Broken Pride

  Beetle obligingly slapped his back. Grub coughed again and cleared his throat, then nodded irritably. “Thank you, Beetle. Yes, yes, I’m fine. Now, as I was saying regarding pairings—”

  Another coughing fit racked him. Other Council members exchanged concerned glances.

  “You needn’t look at me like that, Twig Highleaf. I’m not choking to death, though I’m sure you wouldn’t mind if I were, because—”

  This time, when his body convulsed, his violent cough sprayed bits of dik-dik flesh across the Crown Stone. With a vacant, startled look, he stared down at the blood-flecked spittle.

  “He’s foaming!” cried Mango.

  “Nonsense,” spluttered Grub. He stood up on all fours, wiped an arm across his mouth, and stared uncomprehendingly at the dribbles of gray foam that stuck to his fur. “I’m absolutely—”

  With a strangled gasp, he clutched his throat. A few Council members dashed forward, including Stinger with Thorn behind him; others simply stared, frozen in shock, as Grub toppled from the Crown Stone. Even those who had run to him backed off, chittering and whooping in distress, as his body began to convulse. More foam and blood spurted from the corners of his mouth, and his eyes rolled wildly back in his head.

  Thorn shrieked in horror. It was clear Grub was trying to speak, but all that came from his throat was a gurgling rattle. He stiffened, his form bizarrely rigid and twisted, and then, as silence fell, he went limp.

  For a moment, not even the birds sang.

  Then, “He’s dead!” screamed Mango.

  The whole Council Glade erupted. Baboons jumped up and down, shrieked, pummeled the ground, and shook branches. The rest of the troop came hurtling and leaping to the glade, eager to see what the fuss was about; when they realized what had happened, they added their panicked distress to the already echoing clamor.

  “The Crownleaf is dead!”

  “Murder!”

  “Disaster!”

  “Treachery!”

  Thorn stood in motionless shock, breathing hard.

  Berry and Mud dashed to his side. “Are you all right? Thorn!” Berry shook his arm.

  “Thorn, say something!” Mud hugged him.

  “I’m fine,” he rasped. His limbs were shaking.

  Bark was murdered. And now Grub’s dead. How has this happened?

  Thorn stared at Nut, who was standing closest to Grub’s corpse; the young baboon was gaping at the horrible sight. Nut’s usually tiny eyes were so wide, the whites showed all around them.

  “Two leaders dead!” hollered Twig over the uproar. “And one so soon after the other!”

  “What does it mean?” yelped River Middleleaf. “Somebody ask the Starleaf. Quick!”

  “The Great Spirit is sending us a message,” howled Beetle.

  “The troop is doomed!” bellowed Branch, her voice carrying clear across the glade. That set off a new jabbering and screeching among the baboons.

  “Quiet! Keep calm! Quiet!” Stinger was the only baboon trying to control the panic, but his words were lost in the tumult. As Thorn watched, the older baboon’s face set firm with determination, and he bounded up onto the Crown Stone. Rising to his hind paws, he hollered again.

  “Quiet!”

  Now, one by one, the troop began to turn to him, stunned. The screams and hoots faded, and they all stared at the baboon who stood on the very stone Grub had occupied only moments ago.

  Thorn felt the hairs rise on his arms and his back, as a sense of relief flooded him. Stinger looked every inch the leader, motionless and silent, his commanding gaze steady on the frantic troop.

  When every baboon was quiet, and they were all watching him in awe, Stinger nodded once.

  “This turn of events is dreadful.” His voice was calm, but intense. “What has happened is terrible enough, without baboons panicking and throwing accusations.”

  River crept forward, breathing heavily. “You’re right, Stinger. Yes.” Stretching his nose toward the dik-dik corpse, he flared his nostrils nervously. “It smells bad, though. Rank.”

  “Perhaps it was rotten.” Mango was trembling. “If it had been dead a long time, it might have gone bad.”

  River shook his head slowly, his eyes still huge with shock. “It doesn’t smell like that kind of bad, Mango.”

  “And it was fresh!” hollered Twig, bounding forward. “I caught it myself this morning! It was young and healthy, I swear it!”

  “So what happened to it between this morning and now?” Mango put her paws over her mouth. “Did someone . . . tamper with it?”

  For a long moment, there was an awful silence as the meaning of it all sank in. Then Stinger dropped to all fours and sprang down from the Crown Stone. He stood beside it, holding them all with his gaze, and laid his paw against its smooth surface.

  “No baboon has the right to stand on this stone,” he declared, his voice resonant, calm, and powerful. “No baboon but Grub Crownleaf. And it seems clear that someone here has broken the Code and murdered him.” He shot a quick glance at Thorn, and in his eyes Thorn saw restrained panic. He’s trying to be strong, but he’s worried.

  No baboon spoke. The stillness of the glade was oppressive.

  “We will discover the culprit,” growled Stinger. “This crime against Brightforest Troop will not go unpunished.”

  Twig stood up. “Grub was poisoned. I think that much is clear.”

  “True,” said Stinger, nodding. “Who gave the dik-dik to Grub?”

  Silence fell once more. Thorn couldn’t help but let his gaze drift to Nut. The young baboon was still wild-eyed, and now he was panting audibly. He clenched and unclenched his paws and glanced crazily around the glade, as if searching for a way out. I’ve never seen any creature look so guilty, realized Thorn with a sickening lurch in his gut.

  Then he sprang away.

  Nut did not make it far before several baboons brought him down. Thorn saw fists pummeling and heard Nut’s cries of terror.

  “It wasn’t me!” he shrieked. “Let go of me!”

  “Enough!” shouted Stinger. “Stand him up.”

  The baboons gripped Nut’s fur and dragged him back to the Crown Stone.

  Nut was bleeding from his side where someone had torn at his fur, but he didn’t fight.

  “Why did you run?” asked Stinger, cocking his head.

  Nut didn’t answer. His chest was still rising and falling, and his eyes darted across the clearing.

  “He served Grub!” shouted one of the baboons, yanking Nut’s arm. “Admit it—you poisoned our leader.”

  “No . . . it’s not like that,” said Nut, shaking his head.

  “You didn’t serve him?” asked Stinger sarcastically.

  Nut’s head hunched low between his shoulders. “Yes, Stinger, I gave it to him.” His voice was high and harsh. “I served it to Grub but I didn’t know, I didn’t know it was poisoned!” He was babbling now, almost incoherent. “I had nothing to do with this. I wasn’t the only one serving! Thorn Middleleaf, he was serving too!” Raising his head, he tried to shove through the crowd toward Thorn. “Thorn, tell them! You know I didn’t do this!”

  Stinger turned grimly toward Thorn. “Tell us, Thorn Middleleaf. Tell the troop exactly what you saw.”

  Thorn swallowed hard. He could feel the eyes of the whole troop on him, but mostly he felt the gazes of Berry and Mud, watching him, willing him to come up with a rational reason for Grub’s death.

  He cleared his throat. “I picked up the dik-dik—I knew it should go to Grub—but Nut grabbed it. Said he was a Highleaf, and that he should serve Grub. So I let him.”

  A ripple of dark murmurs went round the glade. Stinger turned to Nut once more.

  “Why,” he asked, “did you want so badly to serve Grub’s food?”

  Nut’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.

  Stinger leaned closer to him, his fangs bared. “Were you worried someone else might eat the poisoned dik-dik? Were you making sure your plan wor
ked?” As Nut backed away, terror in his eyes, Stinger bellowed: “And why did you run?”

  “I . . . I was scared,” babbled Nut. “I saw how it looked, but I just wanted to serve the Crownleaf, that’s all, I swear, I . . .” His voice faltered and dried. His whole body shook with fear—and with what looked horribly like guilt.

  “Starleaf!” called Stinger, his voice ringing clear around the glade.

  Mud’s mother came forward, her face furrowed with anxiety. As she made her way to Stinger’s side, Mud leaned forward to whisper in Thorn’s ear.

  “I never liked Nut, but I didn’t think he could ever do something like this. Did you?”

  “No,” Thorn replied slowly, “but Stinger’s right. Why did he run?”

  The Starleaf dipped her head solemnly toward the empty Crown Stone.

  “Starleaf,” pleaded Stinger, his tone suddenly far softer. There was real pain in his eyes. “We need guidance.”

  The Starleaf’s head sagged; Thorn thought she looked terribly tired and strained, her brindled fur dull. Beside him, Mud gave a whimper of concern.

  “Stinger Highleaf, the stars do not tell of guilt or innocence,” she intoned. The Starleaf shook her head sadly. “But I can say that the rains are unpredictable this year, and that storm clouds cover the stars just when they are not expected. Winds struck the ground yesterday and spun the savannah earth into the whirling funnels we call dust devils. All I can say is that the Great Spirit must be warning us that uncertainty faces the troop now.”

  Stinger’s face was bleak. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then blinked them open.

  “Your words are wise, Starleaf, and I thank you for them.” He turned to Nut. “The charges are grave against you, Highleaf. The evidence is damning.”

  “But I didn’t do it!” shrieked Nut.

  “Liar!” someone cried.

  Stinger held up a hand. “It is not for me to be your judge,” he said. “None of us can know for sure. But action must be taken and order must be restored. Just as our Starleaf puts her trust not in a single omen, or the movement of a single star, but in their multitude, so we should put our trust in many voices. I propose a vote, among the wisest of our number. Highleaves of the Council, set aside your grief for one more duty. I ask you to raise your arms if, in your judgment, Nut is guilty. Only a majority will decide his fate.”

  Thorn held his breath, as the Council baboons looked to one another. Some hands shot up, others lifted slowly, and as they did the horror dawned on Nut’s features. Soon there were fourteen arms raised. Stinger, Thorn noticed, didn’t even take part.

  He doesn’t need to. It’s overwhelming!

  Nut went limp in his captors’ hands, and the Council Highleaves exploded into screeching, hooting tumult.

  “Murderer! He should die for this!”

  “Assassin! Strike him down before he kills again!”

  “No mercy! Kill Nut Highleaf.”

  Cold horror flooded Thorn as he watched the baboons jump and shriek and demand Nut’s blood. I shouldn’t care! he thought fiercely. He’s a nasty, vicious brute and I hate him and he killed our Crownleaf, but—

  “No!” he yelled. He forced himself through the mob, tugging on arms, hooting desperately into furious faces. “No, we can’t do this—it’s wrong!”

  “Wait!” Stinger was hollering. “Quiet, all of you!” He leaped back onto the Crown Stone. “Be silent.”

  The bloodthirsty screeching faded to an angry muttering.

  “Thorn Middleleaf is right,” cried Stinger, giving Thorn a reassuring nod. “He speaks the truth: to kill Nut now would be to break the Code as terribly as he did himself. We must show mercy. We will show mercy.”

  “What about justice?” hooted an angry voice from the back.

  “There will be justice, Notch,” said Stinger grimly. “Nut will be exiled from Brightforest Troop, never to return.”

  “No!” yelped Nut as every baboon turned to glare at him. “No, Stinger, please—I’m innocent—”

  Three huge baboons sprang forward. Bug, Stone, and Sand, Grub’s most loyal cohorts, raced toward Nut, lips peeled back to show their fangs.

  Nut turned tail and fled from the glade.

  That was the cue for the rest of the troop to turn on him. As one, they screeched and yammered, sprinting after the fleeing Nut. Thorn stood frozen. He could not bring himself to join the harrying of Nut.

  “He’s guilty,” whispered Mud miserably. He arrived at Thorn’s side with Berry.

  “I don’t doubt it,” murmured Berry, stroking Thorn’s arm comfortingly. “This is horrible to watch, Thorn, but it’s justice.”

  Justice or not, Thorn was glad that his friends had stayed behind with him. The three of them were the only baboons left in the Council Glade as the menacing shrieks and yells and the crash of branches faded into the distance, along with the fleeing howls of the exiled killer.

  No, he realized. It’s not just the three of us. Stinger didn’t join the mob either.

  His eyes dipped in profound sadness, Stinger Highleaf sat hunched on the Crown Stone.

  CHAPTER 20

  The Lightning Tree was unmistakable. It stood out stark and grim, even against the looming darkness of a bank of storm cloud. Dampness glistened on its burned bark; its crown had been split into three giant charred splinters, jutting out at freakish angles. A pale lizard scuttled around its trunk and vanished as the two lions approached.

  “I still think you’ve been foolishly reckless,” growled Loyal. “Elephants don’t normally take kindly to lions marching right up to them.”

  “It was the only way I could think of to contact the cheetahs,” admitted Fearless. “And you know, Great Mother isn’t like that. She’s different.”

  “She’s an elephant with four huge feet, any one of which could crush your skull,” huffed Loyal. “Our ancestors stopped following the Great Parent of Bravelands a long time ago, Fearless, and I reckon they must have had good reason. Lions have managed our own affairs perfectly well since then, without help from some—some grass-eater with a swollen sense of her own importance.”

  “That’s not what the baboons think,” protested Fearless. “They trust Great Mother to sort out all kinds of problems. Not just for them, for all animals. I think she cares, and I think this is going to work.”

  “Hmph.” Loyal scowled at the Lightning Tree. “You spent far too long with those baboons. They’ve turned your head.”

  Fearless stiffened his jaw. “I didn’t ask you to come! You’re the one who wanted to. If you’re going to make a fuss, maybe you should just go.”

  “Absolutely not.” Loyal padded grimly on, not even looking at him. “I’m not leaving you to deal with an enormous elephant and a cheetah gang all by yourself.”

  Fearless picked up his pace to trot alongside Loyal once more. “Thank you,” he growled.

  “You’re welcome,” muttered Loyal. “Idiot.”

  “Look!” said Fearless, stopping to stare.

  Just visible beyond the cloud bank, in the thin strip of pale sky on the horizon, the sun was melting in a blaze of gold. Against its glare, he could see the silhouettes of two elephants, walking toward the tree. Even though he’d seen Great Mother up close only a little earlier, he still felt a tingle of awe in his fur. She trudged toward them, massive and implacable, her tusks gleaming gold in the fiery sunset. The elephant who trotted alongside her was much smaller, and as they drew closer, Fearless recognized her: she’d been standing with Great Mother today, and the old elephant had drawn her aside for a private discussion. She’s young, but she must be important to Great Mother.

  The two lions waited beneath the Lightning Tree as the elephants approached; Fearless noticed that his friend wore an expression of grim resignation. That turned to wariness as Great Mother halted, looming above them.

  “Greetings, Cub of the Stars,” the old elephant rumbled. “This is Sky, my granddaughter.”

  “Thank you for coming, Great Mother,” sai
d Fearless respectfully. “This is my good friend Loyal.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” said Great Mother.

  “Likewise.” Loyal nodded slightly, but without taking his nervous eyes off the matriarch.

  “And our timing seems to be perfect,” remarked Great Mother. “Here comes Fleet’s coalition.”

  All four animals turned to watch the cheetahs slink low and elegant across the grassland, their black-streaked faces solemn. There were more of them now, Fearless noticed; he counted six as they came closer. All of them dipped their heads to Great Mother as they padded to a halt.

  “Thank you,” rumbled Great Mother. “I’m grateful you agreed to this meeting, Fleet. I hope we can make peace this evening.”

  “I hope so too,” said the largest of the cheetahs. He sat back on his haunches, flicking his long, black-tipped tail. “But we agreed to a meeting with the young lion. We will not speak to him until the older one leaves.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” growled Loyal.

  Another of the cheetahs paced daintily forward. “I am Lightning,” he purred. “I am the coalition’s Star-Runner; I read the omens. And those I have read today give me conflicting signs about this meeting. There will be good outcomes, and bad. We come to you in a spirit of peace, Great Mother, but we will be cautious before we agree to anything.”

  Fleet gave a mewling growl. “And after the way Titanpride has behaved, we trust lions even less than we did. We are willing to talk with the young one—Fearless Gallantpride—but his friend has to go.”

  Loyal drew himself up to his full impressive height. Taking a pace forward, he stood protectively in front of Fearless. “That’s a coincidence, because I do not trust you,” he growled. “How can we tell this isn’t a trap?”