Broken Pride

  “It’s all right, Thorn,” whispered Mud. “This isn’t your fault. Don’t worry.”

  Thorn stared at him, breathing hard. Mud’s legs were so skinny, his muscles scrawny and underdeveloped. His huge eyes were soft, dark, and gentle, without a scrap of killer instinct.

  Maybe Stinger’s right, thought Thorn glumly. Mud did fail both the other tests. He wasn’t made to rise through the ranks. Some baboons are Deeproots all their lives. He hasn’t got the drive to make it to the top of a tree, never mind the troop.

  But all the reasoning in the world didn’t make Thorn feel any better about what he was about to do.

  The troop was crowding closer around the rock, hooting in impatience. They all knew Thorn would have a quick and easy victory; they just wanted him to get on with it.

  All except Berry. He caught sight of her at the front; she was gazing up at him, her eyes wide and full of horrified sympathy.

  She understands. Of course she does.

  He shut his eyes, feeling a weight like stone in his belly. Thorn wanted to run away, but that was impossible too.

  “Come along, come along,” hooted Beetle, punching the ground with both fists. “Let the combat commence!”

  I’m out of time, Thorn realized with a heavy heart. He looked at Mud’s sorrowful face, and for a moment, he felt a flash of anger at his old friend. I know what I have to do.

  I just have to get on and do it.

  “Good luck,” he told Mud brightly, and sprang at him.

  Mud flinched, but Thorn’s blow never landed. His paws slashed the air wildly, missing Mud’s face and chest. Mud gave a squeak of alarm and ducked, butting Thorn almost accidentally in the belly. Thorn reeled back, staggering.

  He jumped to his paws and flung himself at Mud again, gripping him in a strong hug and wrestling him toward the edge of the rock. Mud fought back bravely, his hind paws scrabbling at the smooth surface, and Thorn gave way, falling so suddenly that Mud landed on top of him. Again they both struggled upright and grappled together, swaying.

  The troop was bouncing and yelling with excitement now, slapping the ground and hooting encouragement at both of them. Thorn peeled back his lips and growled, making a great show of lunging forward, seizing Mud’s arms. With another squeal, Mud wriggled free, looking panicked, and flailed his paws wildly at Thorn.

  Now.

  Thorn ducked, but clumsily. One of Mud’s little paws caught him square in the shoulder, and he toppled sideways. With a despairing yelp, Thorn staggered and crashed down from the rock.

  The fall was harder than he’d expected. He lay on his back on the gritty ground, panting. A weight of misery settled inside him.

  It’s over. I’m Thorn Middleleaf. Forever.

  For long moments, he couldn’t move. He didn’t want to. Around him the troop shrieked and whooped, jumping and hammering the earth in their shock and delight.

  It’s not that they wanted me to lose, he consoled himself. A lot of them are just happy to see Mud winning for a change.

  Mud had leaped down from the boulder; he seized Thorn’s paws anxiously, dragging him up. “Thorn! Thorn, are you all right?”

  Get over it, Thorn Middleleaf, he scolded himself. You made your choice.

  Scrambling to his paws, Thorn congratulated his friend with a hug. “Well done, Mud. That was some move. You were too quick for me!”

  “I can’t believe it!” babbled Mud. “I’m a Lowleaf! Oh, I’m sorry, Thorn, I don’t know how I did it!”

  “With a clever bit of strategy,” Thorn assured him, grinning broadly at Mud to hide the wrenching misery in his gut. “And you deserve to be a Lowleaf, so stop apologizing!”

  “I still can’t believe—I’m so happy—I’m a Lowleaf!”

  “You are indeed, and I’m happy for you.” Thorn hugged his friend tightly again.

  But Mud’s face fell, and he whispered, “Oh, Thorn—I’m sorry—Berry and you—”

  “Never mind that,” Thorn told him briskly. He forced another grin. “Hey, Mud, while Fearless is away, maybe you should take over protecting the troop!”

  Mud giggled, still looking dazed and elated. His mother, the Starleaf, was the first of the troop to bound to his side, her face a picture of stunned pride. As the rest of the troop gathered around to congratulate Mud on his achievement, Thorn drew quietly away. A paw touched his shoulder, and he turned to see Berry.

  “Meet me in the ravine,” she whispered. She looked desolate as she squeezed his arm lightly. “We need to talk.”

  “I’m sorry, Berry.” Picking up a handful of small stones, Thorn flung them furiously into the grass, one after the other.

  “Don’t, Thorn,” she murmured. “Don’t be angry with yourself.”

  He couldn’t help it. His heart ached in his chest. I did the right thing . . . didn’t I? It seemed right at the time. But I feel like a fool. I’ve thrown away any chance we ever had of being mates.

  Night had fallen, but the great river of stars cast a pale silvery light across the grass and trees. Thorn loved to watch the glittering stream as it flowed from horizon to horizon, and he loved it best when he could watch it with Berry. They cuddled close together, gazing up at the night sky. These stolen moments with Berry: they’re the best thing in my life.

  And it had never felt like breaking the rules, not really. It had been exciting. Thorn had always known that one day they’d be the same rank, that he and Berry would be paired officially.

  But now . . . everything’s changed. We’d be in so much trouble if we were discovered.

  Nearby a herd of gazelles slumbered in the darkness, some dozing on their feet as their sentries moved languidly around the fringes, chewing mouthfuls of cud, ears constantly swiveling. The ravine was a secluded haven, a grassy cleft in the plain that was hardly visible from more than a few strides away. Its protective walls were sheer and craggy, dotted with scrubby, prickly trees; Thorn had found the narrow path by chance one day, and he still felt a little guilty for keeping it a secret from most of Brightforest Troop. But the ravine was his own special, private retreat, and the gazelle herd did not seem to mind his presence. They must feel so safe here, Thorn realized: just as he and Berry always had.

  Until now. Now, this is dangerous for both of us.

  “All I wanted was for us to be together. But I’ve ruined everything.” Thorn pressed himself closer to Berry, desperate to feel the comfort of her warmth.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she consoled him. “If anyone’s to blame, it’s my father—but he only tried to do what was best, Thorn. You letting Mud win was a good thing.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Thorn heaved a miserable sigh.

  Berry groomed his shoulder gently. “You had to make a choice, Thorn, and it was an impossible one. I’d have hated to see Mud stuck as a Deeproot, cleaning and waiting on bullies like Nut for the rest of his days.”

  “I know.” He rubbed his skull with his paws, defeated. “I just couldn’t do it to him.” He paused. “Are you angry with me, Berry?”

  “Of course I’m not,” she murmured. “I’m proud of you.”

  He swallowed hard. “Even though we can never be together?”

  “Oh, Thorn. I wish we could, with all my heart. But you did the right thing.” She stroked his forearm, then touched his face. “And you know what? I’m glad you didn’t have to fight Nut. Did you see him winning? He was savage—he bit and scratched and drew blood. Poor River was in a bad way afterward.”

  “All the same,” murmured Thorn, “I wish I could have faced him. I wish I’d had the chance to beat him. To give him a hard time, at least. Now he’s a Highleaf, and he’ll always be above me.”

  “He will never be above you,” she told him, with a flash of anger. “You are ten times the baboon he is. I’ll never forget that, and I am not going to let you go. We’ll be together, Thorn. Maybe it has to stay a secret, but I will always be true to you.”

  He stared at her, a spark of hope flickering in his ch
est. “You mean that, Berry? Really?”

  “I mean it. We’ll have to be careful, but we’re meant to be together. We’re not exactly Sunrise and Moonlight, are we?”

  Thorn shook his head, smiling. Every baboon knew the tale of how Sunrise Crownleaf and Moonlight Deeproot had fallen in love and become mates. Jealousy and resentment festered within the troop until war broke about between the different ranks; Sunrise was killed by her Council and Moonlight died of a broken heart. Since then, pairings between ranks had been forbidden. Moon and sun, the tale concluded, shall never be one.

  “It’s not as if either of us is Crownleaf,” said Berry. She flung her arms around his neck. “No stupid legend is going to keep us apart. I will never take another mate.”

  “Neither will I. I don’t want anyone who isn’t you.”

  “Then that’s all that matters,” she told him softly.

  He hugged her close, and they clung tightly to each other.

  In the silence between them, the song of the crickets and cicadas grew louder. “Do you think they’ve noticed we’re gone?” he murmured at last. “There’ll be trouble if so.”

  “I know.” Berry nuzzled him, then drew away. “I mean it, Thorn: I’m not letting you go. But we should go back to the troop now.”

  Distantly, Thorn heard the shivering yelps of jackals, and then the grunting call of a leopard. The alert gazelle sentries tensed, turning their heads. The nighttime bush was wide awake, and Berry was right: they had to leave.

  With a last few murmured words of reassurance, they parted. As always, Thorn turned and padded back through the pitch-dark shadows of the narrow, steep, and stony path; Berry set off for the opposite end of the gully, and the sunrise side of Tall Trees. It was more vital than ever that they shouldn’t be seen arriving back together.

  Lost in regret, Thorn plodded along the path through the undergrowth, barely noticing the hanging fronds and creepers that batted his face. For once he didn’t even listen for predators; wrapped in his misery, he ignored the rustle and skitter of creatures in the darkness.

  Still, when a dark shape barged out in front of him and he glimpsed the flash of fangs, he almost yelped out loud. Nut stood in his way, grinning unpleasantly.

  “What a nice time of night for romancing,” he barked. “What’s Stinger going to say when he finds out you’ve been sneaking around with his Highleaf daughter?”

  Panic stirred in Thorn’s rib cage. Rising up on his hind paws, he bared his teeth in a snarl. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t try to deny it,” sneered Nut. “I saw you both leave the forest!”

  Thorn’s heart thudded so hard, he thought it might break out of his chest. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! And even if you did, it’d be none of your business!”

  “Oh, yes it is. We Highleaves have to make sure we all maintain our dignity.” Nut wrinkled his muzzle contemptuously. “It’s not good for any of us to play the fool with Middleleaves.”

  The fear was receding now, and Thorn could feel his neck fur bristling with fury; he had to struggle to keep his temper. “You’re only a Highleaf because you know how to cheat. What would Stinger think of that?”

  Nut drew himself up. “You know the rule, Middleleaf. ‘Only the Crownleaf can authorize pairings.’ Especially ones that defy the troop’s traditions.” He sniffed scornfully. “Grub will never allow a pairing between a Highleaf and a Middleleaf, and you know it. Our Crownleaf respects the law of the troop!”

  Oh, how Thorn wished he’d had a chance to thrash Nut in a fight. He peeled back his lips and snarled. “We’re not paired. We’re friends. Berry doesn’t care that I’m a Middleleaf—and that’s all that matters to me!”

  “We’ll see.” With a parting hoot of contempt, Nut bounded away into the darkness.

  Nasty spy that he is. Thorn shook himself. His fur was still on end, and his heart thumped with rage, but he couldn’t help the cold creep of fear in his blood. After all, Nut was right about Grub: the new Crownleaf would never allow a pairing across two ranks. No Crownleaf ever would! And the troop . . . Thorn’s heart plummeted. He couldn’t bear to contemplate Brightforest Troop’s reaction if they found out. They’ll scream the tale of Sunrise and Moonlight in my ears as they throw me out forever.

  Or, possibly, while they tear me into furry scraps of baboon.

  What if Nut told Grub what he’d seen? Even worse, what if he told Stinger? Stinger likes me—or he does at the moment. But what will he say if he knows Berry and I have been courting?

  It was with huge trepidation that Thorn padded across the boundary of Tall Trees, and he almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of Stinger’s call.

  “Thorn!”

  Does he know already? Thorn’s heart turned over and he gulped. Is this when Stinger tells me to stay away from his daughter? Is this when he summons the whole troop to kill me?

  “Hey, Thorn!” Stinger bounded over. “Don’t look so worried.” He sat down in front of Thorn and eyed him critically. “I’m disappointed you threw away your chance today—the chance I gave you—but that’s that. There’s nothing either of us can do about it now. And however stupid you were”—he gave Thorn a sharp glare—“I kind of understand.”

  Thorn nodded, his nerves too shredded to speak.

  “Anyway,” Stinger went on with a sigh, “you’ve impressed me with the way you tackled the Three Feats. Well, except the last one, but we’ll say no more about that. You’ve put on a good show. How would you like to join my retinue?”

  Thorn blinked at him, startled. “Your retinue? Really?”

  Stinger gave a nod. Behind him, Thorn could see Nut, still lurking in the deeper darkness at the foot of a tree. There was a sour glint in the young baboon’s eyes.

  Thorn felt a sudden surge of pleasure. This is my chance to prove my worth to Stinger!

  He dipped his head gratefully, feeling excitement building inside him.

  “I’d be honored to serve you, Stinger Highleaf!” he said. “Thank you—and yes, I’d like that very much!”

  Traditions can change—Fearless is proof of that! One day Berry and I will be together. . . .

  CHAPTER 11

  The call of an eagle woke Fearless before dawn; the haunting cry drifted eerily across the savannah, scattering the remnants of his vague dream of hunting. Stretching his limbs, then clawing the ground, Fearless shook himself fully alert.

  I think in my dream I caught that zebra. I wish the hyenas were as easy to hunt.

  He began to pace across the plain, lowering his muzzle to the ground. The grass was verdant and young, the earth soft beneath his paws, and there were so many fresh, strong scents it was hard to pick out the trail of the hyena pack. He had spent the night curled awkwardly in the hollow of a tree, constantly disturbed by the grunting roars of faraway lions and the shrieks of other creatures he couldn’t name. When he had finally fallen into a doze, a night bird had swooped close to his tree, uttering a scream that had jolted him straight back out of it. Now, despite the freshness of the morning, his head throbbed from lack of sleep.

  At Tall Trees, he had known the voice and scent of every baboon; he had recognized the calls of friends and enemies in his sleep—the grunting snores of Stinger, the dream-squeaks of Mud, the terse barks and whoops of each sentry. But out here, on the unfamiliar grasslands, he had no idea who or what might be a danger. He had no clue when it was safe to move, or rest, or sleep.

  And he was so hungry. He had caught only a few rodents and a single plump bird since he’d left the troop. Fearless knew he had to find more food soon, or he’d be too weak to do anything.

  Ignoring his grumbling stomach, he followed the rank hyena smell; it was patchy and intermittent, but led him into a dense clump of fever trees. Flaring his nostrils, he pushed his nose into the damp undergrowth. Wait. That’s a different scent. Earthier, grassier.

  Something lives here. Not hyenas. But what? Hairs rose on the nape of his neck, and a low growl
began in his throat.

  He lifted his head a little. The trees were quite widely spaced and their crowns were far above him; dappled early sunshine danced and flashed through their high branches, making the leaves glow brightest green.

  Not far ahead, there was an oddly patterned sapling of a kind he hadn’t seen before. Fearless crept toward it, paw after suspicious paw. Stretching out his muzzle, he sniffed. The sapling had that strong, grassy smell of the unseen creatures, and the bark was a strange texture. Almost like . . . fur . . .

  He jumped back with a grunt of astonishment as the sapling lifted, shifted, and settled down in another spot.

  “Is it a lion?” boomed a shocked voice, high above him.

  Fearless snapped up his head and gasped. He backed away, hide prickling in alarm, gaping at the animals above him.

  There were five of them, and they were gigantic, almost impossibly tall; he wasn’t surprised he had mistaken a leg for a slender sapling. The creatures’ necks were even longer, ending in small horned heads, and their hides were a splatter of yellow and brown.

  One of those horned heads ducked toward him and he flinched back, hackles springing erect, claws extending. If I turn and run, can that huge thing just snatch me?

  But the creature simply peered at Fearless, then blinked at a low branch next to him. It stuck out a long purple tongue, wrapped it around a couple of green leaves, and yanked them back into its jaws. It chewed, thoughtfully.

  Grass-eaters, then. But so are hippos, and everyone knows how dangerous they are.

  “Yes, it’s a lion,” the creature told its friends, swallowing the leaves. Its enormous neck rippled as the leaves went down. “Ever such a small one, though.”

  “A youngster,” said a female, dipping her head curiously. She blinked long black lashes. “What’s happened to your pride, young one? Are you lost?”

  Fearless’s jaws hung open as he panted nervously. The animals’ teeth were barely visible, and those he could see were flat and blunt. He risked a glance downward. At the end of those long legs, they didn’t have paws and claws; they had split hooves, just as gazelles and wildebeests did. Fearless gulped and swelled up his chest, trying to regain his dignity.