking fur. Another lion slammed into her shoulder, and she felt sharp teeth sink into her neck. The stench of lion choked her. Get off me! she tried to scream, but something was constricting her throat. With a massive effort she struggled back onto her feet; a lion dangled from her throat, its fangs and claws snagged deep in her skin. It hurt so much she could barely think. Thrusting herself desperately onto her hind feet, she slammed her forefeet into the ground and felt the lion fall away. It rolled beneath her and sprang back to its paws.

  The lions encircled her now, and they were stalking forward. A pale-furred male jerked his head at his cronies. “You three, get the rhino.”

  She heard Silverhorn bellow and turned to catch a glimpse of her charging. The rhino slammed her horned head into an amber-gold lion, sending him tumbling to the ground. As another leaped, she swung her horn at him, forcing him to retreat with a yelp. The vulture swooped, screeching, and raked her talons along another tawny flank.

  Sky’s attacker lunged again, clawing at her face. She swung her head violently, catching his belly with one of her short tusks, and
he dropped with a grunt of pain. Hot blood was running down her face and trunk, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was—

  “Moon!” She thundered toward him.

  She slid to a shocked halt. The black-maned lion, still crouched over the little elephant, looked up and met Sky’s eyes. Slowly, he licked Moon’s blood from his jaws.

  Rage coursed through her and she charged, head lowered. The lion reared back, raising his paws to strike at her. As her forehead slammed into his tawny shoulders, she felt his protracted claws rip the top of her ear, and new pain blossomed. She flung him away from Moon, and he landed with a grunt in the dust.

  Moon’s eyes were closed to slits. Terrified, Sky ran her trunk over his bloodied body. “It’s me,” she said, her voice choked with tears. “It’s Sky. Can you hear me?”

  Moon’s eyelashes flickered.

  The black-maned lion was already getting to his paws. Sky spun to face him. She reared up on her hind legs, slamming them into the ground before the big lion. “You won’t touch him again!”

  The lion curled his muzzle in a smirk. “To me, Titanpride.”

  At once, the other lions abandoned their fights with Silverhorn and the vulture. They ranged themselves beside their leader, jaws snarling in menace. Silverhorn lurched to Sky’s side and stood shoulder to shoulder with her, blocking the lions from Moon.

  “Now you’ve tasted the might of our pride,” growled the black-maned lion. He was far larger than the others; Sky could see now that they were mostly young, with tufty, half-grown manes. “Let your elders know this is Titanpride territory. Soon all of Bravelands will be ours.”

  Silverhorn quivered with rage. “Lions don’t own—”

  “Elephants and rhinoceroses aren’t safe here anymore,” Titan interrupted. His eyes were lit with a fierce glow, and his tail lashed. “Your size has made you arrogant, and your arrogance has made you soft and weak. I, Titan, rule Bravelands now.”

  A faint whimper rose behind Sky. She longed to go to Moon, but she had to keep the lions at bay. . . .

  “A true leader wouldn’t attack a baby,” she said, her voice trembling. “Look at you, you’re not starving. You’re no ruler. You’re a Codebreaker!”

  Titan threw back his head and roared, his long teeth stained red. “Insolence!” He lowered his shoulders to spring.

  A bellowing trumpet echoed from the hillside. For a moment it was impossible to tell its direction, but Sky at last swiveled her head toward the source. It came from farther down the valley, beyond a bend in the path. Titan went still, his ears flickering.

  The second blaring call was much closer. A distant roll of strange thunder became footfalls that hammered on dry earth; then, around the bend in the track, charged the biggest bull elephant Sky had ever seen.

  She gave a sobbing gasp of relief. Thank the Great Spirit!

  The bull was tall and broad, with dark gray skin and long, cream tusks. With a last angry bellow, he charged the lions.

  “Battle formation!” Titan roared.

  The lions scattered, spreading out for their ambush strategy. The bull merely dipped his head as he ran, catching the pale-furred lion on his tusks. His colossal head jerked up, flinging the lion against the rocks of the hillside. The bull swung to Sky and Silverhorn, his ears spread wide in aggression.

  “Get out of here!” he bellowed.

  The lions, dodging his heavy feet and the thrust of his tusks, snarled defiantly. But they were smart enough to know they were beaten; as he charged, they twisted in their tracks and bolted back down the valley.

  Only Titan held his place for a heartbeat longer. “Warn your elders,” he snarled at Sky and Silverhorn. “Titanpride hasn’t finished with you.”

  The bull curled back his trunk, his tusks shining; it was enough. Titan turned and bounded after his fleeing pride. The pale lion, dazed, staggered from the rocks and limped after them.

  Sky lurched forward to kneel at Moon’s side. All around his head and haunches, the pale earth was stained red with blood.

  Frantic, Sky ran her trunk tip over his injuries. Deep gouges were clawed across his rump, and bright red blood welled far too quickly from his neck. Sky pressed her trunk across the savage bite, trying desperately to staunch the bleeding.

  “Oh, Moon,” she murmured, over and over again. “Moon, it’s all right. They’ve gone now, you’re safe.”

  The little elephant’s flank rose and fell rapidly, but his gasping breaths were shallow and weak. Silverhorn stared down, her face crumpled.

  “Can I help?” asked a deep and gentle voice.

  Sky glanced up through a blur of tears. The bull elephant’s deep-set eyes were a startling green, and they were filled with compassion. He was younger than Sky had assumed, and far less scary than she’d feared. Though his tusks were far longer than hers, they hadn’t yet reached their full length. It probably hadn’t been many years since he had left his own mother’s herd.

  The thought of a mother herd made Sky almost choke on her grief. Oh, Star, what have I done . . .

  “Maybe I could carry the little one to his mother?” offered the bull, and Sky felt the hesitant touch of his trunk on her shoulders.

  Sky shook her head helplessly. “She’s too far away. I brought him too far!”

  Oh, why hadn’t she turned back when Moon came after her? If she’d insisted on taking him home, he’d be safe now. Safe, instead of . . .

  “We don’t even know you!” she blurted, trying to blot out her thoughts.

  “My name is Rock,” the bull said gently. “I heard your distress call. Here, let me help.”

  He pressed his trunk down next to Sky’s, trying to stop Moon’s blood. Was it Sky’s imagination? The flow is lessening. . . .

  “I came as fast as I could,” murmured Rock, staring down with pity at Moon, “but I wish it had been faster.”

  “You saved us,” rasped Silverhorn. “Thank you.”

  Sky’s throat was too tight to speak. Yes, the flow of blood was slackening, but the hope that had flickered was dying inside her. Less blood welled from Moon’s throat, but only because most of it was already pooled beneath the little elephant’s head and neck.

  Rock came in time to save two of us, she thought, and hot tears stung her eyes.

  Gulping, she stroked Moon’s plump baby cheek with her trunk. “Moon,” she whispered hoarsely. “You remember the story I was telling you?”

  He whimpered a little, his eyes glazed and far away. I don’t even know if he can hear me.

  It didn’t matter; there was nothing else she could do for him now.

  “Little Moon,” she went on, her singsong voice catching in her swollen throat. “Do you remember how Cloud was looking for the fallen star? He searched everywhere.” Sky nestled closer, wrapping her trunk around Moon’s body and holding him tightly. “Cloud walked and walked, tired and thirsty. He traveled far, through the woods and across the savannah, and up a steep, steep hill, and finally he reached the top. And way down in the valley below, he saw a bright light shining. It was the brightest, whitest light he’d ever seen, and it was beautiful. He didn’t feel tired anymore and he wasn’t thirsty. He didn’t stop to eat grass or to drink water or to play. All he wanted was to find his star. He was the bravest little elephant there has ever been.”

  Moon seemed quieter now, his tension drained. She could hear his weak breathing, one slow gasp after another. She thought that perhaps his ear twitched.

  “He was so strong, so determined, and all his family knew it, and they were so, so proud.” Sky did not know how long her breaking voice would hold out. “At last he reached the star, and its light was dazzling. Cloud knew he’d reached where he was going, and all his journey had been worth it, every bit. And Cloud stretched out his trunk to touch the light—”

  With a last, rattling breath, Moon went still. His flanks sank, and did not rise again.

  “And he touched the star and he was happy.”

  The last word was a wail of unbear
able grief. Hot tears, released at last, began to flow down the creases of her face.

  Was it really Moon’s small heart that had stopped? Because Sky was sure the lions had torn out her own.

  CHAPTER 19

  The heat barely relented with the setting of the sun. Thorn felt it pressing down on him like a smothering paw as he gathered with the other Strongbranches in the dusk outside the hyena den. His fur felt clammy with it, and he wished just a breath of breeze would return from the earlier gales. The ominous mood made it even worse.

  Stinger sat on a low shelf of stone, the Strongbranches—Thorn included—ranged on either side of him. Facing them stood old Beetle, his chin defiantly tilted.

  “I must say,” Stinger drawled, “I’m disappointed that you haven’t seen sense, old baboon. You go on challenging my rule, even when you know how wrong you are.”

  Beetle’s voice was the same old quavering wobble Thorn had always known, but it held a new element of stony strength. “I shall go on asking difficult questions, Stinger Crownleaf, and if you call that challenging, then so be it. I certainly will go on challenging you.”

  “I was made Crownleaf by popular acclamation,” said Stinger in his silky voice. “Who are you to question the will of the troop?”

  Beetle set his jaw. He was clearly scared, and Thorn could only admire his courage. “The will of the troop was never that your Strongbranches would have a free paw to bully and intimidate.”

  “Do I condone bullying?” Stinger’s eyes widened with horror. “I have no knowledge of such behavior. If I did, you can be sure I would discipline my faithful Strongbranches. But all I see, Beetle, is loyal fighters who care for the troop, who love Brightforest, who will do anything to defend it.”

  “They will do anything.” Beetle snorted. “Indeed they will. That’s why you value them more than the Council. Your devoted thugs can beat me all they like, Stinger, but they won’t stop me asking questions.”

  Stinger’s hackles bristled. “And there we have it. You refuse to see my status as the will of Brightforest Troop; therefore you no longer belong with us. As of this moment, traitor Beetle, you are exiled.”