by Erin Hunter
Fearless had no idea. He’d never been in love.
“It’s not your fault.” Fearless licked Mud’s cheek. “Stinger will do everything he can to keep the troop safe, won’t he? You should talk to him. Tell him you think Thorn knows something about Starleaf.”
“I don’t know,” Mud said, his gaze dropping. “If I’m wrong and I go to the Crownleaf . . .”
“If you’re wrong, Stinger will figure it out,” Fearless said. “He’s wise. And he’ll find your mother, I know it.”
Fearless walked with Mud to the edge of the tree line, then watched until the little baboon had safely vanished into the undergrowth. But on his way back to Loyal’s den—his den now, too, he supposed—he couldn’t shake the memory of their conversation. It was achingly sad that Thorn could have changed so much in just a few moons. And poor Mud, he thought. No Thorn to turn to, no friend to reassure him. But if anyone can find Starleaf, it’s Stinger.
He had almost reached the den when his nostrils caught the familiar sharp scent of his sister. Relief flooded him, and he broke into an eager run. She’s all right!
She was sitting outside the den entrance, her tail tapping the rocky earth, her ears stiffly erect. Every inch of her looked taut with anger. Loyal sat a couple of tail-lengths away.
“Valor?” Fearless bounded to her, but halted when he saw the look in her eyes. “Where have you been?”
“Where have I been?” she hissed. “Where have you been, Fearless? I’ve been scouring Bravelands for you. You go off to talk to elephants and you don’t come back. You’re not at the watering hole, you’re not on Titanpride territory. And I finally find you hiding here.”
Fearless flinched. “I did come back,” he said. “But I had to leave again. Titan—”
“Why don’t you ever think about anyone else?” Her voice was high and tight with fury.
“That’s not fair,” Loyal cut in gruffly. “You need to let him explain.”
Valor whipped around. “Keep out of it, Loyal Prideless. This is about our family!”
Something was very wrong, Fearless realized with a lurch of dread. His sister looked exhausted, and there was tension in her jaw. “Valor. What’s going on?”
Valor sagged, as if her whole body had suddenly crumpled. “Fearless. Mother is dying.”
A jolt of pain ran through Fearless, worse than Titan’s paw on his throat. “Are you sure?” he said stupidly.
“Dying?” Loyal’s head whipped around and he stared at Valor as if stunned. “What does she need? Valor, how can we save her?”
“It’s too late for that,” whispered Valor. “You have to come with me, Fearless. She needs you.”
Loyal’s scarred face was twisted with shock as Fearless stumbled past him, but Fearless didn’t pause. The big lion spoke, but to Fearless it was a meaningless mumble. All the sounds of Bravelands—the birds, the lowing of the wildebeests on the plain—had become an incoherent buzz. In a daze he followed Valor down the kopje, stumbling on loose stones, and across the grasslands. Valor picked up speed, loping fast across the dry earth, and Fearless sprinted after her. For once he didn’t even feel the scorching sun. He could only run, bounding pace after pace, as the sun dipped lower in the sky and long bronze shadows striped the yellow grass. He ran despite the pain in his chest, the pain that felt as if he’d been gutted by Titan’s claw.
Valor slowed at last to a trot, leading him to a hollow at the edge of the grasslands. There, shielded by a thornbush, lay Swift, her head on her paws and her blind eyes closed.
She was so still that for a moment Fearless forgot to breathe. But as her two Swiftcubs scrambled into the hollow, she stirred, her nostrils pulsing.
Swift managed to tip up her head, by perhaps a claw-length. “Valor?” She snuffed the air, her voice husky. “Fearless?”
Fearless sank onto the ground to lie beside her, nuzzling her cheek and neck. “We’re both here, Mother.” Valor lay down on her other side, burying her face in Swift’s fur.
“My cubs,” Swift murmured, letting her head sag onto her paws once more. Her breathing was slow and labored. Feeling her jutting bones beneath her fur, Fearless leaned closer, trying desperately to share his warmth. A clenching pain squeezed his chest, and he heard himself whimper like an infant cub.
“Don’t be sad,” murmured Swift. “I don’t want to burden you any longer. You’ve had so much to bear.”
“Mother,” Valor wailed. She choked, rubbing her mother’s shoulder with her head.
Her distress struck Fearless to the bone. This was his sister, Valor: levelheaded, efficient, bossy Valor, the fierce hunter who could hold her own with the head of the pride, let alone the other lionesses. Now she looked like a tiny helpless cub again, nestling into her mother’s flank.
She’s been with Mother all her life, he realized. This is hurting her even more than it hurts me.
“You’ve never been a burden, Mother,” Fearless croaked. “You taught us everything. You’re the best mother in Bravelands.”
Swift struggled to take another breath. Her sightless eyes were open only a slit. “You’re so young to be alone,” she said. “I wish I didn’t have to leave. Look after each other, won’t you?”
“We will,” Fearless promised, and Valor brushed her mother’s cheek with her own. “And we won’t be on our own,” he blurted, frantic to reassure her. “Father’s old friend Loyal has been helping me. He says Valor and I can leave Titanpride and stay with him.”
Swift jerked, her hind paws pushing at the ground. Fearless realized with shock that she was trying to get up. “Loyal?” she gasped. “Loyal’s back? What does he want?”
Valor placed a gentle paw on Swift’s back. “Mother, please. You must rest.”
“Loyal found me after I left the baboons,” whispered Fearless. “Don’t worry, he just wants to help us.”
“You mustn’t go near him, Fearless.” Swift took a long, shuddering breath and slumped back down. Her voice was faint but urgent. “You can’t trust him. Please, stay away from him. He’s trouble. He’s an oath-breaker.”
Fearless flinched. An oath-breaker?
Swift was panting with effort, her eyelids drooping heavily. “Promise me,” she said again, her voice strained. Valor shot Fearless a terrified look.
“I promise,” Fearless blurted desperately. “I’ll stay away from Loyal. And Valor and I will take care of each other.”
“We will,” Valor murmured. She licked the top of her mother’s head. Slowly, Swift’s breathing steadied.
“Remember the scorpion that day, Fearless?” she said softly. “And the meerkats you both chased? That was a good day, until Titan came.”
It was darker now, the sun’s last rays staining the lilac horizon with burnt orange and gold.
“Watch out, Gallant,” Swift murmured. “There’s something in the grass.”
“I remember, Mother,” Fearless whispered. “I remember everything about that day. You were teaching us to hunt.”
Swift didn’t reply. Her breathing slowed, jerked, and began again, fainter than ever. As her cubs cuddled close, her ribs expanded, and she gave one more long, rattling sigh.
Fearless blinked. He nestled his cheek against hers and nudged her gently, but there was no twitch of response, no murmur.
No breath.
Something inside Fearless’s rib cage cracked and broke. Valor threw back her head and roared in grief, her cry scattering the roosting birds.
Stretching across their mother’s body, Fearless nuzzled his sister’s cheek. “We’ll be all right,” he promised her hoarsely. “We’ll stick together, Valor. I swear I’ll never leave you again.”
Valor laid her head on Swift’s shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. Once again, that great invisible claw tore jaggedly along Fearless’s belly.
But gradually, through the grief, came hot anger. Without Titan, Fearless knew, his mother would still be the finest hunter in the pride, running across the grasslands in her long, elegant strides
.
Yet here she lay, blind and bony. Titan had killed Swift, as surely as he’d murdered her beloved Gallant.
A growl of helpless rage rose in Fearless’s throat. “I swear to you, sister,” he gritted. Lashing out his tongue, he licked them both fiercely, the grief-stricken Valor and his dead mother.
“I’ll make this right. I’ll avenge them both. I swear it.”
CHAPTER 23
The vulture screeched as she rose with heavy flaps of her wings, then perched on a spindly, windswept ironwood on the side of the mountain. Her talons were still wrapped tightly around the fragment of Great Mother’s tusk.
“Up there?” Silverhorn said doubtfully. The ground beneath their feet had sloped steeply as it turned from dusty earth to stone, but the climb ahead was the sharpest yet, straight up the mountainside. “When did we last find water? I don’t see any up there.”
The sky above remained hard and clear; the mist they had seen from below had turned out to be nothing more than disturbed stone dust from the scorched mountainside, stirred by the feeblest of breezes. It worked into the folds of their skin, worsening the discomfort.
“We can do it,” Rock said. He was staring at the mountain as if it were a rival bull elephant, his ears spread wide and his trunk lifted.
Silverhorn shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. I want to go home. With the lion attack and everything . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she shot a sympathetic glance at Sky.
Sky was barely listening. She was thinking of Moon’s small wounded body, thinly covered now with the few sticks and branches she had been able to find. It had been so hard to leave him there alone.
Rock’s green eyes were soft and kind. “You’ll be safe now that I’m with you,” he murmured. “The lions ran away, didn’t they? If we stick together we’re too much for any animal to attack.”
Sky scuffed the pale dust with her trunk. I wish I had called for Rock earlier, she thought. I wish . . .
The vulture screeched again, as if trying to hurry them along.
“Sky needs to find out about the Great Spirit, doesn’t she?” Rock said. “The only way to do that, Silverhorn, is to keep going.”
Something burned in Sky’s eyes, though she was too dehydrated for any tears to fall. Give me your strength, Great Mother, she thought. Please don’t let this journey be for nothing. We’ve lost too much.
She blinked her scratchy eyelids and set a foot on the mountainside. With a deep, shuddering breath she said, “We keep going.”
Up the slope she trudged, following a broad path that swept up toward the blue summit, the others following. It was hard going. Loose rocks shifted and slid beneath their feet as they struggled for purchase on the incline. A stone skittered beneath Sky’s foot and she lurched forward, staggering, snatching at the bare rocks. I’m going to fall straight off the mountain.
Yet her discomfort was nothing, compared to what had happened to Moon. I have to keep going. For him.
Something warm and strong folded across Sky’s back. “Careful,” Rock said. “Are you all right?”
“Thank you,” she gasped. She still felt jittery, but his trunk steadied her and she swallowed. One more step. One after another. Just like I told Silverhorn.
Always the vulture was ahead, sometimes circling for height, then plunging again, sometimes perching on a high rock or a scraggy tree to wait for them. The broad path veered ever more sharply upward to become a sheer wall of stone, with a narrow channel slicing through its veined rock. For a moment Sky thought—hoped—they must have reached the end of their journey; but the vulture tilted her black wings and led the way through the cut. The elephants and the rhino squeezed through after her, Rock scraping his shoulders against the sides.
Beyond the slash in the rock face, the track opened to form a narrow pass that wound up the mountain’s flank like a snake. On either side rose sloping precipices that blotted out most of the sunlight. Not a single other living thing disturbed the bleak landscape—not so much as a lizard or a beetle. The companions pressed on in semidarkness, the vulture soaring high overhead. Sky gazed up at her forlornly. How much farther can we go?
“It’s good, traveling with you and Silverhorn.” Behind her, Rock’s rumbling voice echoed from the stone walls. “Almost like having a herd again.”
Like all male elephants, Sky knew, Rock would have left his herd when he was fourteen or so. Only females stayed with their family forever. Her own older brother, Boulder, had left so long ago that Sky barely remembered his face. And now Moon will never have the chance, she thought, with a fresh stab of sorrow. He’ll never travel with his brothers or search for a mate.
She had to stop thinking about the loss of him; it made her want to lie down in misery. She cleared her parched throat. “Will you tell me about your herd?” she asked Rock.
“I was born to the Marcher family,” he told her. “They live on the edge of Bravelands, farthest from these mountains. It’s flat there, and even drier than the plains.” He sounded wistful. “I miss them, but I found new brothers, all around my age. There are five of us, and sometimes we travel together. Thunder—he’s the patriarch in our area—he likes to make our lives difficult. But we have fun.”
“That sounds nice,” Sky said. They rounded a sharp bend in the path. “Do you—” She broke off in astonishment.
On every rock and crag, on the barren stalks of every skeletal tree, vultures hunched. The path opened out to form a circle, but barely any of it was visible beneath the ranks of birds. All were still and silent, their beady eyes on Sky. Perched on the highest rock was the vulture who had led them here, Great Mother’s tusk fragment still clutched in one talon.
Silverhorn, rounding the corner behind them, gave a snort of alarm. She lowered her horn and pawed the rough ground. “Oh, I knew we shouldn’t have come!”
Rock spread his ears wide and strode up to the vultures, swinging his long cream tusks. The vultures didn’t budge. Their shining black eyes were fixed on Sky. They were Great Mother’s messengers, she thought. Do they have a message for me?
“It’s all right,” she said, nudging Silverhorn gently with her trunk. “They won’t hurt us.”
The rhino whimpered, but she let her horn rise a little. Rock stood as still as the mountain.
The lead vulture gave a commanding cry, and the others replied in deafening unison. They launched themselves into the air on vast black wings, swooping toward Sky and her companions; Sky flinched, squeezing her eyes shut. Nothing touched her but the wind of the birds’ wings as they soared around her head. When she opened her eyes, the air was a dark chaos of beating feathers.
“Let’s get out of here,” Rock trumpeted. Silverhorn shrank against Sky.
“Wait.” Sky felt oddly calm. Great Mother had trusted these great, sinister birds, and so would she.
The vultures parted, and Sky stepped forward out of the swirling flock. But when Rock made to follow her, the vultures dived in front of him, blocking the way.
The familiar vulture laid Great Mother’s broken tusk on the stony path. She rested her talon on it for a moment more, looking at Sky. Then she lurched into flight and soared on up the mountain.
“I understand,” Sky said softly. She turned back to where the others stood, half concealed by the black wings that beat around them. “I have to go on alone.”
“No!” Silverhorn bellowed, her eyes wide. “It’s a trick!”
With a rumble of frustration, Rock tried to pound toward her, but the vultures slashed the air, driving him back.
“Wait here,” Sky cried. “They’ll leave you alone when they see you’re not following.”
“But where are they taking you?” blared Rock.
“There’s something they have to show me.” Sky didn’t know why, but she was certain it was true. Something was carrying her to the mountaintop, like a leaf borne on the wind. Turning back was impossible.
“Sky!” She could still hear the frantic calls of Rock and Silverhorn,
but she walked on, pausing to pick up Great Mother’s tusk. It felt so smooth and cool and familiar, she was reassured.
Up the narrow path she climbed, panting with thirst. She was alone, but she felt a strange sense of a warm, strong body beside her, one she could almost glimpse from the corner of her eye. Oh, Great Mother, she thought. Stay with me.
The path was steeper than ever, but there were fewer loose stones here. Sky found her energy returning, and she climbed a little faster, her steps more certain, until with a gasp, she crested the mountain.
A breeze whipped around her, fluttering her ears, blissfully cool after the white-hot glare of the pass. Sky caught her breath. Below her, Bravelands swept out in every direction—the dark green of the forests, the pale gold of the grasslands, the misty purple of more distant mountains. She could see the dark blue smear of the watering hole, the lush emerald green around it. Down there, animals hunted and grazed, played and slept and loved, each in their little piece of land. They couldn’t see all of it.
But Sky could. And it was beautiful.
Sky gazed for a long while, her heart in her throat, letting the wind whip across her face. She searched the great expanse, trying to pick out where her family must be, and where Great Mother and Moon must lie. It was with reluctance that she turned away at last and stared at the mountain’s jagged ridge.
A curved wall of jutting gray stones towered above her. Perched on the highest was the vulture she knew. When she caught Sky’s eye, she flung herself into the air and flapped between two of the stones. Gathering all her courage, Sky stepped after her.
The space within the stones was almost circular: far smaller than the Plain of Our Ancestors, and bare of any grass or leaf or flower. Its flat surface gleamed with gray and white pebbles, almost blinding in the sunlight. Right in its center lay a perfectly round, small hollow; the vulture glided down to land on its edge. Hunching her shoulders, she gave an eerie screech.
An answering screech echoed behind Sky. She spun, startled.