by Erin Hunter
He swallowed hard, clenching his fists. “Of course not.”
“Good.” Stinger nodded with satisfaction. “Do it when no one’s around. I know I can trust you all.” His gaze lingered directly on Thorn. “So don’t let me down. Don’t let the troop down.”
“Yes, Stinger,” chorused the Strongbranches. “Long live Brightforest! Long live Stinger Crownleaf!”
CHAPTER 20
Thorn hadn’t given much thought to the sleeping arrangements in the hyena den, but now even that racked him with guilt. Only tonight had he really registered how much better the Strongbranches’ area was; it was dry and free of puddles, it was distant from the stink of dead hyena, and the sandy floor was thickly covered in the softest leaves. There was even a crack in the wall that let in a faint dank breeze from the lower tunnels; in the rest of the den, the stifling heat left baboons limp with exhaustion.
The realization took away his appetite—or whatever appetite he had left, after he contemplated what Stinger planned for Starleaf. His Strongbranch colleagues seemed to have no qualms at all. They hooted and giggled in high excitement, stuffing their faces with the pick of the foraged food. Grass was sharing it: figs and spiky melons, roots and marula nuts, fat cockroaches, small birds and mammals. Thorn knew the rest of the troop wasn’t eating nearly so well. When Grass shoved a chunk of dik-dik flesh into his paw, he shoved it away.
“Now, now, Thorn,” mocked Fang, “you’ve got to eat to keep your strength up. Stinger said so.”
“And you don’t want us to tell Stinger you’re being rebellious, do you?” Fly sniggered.
Worm elbowed him sharply, and Thorn growled and crammed the meat into his mouth.
The foulness struck his tongue immediately, making him gag. He spat out the meat, coughing violently, unable to rid his mouth and nostrils of the stench. Dung. There was dung hidden in the meat.
The other Strongbranches were almost helpless with laughter; Fly was actually rolling on the floor. “Good trick!” he yelped.
Thorn stretched his jaws wide in a grin and managed to choke out a laugh. “Very funny.”
“Hoo hoo hoo.” Grass was wiping away tears of mirth. “Eat up, Thorn!”
He wanted to fling himself at the sneering baboon and rip at his snout with his claws, but that would be fatal. It was probably what they wanted. Keeping the stiff grin on his face, Thorn picked out his own fig from the pile and ate it.
They hate me. Well, the feeling’s mutual. If he could thwart their plans for Starleaf, that would be revenge enough.
They’d stuffed their bellies so full, it didn’t take long for them to fall asleep, one by one. It probably wasn’t what Stinger had ordered, but that certainly didn’t bother Thorn tonight. Leaving them snoring, he crept as quietly as he could from their sleeping quarters.
Placing his paws with infinite care, he moved down the main passageway, peering into the side tunnels. They were all far more crowded than the Strongbranch den. Baboons dozed and snuffled in a tangle of legs and arms. This isn’t how baboons should sleep, he thought. We should be nesting in trees, curled in our own spaces. Everything’s wrong right now.
Peering into the dimness of a small cavern, he recognized several Highleaves; it seemed a likely place to find Starleaf. Cautiously Thorn stepped over the slumbering bodies at the mouth of the cave, then picked his way through a tangle of sleeping baboons. No one stirred.
His paw nudged a loose pebble that rolled on sloping rock and bumped into Moss’s nose. As he held his breath, rigid, she snorted, huffed, and rolled over.
He padded on, every pawstep an agony of tension. From somewhere to his right, there was a whistling sound; he gulped, but it was only Twig, snoring, her head propped at an awkward angle against another Highleaf’s belly.
The scents in the cave were a mishmash of familiar baboons. Pausing in a tiny gap between sleeping bodies, Thorn flared his nostrils, searching for Starleaf. Maybe she isn’t in this cave at all?
Then he caught it; a faint, clean, warm scent to his left. He edged toward her, painfully slowly, only just avoiding stepping on Branch’s tail.
When he reached Starleaf, he had to pause to recover his composure. Then he crouched over her. She was curled on a scratchy bed of mahogany leaves, her face relaxed in sleep. She looked so much like Mud, Thorn’s heart twisted. I miss him. . . .
Right next to her, Splinter was sprawled, one paw twitching in a dream. Splinter was one of the baboons who’d cheered Stinger the loudest tonight; if Thorn was to have any chance of success, Splinter absolutely must not wake.
He had to make sure Starleaf stayed quiet too. I’m really sorry, Thorn thought. Taking a silent breath, he clamped his paw over Starleaf’s mouth.
She woke with a jerk, her cry muffled against his fingers, her eyes bulging. She twisted beneath him, claws flailing.
“Don’t be scared,” Thorn whispered, as loudly as he dared. “It’s me, Thorn. I’ve come to help. You’re in danger.”
Recognizing him at last, Starleaf stopped struggling, and Thorn drew his hand off her mouth. “What’s going on?” she asked softly.
Splinter muttered and shifted, his hand slapping at his bed of leaves. Thorn glanced at him nervously. “Follow me,” he whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t wake anyone.”
He turned and crept back through the cavern, seeking the path he’d found before. Starleaf picked her way behind him; she was so silent, he had to check to make sure she was still following. But at the mouth of the cavern, she stopped.
“Come on,” Thorn whispered. “We don’t have much time.”
Starleaf shook her head, gazing intently into his eyes. “Not until I know what’s going on.”
Something rustled in the darkness nearby. Thorn’s heart was pounding, and he felt light-headed. “Please, Starleaf, before we get caught.”
“Caught? By who?”
Thorn took a shuddering breath, half afraid to speak the name. “Stinger.”
Starleaf stared at him. A light of disbelief glowed in her eyes.
“Stinger thinks your reading was about him,” Thorn whispered hurriedly. “And he’s right. He’s the one the Blood Moon warned you about. He’s . . . done terrible things. I can’t explain now, but you must come. Stinger wants you dead so you can’t warn the troop.”
Starleaf’s eyes widened in horror. She flinched back. “I have to fetch Mud!”
A grunt came from the cavern, and Thorn stiffened.
“You’ll have to leave him,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’ll take care of Mud, I promise.”
Starleaf backed another pace. “I’m not going without my son,” she hissed.
Now there was a loud rattle of leaves and a murmuring yawn.
“Someone’s awake,” growled Thorn. “No more time!”
Seizing Starleaf’s resisting paw, Thorn dragged her through the mouth of the den.
“I have to go back.” Starleaf’s cry was heavy with sorrow. “I have to see Mud. He’ll be so worried.”
“You can’t,” Thorn said grimly, clambering over a fallen trunk. He was still gripping Starleaf’s paw, and heaved her over it too. “It’s too risky.”
They were deep into the belt of trees beyond the grassland, and the branches overhead were so broad and dense they blocked the moonlight, making the woods almost as dark as the hyena den. Thorn’s fur was clammy with the heat, and his breath came in short, sharp pants; he could make out only the vaguest shapes in the undergrowth, and as they stumbled along, twigs snapped and small animals skittered out of their path. Thorn hoped that they weren’t being followed; they would be very easy to track.
But whenever he paused to listen, he heard only the stir of leaves in the hot night breeze, and the soothing rhythms of cicadas and frogs. At last he released Starleaf’s paw, and she kept close behind him as they moved through the darkness.
“You’ll tell him why I’ve gone?” she asked, her voice trembling.
Thorn hesitated. He wanted to, so much—but if
Mud knew the truth about Stinger, he’d be in immediate danger. It was exactly what Thorn had been trying to avoid.
“I will tell him,” he told Starleaf. “But not until it’s safe.”
She gave a long, shaky sigh.
“I’m so sorry,” Thorn added helplessly. “But keeping this secret is the only way I can protect him.”
“I understand,” Starleaf said. Her voice sounded a little firmer, as if she were gathering her strength. “Where should I go, though?”
“I’m taking you somewhere safe.”
Thorn pressed on, shoving the undergrowth aside, until he recognized a familiar clump of crotons. The canopy was thinner here, the moonlight stronger, and close by he could make out a huge kigelia tree.
“Nut!” Thorn called up.
A rustling came from the hollow at the top of its trunk. Nut’s head popped out, his mangy fur more rumpled than ever.
“Oh, great, it’s you.” Nut’s broad forehead creased into a scowl. “Got another brilliant plan?”
Starleaf was staring at Thorn in horror. “Nut?” she exclaimed. “I can’t hide with that murderer!”
“Hey!” shot back Nut from above. “Who says you’re staying here? Is this your latest plan, Thorn? It’s worse than going to see Big Talk.”
“Nut didn’t kill Grub.” Thorn gripped Starleaf’s paws and gazed into her eyes. “Stinger did. He framed Nut for his own crime. He killed Bark too.”
“What?” Her voice was hoarse.
“It’s true. There’s no time to explain. I confronted him, and he admitted it all.”
Starleaf licked her jaws, stunned.
“Now do you see how much danger you’re in?” Thorn said gently. “You need to stay here with Nut. He’s not that bad.” His muzzle twisted. “Well, he’s not a killer, anyway.”
Nut climbed down the tree, jumping to the ground. “Starleaf!” He gaped at her. “I . . . I didn’t recognize you in the dark,” he said, scratching his neck. “What happened?”
“Stinger’s planning to kill her,” said Thorn brusquely.
Nut’s eyes widened. “Really? He’d even kill Starleaf?” He turned to her, his face suddenly very serious. “Then you’re welcome to stay here. Anything I’ve got, it’s yours.”
“I would be honored,” Starleaf said graciously. “Thank you, Nut.”
The sky was lightening to a soft purple, and it wouldn’t be long until the sun rose. Thorn knew he had to get back before he was missed. “You’ll be safer together. And I’ll keep figuring out how to fix this. It won’t be forever.”
“Probably will be, by the time you think of something,” muttered Nut.
Starleaf took Thorn’s paw and squeezed it gently. “Be careful, Thorn. And please, please, look after Mud.”
“I will. I promise.” He clasped her paw in both of his. Then he lurched forward to give her an impulsive hug.
With a last anxious glance, Thorn bounded back the way he’d come. Now comes the hard part, he thought as he hurried through the cloying dawn heat toward the hyena den.
He had to convince Stinger—and, far worse, Mud—that he knew nothing about Starleaf’s disappearance.
“Thorn! Thorn!” Bird Lowleaf shouted as soon as Thorn approached the den. She bounded toward him. “Have you seen Starleaf? She’s missing!” Panting in the heat, she drew to a halt in front of him. “First Frog, now Starleaf. What’s happening?”
The hyena den was in an uproar. Knots of baboons clustered at the tunnel entrances or in the caves, huddled in frantic conversation. Moss and Splinter loped from one bush to another, poking them with sticks as if they expected to find Starleaf concealed there.
“Mud hoped she was with you,” said Bird.
Thorn shook his head. Bird pointed to a cluster of stunted trees at the foot of the escarpment. Mud was huddled beneath them, clutching his mother’s Moonstones to his chest.
Thorn bounded toward him. Mud’s small face was crumpled, his shoulders shaking, and his expression as he turned to Thorn was grief-stricken. The reality of what he’d done struck Thorn like a kick from a kudu’s hoof; the subterfuge might be necessary, but what effect was it having on his friend?
“I’m sure she’s all right,” he said, wrapping his arm around Mud’s shoulder.
Mud looked up, his red-rimmed eyes filling with hope. “Thorn! Do you know where Mother is?”
Thorn’s mouth soured. He shook his head, and Mud’s eyes dimmed. “It doesn’t mean anything bad’s happened,” he said. “Maybe she went to look for food, or to think about her Moon Readings—it could be anything.”
Mud twisted his paws together. “No, something’s wrong. She hardly ever leaves the troop, and never without telling anyone. And look at this.”
He held up the silver Moonstone: a crack ran right through its heart. Thorn shivered.
“It’s a bad sign,” Mud said miserably. “I know it is.”
Thorn looked from the stone to Mud’s desolate face. Could he just hint that Starleaf was safe? “Listen, I—”
“Mud,” said a smooth voice.
Thorn turned, his heart flipping.
“We’re all so worried.” Stinger’s face was creased with concern. “Get some rest, Mud. I’ll make sure you hear as soon as we know anything.”
Mud nodded. Bleakly he gathered up his mother’s Moonstones. “Thank you, Crownleaf,” he said. As he trudged toward the hyena den, his shoulders sagged, and Thorn’s heart wrenched with guilt.
A heavy paw gripped Thorn’s shoulder, its claws digging into his pelt. Stinger leaned into him, so close that Thorn could smell the tang of scorpions on his breath.
“Starleaf had better be past finding,” Stinger murmured. “I hope you’ve made sure of that.”
Thorn tried to pull away, but Stinger’s paw tightened, making him wince.
“I’ve questioned the other Strongbranches, and none of them know where she is.” His scorpion-breath was hot and clammy on Thorn’s ear. “Did you kill her yourself? Alone?”
For a moment, Thorn’s heart faltered. “Yes,” he choked out. “I killed her.”
“Good, good.” Stinger gave Thorn a bone-rattling shake. “It would be awful if she was still alive,” he crooned in a singsong voice. “Because then I’d have to kill you. And I’d . . . take my time.”
He released Thorn, patting his face. Thorn stiffened, trying not to flinch.
“Now go join the other Strongbranches,” Stinger said. “You’ve got work to do.”
The others slouched in the shade of the den entrance, panting irritably in the increasing heat. Fly tugged idly on Fang’s tail, and Fang twisted and snapped his fangs. Catching sight of Thorn, Grass scowled.
“About time. Where have you been?”
“I took care of Starleaf,” Thorn mumbled. The words tasted like rot-meat.
The others gaped. “You did?” Grass whispered.
Fly shoved him hard. “What? That job belonged to all of us!”
Worm jostled Thorn’s other side, pulling his shoulder fur viciously. “Selfish!” she hissed.
“The next troublemaker is ours,” said Fly.
“Whatever.” Grass shrugged and spat. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
Thorn had no choice but to follow, though he was dazed from lack of sleep and already woozy from the relentless sun. Grass set a fast pace, and as they loped across the grassland, Thorn straggled wearily at the back. The mere sight of his fellow Strongbranches revolted him. They had wanted to kill Starleaf. What had Stinger turned them into?
“Bug Middleleaf tried to take the best figs this morning, but I stopped her,” Worm bragged. “‘You can’t push me around anymore,’ I told her, ‘I’m a Strongbranch. If you think you can still treat me like some Deeproot, you’d better think again.’”
“Uppity Middleleaves,” sneered Fly, licking his chipped teeth. “They haven’t got any power now and they hate it.”
“Right.” Fang nodded. “You’ve got to show them their place. They tho
ught they were better than us and now they know they’re not. Ha!” The very thought seemed to put him in a good mood. “So come on, Thorn, we forgive you. Tell us how you finished off Starleaf.”
“None of your business,” Thorn said wearily.
“You’re as boring as Frog,” growled Grass. “Come on, we want details.”
“Yeah,” agreed Worm. “You can’t take the job for yourself and refuse to tell the story.”
They went on pestering him, but Thorn ignored them, letting their badgering fade until it was as indistinct as the drone of mosquitoes. He was surrounded by baboons of his own troop, yet he’d never felt more alone.
The others halted, and Thorn only just stopped himself crashing into Worm. Looking up, he saw that they stood among widely spaced acacia trees.
“We’re in Spite’s territory?” he asked.
“You noticed.” Fly sniggered. “Moron.”
“Shut up, Fly,” Grass said. “If you’d been listening when I explained our orders, Thorn Strongbranch, Stinger wants us to take care of the monkeys. They’re off raiding another troop’s territory today, the little bandits, so the camp’s empty.”
“Take care of them?” Thorn repeated apprehensively.
Fly grinned, baring his chipped fangs. “We’re going to snap the upper branches. Not quite all the way, though. They’ll look fine and safe, until a monkey climbs up, and then . . .” He slammed his palm against the ground.
“Oh.” Thorn swallowed. He looked up at the highest branches, far above his head, and pictured helpless shapes plummeting to their deaths.
“Good idea of Stinger’s, eh?” Grass said cheerfully.
“Only he could have thought of it,” Thorn muttered.
Sauntering farther into Spite’s territory, Grass patted the trunk of the nearest tree. “Thorn, you start with this one.”
With a deep breath, Thorn dragged himself up the trunk and swung into the highest branches. He was shaking so much when he reached the top, he had to grip with all four paws to steady himself. From far below, his four colleagues stared up at him.
“Go on!” hooted Worm. “Get on with it!”